The Rake's Unveiling of Lady Belle (29 page)

He held her arm, and Belinda could feel the high tension running through him. The horse and rider were a scant two yards away when Phillip shoved Belinda sideways—hard. ‘The bush.' He roared the words at the top of his voice. ‘Now.'

Belinda threw herself behind the rhododendron bush—how apt—and shivered as she watched her beloved husband stand his ground, and only move to one side as the horse reared over him. Then he jumped, grabbed the reins and steadied the horse, somehow with a nudge and a shove unseating the rider, who toppled onto the ground at his feet.

The rider—still heavily veiled—sprang up swearing, and lashed out with her riding crop. Belinda held her breath, afraid to shout out and break Phillip's concentration. Had he seen the blow coming?

Luckily it seemed he had. He dropped the reins and twisted the arm that held the crop until it fell harmlessly at his feet. He kicked it out of the way, in Belinda's direction.

Belinda dashed out from the cover of the bush, picked it up, ran another few yards, took hold of the trailing reins and stroked the nose of the sweating horse. She spoke to it in soft and soothing tones until she was sure it was comfortable, and then she gave her attention to Phillip. He had the rider's arm up her back, and with his free hand flicked the veil back from the lady's face.

‘What a surprise,' he said in a mocking voice. ‘The rodent unveiled. Well, woman, what have you to say for yourself? Before I hand you over to the authorities for attempted murder.'

What?

‘Rubbish,' Rosemary spat on the ground in a most uncouth manner. ‘I was just scaring you and your servant here. A seamstress in our park. Ha, and you try to say she is your wife. No one of any sense will believe that twaddle. She's not even a lady any more—her father cast her out. She makes clothes. Badly.'

Belinda winced as Phillip looked at the spittle and then the woman who stared at him in defiance.

‘It's true,' he said in such a genial voice Belinda was hard pressed not to smile. It seemed their plan had to be put into practice earlier than they thought, and in a different place, but no matter. It was still their plan and it
would
work. ‘I can only see one lady here.'

Rosemary smirked.

‘But,' he went on in an emphatic tone. ‘It is not you. My wife is a lady through and through. Furthermore, she may be a lady, and I may be a lord, but believe me if you say one more thing to upset my lady, I will be no gentleman. Do I make myself clear?'

Rosemary's face was ashen and her skin dotted with perspiration. ‘But…'

‘No buts. A straightforward yes or no will suffice. Well?'

‘Yes but it's Belinda Howells and everyone knows she's Madame Belle,' Rosemary said in a defiant rush. ‘There was no…' She stopped swallowed and nodded her head. ‘Yes.'

‘Good.' Phillip let her go. ‘And I fear you are sadly mistaken. Everyone knows Lady Belinda is not Madame Belle. You need to get your facts correct, my dear, or folks will think your sour grapes have sent you into a state where bedlam must surely be the next step.' He turned to Belinda who had stood by in silent admiration at his masterful way of eliminating Rosemary and her poison. ‘Ma belle, perhaps, if Re…Rosemary feels fit you could hand her those reins and we can continue with our stroll. It's almost time to head for home.'

‘Of course.' Belinda looked at Rosemary, who nodded without looking her in the eye.

‘Then let's go—it's the Countess of Andon's ball tonight. Ah, will we see you there?' Phillip said affably to Rosemary.

Belinda bit her lip to stop herself laughing.

‘No, my lord, I think I have a headache.'

‘Ah, well not as bad as the one you will get if I hear anything more untoward about me, my wife or Madame Belle. You understand?'

Rosemary nodded again. ‘Good.' Phillip bowed and took Belinda's arm. ‘Let's go.'

‘My horse, I can't mount it,' Rosemary said in a squeaky voice.

Phillip turned to Belinda and the unholy look of devilish glee was almost too much for her to bear. She sniggered and he put his finger over her mouth.

It was too much of a challenge. Belinda gave into temptation and sucked it.

‘Soon, I promise, my love, very soon.' He took out his finger and tapped her nose.

‘Ah…' She raised her voice. ‘My lord, do you hear rodents screeching?'

Phillip grinned and shook his head. ‘I can't hear a thing. Let's go home.'

