But then, she remembered one vital fact.
Glancing down at her simple brown frock, Meliah realized that she was sadly outmatched by some of the ladies of polite society. She had nothing suitable to wear to attract a rake’s attention to uncover this truth, and certainly not the wit and charm to gain his confidence.
But just as Lord B—was determined, so was she.
Her friend might be an orange seller, but she had connections in the heart of the West End. Samantha frequented the best areas in London. Her friend spoke with maids and footmen alike, so surely, she could find a way to procure something more suitable for Meliah to wear. With the slight funds she had been saving, Meliah might be able to embark upon a journey to Mayfair and do some investigating on her own. Not only did she intend to try to learn more about this Lord B—but wouldn’t it be remarkable if she could also discover the identity of the mysterious “Belle?”
That would certainly be an attractive enticement when she strode into the printer’s shop with such pertinent information.
With a new lightness to her step, Meliah set to work for the day.
It was purgatory,or perhaps full-on hell. There was no other explanation for it.
Elwood had met his demise the moment that blasted gossip rag had been circulated.
It had been four days since he was mentioned—not so subtly, in his opinion—and already, he was feeling the pressure of his newfound notoriety starting to wear him down. He found it impossible to find solace, because anytime he stepped foot outside of his townhouse, he was accosted by a hoard of women demanding that he declare his sins, like he was at some sort of confessional and they were all honorary priests. They were worse than a pack of braying hounds after a fox. Unfortunately, hewasthat poor fox.
The only place he could escape the madness, whenever he dared to step foot outside of his house, was at his club, and he’d found that to be almost unbearable at this point. If he wasn’t being heckled by his fellow peers who dared to ask him for an autograph and then guffawing at their own jest, he had to suffer the notoriety that he had been the next rake written down in the betting books.
His mood was rapidly deteriorating and he wasn’t sure any amount of alcohol would cure his ailment at this point. It was certainly time for him to start considering leaving London for a while. At least until the next review was circulated. By then, hopefully the focus would be on the Belle’s next victim and he could be spared any more of this ridiculous acclaim he’d maliciously earned.
Scrubbing a hand down his face, he glanced out the window and wanted to moan in dismay when he saw that there was a larger crowd awaiting his resurgence from White’s. Deciding it was no use delaying the inevitable, he headed outside and grabbed the reins of his horse. He couldn’t dare drive his curricle. It wasn’t as fast as his gelding if he needed to make a mad dash to secure freedom.
As he stepped out into the crisp autumn air, Elwood recalled that he used to love this time of year. He had always enjoyed the way the leaves changed and drifted to the ground in a crunchy pile beneath his feet. When he’d been young, he used to rake them all into a pile and jump into the middle with pure abandon.
He wasn’t sure why he brought that to mind now, nor why he suddenly glanced up in that moment to spy a lone figure standing off to the side from the rest of his critics. She had a plain straw bonnet perched on her head and wore an equally simple pastel pink dress. He couldn’t tell what color her eyes were from this distance, but he wanted to imagine that they wereblue. Her figure was slender, but not overly so. She had curves in all the right places.
At any other time, he might have discarded her out of hand. She wasn’t the usual coquette that he appreciated, because they knew when the line had been drawn. It was obvious this quiet, solemn woman was not a courtesan.
But it was this woman’s calm, curious expression that captured his immediate interest. She simply observed from afar, instead of joining the rest of the assemblage who were eager to villainize him.
“Lord Belmont!” He cringed when a middle-aged matron nearly screeched in his ear. She waved about the latest review in her gloved grasp. “You claim the Belle is misleading society, and yet, you dared to use instruments of torture for?—”
He held up a hand. “For the love of all that’s holy, don’t finish that statement.” He glanced about the street where a governess was passing by with two of her young charges. He frowned darkly at the woman who had spoken and said through gritted teeth, “This is a public street where children are present.”
“Indeed,” she sniffed haughtily. “And yet, you are allowed to run amok through these streets like some sort of… of… animal!”
He crossed his arms. “I might be an animal, madam, but I daresay you are being the ass.”
He mounted his horse while she gave an offended gasp behind him.
Elwood yearned to look back at the lady in pink once more, but he knew it was time for him to head home where he could find some peace.
And then, once it got dark, it would be time to leave town.
He looked right atme.
Meliah’s common sense told her that he’d done no such thing, and yet, she knew that her eyes had not deceived her.
Following his departure, the group of women started to disperse. Meliah walked over to the one who had accused him so brazenly before she had a chance to depart.
Brazen—it abruptly occurred to her thatshecould be “The Belle,” hoping to convince those around her that this gentleman was everything that she had claimed.
“Pardon me.”
The lady lifted her eyebrows as she looked Meliah up and down, as if to decide whether or not she was important enough to converse with. She must have decided she was, but her tone was anything but friendly when she said curtly, “Yes?”
Realizing that she didn’t have long to converse, Meliah asked, “Who was that gentleman?”
