Royal Regard

Chapter Eleven, Part 1

The intensity of Bella's thoughts nearly matched the colors and emotions of The Triumph of David. Her trip to the Dulwich Gallery was long overdue, and the solitude most welcome. She had only narrowly avoided Charlotte accompanying her, which would have resulted in an entire afternoon of whining about the much more fulfilling enticements on Bond Street—the shops and the rakish men who patronized them, all of whom, Charlotte said, Bella should be evaluating as potential husbands.

As Bella looked down at her guidebook, searching out any further information about Poussin, she heard a low voice and steep French accent in her ear, sending shivers down the neck of her gown.

"My dear Lady Huntleigh, how marvelous it is to come upon you."

"Your Grace," she said as she turned and curtsied to rank.

What was it about her that suddenly made charming rakes want to sneak up on her in public, and what was she supposed to do when they did? Didn't they know she couldn't be coherent when they stood so close? She wondered if she could convince a pair of dukes to wear bells on their watch chains.

"I see you have found the contributions from France." He gently guided her to the next painting, Rinaldo and Armida. "Most probably stolen by Bourgeois and Desenfans, but this I can forgive, as it allows me to remember sweeter times past." He looked Bella up and down as he added, "Were I a thief, it would be my pleasure to pilfer such beauty."

She slouched slightly to hide herself inadequately from his boldness. No matter what she did, she always felt a green girl in his presence, as though she had been caught dressing up in her mother's clothes. "I think you must be following me, Monsieur."

He chuckled. "But of course, my sweet," he said, tipping up her chin with his index finger to force her to straighten her shoulders and look at him. "If I did not, I might never be allowed to speak with you alone."

"You are scandalous, Your Grace," she whispered, her eyes looking away, though her face couldn't follow suit, not sure what else to say to such a brazen admission.

He shrugged carelessly as he let her go, explaining, "You are always surrounded by gentlemen hoping to protect you from harm, and sadly, they believe my surname must be Dégât, rather than Fouret." He kept walking, forcing her to join him or step away, rightfully secure in her decision.

"Perhaps if your name were 'Harm,' it would offer some warning to the young ladies who find you so intriguing. I would be reminded what will happen to my marriage, should anyone come upon us." Which surely had already happened, as the gallery was hardly private.

"Indeed, young ladies do seem to follow in my wake. It has always been so, but I give to you my word, gentle lady, I shall keep you free of any hint of dishonor. Surely, there can be no disgrace in an accidental public meeting. It is well known we are both great lovers... of art... are we not?"

She blushed and looked away from him, just catching the outline of his strong shoulders from the corner of her eye. As usual, she was far too interested in engaging this handsome and cultured man in conversation, but without any idea what she should say.

"I'm not certain what it is you want from me, Your Grace."

He cast a sly smile like a fishing lure from the side of his mouth. "This is simple, mon ange. I intend to make you love me."

She stepped back, her mouth fallen open. "Love you?"

"But of course, ma chère. Romance is so much sweeter when it engages the heart, not only the body. Do not mistake me; I find you most beautiful, and I know you find me not so unattractive, and I wish very much to make love to you."