Just North of Bliss (29 page)

That stopped her in her verbal tracks. She’d
sucked in enough hot air to launch a balloon. It left her in a
whoosh when she realized what he’d said. Then she got suspicious.
If Win were in a better mood, he’d think these mood changes were
adorable. At the moment, he still wanted to murder her family.

“What kind of offer?”

“Shoot, Belle, the way you asked that
question sounds as if you think I’m going to offer to make you my
mistress or something!” He was, in truth, stung by her overt
mistrust.

She, in truth, didn’t care. “I don’t trust
you.”

“Oh, for God’s— All right, just listen for a
minute. There’s no way to get that photograph unprinted,
right?”

She started swelling up again, but managed
to say, “Right,” without blowing up.

“So, I think you ought to step back from
your family’s idiotic telegrams—”

“They’re not—”

“Right. They’re not idiotic. Just like the
Civil War wasn’t the Civil War.”

“It wasn’t—”

“Be quiet, Belle, or you’ll never get down
there to do your job with the Richmonds.”

That shut her up. Win was proud of himself
for remembering Belle’s over-developed sense of duty. “What I
propose is that we go into business together. You be the model, and
I be the photographer.”

“We’re already doing that,” She snapped.

“But not the way I’m thinking. What I think
we ought to do is have sort of a 50-50 partnership. You get fifty
percent of the royalties from any photographs I take of you and
sell. That hundred bucks is small change compared to what I
can
make, marketing photographs of you.
Why, you’re a perfect subject. Mabel Clyde can’t hold a candle to
you when it comes to the way you appear in a photograph.”

As much as she’d wanted to interrupt him
before, still more did she not speak now. Dash it. She also still
looked skeptical.

“Listen, Belle, I’m sorry if that photograph
got into some U.S. newspapers.” He was going to have to tell her
the truth about his little ruse one of these days, he feared, but
he wasn’t about to do it now. She’d probably hunt up a paper knife
and stab him in the heart. Pushing harder, he said, “Think of all
the money you’ll be able to send home. Hell, your family won’t be
able to object to receiving that much money from you. And if they
do, you can cut ‘em off.” Which is what he thought she should do
right now.

“Um . . .”

Because he didn’t want her to refuse his
offer, he said, “Why don’t we go downstairs now. You can think
about it and let me know later what you decide.”

She rose slowly from the chair. A puzzled
frown marred her perfectly photogenic face. As she picked up her
hat and pinned it to her lovely French braid, she said, “What kind
of money are we talking about here?”

Aha. Win’s cynical side snickered silently.
The side that wanted to keep Belle around said, “A lot.”

With a grimace, Belle stabbed a last pin
into her hat and picked up her tiny beaded reticule. “Merely
telling me ‘a lot’ won’t help me make a sound decision, Win. If
this is a business proposition, you’d better give me some solid
figures. Otherwise, I’ll be going home.”

Win guessed that told him. He walked to the
door and opened it. She sailed out of the room before him. He tried
not to slam the door, although he didn’t quite succeed. Dealing
with Belle Monroe was a completely frustrating business. One minute
she acted like a demented southern swooner, and the next minute she
was a shrewd businesswoman.

Add to that dichotomy the fact that his
sexual frustration was about to drive him to suicide, and Win
hardly knew what was what anymore. The one thing he did know for
sure was that he needed to keep her around, at least for a while
longer. Not only did he foresee her being his ticket to
photographic stardom, but he really, really wanted to bed her.

“All right, all right. I’ll talk to my agent
and let you know what kind of money we’re talking about.”

“Thank you.” She lifted her stubborn chin
and descended the staircase like a queen greeting the huddled
masses.

The Richmonds were getting tired of waiting;
Win detected clear signs of this. Garrett sat with his arms folded
over his chest, glaring at nothing in particular as if somebody had
just told him to stop fidgeting and be still. Amalie sat on a
chair, bouncing and sighing. Mr. Richmond had his hands clutched
behind him, and he frowned as he paced the soft carpeting much as
Win had lately paced upstairs.