If you loved
The Rake's Unveiling of Lady Belle
, turn the page for an exclusive extract from
The Scandalous Proposal of Lord Bennett
, another deliciously irresistible Regency romance from Raven McAllan!

Chapter One

I hate balls. Balls, and stupid so-called gentlemen of the ton, who are no gentlemen at all. Debs, balls, catty gossips and yes, bloody balls.

Why on earth had her papa insisted she attend? He knew as well as she did, she had no wish to dance. She'd spend most of the night fending off inappropriate advances from idiots who thought because she'd reached a certain age and was unwed, she would welcome their attention, and need their protection, be it improper or not.

How wrong could they be?

Lady Clarissa Macpherson stared at one young buck in such a way that he blanched, took a step backwards, turned away and muttered something to his companion.

Of course it had to be Lord Theodore Bennett who stood next to the idiot. Lord Bennett grinned and, as he saw her watching, bowed mockingly. The one man who got under her guard and made her wonder, what if …

It was oh so easy to cast her mind back to the one time the ‘what if' almost became ‘now I know'.

If only.

It was enough to make a saint swear, and Clarissa was no saint.

She'd been sixteen, and not yet out. The summer was hot, and she'd spent a few weeks at the ancestral seat in Northumberland with her father, and unusually, no house party. Even her best friend had left to return to her own home and Clarissa was bored.

Phillip, her elder brother, had called unexpectedly with one of his closest friends. Lord Theodore Bennett was everything a woman could want in a man, and everything she shouldn't. Wealthy, tall, dark and handsome – and the sort of rake mamas warned their daughters not to associate with, unless in a large crowd, and preferably with the said mama to watch every move. As Clarissa's mama had died when she was young, it fell to her godmother to tell her …
Watch him
. Which she did, although probably not in the manner meant.

As in the ways of a brother, Phillip had ignored Clarissa and the two young men spent most of their time roaming the estate. If it had stayed like that, perhaps her attitude would have been different.

However …

Clarissa had watched Phillip and Ben walk towards the copse with guns and bags and surmised they were after pheasants. Her father was ensconced in his study with the factor, and had no time to spend with her. Therefore, she reasoned, no one would know if she sneaked off to fish. It had taken mere minutes to put on an old – and somewhat too tight and several inches too short – shabby gown and her elderly sandals and purloin a slice of bread from the kitchen while the chef was otherwise engaged. Then she'd headed to the river in the opposite direction from that which the men had taken.

Three fish and four hours later, she'd looked at the sun and realised she'd better make haste to get home in time to tidy up for dinner. The fish were too small to eat, and thus returned to the water before she scrambled up the bank and ran headfirst into a tree trunk.

It hadn't been there before. Clarissa put out her hand to steady herself and touched … not bark, but body.

A hard male body.

What followed was either the stuff of dreams or nightmares, depending on your point of view.

Lord Theodore Bennett steadied her and grinned.

‘A water nymph or a poacher?'

She stared at his wicked expression, and was unable to speak. A great lump of disappointment hit her squarely in the stomach. He didn't recognise her.

‘Whichever, I think you owe me something,' he continued. ‘As you ran into me … Now let me see, what shall I demand as a forfeit?' He cocked his head and stroked his finger over one of her cheeks.

She shivered and, to her horror, swayed and moaned.

He chuckled. ‘Ah, sadly not enough time. But this I think …' He pulled her close until their bodies touched, bent his head and, for the first time in her life, Clarissa felt a man's torso against her own, and his lips on hers.

‘Open, sweetness, let me taste more.' His voice was thick and guttural.

More?
She opened her mouth to voice the question and almost swooned. His tongue pushed into her mouth, and played with hers and
oh goodness
, something rigid and hard pressed against her belly. It was strange, exciting and … scary. His hands crept around her waist and scribed circles on her rear.

‘Oh yes …' He sighed the words, and she stiffened as they impinged on her thoughts. Oh yes, what?

Lord Bennett drew back as if he'd been stung, and stared at her with unfocused eyes. Then his gaze sharpened. He let her go and took a step backwards. ‘You'd best go back to the village while you can. Did no one warn you of the animals you find roaming the countryside? Especially with your ankles on show. Enough to get the juices flowing. Run home, little girl, before I forget I am, allegedly, a gentleman as well as a rake.'

