A Defiant Liaison

IX

"Healing is never complete until we have been truly heard. May the universe send you someone who will sincerely care to listen." Anthon St. Maarten

----

IX.

Belle found it difficult to stop thinking of Peter's words for the remainder of the evening. How often was one told that they had been touched by an angel?

She, for one, certainly never had. For one who had spent so long feeling as though something was dreadfully wrong with her, feeling as though she had been cursed or damned, to have someone so kind, so innocent, say such beautiful words to her meant everything and more. In fact, Belle was quite certain that no one had ever spoken more beautiful words to her. It was quite easy, really, to be certain of that. No one before Peter had ever spoken to her in such a way.

They were seated next to one another at dinner again that evening, and unlike last Sunday, Belle did not keep her eyes to her plate. She found herself continually looking to her side at Peter. And when she did, she found his eyes, too.

And then he would smile at her.

Belle did not think that she had ever seen such a nice smile on a man before. She liked Peter's smile because there was no malice, no motive, and no wickedness. It was kindness, comfort, reassurance. His smile settled her and calmed her ...

... and it reminded her every time that Peter thought that she had been touched by an angel.

Lord, every time those words passed through her mind, she felt her stomach twist up in the sorts of knots that she had never experienced before. It wasn't hunger. She was used to hunger pains. It was a different feeling altogether. And it wasn't unpleasant. In fact, it excited her in a rather unexpected way.

And that, in itself, was frightening.

"I like that you are looking up. I like that you are looking at me." Peter spoke in a low voice so that only Belle could hear.

And when she did hear, she smiled. But she did look down bashfully.

"No, no, no," Peter pleaded in a whisper. "Don't you dare look down."

Taking a quick breath, Belle obeyed, and she returned her gaze to his.

"Angel," he murmured, his smile tugging at his lips.

Belle's stomach twisted even further as this wholly unfamiliar feeling spread up into her chest.

Though Peter did not remain smooth and subtle for long. While still looking at Belle, he reached out for his wine glass, albeit a little casually, for he knocked it over onto the white linen of the table runner which began to quickly absorb the red liquid. In Peter's surprise, and subsequent reflexive reaction, he knocked over Belle's water glass as he reached for his own. The water tipped into the bowl of soup that Belle had been midway through consuming. The sounds of crystal and china clinking and clattering interrupted the table's conversations, and Belle watched as Peter's cheeks turned pink and an expression of embarrassment returned to his face.

"My sincerest apologies," Peter stammered as he finally righted the glasses without tipping anything else over. He used the napkin that had been on his lap to dab away at the stained runner. "I have made an absolute mess of this," he muttered, chastising himself.

"It was my mother-in-law's dining linen, Peter. No matter," said Cecily dismissively. She then charged her glass. "It gives me quite the good excuse to finally be rid of it."

"I could never be so wasteful," Grace replied. "Honestly, a little vinegar and a good scrub with some soap and water and that stain will be gone."

Belle could have sworn that she heard the dowager duchess mutter something that sounded like, "spoilsport," under her breath, though Belle had no idea what that word meant.