One Wicked Winter

by Emma V. Leech

  ***

  Four days in Bath was certainly enough. Belle leaned her head back against the squabs with a sigh. She was looking forward to going home, she realised.

  Home.

  How strange to think Longwold was home. It was such a long time since she had known what it was to feel at home.

  When her mother had lived, home had been safe and happy, but after she died and her father lurched from one financial disaster to the next, they had moved often, always to a slightly smaller, slightly shabbier place. Until they had ended up with Aunt Grimble. Belle shuddered.

  With a sigh of satisfaction, she looked over at Crecy. Her sister looked divine. Crecy had complained and grumbled and hated all the primping and fussing and being stuck with pins, but even she had been forced to admit that Madame Chalon, the modiste Violette had recommended, was actually rather clever.

  Clever indeed. If Crecy had noticed even one of the dozens of men who had either stopped in their tracks or almost walked headlong into their fellow men as they gazed upon her, Belle would have been very surprised.

  Smoothing an indulgent hand over the rich purple velvet of her own pelisse, Belle had to admit to feeling rather satisfied herself. Purple was not a colour she would have chosen herself, being far too bold. But, of course, she was a married lady now, and the modiste insisted that her blue eyes held just a hint of lavender, like Crecy’s, and the purple suited her immensely. On looking in the mirror, Belle had been compelled to concede the point. She had never been vain – really, what was the point when you lived with Crecy? - but she did feel a flush of real pleasure and ... yes, of pride, too, when she looked upon herself. She thought now of the carriage following behind, loaded with dresses and shoes and ... goodness, so many things!

  She had tried to call a halt at one point, but Violette had just returned a rather withering look and asked if she had the slightest idea just how rich her Lord Winterbourne was. Belle didn’t really, in fact, though Longwold was illustration enough, she felt. Violette had decided to explain, however, and Belle heard enough to understand that she could spend like this every day for the rest of her life and likely not make a dent. Not that she had the least intention of doing so. She had been brought up to be thrifty, and was used to saving money where she could. Though this shopping expedition had been delightful and great fun, in Belle’s mind, it served one purpose and one purpose only: to aide her campaign in the war for Edward Greyston’s heart.

  She had been tempted to confide in Violette about everything that had happened, especially ... that night. But in the end, it was too private, and she did not like to speak of Edward in such a way to anyone else. That did not mean, however, that the events of that glorious night had not been repeated often in her memories. She wondered if she would be granted a repeat of his attentions tonight, and hoped so, as she was keen to wear the little slip of nothing that Madame Chalon had dared to show her. It was silky and diaphanous and so sheer it was barely worth wearing. But still. She would.

  The thought occurred to her that Edward might not speak to her at all. He might, in point of fact, be furious. However, she had decided when she left the house that morning that if he thought he would be able to treat her in such a cavalier fashion, he was going to get a shock. It would do him good to be furious, she decided. It would also do him good to realise that she would not sit about the house moping and waiting for the moment he decided to bestow his attention on her.

  In fact, the sooner he got that idea into his head, the better.

  “You’re not sorry, are you?”

  Belle looked around to see Violette watching her, concern in her eyes.

  She smiled back at the pretty young woman, seeing an echo of her husband in those lovely green eyes, or at least, how he might have been before the war.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not sorry at all. Not yet, at least,” she added with a slightly anxious tone. “I confess, I’m quailing a little, as I wonder what mood he’ll been in when I return. It was really too bad of me to go off without a word.”

  “But you did leave word,” Violette objected. “He need only apply to Garrett to know your exact whereabouts and when you would be expected home.”

  Except that they both knew that the man would be unlikely to admit to an interest. She wondered if he had noticed she had gone. For her part, she would have found leaving any bed Edward was in nigh on impossible. But perhaps that said more about her. Edward had likely had a great number of lovers. Perhaps for him, that night had just been one of many others just like it? Perhaps, it had not been special to him at all.

  The unwelcome and troubling thought occurred to her that perhaps he had a mistress. Perhaps he was with her even now?

  Belle was quite taken aback by the rage that accompanied that idea. Oh, dear. That was unexpected. She had not married for love, after all, and it was generally accepted that men would take lovers, even after they were wed. The disquieting thought occurred to Belle that if she ever discovered such a thing ... she might do something ... rash.

  Pushing such disturbing thoughts aside, Belle reached for her reticule and withdrew the small book that had so scandalised the man who had sold it to her. Lady Russell and Lady Sinclair had stayed on in Bath after meeting up with a number of old cronies, so she needn’t worry about shocking them by reading it now. Mr Russell had likewise stayed behind with business to attend to, and would return the next day. Violette had already seen the book and approved her strategy, and Crecy, well, Crecy likely had far more shocking titles among her collection, if only Belle knew. She was rather content to live in ignorance. But that a young woman should be so bold as to ask for a book on the finer points of pugilism was apparently something that the little pinch-faced man behind the counter felt the need to be really rather rude about.

