by Julia Quinn
Of course she could hear him, Belle thought irritably. “Go away,” she said with a little more force. She shifted restlessly, burrowing back under the covers. Maybe he wouldn’t keep on bothering her if she hid underneath the quilts. If she could just keep on sleeping, she’d feel so much better.
John could see the will slipping out of her even though she’d managed to speak. He’d seen that look before, on the faces of men he knew during the war. Not the lucky ones who died in battle, but the poor souls who had fought fever and infection for weeks afterward. Watching Belle slowly letting go of life was more than he could take, and something inside of him snapped. Fury rose within him, and he forgot all of his vows to be tender and considerate while nursing her through her illness.
“Damn it, Belle,” he shouted angrily. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you die. It isn’t fair! You can’t leave me now. I won’t allow it!”
Belle made no response. John tried wheedling. “Do you know how furious I’ll be with you if you die? I’ll hate you forever for leaving me. Do you want that?” He desperately searched Belle’s features, hoping for some sign that she was rallying, but he found none. All his grief and anger and worry converged inside of him, and he finally grabbed her brutally and lifted her in his arms, cradling her as he spoke.
“Belle,” he said hoarsely. “There’s no hope for me without you.” He paused while a tremor shook his body. “I want to see you smiling, Belle. Smiling happily, your blue eyes full of sunshine and goodness. Reading a book, laughing at its contents. I want so much for you to be happy. I’m sorry I wouldn’t accept your love. I will. I promise. If you, in your infinite goodness and wisdom, have found something in me worthy of love, well then...well, then, I suppose I’m not quite as bad as I thought.
“Oh, God, Belle,” he said with a ragged cry. “Please, please hold on. If you cannot do it for me then do it for your family. They love you so much. You wouldn’t want to hurt them, would you? And think about all the books you haven’t read yet. I promise I’ll sneak Byron’s next one to you if they won’t sell it in your bookstore. There’s still so much for you to do, my love. You can’t leave now.”
Throughout John’s passionate soliloquy Belle remained limp, her breathing shallow. Finally, in utter desperation, he broke down and bared his soul. “Belle, please,” he begged. “Please, please don’t leave me. Belle, I love you. I love you, and I couldn’t bear it if you died. God help me, I love you so much.” His voice broke off, and like a man who has suddenly realized the fruitlessness of his situation, he sighed raggedly and laid her gently back down on the bed.
Unable to hold back the lone tear that rolled down his cheek, John tenderly pulled up the blankets and tucked Belle in. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward. God, it was torture to be so close to her. He lightly brushed his lips against her ear, whispering, “I love you, Belle. Remember that always.”
Then he left the room, praying that “always” would last longer than the next hour.
Belle was lying in bed a few hours later when she felt a comforting warmth suffuse her body. Funny how her toes had been cold for so long, even when the rest of her had been going up in flames. But now they felt warm, even—pink. Belle wondered if toes could feel pink, and then decided that they must, because that was precisely the word to describe the way her toes were feeling.
In fact, her entire body felt kind of pink. Pink, and cozy, and a little fuzzy, but mostly she just felt good. For the first time in—she frowned, realizing that she had no idea how long she’d been ill.
Gingerly, she hoisted herself into a sitting position, surprised at how weak her muscles were. Blinking her eyes a few times, she took in her surroundings. She was back home in the room she and John had shared on their wedding night. How had she returned? All she remembered was the rain and the wind. Oh, and the fight. Her awful fight with John.
She sighed, bone tired. She didn’t care any longer if he didn’t want her to say that she loved him. She would take him any way she could have him. All she wanted to do was end this vexing problem with George Spencer and go back to the country, back to Bunford Manor.
Bunford Manor? No, that wasn’t right.
Drat. She’d never remember the name of that place. She tilted her head to the side. Sore. She flexed her fingers. Sore. She pointed her toes and groaned. Her entire body ached.
As she sat there testing out various body parts, the doorknob quietly turned and John entered the room. He had finally forced himself to take a fifteen minute break so that he could splash some water on his face and shove some food down his throat. Now he was terrified that he’d find Belle had lost her tenuous hold on life while he was gone.
To his great surprise, when he reached the side of the bed, he saw that the object of his desperate worry was sitting up, shrugging her shoulders. Up, down, up, down.
“Hello, John,” she said weakly. “What’s the name of your house in Oxfordshire?”
John was so stunned, so completely thrown off balance by her bizarre question, it took him several moments to reply. “Bletchford Manor,” he finally said.
“That’s an awful name,” Belle replied, making a face. Then she yawned, for the sentence had taken a lot of energy to get out.
“I’ve—I’ve been meaning to change it.”
“Yes, well, you should do so soon. It doesn’t suit you. Nor me, for that matter.” Belle yawned again and snuggled down into the bed. “If you’ll excuse me, I seem to be extremely tired. I think I’d like to get some sleep.”
John thought wildly of the countless times he had begged her to wake from her nightmares and found himself nodding. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, you should get some sleep.” Dumbstruck, he sank down into the chair that had been his home throughout his prayerful vigil at her bedside.