She ran.

With hindsight she could only approve of his restraint. Although, at the time, hearing Lord Bennett tell her brother of the beautiful village wench who had made his cock stiff and how he had ached for her, she wished different. He reckoned she would have willingly rolled over for him if he had persevered. After all he was well able to seduce a response from a female. As it hadn't been said in a boastful manner, Clarissa saw nothing wrong with his reasoning. She pressed her ear to the door to hear more.

Phillip had laughed. ‘You mean you have enough willing women, so you chose not to take her up on her offer.'

To Clarissa, unable to see either of them, Lord Bennett's answer seemed somewhat stiff. It wasn't, he said, his way to tease a young woman, and bed her for no reason, beautiful or not

Clarissa didn't know whether to be mortified that he hadn't recognised her
or
upset he hadn't carried on. But she preened at the idea he thought her beautiful.

Now, years later, in an overcrowded ballroom, full of the scents and aromas of humans, flowers and beeswax, she'd had enough of the Hemmingtons and their ball, enough of the capital, and more than enough of her peers. Clarissa made her way to the ladies' withdrawing room, and accepted a glass of orgeat as she tidied her hair and washed her hands. When could she reasonably leave?

Sadly not yet, and worse was still to come. As she left the room, she spied Lord Theodore Bennett standing nearby. He was the last person she could cope with at that moment. Why couldn't she be aroused by someone other than him? An acknowledged rake of the first water, he still made her senses reel and her skin tingle. With a toss of her head – after all, she couldn't show how he affected her – Clarissa whisked into another anteroom and leant against the window frame. Her tummy churned. The way he affected her was ridiculous. At sixteen it was surely instant lust. At six and twenty it should be long dead and buried. He probably thought of her as an irritant. One to be ignored. After all, he'd never said one word to make her think that his friend's sister was his willing village wench in Northumberland.

How long would she need to skulk?

She wasn't about to find out. The door opened and Ferdy Pendragon entered. Could it get any worse? It seemed it could.

‘Yu … Yesh …'

She sighed. He was as drunk as a fly in a vat of ale.

‘Go away.'

He blinked and stumbled towards her.

‘Ha. You lured me.'

Clarissa had to laugh. She'd never lured anyone anywhere in her life, let alone an imbecile like him. With a growl, she poked him, and bit back a smirk as he rocked on his heels.

‘Shm n …'

‘You are addlepated and mistaken. Go far, far, away.' She couldn't help it. Clarissa laughed again. Sadly the laugh was a red rag to a bull.

He roared … well, almost. It was, she decided, a pathetic attempt at showing who was in charge.

‘Rub … bb … bish, and here I am.' He held his arms out and swayed.

‘You are the one talking rubbish. Drunken rubbish at that. Go away before I … I knee you.'

‘Do … don't be like that. I'm all for you, you know … every bit of me.' His eyes crossed, as he hiccoughed and burped. Had he so little between his ears that he couldn't believe that she spurned him?

‘If you do not leave me alone, this instant, your body will be missing some vital parts,' Clarissa threatened him harshly. ‘You are a pest, and pests deserve to be squashed.'

Sadly he was so full of his own importance, and alcohol, he didn't believe her. Ferdy grabbed her arms, and pulled her so close to him that she wouldn't have been surprised to be overcome by brandy fumes. He put one large foot on her flounce, which effectively anchored her where she was. Clarissa began to wonder if this once she had found herself in a situation she couldn't control, and it worried her.

No, I am not a victim. Not now, not ever.
Clarissa gathered her panicky self together. She could cope, and cope with ease. Ferdy needed showing what for. She was about to box his ears, and if necessary follow through with something more drastic, when Lord Bennett stalked in and took stock of the situation. He grabbed the hapless Ferdy by the shoulders, boxed his ears much more successfully that Clarissa would have managed, spun him around and forcibly manhandled him out of the room.

‘Do not ever let me see you behave like this again, do you understand? If a lady says no, a male, be he a gentleman or not, listens and takes heed. Is that clear?'