  Belle had been quietly furious, especially as the shop had not been empty. With the haughtiest tone she could muster - and she found to her surprise that it really came rather naturally - she informed the indignant creature that she was the Marchioness Winterbourne, and the book was a present for her husband, who was a notable pugilist of some renown. Belle had absolutely no idea if that was true, and, in fact, the book was for her and not for Edward, but she saw no reason in the world to let the odious little fellow know that. Especially not as he was now looking mortified and bowing and scraping for all he was worth. Belle had always despised people who used their power and titles to belittle others, but she could see that in certain circumstances, it really could be rather handy.

  It was growing late by the time the carriage rolled to a halt, and everyone hurried inside to dress for dinner as a veritable army of footmen came out to haul all of their purchases inside.

  Mary exclaimed excitedly as the piles of hat boxes and shoe boxes and Madame Chalon’s exquisite creations made exotic piles around the room.

  “Oh, do wear the midnight blue one tonight, my lady. You looked such a picture in it; you’ll quite take Lord Winterbourne’s breath away.

  Belle paused in the midst of the chaos, rather liking the idea of taking her husband’s breath away. She gave Mary a pleased nod and grinned at her.

  “The midnight blue it is, then.”

  Belle met Violette on the stairs, and the young woman gasped as Belle approached.

  “Oh, Belle,” she said with deep approval. “My word, you do look lovely.”

  Belle smiled, as her heart kicked up speed. She could only hope that Edward would notice. Though, of course, he never dined with them, so it was unlikely, and she could not decide for the life of her whether she was pleased about that, or not.

  Chapter 22

  “Wherein our contestants take to the ring.”

  “Do stop fidgeting,” Charlie scolded as he fought to rescue the mangled neck cloth that was draped around Edward’s neck. For the life of him, Edward could not understand why he was going to the bother of dressing for dinner when he could just as easily have something sent to his room and be left in peace. Howeve
r.

  His errant wife had returned, and he wasn’t going to lose the opportunity to put her in her place. Why he was so annoyed, he couldn’t quite put his finger on. After all, he had wanted her to understand that they weren’t to live in each other’s pockets, that she must have interests of her own, and not be forever under his feet. He certainly didn’t care about her spending money on new clothes: he had; after all, instructed Violette to make sure she did just that. He certainly couldn’t have his wife going about it in some of the shabby items he’d seen her wear to date. But that she’d just left on the morning after ... and without a word. Well, it was unseemly.

  A slither of guilt crept into his mind as the recurring idea that she might have been hurt by the way he’d left her bed in the early hours of the morning came back to haunt him. He frowned and pushed the thought away. No need to feel guilty about that. There was simply no point in letting her believe any romantic nonsense would exist between them. It would only hurt her more in the end, when she realised he was incapable of such tenderness. Some unidentified feeling rose at that, though, and it took him a moment to realise it was regret. He regretted many things about the past, but he had forgotten what it was to care for another’s happiness. Violette’s, perhaps, yes, but he’d been caring for her for so long that that was as much habit as anything.

  Now he realised that he didn’t want to make Belle unhappy, and regretted the fact that it was inevitable. Edward had never intended to live the kind of life his parents had, where the two of them could barely stand to be in the same room together. But he could give her nothing more, and, after all, that was the way of things.

  “There, not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” Charlie said, giving Edward a nod of satisfaction and picking up a clothes brush to give his elegant coat his attention.

  “Oh, that will do,” Edward replied, moving away with a scowl. “Did you say Lady Russell stayed in Bath?” he demanded, thinking that at least the evening held one bright spot.

  “I did,” Charlie said, with a twinkle in his eyes. “An’ Lady Sinclair an’ Mr Russell. It’ll just be you, Lady Winterbourne, Miss Lucretia, and Violette dining tonight.” Charlie grinned at him. “A rose between three thorns,” he quipped, and then cleared his throat hurriedly as Edward scowled at him. “Just larkin’ about, my lord.”

  Edward grunted and left the room.

  From the laughter awaiting him, it was clear that the ladies had already gathered. That his presence had not been expected was clear by the silence that fell over the room as he entered.

  Violette was the first to recover, walking over to greet him. “Eddie! How lovely of you to join us. We shall be a jolly party with just the four of us!” Edward threw his sister a sceptical look, but Violette ploughed on. “Now, you must come and see how beautiful your wife looks.”

  Belle had been standing with her back to him when he entered, and as Violette had greeted him, he’d not really had the chance to look at her at all.

  He did now.

  “Hello, Edward,” she said, her voice soft and just a little wary. There was caution in her expression, too, a guarded look as she obviously wondered what kind of reception she was going to get. Edward had been quite certain of how he was going to treat her return. He had intended to be coolly polite and to keep her at the distance he meant her to stay at.

  His plan crumbled before his eyes.

  She’d done something different to her hair, he wasn’t sure what exactly, but it was softer now, falling around her face with a few artful curls tumbling to one shoulder. Her shoulders were bare and the neckline of the dress showed a lovely expanse of creamy white skin, the curve of her generous breasts swelling against the midnight blue satin.

  Edward swallowed as the night he’d spent with her returned to him with devastating clarity. Desire burned under his skin, and suddenly he wished Violette and Lucretia would leave them be. He wanted to be alone with his wife.

