Secluded with the Rogue

Chapter 16

Sixteen

B y the time Calvin reached the Duke of Nottingvale’s charming holiday cottage, snow was once again beginning to fall. He prayed he would be able to leave straight after the presentation. He could no longer imagine himself making merry in a Christmas village full of strangers.

Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true. Calvin was very good at disappearing in a room full of strangers. The person he didn’t want to see was Belle. Even if the presentation went well, and the duke signed a contract detailing his patronage, the moment he suspected Calvin had been anywhere near his sister...

His muscles tightened. The duke would not find out. Calvin had worked too bloody hard on this dream for too long. Fit for a Duke was too important to him and to Jonathan and to all their soon to be well-dressed customers for Calvin to preemptively walk away. He was reclusive, but not a coward. He’d come here to fight for his dream.

Calvin and Jonathan would take this moment of privacy to prepare an impeccable presentation before the duke arrived, and then after they secured his investment and his endorsement, Calvin need not be present for any additional tête-à-tête. All further arrangements could be handled via post.

He would disappear from Belle’s life, just as she’d always intended.

His lungs constricted painfully. He had tried to be honorable. He’d given her his heart. She hadn’t even given him her true name. His jaw clenched. He would not think about Belle. Not here. Not until he was back in the empty sanctuary of his home.

At the sight of Calvin and his driver alighting from the carriage, a quartet of well-appointed footmen streamed from Nottingvale’s cottage to assist with the valises. Calvin handled his manikin Duke himself for safekeeping.

The butler showed them into a large, sunny parlor. Calvin had scarcely positioned Duke in the primary window’s best light when Jonathan strode in through the open door.

“My apologies for not arriving on schedule,” Calvin said. “The snowstorm had... unexpected consequences. I trust you were not terribly bored in my absence?”

The most peculiar expression crossed Jonathan’s handsome, rakish face. It almost looked like... a blush?

“Not too bored.” Jonathan’s voice was strangled, but he’d turned to busy himself with the unloading of trunks and Calvin could no longer see his face. “We have to hurry.”

“We are further along than you might think.”

Calvin unsheathed the stack of painted illustrations. They were as stunning as the artist who had painted them. Despite all that had happened, he was proud of the result. Proud of Belle. But he could never look at these prints without remembering all the happy afternoons they’d worked together in harmony... or the cold dawn when her indifference was finally laid bare.

He shoved the stack at Jonathan. “Here. Select your favorites. The duke arrives tomorrow afternoon, is that right? We need to be ready.”

“We need to already be ready. His Grace arrived an hour ago, and he will join us in the parlor shortly.”

Calvin’s muscles flinched. “He’s here? ”

Damn the snowstorm! Calvin had lost his heart and his sole opportunity to discuss strategy with his business partner prior to the most important meeting Fit for a Duke would face.

“What’s this?” Jonathan flipped through the illustrations with obvious surprise. “Had I known you were capable?—”

“It wasn’t me.” Calvin concentrated on dressing Duke so he could not meet Jonathan’s gaze. “An... er... assistant lent a hand.”

“These are very good.” Paper rustled. “We ought to hire the fellow outright.”

“Woman,” Calvin corrected automatically, and wished he hadn’t, for now he would need to explain himself. “She’s called... Mrs. Lépine.” No. He would not perpetuate a lie. “It’s a pseudonym.”

“She can call herself the Queen of England for all I care,” Jonathan said. “These are impressive. I particularly admire the candid watercolor series of you designing a custom wardrobe and outfitting your manikin with care.”

“Watercolors of what? ” Calvin spun around and held out a shaking palm.

Jonathan handed him a dozen sheets and resumed his perusal of the painted sketches.

It was indeed an utterly charming series. Calvin, cutting fabric in total concentration, a few pins protruding from the corner of his mouth. Calvin, serene and bathed in sunlight, sewing the fabric into a waistcoat before an instantly recognizable vista of snow-covered evergreens. Calvin, buttoning the waistcoat on Duke, eyes alive with pride and delight because this prototype was already his favorite, and he hadn’t even got to the tailcoat yet.

Belle wasn’t in any of the behind-the-curtain portraits, yet her presence was in every stroke of the brush, every splash of color.

Calvin swallowed hard. Belle was not indifferent after all. She simply didn’t want him enough. Not openly, anyway. Like her book and her playbills, he was something she only dabbled with in secret. Something she would turn her back on in a heartbeat before it could sully her lofty reputation.

He shoved the watercolors back into the leather portfolio, where they could no longer remind him of her.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, followed by Jonathan’s whispered, “ He’s here. ”

Calvin straightened just as the duke strode into the parlor.