The fever had broken. Strangely, joyously, amazingly, the fever had broken. She was going to be all right. He was stunned by the force of emotion which thundered through him. For once, his prayers had been answered.
And then a strange thing happened. An odd, warm feeling began somewhere in the vicinity of his heart and began to spread.
He had saved her life.
He could feel a weight being lifted from him. It was a physical sensation.
He had saved a life.
A voice resounded in the room. You are forgiven.
He looked quickly over at Belle. She didn’t seem to have heard the voice. How odd. It had seemed prodigiously loud to him. A female voice. Rather like Ana’s.
Ana. John closed his eyes and for the the first time in five years, he could not picture her face.
Had he finally atoned for his sins? Or, perhaps, was it that his sin had never been quite as eternally condemning as he thought?
He looked back over at Belle. She had always believed in him. Always.
He was so much stronger with her by his side. And so, perhaps, was she. Together they had faced the fiercest enemy of all and won. She would live, and he would never again have to face the future alone.
John took a deep breath, planted his elbows on his thighs, and let his face fall forward into his hands. A crazy smile cracked his face, and he began to laugh. All the stress and anguish of the past few days worked themselves out in this strange, rocking laughter.
Belle rolled over and opened her eyes at the sound. Although his face was covered, she could tell that he looked haggard. The skin on his arms was stretched tight, and the top few buttons of his shirt were carelessly undone. He slowly lifted his head and looked back at her, his brown eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t name. Undaunted, Belle continued her examination. His eyes looked gaunt, and his chin was covered with several days’ growth of beard. And his normally thick and shiny hair looked dull. Belle frowned and reached her arm out, covering his hand with her own.
“You look terrible,” she said.
It was several moments before John could find his voice to reply. “Oh, Belle,” he said hoarsely. “You look wonderful.”
John she hadn’t seen for over a day. As soon as he was assured she was no longer in danger he collapsed from exhaustion. Caroline gave Belle periodic reports on his condition, but so far the reports had not varied beyond, “He’s still sleeping.”
Finally, on the third day after her fever broke, her husband entered her room, a slightly sheepish smile on his face.
“I had despaired of ever seeing you again,” she said.
He perched on the side of her bed. “I’ve been sleeping, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, so I’ve heard.” She reached out and touched his jaw. ” It’s so lovely to see your face.”
He smiled. “You washed your hair.”
“What?” She looked down and pinched a curl between her fingers. “Oh, yes. It was badly needed, I think. John, I—”
“Belle, I—” His words came out at the same time as hers. “You first.”
“No, you go ahead.”
“I insist.”
“Oh, this is silly,” Belle said. “We’re married, after all. Yet we’re so nervous.”
“What are you nervous about?”
“Spencer.” The name hung in the air for several seconds before she continued. “We must get him out of our lives. Did you tell my parents of our situation?”
“No. I leave that to your discretion.”
“I won’t tell them. It will only worry them.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Have you devised a plan?”
“No. When you were ill—” He swallowed convulsively. Just the memory was enough to terrify him. “When you were ill I couldn’t think of anything but you. And then I slept.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about him.”
He looked up.
“I think we should confront him at the Tumbley bash,” she said.
“Absolutely not.”
“Mother has already insisted that we attend. She wants to use the occasion to present us to society.”
“Belle, it will be so crowded. How am I to keep an eye on you when—”
“The crowds are what will protect us. Alex, Emma, and Dunford will be able to stay close to our sides without raising suspicion.”
“I forbid—”
“Will you at least think about it? We’ll face him together. I think that...together...we can do anything.” She wet her lips, aware that she’d stumbled over her words.
“All right,” he agreed, partly because he wanted to change the subject, but mostly because the sight of her licking her lips forced all rational thought from his head.
She reached out and placed her hand on his. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“Belle,” he blurted out. “I love you.”
She smiled. “I know. And I love you, too.”
He picked up her hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed it fervently. “I still cannot believe that you do, but”—when he saw that she would interrupt, he placed his hand gently over her mouth—”but it gives me more joy than I ever thought possible. More joy than I thought there was in this world.”
“Oh, John.”
“You’ve helped me to forgive myself. It was when I knew you weren’t going to die, when I realized I had saved your life.” He paused, his expression dazed, as if he still couldn’t believe the miracle that had taken place in that very room. “It was then that I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That I’d paid my debt. A life for a life. I couldn’t save Ana, but I saved you.”
“John,” she said softly. “Saving my life hasn’t made up for what happened in Spain.”
His eyes flew to hers, horrified.
“It doesn’t need to make up for it. When will you accept that you weren’t responsible? You’ve been torturing yourself for five years, and all because of another man’s actions.”
John stared at her. He stared hard into those bright blue eyes, and for the first time, her words began to make sense.
She squeezed his hand.
He finally blinked. “Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in between. Yes, I was supposed to protect her, and I failed in that. But I didn’t rape her.” He shook his head, and his voice grew stronger. “It wasn’t me.”
