He scowled his displeasure. “To be touched at all or for me to touch you?”
“Both.” Her gaze shied away from meeting his.
His hand dropped back to his side. “Deveril was to have called at the inn in the village on his way back to London and speak with my driver. The carriage should be here shortly.”
She nodded abruptly. “I will be ready to leave when you are.”
Dante watched Bella leave the kitchen, her back stiffly erect, chin held high.
He had never admired her more.
Most ladies would have come down the stairs this morning, either sobbing in distress, or ripping him verbally to pieces for the way he had treated her the previous night.
Bella offered no reproach, made no accusations, but instead appeared every inch the lady he had stripped away from her the previous night.
He had never wanted her more.
And Bella, Bella could no longer bear for him to touch her.
Huntley Park had changed little since Bella had briefly lived here seven years ago, the parkland and tree-lined driveway still a vibrant green, with deer grazing lazily on the former.
The house itself, four stories high and built of mellowed red stone, stood tall and proud in the afternoon sunlight as Bella and Dante stepped down from the ducal carriage.
The journey here had mainly been carried out in silence, Dante staring broodingly out of the window as he sat opposite her, Bella lost in her own thoughts.
If any of the servants were surprised to see her with the duke, then, like the good servants they were, they did not show it by word or deed. Lincoln, the family butler, was politely attentive as he showed Bella up to a guest bedchamber and set about organizing her luggage being brought up to her. No comment was made regarding Bella’s lack of maid either. Instead, a young girl arrived at her rooms a short time after their arrival and offered her assistance in helping Bella to freshen her appearance and unpack her things.
Dante had disappeared off into the bowels of the house almost as soon as they arrived and was no doubt even now caught up in the arrangements that needed to be made following the death of the dowager.
Huntley Park seemed strangely…empty and far less formidable without the forceful and critical presence of Agatha St. Just in it.
It was apparent to Bella when she came back downstairs for afternoon tea and saw the same old-fashioned décor and furnishings in the drawing room that Dante had not chosen to live here after his uncle’s death, but had instead chosen to leave the dowager in residence. Not surprising when his memories of this house and the people living in it were no happier than Bella’s own.
“God, how I hate this place!” Dante confirmed tersely as he strode into the drawing room. “I think a brandy for both of us might be more in order than tea.” He moved to where a decanter and glasses sat on the side dresser.
Bella’s brows rose as she watched him pour the amber liquid into two of the glasses. “Did you not imbibe enough of that yesterday evening?”
His eyes narrowed. “I was not drunk when I made love to you, if that is what you are implying— Fuck it!” he rasped his impatience as Bella felt the color drain from her cheeks. “I apologize.” He made a stiff bow.
Her brows rose. “Exactly what is it you are apologizing for? Kidnapping me? Your ridiculous accusations of treason? Holding me captive against my will? Forcing me to share a bed with you at the inn? The—the roughness of your lovemaking last night?” Heat returned to her previously pale cheeks. “Or the crudeness of your language just now?”
Dante threw some of the brandy to the back of his throat before answering her. “All of the above,” he acknowledged grimly as he carried the second glass of brandy over to where Bella sat on the chaise near the window. “You are very pale. Drink some of this before you swoon as you did last night.”
“I did not—” Bella broke off her heated protest to draw in several deep and controlled breaths. She took the brandy glass from his hand and drank several tentative and reviving sips before continuing. “I have no idea what happened last night, but I will not be accused of swooning like some ninny-headed miss,” she dismissed crossly.
Dante had no idea what happened last night either. He only knew that making love to Bella had ruined him for all other women. The two of them had connected on some level of sensuality, of emotion, he had never experienced before. Nor did he believe he would ever feel it again with another woman.
He forced the anger from his disposition, aware that it was being back in this house, and not Bella, which was responsible for his present dark mood. “I apologize again. For everything,” he added softly. “Including my previous accusations.”
Her eyes widened in her obvious surprise. “You no longer believe me to be a French spy?”
No, he did not. Dante had no evidence to back up that belief, nothing but Bella’s denial, but he would gamble his life on her being completely innocent of any wrongdoing. There was a deep-rooted honesty about Bella which was as undeniable as it was unshakeable.
He hoped, for Devil’s sake, that Alys Newcomb proved to be as innocent.
“I have already sent word to London, via Devil, as to your innocence in the matter,” he confirmed evenly, very aware that his own sins toward Bella were of a much more serious nature and might never be forgiven.
“On what evidence?”
His mouth thinned. “My knowledge of your character.”
Bella was relieved she was no longer under suspicion, but it surprised her that Dante had come to this conclusion without proof of her innocence. “My character?” she repeated doubtfully.
Dante’s smile was rueful. “You are far too blunt and opinionated to ever resort to such subterfuge as treason. If you had a quarrel with the English Crown, then I am sure you would tell Prinny that to his face rather than betray England behind his back.”
“That is true,” she drawled.
