Frigid Waters (Ladies of Loomcroft) (3 page)

“I do not want anything...untasteful,”  Belladonna said.

She shrugged, “You want unusual items, then I get to choose what they look like.  It will be ready within the week.”

Belladonna thanked her and then left the shop.  The moment she was on the street she groaned on the inside.  There not, forty feet away was George Livery.  There was no way she could get out of the shop without him seeing her.  She had a feeling the encounter would not be enjoyable.

Squaring her shoulders proudly in her black day dress she walked straight ahead.  He spotted her immediately and caught up with her.  Bowing directly in front of her he smiled at her, “Good day, Miss Loomcroft.”

She half curtsied and made to walk around him as she put on a fake smile and cordially said, “Good day, Mr. Livery.”

He moved as she moved.  “Leaving the modiste?” 

She raised an eyebrow.  “Why else would a woman be on this particular street?”

He nodded, “I insist on escorting you back to Hyde Park.  Gentleman's honor.”

“I survived the walk here, I am quite sure I will survive the walk back, sir.  I would never dream of inconveniencing you so.”  She deflected.

He slipped his arm in hers.  “I'm glad the lady understands how inconveniencing it would be to deny me my honor.”

She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more.  Damn her, George wanted her to rise to the bait.  Instead she was perhaps the greatest master of podsnappery he'd ever seen.  He walked at a slower pace, making her slow down.

“So, did you find a new dress today, Miss Loomcroft?”  He prodded.

“Not exactly.”  She replied.

“Not exactly,” he repeated softly.  He decided a little teasing was in order.  “So what color are the unmentionables that you've chosen?”

There was the slightest twitch in her eyes and then it was gone.  “Knowing Mrs. Murdock, flamingo pink.”  She muttered before slipping back into her neutral countenance. 

He paused for a moment.  “Most women would think it unseemly to speak of their unmentionables, Miss Loomcroft.”  Get her in her sense of prudish propriety, George thought to himself.

Belladonna didn't even flinch, she didn't even think of allowing emotion to flow into her voice.  “I was merely speaking of colors, Mr. Livery.”

They took another turn in the walk.  George studied her.  “Does nothing bother you, Miss Loomcroft?”

She actually sighed, “I fear a great many things bother me.  I just do not have the luxury of idle time to worry over them.  Mr. Livery, pardon my bluntness, but why would you be interested in my emotions?”

George blushed a little at the blunt reprimand, “How can I repay you for your abandonment if nothing bothers you?  Now that I know you are not stone, I must keep searching until I find your crack.”

She sniffed, but she was back to her toneless mask.  “One would think you would have better uses for your time.”

They were now on the edge of the park where she would be safe.  George bent over her hand and kissed it lightly.  Most innocent young women of the ton would have at least blushed, she looked at the gesture as if she had just touched a roach.  “One would think,” he whispered as he turned and walked away.

###

George returned to his family's London townhouse after leaving Miss Loomcroft at the park.  He found his way to his father's study.  He wanted a bit of advise on the situation.  No woman had every disliked him and he had no idea how to change this one's mind.  Her disdain for him had become an annoyance to him that pricked constantly at his pride.

He found the Earl of Riverton in his small study.  He knocked on the door before entering.  His father glanced up from his work.  The Earl was immediately looking at his papers again.  “How much do you need, George?”  The Earl asked briskly.

George rubbed his forehead as he sat down across from the old man.  “I do not need blunt, father.  I have not needed blunt from you for years.”

His father chuckled, “Fourth sons always need blunt.  I would rather you get it from me instead by some nefarious means.”

George sighed, “That is not why I am here.”

The Earl sigh and gruffly told his son, “Out with it, then.”

“Have you ever had a woman look at you like you were disgusting?”  He got out quickly.

His father raised his eyebrow in curiosity.  “Who is this bold chit?”

George fidgeted, “I did not say...”

“Yes, you did.  I will have a name, George.”  His father replied sternly.

George sighed. “Miss Loomcroft.”

His father studied him for a moment. “Which Miss Loomcroft?” He asked.  He shrugged.  “No matter, any Miss Loomcroft would be a good match for you.  Even with as many daughters as Martin Loomcroft has they will all have significant dowries.” 

