Just North of Bliss (25 page)

“Humiliation!
Humiliation
?”

“Yes! I know you told me it would only
appear in Germany! I
know
it, blast you Win Asher!”

“Humiliation, my foot! You’re being
completely unreasonable. You’re a beautiful woman, damn it! You
ought to be proud of yourself, not hollering at me because I
discovered you like—like—like a swan in a herd of ducklings!”

“Flock,” Belle muttered. She felt sort of as
if he’d thrown a blanket over her temper with that comment about
her alleged beauty. Belle tried at all times to look her best, but
she’d never thought of herself as particularly beautiful. Her
swooning mother was the beauty of the family. Belle was too
independent, too stubborn, and too unlike the rest of her family to
be considered . . .

“Do you really think I’m beautiful?” Her
voice was tiny, and she was ashamed of herself as soon as the
question hit the air.

Win stared at her as if he’d never heard a
more idiotic question in his life. Belle’s lips pinched, and her
hands balled into fists. Dagnabbit, why did she always say the
wrong thing to this frustrating male person?

He pounced so fast, she didn’t have time to
leap out of the way, even if she’d dared to do so. Leaping in a
rowboat was impractical, however, and when he grabbed her up in his
arms, the boat rocked wildly from side to side. So shocked was she
by his precipitate move and the rocking of the boat, that she
released her grip on the sides of the boat and flung her arms
around him.

Oh, my, but it felt good to be held like
this. Belle was only briefly conscious of the impropriety of the
embrace before sensation took over, and rational thought fled.

“Damnation, Belle, how can you even ask such
a stupid question?” The words spread over her warm skin along with
his breath, and exquisite tingles erupted inside her.

“What question?” Had she asked a question?
Mmmm. She couldn’t recall.

“Are you beautiful,” Win grumbled against
her throat. She obligingly let her head fall back so that he could
have a broader grazing range. “Damn, of course, you’re
beautiful.”

“Mmmm.” Wasn’t that just the sweetest thing?
If Belle had access to her voice, she might have said so.

“What’s more, you’ve got depth.” He
demonstrated his own depth by yanking the hat pins out of her
bonnet, pulling the bonnet off, removing the hair pins from her
carefully coifed hair, and burrowing his fingers through it. His
touch was delicate and precious.

“Mmmm?” Depth, eh? My, my.

“I thought you were an idiot when we first
met.”

Now that wasn’t very nice. Belle would have
frowned if she’d been up to it. Since she wasn’t, she whispered, “I
didn’t like you, either.”

“And then I saw you with the kids, and I
realized there was more to you than lame Southern platitudes and
euphemisms for the Civil War.”

That caught her attention—almost. Although
her heart wasn’t really in it, she murmured, “It wasn’t a
civil—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. It wasn’t a civil war.
It was the war of Northern Stupidity.”

Ah. Belle decided she’d forgive him his
sarcastic tone of voice because he’d used an appropriate word for
the dreadful Conflict.

“You love those kids, don’t you, Belle?”

“Mmmm.” She hoped that would suffice as an
answer because it was all she could manage under the influence of
Win’s hands surveying her body.

“And then you saved Kate Finney’s life.”

She had done that, hadn’t she? She’d thought
Win had forgotten that heroic act on her part. Belle was pleased to
learn he hadn’t.

“With your damned parasol.”

His deep, low chuckle caused all sorts of
unseemly sensations to break out in her. She felt his hand on the
calf of her leg, and sucked in air. Before she could do anything,
he covered her mouth with his again, and she forgot she was
supposed to be protesting his improper advances. It was just as
well, because she didn’t really feel like protesting, and since she
couldn’t speak, she didn’t have to. When his tongue crept out to
caress hers, Belle almost emulated her mother and swooned.

“Why the hell are you wearing a corset?”

He pulled away from her so suddenly, Belle
nearly went over the side of the rowboat and into the waterway. His
grip on her shoulders was intense, and his scowl was as black a one
as Belle had ever seen. She couldn’t comprehend the question. She
couldn’t have comprehended any question at the moment, because her
wits had scattered like chaff in the wind several moments earlier.
She said, “Um . . .”

“I thought you’d left off wearing that
damned instrument of torture.”

She squinted in his direction, unable to
reconcile the sweet sensations still ricocheting through her body
with the frightful scowl on his face. “Um . . .”