Gladys was the first to spot them. She
jumped up from the sofa and darted to the stairs, holding her hands
out to Belle. Win thought it was nice that the two ladies got along
so well, and that Mrs. Richmond sincerely cared about Belle’s state
of mind.

“Oh, Belle, I hope it wasn’t bad news.” Her
glance took in Belle’s flushed cheeks and slightly swollen eyelids.
“Oh, dear, is something amiss at home?”

Belle took the older woman’s hands and
squeezed them gratefully. “Thank you, Gladys. Everyone’s all right
at home.”

“They’re trying to get her to move back to
Georgia,” Win stated flatly. “I told her they’re crazy.”

He wasn’t surprised by Belle’s flash of
anger. “They’re not

crazy! They’re . . . They miss me.”

“Right.”

“Oh, Belle.” Clearly distressed, Gladys put
an arm around Belle’s shoulder. Win wanted to do that, but knew
better. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t go back to Georgia, Belle. We
need you so much.”

Belle heaved an enormous sigh. “Thank you,
Gladys. I’d hate to leave. But I guess my family needs me,
too.”

Win snorted. “They need your money
more.”

Gladys blinked at him as if she didn’t
understand. Belle only sighed again.

Chapter Fifteen

“Are you certain you wouldn’t like me to
accompany you, Belle?”

Supper had been eaten, the children had been
tucked in, and the Richmonds were relaxing in their hotel suite.
Earlier in the day, Belle had agreed to meet Win that evening at
his booth in order to discuss his latest business proposition.

“Thank you very much, Gladys. I’ll be fine.
Mr. Asher won’t let anything happen to me.” She smiled, hoping her
expression didn’t betray her doubt as to whether or not Win himself
might do something to her.

Gladys relaxed slightly. “I’m sure you’re
right. I only worry a little about getting you to the Exposition
safely.”

Belle laughed, glad to have the opportunity.
She hadn’t found much of anything amusing today. Not even a ride on
the Ferris wheel or a visit to the reproduction of the Convent of
Santa Maria de La Rabida, with its relics from Columbus’s voyage to
the New World, had cheered her, although the former had been
exhilarating and the latter had been fascinating. “Good heavens,
you’ve provided me with the best transportation any nanny ever had.
I’m sure I’ll be safe with your driver carrying me to the
gates.”

Gladys smiled back. “I suppose you’re right.
It’s only that I feel a great responsibility toward you, Belle. And
you’ve become such an important part of our family. It’s almost as
if I’m sending Amalie out into the big world all by herself.”

“Humph,” said George from behind his
newspaper.

Both Gladys and Belle eyed him with varying
degrees of fondness. Belle knew the man cared; it’s only that he
was more practical than Gladys. “I’ll be perfectly safe,” she said.
With an impulsivity that surprised her more than it did her
employer, she gave Gladys a small peck on the cheek. Gladys’s
concern for her safety touched her deeply.

Gladys walked her downstairs and saw her
safely in the carriage the Richmonds had hired for their stay in
Chicago. “Give Mr. Asher our best, Belle.”

“I will.” Although she knew it was
irrational, Belle felt as though she were riding to her doom as the
carriage took off and she and Gladys waved good-bye to each
other.

The summer evenings were long and light, and
Belle watched the city of Chicago with interest as the carriage
rolled her toward the Exposition. She actually rather liked
Chicago. It was more to her taste than New York City, which was too
large, crowded, noisy, and bustling for a girl from a tiny, rural
southern town. Both northern cities were equipped with more
amenities than Blissborough.

Disheartened, Belle wondered if her mother
and father would blame Blissborough’s backwardness on the damned
Yankees. Probably.

Oh, but listening to Win speak her secret
thoughts aloud had been a bitter experience. She resented him for
it—almost as much as she resented her family for wallowing in the
past, as Win had accused them of doing.

“You’re being irrational, Belle Monroe.”

The sound of her voice in the cavernous
carriage startled her. Fiddlesticks. Now she was talking to
herself. Her association with Win Asher was taking its toll on her
mental health; that much was painfully clear.

On the other hand, depending on the amount
of money she could earn as a photographer’s model, perhaps the
association wouldn’t be entirely negative. She remembered the two
kisses they’d shared, and her body reacted by making her feel warm
and squirmy. Belle shut her eyes and endeavored to wipe those
memories away. They wouldn’t be wiped.

