Blue Waltz (19 page)

"Apologize?" His dark eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What for?"

Belle glanced down at her gloved hands. "For calling you stodgy."

Stephen grimaced. "Ah, yes, your blithely tendered assessment of my personality. Well, not to worry, it didn't cause me to lose any sleep."

She met his eyes. "No," she said quietly. "But I lost sleep over it. It wasn't a nice thing to say."

"When did you start caring about what you said?"

Her throat constricted. "I don't know where people get the idea that I don't care about anything." She clasped her hands and her voice became strained. "I do care, about a lot of things. More than you'd think. And I hope you'll accept my sincere apology."

Stephen stared down at her, so sad and clearly contrite, and while he was amazed that she truly seemed to regret what she had said to him, he wasn't really surprised to hear that she cared. Stephen felt a stab of sorrow for her, and before he could think, he said, "Apology accepted."

A silent moment passed as his words appeared to register in her mind, before the sadness disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, making him suspect he had imagined it, maybe even willed it.

"Really?" she asked, clearly hopeful. "I'm forgiven?"

Stephen looked at her, wondering if her words held greater meaning than what was on the surface. "Of course you're forgiven," he said softly, uncertain what he felt, finding all of a sudden that he had to forcefully hold

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his hand at his side to keep from reaching out to gently stroke the creamy white curve of her face. "Of course you're forgiven," he said again, taking a deep breath, then offering her a stiff, formal smile. "Now up with you and I'll walk you home."

"But I don't want to go home! I was hoping we could do something."

"Do something?"

"Yes, you know, make a day of doing something, going somewhere."

One slash of dark brow rose. "What did you have in mind?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. We could walk through the Public Garden, or go to a museum."

He stared at her without responding.

"I'll be on my best behavior," she offered quickly. "I won't embarrass you, or I won't do anything to make you angry, I promise."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her eyes widened. She was worried, he thought. And that made him laugh out loud into the early morning winter cold. "Sweet Belle, you shouldn't make promises you will no doubt be unable to keep."

"True," she conceded. "But I'll try," she said fervently. "Really, I'll try."

With a shake of his head, he laughed again. How could he deny her? "All right, Mrs. Braxton. I'm at your disposal. Take me where you'd like."

He offered her his hand and pulled her up from the steps, then headed for his carriage, which had just pulled up in front of the house.

When she saw where they were headed, she tugged free of his grip with a sharp yank.

"What is it?" he asked, turning back to her.

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"Not in that."

"Not in what?"

"Not in that carriage. I rode in the elevator, but I won't ride in a carriage." Her tone was emphatic, leaving little doubt that she meant her words.

"You won't ride in a carriage?"

"No," she stated simply, staring at the black enamel landau.

He looked at her quizzically, and when he realized she wasn't going to elaborate, he asked, "Could you expand on that?"

At length, she returned his gaze. "Well," she said as if speaking to a child, "when carriages are driving along, I'm not in them."

His scowl returned.

"You can't scare me with that look," she stated. "I'm not getting in that thing."

"I don't understand. I've never heard of anyone who won't ride in a carriage."

"You also haven't heard of anyone who makes cakef that look like birds or women who get their feet stuck in fences," she added.

Suddenly, she looked as old as the hills, shining with a sad luminescence that made his chest ache. But before he could say something, anything, she shook her head as if shaking melancholy feelings away, then passed him on the steps and headed for the Public Garden.

"Are you coming?" she called back to him when he did nothing more than stare after her in uncertain dismay.

At length he sighed, dismissed his driver, pulled his coat closed, then took the few strides necessary to catch up to her.

* * *

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Belle guided Stephen through the streets of Boston as if she had lived there her whole life. They ate scones on Boylston Street, peanuts on Park Street, and listened to a hurdy-gurdy roan at Scollay Square. After Belle insisted on buying flowers from a street vendor for Stephen, he returned the favor by buying her a hat from a milliner's shop on Summer Street.