Nottingvale was tall and broad of shoulder. Imposing in the way powerful people often were, when they’d wielded their power since birth and used it as casually as someone else used a pencil. He had the same dark hair as his sister, but his eyes were a bright brown, rather than hazel. And their sharp focus was right on Calvin.

“Calvin,” Jonathan said smoothly, “may I present His Grace, the Duke of Nottingvale? Your Grace, this is my business partner, Calvin McAlistair, the genius behind all these fashionable designs.”

Calvin performed his best bow.

Nottingvale swept past him. “Yes, well, I’m afraid this will have to be quick. Such unpredictable weather! Some of my guests have been delayed, but others will arrive at any moment, at which point I must be a proper host. Please, show what you intend to show, without delay.”

Calvin and Jonathan exchanged glances. So much for their grand presentation. They now held half the duke’s attention, if that.

He took a deep breath. They would make it work.

“Have you seen ladies’ fashion repositories such as Ackermann’s and La Belle Assemblée?” He motioned for Jonathan to hand over the stack of illustrations. There was no time to select specific favorites. “The Fit for a Duke catalogue will comprise illustrations such as these, organized by type and style, with a clear price for each and information on how to place an order.”

A frown marred the duke’s regal brow. “Who painted these?”

“Er...” Calvin’s poise deserted him along with the rest of his carefully planned speech.

“Mrs. Lépine,” Jonathan answered brightly. “A temporary assistant.”

The duke snorted softly. “I once had a hedgehog named Lépine.”

Calvin closed his eyes. Belle had taken her pseudonym after her brother’s childhood pet?

Quickly, he moved to the manikin and began to point out various aspects of its carefully detailed attire. “Here, we can see?—”

A distant door blew open and footsteps rushed down the corridor.

Belle burst into the parlor without removing her hat or gloves or the snow clinging to her hair and shoulders.

His chest lightened at the sight of her—he could not help himself—followed by an immediate sickening dip in his stomach. Her presence would ruin everything, if the duke so much as suspected ? —

“Calvin,” she breathed.

“ Belle? ” said the duke in obvious befuddlement. “How the devil do you know?—”

“Who on earth is—” Jonathan whispered at the same time.

“Mrs. Lépine,” said Belle.

“Oh,” Jonathan said. “That explains everything.”

“ You’re the hedgehog?” Nottingvale roared, a question that made shockingly more sense than it ought.

“And your sister Lady Isabelle,” she assured the duke as though his face weren’t the shade of an overripe strawberry. She curtsied to Jonathan. “You must be Mr. MacLean.”

Jonathan made a fabulous leg. “At your service.”

“Nobody is at her service!” The duke whirled on his sister. “Explain yourself.”

“I will. But not to you.”

From the dumbfounded expression on Nottingvale’s face, this was the first time his sister had defied him. Or perhaps it was the first time his will had ever been thwarted at all.

“Calvin,” she said again, once she was standing right before him, close enough to touch. “I treated you poorly. You did not deserve it. I was a fool.”

“Belle,” warned the duke. “If you do not explain yourself at once...”

She spun toward him. “What shall I explain? That you believe me a silly flibbertigibbet? Or shall I inform you that contrary to my family’s beliefs, I have my own thoughts and my own interests and pursuing them is the only time I have ever felt free?”

The duke folded his arms across his broad chest. “Am I to presume one such interest you’ve pursued is the tailor standing before me?”

Calvin’s palms went clammy. There it went. His project, his life, the investment, any business relationship with Jonathan, his financial future, all because he couldn’t keep his breeches buttoned.

If Belle would just stop talking, she would at least have a chance of saving herself and her reputation.

“Belle, I haven’t the patience for nonsense. You may go to your chamber, and gentlemen, it seems we are finished. I am sorry we did not have time for your presentation, but I am no longer in the market for?—”

“Now who’s spouting nonsense?” Belle’s hazel eyes flashed with anger. “If you dismiss this opportunity out of hand, the biggest fool in the room is you .”

Nottingvale’s shocked expression matched Calvin’s and Jonathan’s. “What do you know about?—”

“I painted the sketches, didn’t I? The designs are breathtaking. The catalogue is brilliant. It will quickly be the talk of the town. Every town, not just London. These men deserve your respect and your attention. If you are too arrogant to listen, I will invest in your place and cut you out completely.”

“I thought we were finished,” Jonathan whispered. “And now we’re in a... bidding war?”

“Belle,” Nottingvale said patiently. “The name of the couture is Fit for a Duke .”