“Corsets are bad for your health, damn
it!”

She really wished he wouldn’t swear at her
every other second. She blinked at him some more.

“You’re likely to pass out from lack of air
if you keep wearing the damned thing.”

“I . . .” She what? Fiddlesticks.

“Oh, to hell with it,” Win snapped, and drew
her to his chest again.

Belle was awfully grateful, since she hadn’t
a clue what to say in defense of corsets, and was unhappy that he’d
interrupted the blissful interlude. She sighed against him, feeling
weightless and boneless and delicious.

“You drive me crazy,” Win whispered against
her ear.

“Mmmm,” she said, recollecting she was
supposed to be irked by this statement, but not recalling why.

“This is just one more instance of it.”

Of what? Belle didn’t know, so she only
said, “Mmmm” again.

“And I want you so badly, I’ve been aching
with it for days now.”

“Good.”

Oops. Belle guessed she shouldn’t have said
that. Oh, well.

“Good, is it?” Win’s hand discovered the
buttons at the throat of her shirtwaist and his fingers fumbled
with them. “Hell, maybe you’re right.”

And maybe she wasn’t. Somewhere deep down
inside, Belle knew she shouldn’t be allowing this assault—if it was
an assault—to continue, but it felt
so
good. Win shoved the
fabric aside.

“Aha. There’s the offending rascal.”

“Hmmm?” Belle, realizing Win was staring at
her bosom, glanced down. “Oh. You mean my corset.”

“Yes. I mean your damned corset.”

“It is a little uncomfortable,” she
admitted.

“A
little
?”

She shrugged. “It’s not a long-line corset.
I could remove it, I suppose.” She didn’t know why he was gaping at
her in that incredulous manner. “I thought that’s what you
wanted.”

“What I wanted?” he said faintly. “But . .
.”

He didn’t finish the thought. As she started
unlacing her corset, Belle murmured, “I’ve been on the verge of
swooning all day long because of this thing. I laced it especially
tightly this morning because I was ashamed of myself for succumbing
to your embrace last evening.”

“Submitting to my—”

She glanced up from her unlacing because
he’d let her go suddenly, and the boat started rocking. His
expression conveyed a wealth of emotions, none of them pleasant.
Belle swallowed, and the fog in her head started to lift. Her
fingers hadn’t stopped pulling ribbons, and all of a sudden her
corset gave way, slipped from her waist and settled onto her hips,
the whalebone holding it up like a cage.

Win stared at her, hard, and swallowed. “Um
. . .”

She stared back. “Um . . .” Then sanity
returned with a burst of light and a dawning horror. “Oh, my land!
What have I done?”

“No. What have
I
done?” Win’s voice
was shaky.

“Oh, my land. Oh, my land.” Belle clutched
at her shirtwaist, trying to draw the two sides together. Her
corset got in the way, and she yanked it out of her bodice. Her
hand shook like she had palsy when she gazed with disbelief at the
undergarment. What in the name of heaven was she supposed to do
now?

“Um, Belle?”

Her gaze flew from the corset to Win’s face.
He looked more serious than she’d ever seen him. “What?” She barked
the one word, feeling abused, misunderstood, and manipulated.

“Um, here. I’ll take it.”

She flung the corset at him and attacked the
buttons on her shirtwaist. Her hair, which had been totally
disarranged by Win, got in her way. Furious and frustrated, she
grabbed a hunk of hair and tossed it over her shoulder. She heard
Win groan.

“Oh, God, Belle, I’m sorry. I don’t know
what got into me.”

“I do,” she said bitterly. Drat it, her
buttons were giving her fits. Probably because her hands were
shaking so hard. “You’re a damned Yankee and a man.” She resented
his sigh of resignation.

“My being a Yankee has nothing to do with
it. It’s the being a man part that did the damage.”

Frowning hard, she glanced from her buttons
to his face. He looked relatively miserable. As well he should, she
thought angrily.

“But any man would want you, Belle. It’s not
just me. You’re special. You’re— Oh, hell, I don’t know.”