Bother. Did this mean she was a hussy
underneath all of her strict Georgia upbringing? Or was such a
reaction to the kiss of a handsome man natural? She tried to
imagine herself kissing George Richmond, who would be sort of
handsome if he lost a little weight, and only managed to disgust
herself. Then she tried to envision herself in the arms of a number
of Blissborough boys with whom she’d grown up, some of whom were
rather nice looking.

It was no use. The only man who didn’t
revolt her when she considered him in terms of an intimate embrace
was Win Asher. A damned Yankee from Chicago. She was feeling
awfully discouraged when she alighted from the carriage, paid her
fifty-cent entry fee, and started on her way to Win’s booth.

The electrical lighting in the White City
had been turned on for the evening, and Belle’s steps slowed as she
took it all in. There was a good deal to be said for American
ingenuity, she decided, and she wondered why her family hadn’t
bothered to profit from it. There were no electrical lights in her
home in Blissborough, although some of the other residences had
taken the plunge. It was all candles and kerosene lamps in Belle’s
house. For the first time she considered the notion of having
electricity installed in her family’s home. Why not?

The answer to that was, of course, that her
family would be shocked if she even suggested altering their way of
life by so much as one electrical light bulb. She sighed
heavily.

“Is anything the matter, miss?”

Belle started when she realized the question
had been directed at her. Shaking herself out of her brown study,
she saw a young man smiling at her. He’d removed his hat, which was
proper, and appeared interested in her welfare. She smiled back.
“Nothing’s the matter, but thank you for asking.” She was
disconcerted when the man fell into step beside her as she
continued on her way.

“It’s not often that a lovely lady like you
walks alone in the Exposition at night, ma’am.”

“I shan’t be alone for long, sir.” She
wanted him to go away, but wouldn’t be so rude as to say so without
provocation.

“I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. I was
thinking we might perhaps have a little drink together.”

That was provocation enough for Belle. She
stopped walking. “Please go away, sir. I don’t care for your
company.”

“Aw, miss, don’t be so hard on a fellow.”
His voice had gone low and insinuating. “I only want to make your
acquaintance.”

“I do not care to make yours, sir.” She
hadn’t brought a parasol with her this evening because she hadn’t
thought she’d need one once the heat of the day had passed. She
considered hitting him with her reticule, but rejected the notion
as being inadequate for the purpose. When he put his hand on her
arm, she jumped a foot. “Stop that!”

“Aw, now, honey, let’s just you and me take
a little walk. All right?”

“No!” She dug in her heels when he started
to lead her away. “Stop it!” Glancing about wildly, she saw to her
horror that they were in perhaps the only part of the White City
that didn’t have a swarm of people in it. Where the devil were they
all? That question was answered when she heard the opening notes of
a bandstand performance. Drat! Everyone must have gathered to hear
the evening concert.

“Let go of me!” she shouted.

“Hush up, ma’am. Be a good little girl now
and— Ow!”

All of a sudden her tormenter flew away from
her as if yanked by a monumental force. Belle staggered and nearly
fell before she realized the monumental force had been Win Asher,
who had apparently grabbed the villain by his collar and slammed
him to the ground. He now stood over the man as Goliath might have
stood over a vanquished foe. Bell’s hand flew to her throat and she
uttered a soft scream when she saw Win bend over, grab the man by
his bow tie and haul him to his feet.

“Win!” she cried, afraid for him when he
drew back his fist. Then she shut her eyes, not caring to witness
the violence he was perpetrating on her assaulter. She heard it,
though. A sickening crunch of bone on bone smote her ears. “Ugh.”
She dared to open her eyes. Win had the villain by the throat and
was shaking him. The man’s head whipped back and forth so
violently, Belle was sure his neck would snap.

“What the hell do you think you’re up to,
damn you?” Win said in a savage, controlled voice.

“Blurk,” the man replied.

“Win?”

He didn’t seem to hear her. Still shaking
the man, Win growled, “I’m going to kill you now, you son of a
bitch.”

“No!” the man cried. “No! I didn’t
mean—”