George felt his chest tighten.  “Father, I do not need a rich wife.  I have my business ventures, my merchant vessels.”

The Earl huffed, “All men need rich heiresses.  It is not like you would have to warm the girl's bed on a nightly basis.  All you need to do is share it enough to keep her with child.”

“Father, this is a moot point.  The woman detests me.”  George sneered.

The Earl shrugged, “If it is Miss Belladonna Loomcroft then you have a significantly better chance than the other fortune hunters; she rarely even acknowledges they exist.”

“She does not wish to marry.”  George said flatly.

The Earl shrugged, “Your mother did not wish to marry.  She adapted.  Miss Loomcroft will as well, once she is finally forced.”

George cringed.  His mother had committed suicide when he was six.  She should not have had to cope and adapt to his father's needs for as long as she did.  There was something fundamentally wrong about forcing someone to wed and then bending them to your will until they broke. 

He wished his father would quit trying
to force him to do such a thing.  Changing the subject quickly George said, “I leave for a merchant voyage to Spain in two weeks.”

His father nodded, “Enjoy your little voyage, but come back prepared.  If you have a chance with a Loomcroft girl, then you should take it.”

George pushed himself up out of the chair and walked out the door.  His father would never understand that he needed his independence.  He would have a wife one day, but not a wife from money.  He would support his family; not have a woman's dowry do it for him. George just wished he could shake off the unease from the glint he saw in his father's eyes.  It was like the man could see gold at the mere mention of the girl's name.

His first task was to get Miss Loomcroft, whichever Miss Loomcroft she was, out of his head.  There was a ball in six hours to attend.  He was sure she'd be there and he was sure he'd get his just due. 

Chapter 2

Belladonna watched her sixteen year old sister like a hawk from the corner of the room.  Deanna moved
thru the room with the grace of a butterfly and the pride of a peacock.  Men flirted, women envied, Belladonna wished she could strangle the girl.

She was a vivacious flirt who Belladonna couldn't take her eyes off of for a moment.  If any of her sisters were likely to ruin themselves, she'd gamble on Deanna being the one to do it.  George immediately noticed her watching the girl from the time he entered the room.  Belladonna's eyes rarely left the child.

He cringed at the old men flirting with the girl.  If she had been his relation, his eyes would have never left her either.  The girl had to be barely sixteen.  George knew that most men of the ton really preferred that age range, but to him it almost felt like stealing directly out of the cradle.

None the less, his tormentor cared for her.  A dance with the young girl would drive the woman insane.  Smiling to himself he worked his way thru the crowd and bowed formally to the girl.  “Miss Loomcroft, may I have the honor of the next waltz?”

She laughed, “You may.”  Turning to the men around her she giggled, “See gentlemen, this is a man with courage.  You do not fear that my older sister will bite, do you, Mr. Livery?”

He choked out an “I am rather counting on it, Miss Loomcroft.”  He didn't want the idea of her sister biting him to have any appeal, but strangely enough it did.  There were a few places he could name that he rather suspected he would enjoy her older sister biting.  A fresh flood of frustration seeped into him.  He did not wish to fantasize about the cold chit nibbling on him like her favorite fruit tart.  He wanted her out of his head.

“May we head to the dance-floor, Miss Loomcroft?”  He asked politely.  The young girl gave her his hand and he led her to the floor.

He held her at arms length during the waltz, but none the less he could almost feel her sister's eyes burning a hole in him.  Towards the end of the dance he glanced over and caught her eyes.  For the first time since he met her, he saw real emotion there.  She was angry and she was quickly losing the ability to conceal the fact.

Smiling to himself, he knew exactly how to get his revenge in that instant.  As he twirled the room with the younger Loomcroft Lady he whispered in her ear, “Miss Loomcroft, would you join me on the terrace?”

She giggled and nodded, just as any child would.  He noted that her sister was already moving towards the doors they were exiting as they moved out.  He counted to twenty before placing a chaste kiss on the girl's lips.  It was the kiss of a brother, not a man.  Surely the chit would realize that.