She was surprised when he buried his face in
his hands, raking his fingers through his own hair this time
instead of hers. She’d finally managed to get her buttons done up,
so she grabbed her thick, heavy hair, wadded it into a bun, held it
at the back of her neck, and surveyed the bottom of the boat for
hairpins. She found enough to keep her hair out of her way for a
little while. Her bonnet had somehow or other gotten stepped on.
She picked it up and gazed at it mournfully. “It’s ruined.”

He peeked at her through is fingers. “What’s
ruined?”

“My bonnet.” For some absurd reason, seeing
her poor bonnet in this condition made tears burn Belle’s eyes. She
knew her lips were trembling and felt stupid. “It’s ruined.”

“Buy yourself a new one,” Win said
unfeelingly. “Hell,
I’ll
buy you a new one. It’s probably my
fault.”

“Yes,” she said, trying to sound firm. She
didn’t. She sounded pathetic. “It is your fault.” Then, even though
she’d rather have shot herself, Belle burst into tears. It was her
turn to bury her face in her hands.

“Aw, hell, Belle, don’t do that. Please.”
Win sounded pathetic.

Belle
was
pathetic. She hated herself
for succumbing to what she’d always considered a last resort of
feminine wiliness. She didn’t feel wily at the moment. She felt
awful. Pitiful. Miserable. Horrid. “G-go away,” came muffled
through her hands. “Leave me alone.”

“Damnation.” The word was both prayer and
imprecation.

Belle didn’t care. She’d humiliated herself
enough for one day; she wasn’t going to add to her load of shame by
trying to speak any more. Huge sobs racked her body. She felt
so
stupid.

When Win’s arms went around her this time,
she tried to resist.

“Stop that,” he said mildly. “You’ll swamp
the boat. I’m sorry, Belle. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He sounded so tender that Belle’s last
remaining vestige of control snapped. With a ragged sob, she threw
herself into Win Asher’s arms.

Chapter Thirteen

Under other circumstances, or with any other
woman, Win would have known exactly what to do. They were plenty
private enough to do it, too, thanks to his understanding of the
fairgrounds and his skill with the oars.

With Belle, and even though he was primed
and as ready as he’d ever been to consummate an act of procreation,
he couldn’t make himself take advantage. Not of Belle, who was
so—so—Southern, he guessed was the right word, although it didn’t
seem to cover everything. Too proper? That was sort of right,
too.

He feared he respected her too much, and
that’s what stayed his lust, although he didn’t want to think about
it now. Respecting a woman could be damned inconvenient.

“Listen, Belle, I’m sorry I got carried
away. It’s just that you’re so—” He couldn’t blame his actions on
her southernness. It was Belle herself he couldn’t seem to resist.
No matter how hard he tried. “—appealing to me.”

A huge, undignified sniffle smote his ears.
“M-me?” she whispered. “Appealing?”

Sexual frustration and guilt buried Win’s
under-developed gentlemanly instincts for a moment. His words were
crisp as burned toast when he responded. “Don’t sound so surprised,
Belle. You probably had every gent in Blissborough panting at your
heels, what with your winsome ways and big brown eyes.” He felt low
as a snake as soon as the words smote the muggy air.

She wrenched herself away from him. “You
wretch!”

“Oh, God, Belle, I’m sorry. It’s not you.
It’s me. I can’t seem to keep my hands to myself, and all I do all
the time, every damned day, is think about you. That’s not your
fault.”

She gasped as she fumbled for her little
reticule on the floor of the boat. Finding it at last, she grabbed
it with shaking hands and groped in it for a handkerchief with
which she mopped her eyes. “I—I should say it’s not my fault.
A-appealing? Oh, never mind.”

She blew her nose with a frenzy Win hadn’t
anticipated. He elected not to explain why he found her appealing.
It had become painfully obvious that his condition was going to
remain frustrated for the time being, so he sighed heavily. “We’d
better get you fixed up and take you back to Mrs. Richmond,
Belle.”

She jerked her face up from her
handkerchief, her aspect stricken. “Oh, my land, I’ll never be able
to face them looking like this.”

Another sigh. “That’s why we’re going to fix
you up.”

“How?” She tried hard to glower at him, but
her face couldn’t effectively accommodate a glower. “I’m a
mess.”

“Even as a mess, you look better than most
women,” Win acknowledged, and not merely because he wanted to
soothe her shattered feelings, but because it was true. “Do you
have a mirror in that thing?” He gestured to her reticule.