“And you think your shoulders are the only ones broad enough to support it? The name is Fit for a Duke, not ‘Fit for His Arrogance, the Duke of Nottingvale.’ I know all the same dukes you do, two of which spend their Yuletide here in Cressmouth. I could find a willing replacement by walking down the street.”

“You... would never,” the duke sputtered.

“Are you so insightful about others?” Belle asked. “Then you must have realized Calvin is just as talented at designing fashions for women as for men. I could help him start an even bigger empire by expanding in that direction. Just watch.”

Belle tossed her hat and gloves onto a wing chair. She shrugged out of her pelisse and flung it atop in an unceremonious heap.

She was wearing the gown Calvin had designed for her.

His chest tilted. She did not need to wear it. Now that her maid was healthy, Belle could wear any gown in her collection without need of Calvin’s hands or his designs. She’d chosen to wear it anyway. She thought it brilliant.

He stared at her in wonder. As big as he and Jonathan had thought they were thinking, Belle was already past them, thinking even bigger. She didn’t just believe in him. She was confident enough to put her reputation behind it.

“Walk away if you like,” she said to her brother. “It would be a mistake. One I shan’t be repeating. Anyone with half a brain can recognize a treasure worth keeping.”

She took a deep breath and turned to Calvin.

“I have spent the last four-and-twenty years trying so hard to live up to everyone else’s idea of what I should be, that I never had time to fathom out what I wanted.” Her eyes held his. “Now I know.”

His chest pounded uncomfortably loud. He could not look away.

“I love you,” she said simply. “The life I want is one with you, whatever it might be. I know you think you spent the past fortnight with a chimera?—”

“He what? ” the duke exploded.

“Excellent reason to be late to the meeting,” Jonathan whispered.

Calvin ignored both of them.

“I have never been more myself than in the moments I shared with you.” Her eyes glistened. “You weren’t wasting your time with a mirage. I’m a real woman, with a few false names. The rest of my life received a false front, but what I had with you was real. I don’t want to lose that, and I don’t want to lose you.”

He still loved her, of course. And he believed that she had enjoyed their time together just as much as he did. But her objections to the match were based on facts that had not changed.

“You’re a lady,” he pointed out. “I’m a common tailor.”

“An un common tailor.” Her eyes twinkled. “With many fine talents that shall not be named in polite company.”

The Duke of Nottingvale groaned into his palms.

“I don’t fit in your social circles,” Calvin pointed out. “If you marry me, neither will you.”

“I don’t enjoy the beau monde,” she assured him. “Have you met my brother? He’s positively insufferable.”

Calvin used to believe everyone in the haut ton must be awful. He never thought he’d be able to withstand a single moment in the company of his “betters.”

But then he’d met Belle, and experienced the best fortnight of his life with a woman who was secretly the sister of a duke. She wasn’t some nameless, faceless aristocrat, but rather a talented, flawed, vulnerable, multifaceted person, just like anyone else.

Except he couldn’t make do with just anyone else. He’d fallen for Belle.

He took her hands in his.

“I want you no matter what your name is. I loved you when you were Mrs. Lépine, I loved you when you were Belle, and I still love you even when you’re Lady Isabelle.”

“You say that like it’s bad.” The duke harrumphed. “I, for one, honor and respect my title and my position, and will wed as befits my station.”

“Five quid says Fate has other plans,” Jonathan whispered.

“Make it twenty,” Belle whispered back. “The high and mighty are difficult to topple.”

“I can hear you,” the duke ground out.

Belle squeezed Calvin’s hands, her eyes bright with mischief and love. “There’s only one thing I want. And it’s you.”

“There had better be two things,” he warned her. “Your picture book will make just as big a splash as Fit for a Duke. And it shall have your name on it.” He grinned at her. “I cannot wait to be known as Mrs. McAlistair’s husband, Calvin.”

She grinned back at him. “And I cannot wait to be known as Mr. McAlistair’s wife, Belle.”

“I suppose you lot want my blessing,” Nottingvale drawled.

“We don’t need it,” Belle informed him. “I’m past the age of majority.”

“Well, you have it anyway,” the duke grumbled. “You’re my sister. Of course I want you to be happy. Mother’s reaction, on the other hand...”

“Pah.” Belle’s eyes sparkled. “Mother is too proper to question the word of a duke. She’ll be forced to make merry by her own rules. Oh!” She glanced over Calvin’s shoulder at Jonathan. “Calvin told me how clever you are with accoutrements to complement each wardrobe. You should meet my friend Angelica Parker. She’s a brilliant jeweler.”

Jonathan cleared his throat. “I may have... already met her.”