“Your heart is free now.”
“No,” he whispered. “It’s yours.”
Chapter 22
John yanked viciously at his cravat. “This is stupid, Belle,” he hissed. “Stupid.”
belle tiptoed around his valet, who had let out an agonized groan over the death of his careful handiwork. “How many times do we have to go through this? I told you there was no way to get out of going to the Tumbley bash tonight. Mother would have my head if I didn’t show my face before all the ton as a properly married lady.”
John dismissed his valet with a curt nod, wanting to keep the conversation private. “That’s exactly it, Belle. You’re a married lady now. You don’t have to obey your parents’ every order anymore.”
“Oh, so now instead of following my parents’ orders, I get to follow yours. Pardon me if I don’t jump with glee.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Belle. It doesn’t suit you. All I’m saying is you don’t have to do what your parents tell you anymore.”
“Try telling that to my mother.”
“You’re a grown woman.” John made his way over to a mirror and began to refold his cravat.
“I have news for you. Parents don’t stop being parents when their children get married. And mothers especially don’t stop being mothers.”
John pulled the fabric the wrong way and cursed.
“You should have left it the way Wheatley arranged it. I thought it looked quite elegant.”
John shot her a look which said he didn’t want to hear it.
“Look at it this way,” Belle continued, fixing her skirts so they wouldn’t wrinkle as she sat down on the bed. “My parents are still getting to know you. They’ll be suspicious if we refuse to be seen in public together. You don’t want to be at odds with your in-laws for the rest of your life, do you?”
“I don’t want to be dead, either.”
“That isn’t even remotely funny, John. I wish you wouldn’t joke about it.”
John abandoned his cravat for a moment and turned around so that he could look his wife in the eye. “I’m not joking, Belle. It’s going to be a madhouse tonight. I have no idea how I’m going to keep either one of us safe.”
Belle bit her lip. “Alex and Dunford will be there. I’m sure they’ll be a tremendous help.”
“I’m sure they will. But that doesn’t guarantee our safety. I don’t see why you didn’t just tell your parents the truth.”
“Oh, that would make a good impression,” Belle said sarcastically. “They’ll just love you once they find out you’ve put my life in danger.” At John’s scowl, she added, “Inadvertently, of course.”
John finally gave up trying to arrange his cravat and yelled out, “Wheatley!” Then he turned to Belle and said quickly, “I value our lives more highly than your parents’ opinions, and you’d do well to remember that.”
“John, I really think we’ll be fine as long as we stay near Alex and Dunford. Maybe we’ll even have a chance to trap—oh, hello Wheatley. His lordship seems to be having a bit of trouble with his cravat. I’m afraid his foul mood has drained the dexterity from his ringers. Do you suppose you could aid him in this endeavor?”
John’s countenance turned quite black.
Belle returned his scowl with a bright smile and stood up. “I’m going to see if the carriage is ready.”
“You do that.”
Belle turned to the door and took a step forward.
John sucked in his breath. “Good God, woman, what are you wearing? Or rather, what aren’t you wearing?”
Belle smiled. She had donned the midnight blue velvet gown she had
bought a few weeks earlier when she was plotting to seduce him. “Don’t you like it?” she asked, keeping her back to him so that he couldn’t see her grin.
That was a mistake, for the dress had no back, or at least very little of one. “It’s indecent,” John spat out.
“It is not,” Belle said, unable to work her voice into a properly protesting tone. “Lots of women wear gowns like this. Some even wear light fabric and then damp it to make it transparent.”
“I will not have other men looking at your back. And that is final!”
Belle decided she didn’t half mind his possessiveness. “Well, if you put it that way...” She darted from the room and made her way to her own chamber, where Mary was waiting with another freshly pressed gown. Belle had had a feeling she’d be changing her attire. But she had accomplished her goal. She’d gotten John’s mind off of Spencer for a few minutes at least.
After changing, she headed downstairs, arriving just as the front door opened to admit Alex, Emma, Dunford, and Persephone. The quartet was chattering very loudly.
“What are you doing here?” Belle asked.
Emma looked behind her to ascertain that the front door was still open and yelled, “WE’RE TAKING YOU TO THE BALL TONIGHT!”
“You are?”
“OH YES!”
“But why?”
Emma saw that the butler was about to close the door. “Don’t shut that yet,” she hissed before turning to Belle and replying, “BECAUSE YOU ASKED US TO!”
“Oh, of course. How silly of me.”
Lady Worth wandered into the hall. “What on earth is all the commotion?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Persephone muttered, shooting an odd look at Emma.
“WE’RE TAKING BELLE AND JOHN TO THE BALL!” Emma bellowed.
“Fine. Be my guest, just stop shouting about it.”
Alex shut the door quickly and said, “I’ve been urging her to get her ears checked. She’s been doing this for three days.”
Emma took Belle aside and whispered, “I just wanted to let our, er, enemy know that you’re riding in our carriage tonight.”