Dante studied her for several minutes before speaking again, softly. “What are we going to do, Bella?”
She eyed him warily. “In regard to what?”
Us, Dante wanted to say, but that wariness in Bella’s expression and the sudden defensive rigidity of her body were not conducive to his holding out much hope of their ever being an us.
Bella was perfectly correct to have accused him of treating her abominably, both in the past and these past few days. That she responded to him physically was no reason to suppose she might ever learn to love him as she had once claimed to do.
Dante knew he could never settle for anything less.
He wanted Bella’s love more than he had ever wanted anything in his life before.
He wanted Bella’s respect more fiercely than he had ever wanted or needed anything in his life before.
Bella, unfortunately, had made it abundantly clear, in that she could not even bear for him to touch her, that, once free of Huntley Park, she never wished to see or hear from him ever again.
Which meant Dante had only the next few days, while they arranged to place the dowager beside her husband in the family crypt, to convince Bella he was not the monster she must now think him.
Chapter 12
“I had no idea the dowager kept journals, did you?” Bella prompted as they ate the main course of their dinner the following evening.
Having offered to go through and pack up or dispose of Agatha St. Just’s personal belongings—her clothes and personal letters and such—Bella had spent most of the day doing exactly that rather than wandering about the house with nothing to do. Dante was busy taking care of everything else, so it seemed only logical that Bella should offer to do this unpleasant task for him. She seriously doubted he would have enjoyed having to paw through the elderly lady’s personal things, or even to say yay or nay in regard to keeping any of them after a maid had gone through them.
Bella and Dante had not met again yesterday evening, Bella having requested dinner on a tray in her bedchamber. She had been tired in both body and mind and needed
a few hours to herself in which to consider all that had taken place between herself and Dante since they met again only days ago.
All she had gained from all that thinking was a headache.
The two of them had been…extremely polite to each other since their conversation the previous day when Dante had declared his belief in her innocence of all guilt in regard to the accusation of treason.
Whilst Bella was relieved to hear that, because it meant she did not have to constantly be on the defensive or look for hidden meanings in Dante’s comments, she nevertheless found his excessive politeness uncharacteristic as well as unnerving. They had even had that belated conversation during the soup course of their dinner this evening concerning her childhood spent in France.
A dinner which Dante had instructed they would eat together in the intimacy of the small family dining room. It was much smaller than the formal dining room, and far more suited to two people eating dinner together. Unfortunately, they were also surrounded by portraits on the walls of several preceding generations of censorious St. Justs.
Although, none of them could have found fault with Dante’s impeccable appearance this evening in his black evening clothes. Merely looking at him was enough to cause Bella’s heart to beat faster.
“She kept journals?” Dante answered her statement lightly. “What am I supposed to do with them?”
Bella grimaced. “I suppose they could contain some family history, which you might find interesting.”
“More likely dry lists of laundry and housekeeper,” he dismissed.
She gave a shake of her head. “The dowager kept separate account books for such lists. I will glance through the personal journals, if you wish, and if there is nothing of import in them…”
“I shall burn them,” Dante stated flatly.
“As you wish.” Bella nodded.
Dante had arranged the funeral for tomorrow, and he had every intention of obliterating all vestiges of the dowager’s presence from Huntley Park before he left to return to London. It was the only way in which he might one day be able to return to this mausoleum as its duke and master.
He studied Bella. She looked so beautiful this evening, she had totally robbed him of breath when she joined him in the dining room earlier. Her gown of cream silk and lace perfectly complemented the golden hue of her complexion and the darkness of her eyes and upswept hair.
The only mar on her appearance was the evidence of the fading bruises on the bareness of her arms between the capped sleeves of her gown and the long lace gloves she wore to her elbows.
Bruises which Dante had given her.
There was evidence of another bruise beneath the lace she had arranged about her throat and the tops of her shoulders. In the shape of Dante’s own teeth, if he was not mistaken, from where he had bitten into her flesh at the height of his pleasure two nights ago.
Stark reminders to him—if he had needed any—that Bella had fared far worse during the depth of passion the two of them had shared, both at the inn and then again at his hunting lodge.
He was a demanding and exacting lover, but he was not a violent one. Seeing those marks on Bella’s flesh made him feel nauseated.
Bella cleared her throat uncomfortably as she sensed rather than saw Dante’s gaze on her. “I do not believe the décor in this house to have changed in the slightest since I first visited here eleven years ago.”
Dante raised his brows. “Is that an offer to help me in redecorating and refurbishing it?”
“Certainly not.” She drew back. “That is for you and your future duchess to decide.”
His mouth twisted. “I am not sure any woman of character would ever have me.”
Bella smiled slightly. “There must be some ladies in Society you have not yet seduced.”
“I have not—” He drew in several controlling breaths before continuing. “The name, The Sinners, which comprises of myself and seven of my friends is not a reference to the moral character of those eight gentlemen.”
“I was not thinking of that when I made the comment.”