When they returned to her house, the day was nearly spent and her leg was sore from all the walking. But Belle didn't care that her leg hurt; she was ecstatic. She felt wonderful and alive, better even than she had hoped. She had been nice. Nearly the whole day long.

"Thank you for a marvelous day," she said on the top step, he on the one below.

"It was marvelous." He smiled. "I can't begin to imagine how we accomplished it."

"It goes to show you that if we try, we can be good friends and good neighbors, just like Adam and I are."

He looked at her lips. "Is that all you and Adam are?"

"Of course that's all we are." She tilted her head. "Did you think otherwise?"

"It crossed my mind."

"Ah, Stevie, were you jealous?" she teased.

"Should I have been?"

A dog barked in the distance. "No," she said quietly.

Her arms hung at her side. Very slowly, he reached out, taking her hands, pulling her close.

Her heart seemed to still. Her world moved in slow motion. Stephen coming closer as he pulled her near. His lips slightly parted. "Are you going to kiss me?" she asked with breathless anticipation.

His reaction was swift and startled. One minute he was leaning toward her, the next he had stiffened and

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jerked back. Carriages rolled unnoticed through the street. "No," he replied curtly. "I would never be so forward."

She cursed herself silently. Ladies didn't ask if they were going to be kissed. Inadequacy overwhelmed her. "I'm sorry. I never should have asked such a thing."

His sigh whispered through the air. "Ah, Belle. Don't get that look."

"What look?"

"The one that makes me wonder . . . who you are. The look that makes me feel things I have no interest in feeling."

Her breath came out in a rush. "I'm no more or less than you see."

"My guess is that you are a great deal more than what I see," he said, coming closer still.

She was mesmerized by his intense, unreadable gaze as he slowly leaned forward. This time there were no questions, nothing to get in the way.

And then he kissed her. No embrace. No nuzzling of cheeks. Just lip to lip, his slightly parted as he drew a breath, seeming to breath her in, out of herself, until she was lost.

Her eyes closed at the feeling. Heaven. More than she had ever dreamed it would be. Enough that she could lose herself forever. And for that moment, she did. She lost herself to the feeling as he brushed his lips gently over hers, from side to side, slowly, maddeningly, making her want more.

His fingers entwined with hers, held tightly at their sides. With Stephen on the step below they were of a like height, so close together, their bodies nearly touching but not, except for their lips and hands.

"Belle," he said in a whisper filled with longing.

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With exquisite patience, he trailed his kiss down her jaw to the delicate curve of her throat, barely revealed beneath layers of heavy velvet and wool. He sucked gently at the heartbeat in her neck. But with the unexpected and unfamiliar intensity of feeling came reality. Sharp and harsh. She pulled herself away.

"Don't," she implored, a murmur of distress.

Sudden, unexpected desperation flashed through his eyes, as if he needed her in ways she didn't understand. Couldn't understand. Wouldn't understand—despite her ability to interpret the look in his eyes—despite his ability to vanquish the darkness.

She owed him, and she would return the favor, but that was all. She couldn't afford anything else.

She turned away sharply and would have pushed through the front door without a word if he hadn't reached out and caught her hand. She looked back, but whatever he would have said died on his lips. They stared at each other for long drawn out moments, until he dropped her hand, his gaze once again dark and unreadable.

"My apologies," he said gruffly, then descended the stairs, never looking back as Belle watched him go.

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Stephen was sitting at his dining table, plates of food covering the expanse, when the front bell rang the following morning. Steps sounded down the hallway.

"Stevie!" Belle called as she entered the room.

The cup of coffee he held halted halfway to his mouth. He stared at her over the rim for a moment before he brought the cup to his lips, took a sip, then set it back down. "So we're back to Stevie, are we?"