  “Perhaps we should go through,” Belle said, her voice taut and disappointment in her eyes. He realised he must have simply been staring at her, and had not said a word about how lovely she looked, about anything. Going on the twin looks of disgust he was receiving from Violette and Lucretia, his expression had in no way reflected his thoughts. On the one hand - thank God - but on the other, he had clearly hurt his wife’s feelings, and that feeling of remorse crept up once more and hung about his neck like a weight.

  Dinner was appalling. Oh, the food had been exquisite as ever, Puddy never let them down, but the atmosphere was taut. After several attempts to draw him into conversation with no success, the women just carried on as if he weren’t there.

  He should have been relieved; after all, he didn’t want to converse. However, a simmering irritation slid under his skin, and he couldn’t for the life of him understand why.

  All through the meal, his attention was focused solely on Belle, though he was careful not to look her way too often. He had known she was beautiful, of course. He had not been blinded by Lucretia’s beauty for long. Other men might be dazzled by her and overlook her sister, but Edward had noticed well enough. But even so, now he realised he’d been blind.

  He wanted this interminable meal to be over so that he could take her to bed. Though heaven knew she wasn’t looking upon him with anything but disappointment at the moment, so good luck with that, he muttered to himself.

  Finally, they were done, and the women wished him a good night and went up to bed. Usually, they might sit and talk or play cards of an evening, but clearly everyone was keen to escape him. He could hardly blame them.

  Edward waited until he was sure everyone had closed their bedroom doors and hurried upstairs. He gave a curt knock before walking into Belle’s room.

  She turned, clearly startled, staring at him in shock. Her maid gave her a panicked look, and Belle returned a nervous little smile.

  “That will be all, thank you, Mary.”

  Mary bobbed a curtsey and escaped as fast as she was able.

  “Edward,” Belle said, smiling at him, though it was still a cautious expression. “I didn’t expect you.”

  “Didn’t want me, you mean?” he threw back at her, surprising himself by the anger and doubt behind those words. He hadn’t meant to say that. He hadn’t meant to say anything, only take her to bed.

  She stared at him for a moment, her eyes troubled. “Is that what you think?” she asked, and her tone was gentler now.

  “What else should I think?” he replied, infuriated that he sounded sulky now, dammit. This was not what he’d intended. He turned away from her and went to stand by the fire to pull himself together.

  There was silence for a moment and he felt a fool, bursting in his wife’s bedroom and accusing her of not wanting him just because she’d gone away for a few days. Good Lord, what was wrong with him?

  “I’m sorry, Edward.” Her voice was soft and right beside him, and he jolted as she laid a hand on his arm. He hadn’t realised she was so close. He looked down at her and saw regret in her eyes. “You hurt my feelings, you see, and I’m afraid I was rather angry with you, so I left. It was foolish, I suppose, but I did need to do some shopping. Violette told me you wanted me to, and ... I didn’t want to embarrass you with my old gowns, so ...” She trailed off and gave a hesitant shrug. “I won’t go off like that again. You have my word.”

  God, he was a brute. He looked down at her lovely face, caught in the sincerity of her expression. He had not expected such honesty and it quite disarmed him, his anger falling away and leaving only regret that he had hurt her. How in the name of all that was holy had he left her alone in bed, in any case? It seemed impossible.

  “I wasn’t embarrassed,” he said, irritated that his voice still sounded harsh and annoyed when he hadn’t meant it to. “But this ...” He reached out a hand and touched the soft, buttery satin with a fingertip. “This is ... good ... nice ...” Nice? Nice? What are you, six? he raged inwardly. She was so beautiful that it was all he could do to
stand still and not haul her into his arms. Only, there was something about her that held him back, he didn’t dare.

  She returned a dazzling smile to him that was quite out of proportion to the compliment. “I’m glad you like it.”

  He nodded, deciding it might be safer to say as little as possible, after all.

  Her hand slid down his arm and her fingers twined with his. “I missed you,” she said.

  The words slid under his skin and wrapped around him, warming him when he hadn’t realised he’d been cold at all. He wanted to return them, to give her something back, but he couldn’t.

  “Can I stay?” At least it had been a question, though it sounded rather more like a demand. She looked up at him, her blue eyes growing dark and a pretty flush blooming over her skin. She would say yes, he realised, smug at the knowledge she still wanted him, but then a glimpse of steel flickered behind the blue, and he acknowledged a tremor of doubt.

  “Yes, but ... on one condition,” she said, and he knew she meant it, whatever the condition was. He held his breath, wondering what she wanted from him. “You must still be here in the morning when I wake.”

  There was a moment of panic at the idea of waking beside her, but it was drowned out by the clamouring sound of his desire. Edward pulled her into his arms and kissed her, the relief at being able to touch her like a weight lifted from him. She responded immediately, her hands in his hair, tugging at his cravat, kissing him with equal fervour, and then she pulled away.

  She was breathing hard, her eyes so full of wanting, but she was also bloody determined if the tone of her voice was anything to go on.

  “Promise me,” she demanded, and when she didn’t get an answer she began to move away from him.

  Edward tightened his hold on her, refusing to let her go.

  “Promise,” she repeated, that glint of steel only too obvious now.