Dante’s mouth thinned. “The ladies of Society are apt to exaggerate when they gossip together as to a gentleman’s…prowess in the bedchamber.”
She eyed him mockingly. “Then when I return to London, I must make sure to assure them that there has been no exaggeration in regard to yourself.”
“Bella…”
“Dante.” She looked at him challengingly, aware the air had suddenly become charged.
Bella had not meant to take their conversation into the realms of intimacy, but this false politeness between the two of them was starting to grate on her nerves. Dante was never falsely polite. He was never polite at all! Nor did she welcome having him treat her as if she were made of glass. Or worse, as his maiden aunt rather than the woman he had ravished so thoroughly two nights ago.
His throat moved as he swallowed. “I am endeavoring to…make amends for my previous behavior.”
“For believing me to be a spy?”
“No!”
“Then what?”
“For spanking you and then savaging you like some wild animal!” he snarled—very much like that wild animal.
Bella picked up her glass and took a sip of her wine before answering him. “Did I ask you to apologize?”
“No.”
“Nor will I,” she dismissed. “I am not saying that what you did was right. But,” she continued firmly as Dante would have spoken, “I also know I might have stopped it at any time if that was what I wished.”
“How so?”
“Daffodil,” she reminded him softly.
“I—” Dante stood up restlessly from the table. “You could not even bear for me to touch you the following morning.”
“I believe I told you I could not bear to have anything or anyone touch me the following morning,” she admitted ruefully. “Our…lovemaking had left me feeling raw, exposed, and my skin so sensitive that each brush of my clothing against it was uncomfortable.”
Dante’s eyes were so dark a green, they almost appeared black. “Why the hell did you not say daffodil?”
Her gaze met his probing one unflinchingly. “Because I did not wish to.”
His hands had clenched at his sides. “You enjoyed what we did? What I did?”
She rose gracefully to her feet. “Some of it shocked me, I admit.” Her cheeks warmed at those memories. “But I am a woman grown now, Dante, not a child to be afraid of the passion a man and woman can share together.”
“Did you share such passion with Aston?”
Her back stiffened. “I have told you, I will not discuss my relationship with Jeremy with you.” She reached up and gently touched the tension of his jaw with her gloved hand. “Dante, do not continue to berate yourself for something I could have stopped in a moment.”
A nerve pulsed beneath her fingertips. “You believe I would have listened?”
“I am certain of it.”
Dante gazed down at her searchingly, but could see only that certainty and trust in the steadiness of the dark eyes that met his unwaveringly. He reached up to cover her hand with his. “I have a mad desire, a wish for us to obliterate all of our loathsome memories of this place.”
“Yes?” she prompted breathlessly.
He winced. “But perhaps you are too…uncomfortable still from our last encounter?”
Bella could still feel every caress—and bite—Dante had given her after spanking her, and between her thighs was a little sore still from how big he had been inside her. But if he was suggesting what she thought he was… “Not too uncomfortable,” she murmured.
Desire blazed in Dante’s eyes so that they were now a clear emerald green. “Then— Not now, Lincoln!” he barked at the butler as the other man chose that moment to enter the room to remove their dinner plates. “Lady Aston and I do not require anything more this evening. You are dismissed for the night,” he added without taking the fierceness of his gaze from Bella’s upt
urned face.
“Very well, Your Grace.” The butler bowed back out of the room.
Bella waited until the butler had closed the door behind him before giggling. “What do you suppose Lincoln will make of that?”
“I do not give a damn what he thinks,” Dante assured her vehemently. “Nor what he makes of this.” He released Bella to step toward the dining table and sweep everything from its surface.
“Dante?” Bella watched as it all crashed onto the carpeted floor.
The plates. Flatware. Crystal glasses. The candelabra—the candles were instantly extinguished by the wine spilled from the shattered decanter, thank goodness. Although it now left only a lit candle above the unlit fireplace and another on the side dresser as their only source of light.
“I want to make love to you on this tabletop.” Dante turned back to her, eyes fever bright. “I want to say fuck you to my aunt and all these other stuffy ancestors looking down upon us so disapprovingly.” He did not spare the portraits of those ancestors on the walls so much as a glance as he took Bella’s hands in his. “Will you allow it?”
Bella’s heart was beating so loudly and rapidly, she could hear it thundering in her ears. Her thoughts were racing as she wondered at the wisdom of allowing this to happen again.
Wisdom?
When had wisdom ever featured in her relationship with Dante?
Besides, the two of them would part soon enough, and after that, she might never see Dante again.
This was the conclusion Bella’s thoughts had come to when she ate alone in her bedchamber the night before, surrounded by all the past unhappy memories of Huntley Park.
She had loved Dante since she was thirteen years old.
It was not that amiable, undemanding love she and Jeremy had shared during their marriage, but something wild and untamed. As Dante was wild and untamed.
Bella wanted—
She wanted—
Dante.
Wicked Surrender (Regency Sinners 2) Page 11