He studied her curiously. He hadn't expected to see her again for days, if ever, after what had transpired on

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her front steps. And rightly so. No decent woman would allow such a thing to occur, then waltz through his door as if nothing had happened—as if it had meant nothing at all. The thought brought a surge of bitter anger close to the surface.

He didn't like thinking about what he had felt when he had kissed her. Desire, intense and raging. Like nothing he had ever experienced before. He'd done nothing more than kiss her, though he felt as if he had caressed her naked in the privacy of his own bedroom. His body responded at the memory. He cursed beneath his breath.

"Do you always wake up in such a terrible mood?" she asked, picking up a slice of ham with her fingertips.

Only since she had moved in, he wanted to answer, but refrained, though just barely. "Would you care for a plate?" he asked dryly.

"No," she said, taking a bite. "I've already eaten." She finished the ham, then took a biscuit. "I thought we could go to the Old Corner Bookstore. Based on all the books you have in your study, it's easy to see you like to read. Not only do I like to read, too, but I'd love to see the place where so many famous people go. A perfect place, it would seem, for the two of us to go today."

It took a moment before he could gather his wits as he tried to make sense of what to him was a nonsensical situation. Clearly she wasn't there to slap his face or demand marriage—or, in her case, he thought unkindly, she would be more inclined to call him out! A good, old-fashioned duel, he could hear her say. A grudging smile sprang to his lips at the thought. A duel, indeed. Never had he met someone so outrageous . . . and so beautiful .. . someone he so urgently wanted to kiss.

Without warning, right there at the table laden with breakfast fare, it was all Stephen could do to keep himself

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from leaning over and kissing her. Damn her hide for affecting him so, he cursed beneath his breath when he realized what he was thinking.

"I'm a busy man, Mrs. Braxton," he growled.

Belle rolled her eyes. "You sound just like that little prig of an assistant you have," she said, taking a bite of biscuit. "Could you hand me some of that jam?"

Stephen glanced back and forth between Belle and the preserves in question. Not knowing what else to do, he passed her the dish.

"Hmmm, apricot," she announced. "Delicious. I'll have to ask Cook for the recipe. Maeve is wonderful in the kitchen, but not quite as good as your cook." She licked her fingers delicately. "So how about the bookstore?"

"I must not have made myself clear. I have a business to run, Mrs. Braxton."

Belle scoffed at this. "How hard could it be to direct a few ships, manage a little money, and whatever else it is you do? Besides, an outing will do you good."

She looked like a little sprite as she sat a few chairs down from him, and he knew from the look on her face that she was teasing. How strange. He couldn't remember the last person who had teased him. "I don't think my legs can take another day of traipsing around town."

"It's not far. And don't tell me that I can walk farther than you, the big strong man that you are?"

How could he respond to that? It certainly had seemed that despite her leg she could walk far greater distances than he. "It's winter, for God's sake. It's cold outside."

"Hardly," she chided. "The sun is out, bright and beautiful, as close to a winter thaw as we're likely to get. But if you're so weak-kneed and thin-blooded . . ." Her words trailed off.

With a growl in response, he pushed back his chair, tossed down his napkin, and said, "I'll show you weak-kneed and thin-blooded, Mrs. Braxton."

And so he did. They spent a good part of the day at the Old Corner Bookstore where the likes of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow used to meet and discuss the issues of the times. The next day it was an evening at the Boston Museum, where adding the word museum to the name made it possible for Boston habitues to rationalize attending what otherwise would have been considered vulgar plays. And the next day after that, after she had shown up unexpectedly at his office late in the afternoon, it was a walk down Newspaper Row, where proper Bostonians and new immigrant Bostonians alike once brought traffic to a standstill while waiting for news of the outcome of the John L. Sullivan-Jake Kilrain boxing match. Regardless of where they went, however, each day Belle failed to fulfill her quest to repay her debt. Every outing ended with Belle and Stephen exchanging words, if not exactly harsh, then unpleasant. And to think, she was trying to be kind to him!