Suddenly fingers dug into his arm.  Then he heard her growl.  It was a low, husky voice that would drive her husband wild if she had one.  “Deana, go get the carriage, we are going home.”  She growled at her sister while never looking away from him.

Deanna backed away.  Whether from him or from her sister, George couldn't be sure.  “You are not my mother.”  She started.

Bella locked eyes with her sister.  “Go.  Get.  The.  Carriage.  Deena.”  She said each word so slowly and so low that anyone would have been able to feel the menace in her voice.

Deanna’s eyes widened and she rushed back into the ball.  George couldn't help but laugh.  For someone who usually appeared so frigid, it was so hard to believe her anger would carry so much heat.

“We really did not do anything,”  George started.

She turned on him, breathing hard in her anger.  “You and I are going to have a private conversation, Mr. Livery.  Meet me in the library in exactly twenty minutes. I am not risking getting caught out here on a terrace with you.”  The way she said 'you' told him just how much she detested him.

George swallowed, for the first time he began to think that maybe he had bit off a bit more than he could chew when it came to this game he was playing with her.  She turned and stalked a few paced.  Suddenly her back straightened and her step slowed.  He could almost lay money that her fake smile had returned.

True to her command, he arrived twenty minutes later to a library in which she was already waiting.  She paced like a caged tigress.  When he came in he shut the door and locked it to be safe.  When he turned around she was crowding him.

He could almost see her internal floodgates open.  “How dare you, George Livery!  If you ever touch my sister again...I'll...I'll...”

He smiled, “You will do what, Miss Loomcroft?”

She stilled and leveled her gaze with his.  “I will take my father up on his offer to help my him with his businesses and do everything in my power to destroy your shipping ventures.”

His eyes narrowed.  “Miss Loomcroft, you had better watch your threats.  I know you are angry, but that is not a threat you should make.”

“Do not discount it, Mr. Livery.  If you bring her to ruin, you will be following her as closely as the hounds of hell surely follow you.”  She growled and pushed a finger into his chest.

He grabbed her hand and immediately regretted it.  She wasn't cold like he expected, he almost burned when he touched her.  “I do not lead children to ruin.”  He ground out.

She glared at him and tried to pull her hand out of his.  “Then what exactly were you doing on the terrace?  Anyone could have seen you.”

He turned her hand over and kissed her palm.  “I only expected one person to follow us.”

She paled, reading his meaning perfectly.  “What exactly do you want from me, Mr. Livery?”  

“Your given name and leave to use it.  So...we may be friends.  You are singular among your gender, Miss Loomcroft.”  He said and let go of her hand.  Unfortunately he also realized he meant it.  It was a rare thing for a woman turn him down or get angry with him.  George was beginning to think he liked the candor she possessed when she chose to share it.

She stepped away from him and he saw her put on her mask once again.  “My name is Belladonna.”  She shoved past and went to the door.  Before she opened it she turned.  “If you lay your lips upon me again, Mr. Livery, I will break your nose.  As a friendly gesture, of course.”

She left him there in he library staring at the door with a smile on his face.  Belladonna.  A fitting name for a woman like herself.  George knew that he should be plotting his next move to repay her for the embarrassment she had caused him, but he was more interested in figuring out the puzzle that was Belladonna Loomcroft.  Was she the demure, uninterested lady or the fiery, passionate woman?  He wasn't sure, but George suspected he was going to enjoy finding out.

###

The next morning began like any other.  Belladonna cared for her little sisters.  She had banished Cara into the schoolroom once both sets of twins were crying.  The poor woman looked ready to break down in tears herself.

She was exhausted herself as she faced her tasks.  Her sleep was plagued by fantasies of a kiss that started on her palm traveling much farther.  It was not the fault of George Livery that she obvious lusted after him her dreams.  Still, she would have liked for him to be soundly beaten for it and for him to never return to her slumber.

About a half an hour after she got all of the infants settled down a very confused maid found her in the library.  “Miss, you have a caller.  He is waiting in the downstairs sitting room.”

She sat down a book and looked at the woman. “Are you sure that the gentleman is looking for me?”  She asked tentatively.

“Quite sure, Miss.”  Belladonna nodded and made her way downstairs.  From the moment she set foot in the downstairs foyer she could hear Deanna laughing.

