Court of Flowers (Sutherland Book 1)

XIV | Afternoon with a Belle

West stayed inside Sasha's bedchamber, doing naught but pace around. He found no articles owned by her. No gowns, no dresses. Not even a bloody hairbrush.

It was as if she never stayed in this chamber at all.

With nothing to do, he stood in front of the gigantic window, staring blankly at the vast winter wheat plantation that spanned for miles beyond the walls of Belcourt.

For a long while, he just stood there.

And then he scoffed.

He should have known.

It was the only place his mother took refuge in when she was due to have her child.

When nowhere else was safe for her, Belcourt was.

From that little detail alone, he should have known that Belcourt was more than an orphanage who made girls into ladies who serviced privileged men.

Was it not because of Belcourt that the former king was forced to leave his throne?

Was it not because of Belcourt that his mother did what she did?

The sound of the door opening drew West back from the vague painting of his mother that still hung in one of the drawing rooms in his estate, bring him back to where he was at that moment. He turned and found a surprised woman standing in the open doorway.

West blinked at the radiant beauty standing a few feet away from him. He knew of her, he thought. She was known to men in his station.

Aliya.

Her auburn hair bounced as she took a step into the room.

He had seen her grace some of the biggest balls around Sutherland.

It had always been a debate amongst gentlemen about her true identity. Was she truly a Belle, or was she not?

She could not be. She was too beautiful, even for a Belle.

She never announced herself in balls. She would simply grace inside. She would jest about her life in Belcourt, but she would say it in a way that would make one question if she was narrating a fairy tale.

But to West, it was never a question. Of course, she was. She was the master of seduction. And now, she was here in Belcourt.

"Oh, pardon, sir," she said, looking around the room, sparing him less notice than most women did. Or perhaps it was something common to Belles, he thought, reminded of Sasha. "I was hoping to find Sasha. I was told she has arrived. The other ladies and I were hoping she joins us this afternoon."

"She had somewhere else to go," he said, stepping away from the window. "I am quite certain she will be back soon."

Aliya nodded. "You must be wondering why I am addressing you," she said. "We have been introduced before."

"Yes, I do remember." Malcolm Walcott, the Marquess of Hartcaster was a member of the peerage who was friends with Aliya at the time of their introduction. Hartcaster was secretly being cursed by men in his station for trotting around balls with a beautiful woman he claimed to be a close friend while his own wife and son were at home. There was, of course, a hidden reason behind their contempt. All those men would not hesitate when given the same privilege as Hartcaster.

The woman smiled. She was indeed an incomparable beauty, yet—and it may be a detested claim amongst his species—the woman never interested him. Perhaps it was her extravagant way of showing herself, leaving no room for imagination. Or simply because she was desired by all other men. "Famous. You do remember, after all." She looked around the room and then at him. She had the sort of confidence that Sasha did not have. "Well, I do hope that you feel comfortable here, West. I can address you by your name, yes? Or would you rather be addressed by your title?"