Belle - Lesley Pearse [142]
She flounced away from him towards the bedroom and began peeling off her clothes.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked as he saw petticoats dropping in the doorway.
Belle came back into the kitchen without a stitch of clothing on. ‘What does it look like?’ she said curtly. ‘I’m a whore, you’re paying for me, so let’s get it over with, shall we?’
In that moment Faldo realized he’d handled her all wrong. When Belle was dressed she looked sophisticated and poised. From that, coupled with her intelligence and the ease with which she could communicate with others, anyone would assume she was in her mid-twenties. She wasn’t just pretty, but devastatingly beautiful, with those black curls, eyebrows like tiny angels’ wings over deep blue eyes, creamy skin and such a wide, sensual mouth. He had called at Martha’s just after she had left there, and Martha had had a great deal to say about the girl, namely that she was a treacherous, conniving bitch, who would take any man for everything he had.
Faldo hadn’t wanted to believe her; he tried to tell himself that Martha was just being spiteful because she’d lost her top girl, and a large chunk of income. Yet the poison she’d dripped in his ears, plus the knowledge that he was no great prize, and odd-looking too, all combined to convince him he’d made a fool of himself and Belle was just toying with him until someone richer and more influential came along. It had spoiled everything, and the only way he felt he could keep face was by treating her harshly and never displaying any affection.
There was so much about Belle which bore out Martha’s opinion of her. She was such a practised courtesan, always wearing the red and black lingerie he’d given her when he called. She let him take her any way he chose without protest, and often caressed, pleasured and touched him in ways that no decent woman would do. Stimulating and sensual as this was, it hurt because it was further evidence of the hundreds of other men she must have done it to.
Martha had claimed that Belle was lying when she said she was abducted and forced into prostitution. She maintained that Belle was a cold-blooded predator who had been groomed to be a whore by her own mother who owned a brothel. She’d come to New Orleans because prostitution was legal here, knowing that she could make big money.
But now she was naked in front of him, her eyes swimming with tears, he could see for himself that she was none of the things Martha had insisted she was and that he had chosen to believe. She was just a vulnerable young girl, slender and perfect, and though she had pert, well-rounded breasts, they only emphasized her youth. She might be striking the pose of a seductress but he could see her hurt, and the decent, kindly man within him was reminded that it was a series of men not that different to him who had stripped her of her innocence.
For several weeks now he’d been noticing she had a kind of glow about her. He’d worked himself up today to believe that was because she had another man, and he’d come here tonight to catch her with him.
It was when he saw her sketches that he knew he’d got it all wrong. It wasn’t another man who would take her from him, but her own intelligence and ambition.
‘Come on then,’ she said, ‘what are you waiting for?’
He went towards her, intending just to take her in his arms and apologize for hitting her, but as his arms went around her slim, naked body he was instantly aroused and all he could think of was possessing her. He flung her on to the bed, unbuttoned his pants with one hand and then forced himself into her. He was aware she was very dry, and he knew he was hurting her by the stiffness of her body,