As she neared the sitting room she could hear the voices clearly.  It was George Livery.  He had obviously not taken her warning to heart.  Thank heavens the downstairs maid had seen fit to get her.  She reigned in her temper and entered the room.

“How lovely to see you this afternoon, Mr. Livery.”  She interrupted.

Deanna’s sky blue eyes narrowed at her sister and her shoulders sagged, as if she knew her fun was done.  Mr. Livery bowed formally to Belladonna, “The pleasure is mine, Miss Loomcroft.”  He nodded towards Deanna.  “The younger Miss Loomcroft was just telling me about the latest fashions and which she prefers.  Do you have a preference, Miss Loomcroft?”

“I prefer simple items, Mr. Livery.”  She said.  Her tone was already starting to grind on his nerves.

He winked at her younger sister and laughed.  “I would think you would look fetching in flamingo pink, myself.”

She nodded and then looked at her younger sister.  “Deanna, I do believe you are needed upstairs.  Cara was just saying she could use some help with the toddlers.”

Deanna looked her in the eyes and Belladonna could see her sister weighing the consequences of a rebellion.  “Alright.”  She turned and curtsied to George.  “It was nice speaking with you, Mr. Livery.”  Deanna didn't even glance at her sister as she left he room.

George smiled and leveled his gaze with Belladonna's own.  “So...I see I am not the only person who finds you infuriating.”

“They why do you keep seeking out my company, Mr. Livery?”  She responded.

He shrugged.  “You intrigue me, Miss Loomcroft.”

Her eyebrow twitched slightly, but otherwise her mask of indifference did not waver.  “I can assure you, sir.  I am not that interesting.”

Before he could respond, a servant knocked on the door frame of the room.  She curtsied and said, “Pardon me, Miss.  These just arrived for you.”

Belladonna flushed in a moment of panic.  “Please put them away in my room.”  She managed to say softly.  The servant nodded and took them away.

“Uninteresting, indeed.”  George murmured and then he changed the subject.  “Miss Loomcroft, I must know your secret.  How does one live without emotion?  I do believe I would find such a skill of immeasurable value.”

Her eyes narrowed for two to three seconds and then any changes in her demeanor were gone.  “That is quite simple, Mr. Livery, if one does not love the subject to whom the emotion is attached then it is easy to ignore said emotion.”

He stepped closer to her and she stepped away from him.  “You make it sound so easy.  How could a person who enjoys their passions ignore such a thing?  Could you even do as such, Miss Loomcroft?”

She walked over to a window and gazed out.  “Women who do not plan to marry have no need of passions, Mr. Livery.”

He appraised her profile.  The poor cut of her dress made her look overfed, but George would have bet an entire company on the fact that she was curved in all the ways that tempt a man.  “Everyone needs a passion, Miss Loomcroft.  For some it's art, others writing, and for many a man—well, they find their passions in the flesh.”

She didn't even blush.  “I do enjoy a fast horse,” she mumbled.

He walked up behind her.  She could feel him close.  “Will you be at Lady Malberry's party?” 

She shook her head no.  “I...”  A look of confusion skirted across Belladonna's feature before her disguise fell back into place.  “I will be otherwise engaged.”

“The eldest Miss Loomcroft not present at a party.  Why, that's unheard of!”  George teased. 

She shrugged nonchalantly.  “I am quite put out that I won't be able to attend, sir.”

“Please take no offense, Miss Loomcroft.  I, too, will unfortunately be unable to attend.”  He chuckled loudly.  “It warms my heart that no man will have a chance to steal your attentions away from me, Miss Loomcroft.”

She actually blushed.  George could almost hear the trumpets of his own success, but the look in her eyes look had a look of guilt rather than flattery.  Then a smile graced her face that bore a look of victory.  “Never worry, Mr. Livery.  No man warrants my attentions.”

He didn't know how to respond.  She assuredly had won this round.  George had to give her credit, when she chose to play the game she had it won before a person even realized she was playing.  He'd just have to reset the chess board.  “Tell me, Miss Loomcroft, what will be occupying your time so completely as to keep you from attending the party.”