Page 151 of Harpy of the Ton
“But—”
“Now, please.”
“Very good, Lady Arabella,” Connie said in her more familiar, toneless voice. She handed a drying cloth to Bella, then bobbed a curtesy before exiting the room.
Fighting the urge to call her back, Bella rubbed the cloth over her limbs, pausing at the scars on her thigh, which had always been a source of shame—ugly blemishes to be hidden, lest they ruin her prospects for greatness in Society…
Untilhehad told her that they were beautiful.
Hehad peppered them with kisses, running the tip of his tongue across the marks on the flesh, while she lay before him, thighs parted in offering. Then he’d traced a path to the top of her thighs with his tongue, toward that wicked, secret part of her, before dipping it into…
Stop it!
Tempering the swell of need, she finished drying herself, dropped the cloth onto the floor, and donned the chemise Connie had set out. Then she returned to her bedchamber, where the maid waited with a pale-blue gown.
Bella stood in silence while Connie dressed her. First came the stays, and each tug of the laces removed her further from the world she yearned for, followed by the gown, which slipped over her head with the rustle of silk. Then Connie steered her to the dressing table, where she brushed Bella’s hair into a cascade of soft, dark waves framing her face.
“There!” the maid said, her reflection in the mirror smiling. “The lady is now restored to greatness. You’re so beautiful, Lady Arabella—the duke is the luckiest of men to have secured your hand. Everybody says so.”
In the past, such sycophancy would have elicited contempt, but now Bella felt only shame. Was that how the world viewed her—nothing more than a pretty thing for a duke to claim as his own?
That, together with her title and her dowry. Dunton did not value beauty alone. Juliette Howard—wherever she was—had learned that the day she gave herself to him, then was abandoned, carrying his bastard.
Were it not for her title, Bella might have suffered such a fate—pregnant with some man’s bastard, vilified by the world, most likely selling her body to survive…
Anylife was better than that. Even marriage to Dunton.
Connie picked up Bella’s discarded gown. “Oh, you poor thing having to wear this—the hem’s all frayed. I’ll get rid of it, have it burned.”
“No!” Bella cried. “A-at least let me take the sash ribbon. There might be something I can do with it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. Give it here.” Bella snatched the dress and tore the ribbon from the bust line, rolling it up in her fingers. “I’ve taken a fancy to this particular shade of pink,” she said. “I-I want it in the garden—if His Grace’s gardener can find a rosebush to match.”
“But…”
“Did I ask your opinion?”
The maid hesitated, and for a moment, Bella feared she’d penetrate the veneer to reveal the desperate creature beneath.
Then Connie shook her head. “Forgive my impertinence, Lady Arabella. Here—let me finish your hair, then you can rest until the dinner gong.”
Bella sat in silence while Connie gathered tendrils of hair and twisted them into curls before pinning them in place. Before she finished, the chamber door burst open, and Bella’s aunt appeared, her sharp-nosed features creased into an expression of disdain.
Connie dipped into a curtsey. “Oh, ma’am—you gave me quite the fright coming in like that!”
“How else should I enter a chamber in my home, girl?” came the reply. “Insolent creature!”
The maid cringed and lowered her head—almost as if she were a dog expecting a beating. “Beg pardon, ma’am.”
“Yes, yes.” Aunt Kathleen swept into the room and stood before Bella. She waited, expectation in her gaze, then let out a huff. “Well, child? Get up! Or have you lost all decorum?”
“Sorry, Aunt.” Bella rose and forced herself to remain still while her aunt circled her, fingering her curls and peering at her face, as if she were a trader in horseflesh inspecting a mare.
“Has your mistress given you trouble, girl?” Aunt Kathleen asked.
“No, ma’am,” Connie said.
