by Wilde, Tanya
“Well then, let us hope for that outcome.”
“And De Roux?”
Simon turned serious. “You must keep the guise that she is still in residence. If we are lucky, we shall pull the wool over his eyes, if not, I suspect I’ll have much more than the likes of him to contend with on our tail anyway.”
“Why not take your screaming bride abroad for a honeymoon?”
Simon heaved a sigh. “I would, but she’d never leave her friends to face what she believes is her own mess.”
St. Aldwyn nodded. “These women we’ve chosen are as headstrong as they come.”
Something told him that neither of them would have chosen any differently. “Somehow I cannot see you with a timid miss that insists on keeping her own quarters.”
St. Aldwyn flinched. “That would be my worst nightmare.”
Simon chuckled. Indeed.
In about three hours, Belle would be sound asleep and his plan would be set in motion. He would not stop until she belonged to him completely—in every sense of the word. It may take time, but he was confident he’d steal her heart, just as he was about temporarily to steal her freedom.
Though he knew he might get clogged over the head for his effort.
Chapter 20
That night Belle entered her bedchambers exhausted and, quite frankly, miserable. Her eyes flicked to the table where her sketches took up most of the space. It felt like days since she last touched a pencil, and her fingers were itching to draw. Her mind, however, felt burdened and refused to be used for creative means.
Her blue eyes swept her room, sentiment clogging her throat.
I must leave it all behind.
Up till now, Quinn and Bradford had failed to apprehend De Roux and with each passing moment, the threat of danger became more imminent. She could not, in all good conscience, allow her friends continue to live in fear because of her.
It was time to scatter.
Once De Roux got wind of her disappearance, he’d leave in search of her. She’d then send word to her brothers and would join them in the fight together. They had left her in the dark for long enough. The time had come to finally be reunited with her family, even if it meant she must leave her friends behind.
The soft scraping of nails on the floorboard alerted Belle of Charlemagne, who moments later came traipsing into her room, his eyes big in his narrow face as he watched her. “Do not worry Char, Jo will take excellent care of you.”
At his whine, she stroked the soft fur on his neck, tickling his ears. “I’ll miss you, too, but one day we shall be reunited again.”
With the slight flick of her hand, she ran her finger lightly over her sketches. She’d miss refashioning her sketches into beautiful cloth, as well.
With a sigh, her eyes darted to her bed, which had never looked so inviting. What she wouldn’t give to strip from her clothes and fall into the plush pillows. But first, a bath.
Simon would soon settle in for the night, whether in the armchair or beside her and while she wanted nothing more than to surrender to the pull of her exhaustion, this may be the last time she’d see him in a while, perhaps even forever.
Her heart ached at the thought.
The weight of her decision came swift and unwanted, her breath hitching in response. This may be the last chance she’d ever get to run her fingers through his hair, to kiss the arch of his brow. The last night she could stare into his eyes, engage his ire, and entice a smile. Her heart drummed against her chest.
She would bathe until the water did not hold a drop of warmth and hoped he arrived by then. He was going to be furious with her for leaving. But with time he’d come to understand her decision and maybe even forgive her. She’d refused him enough times for him to grasp that she did not envision a future for them together.
“Oh Belle, what are you doing?” she whispered on a sigh.
She did not want to go. She was not ready to leave him or her life here. In the short time since De Roux’s return, Simon had come to truly mean something to her; they’d grown closer than she had ever allowed any man to get to her and she loathed breaking that bond.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered into the chill night air. “This was never how I imagined it would end.”
Well, no one could ever claim she had not lived a life of scandal, intrigue and suspense. Granted, not Simon or the return of De Roux had been part of her plan. She’d only dreamed of a bit of wildness and low-cut gowns. Now, a madman nipped at her heels along with a man she suspected she’d fallen hopelessly in love with.
Damn, this situation to Hades.
She’d love nothing more than to bury that that Frenchman fifteen feet beneath the ground.
A knock on her door signaled the arrival of her maids and she stood lost in thought as they scurried around her to prepare her bath. It was only when they left that she Belle spotted a cup of steaming hot milk on the nightstand. Bemused by their consideration, she made her way to the inviting substance. It was her favorite night time drink, as it happened.
Sinking onto the edge of her bed, she decided she might as well enjoy her milk while it was still warm.
What a day of discovery it had been! Who’d have thought her family owned an attic filled with ancient pistols and weaponry. Some of them Belle had recognized, some of them so old one could only wonder at their origin.
Other than that, her day had been normal enough. She’d woken up early, as usual, not to sketch like most mornings, and certainly not to stare at the blank paper with nothing but turmoil stewing in her mind. No, she’s woken to read a copy of Lady Sugar Finds Love, a gift from Evelyn, as it were.
It had been just as well since she’d woken up to an empty room yet again, since Simon had not touched her in an intimate manner after he discovered she’d been shot, but this time the unmistakable imprint of his body beside her had soothed her disappointment.
In any case, though she was not much of a reader, Belle had to admit it was thoroughly entertaining. Lady Sugar, being born in unfortunate circumstances had risen above it in the most bizarre of ways. And she fell in love in quite a spectacular fashion. Belle enjoyed those parts the most.
What would Lady Sugar do in her circumstance? Lure her enemy out into an abandoned meadow and set wild dogs on him, no doubt. She’d not have run away in the midst of a battle. No, she’d have pursued her attacker.
How unlucky that Belle was not a fictional character.
It had been in the chaos in the wake of the shooting in the park that the axis of her world had tilted.
It was not the brutal truth that she could have died or that she’d survived yet another attempt on her life from her enemy. It had not been the sight of the sticky red wetness splattered all over the sleeve of her gown, either.
But somehow, as never before, the threat had become almost unbearably real. What if it hadn’t been her gown? But Jo’s? What if it had been Simon?
In that moment, her path had become clear.
The warm milk soothed her as she took a sip, sighing in pleasure. It always managed to make her feel better. After another sip, Belle wished she’d never attended the blasted ball, the one where the sickening fragrance of her nemesis had alerted her of his return.
Would it even have mattered?
The fatigue of her body tugged at her and it had begun to become difficult to keep her eyes open. Nothing a relaxing bath would not fix. Finishing her milk, Belle moved to stand, only, her feet refused to move. She glanced down at them with a frown.
“Move feet,” she muttered their way.
Still, they remain rooted to the ground.
Her eyes flicked to the bath and then back down to her unmoving limbs. “It isn’t very far.”
Wait, why am I talking to my feet?
Her knees buckled the same time she reached forward, arms outstretched towards the rim of the bath. She fell to the ground with a thud, the glass tumbling from her grasp.
What was wrong with her?
Pan
ic rose and she tried to drag her body back up the bed. Her movements were slow, drowsy even and her legs wouldn’t move, though her arms still worked.
A tingling sensation crawled from her shoulders down to her fingers, leaving numbness in their wake. Her breathing became labored. Had she been poisoned? Her eyes darted to the empty cup in horror. No.
She tried to call out Simon’s name, but no sound escaped her lungs. With resigned regret, Belle rested her cheek on the cold floor. Fighting the poison would only make it worse. She must preserve her strength to give her maid time to find her, and hopefully, save her.
From her angle on the ground, Belle could see the blasted cup on the floor, mocking her.
Black spots filled her vision.
It was then that she saw the door open. Feet paused in the doorway, seconds before they rushed to her. Strong hands lifted her into even stronger arms.
“Belle?”
She heard her name as if from a distance—a bittersweet sound. The eerie sensation of weightlessness engulfed her as she was lifted from the ground and deposited on the bed.
Shutting her eyes, she drifted away on the peaceful lure of sleep.
Simon cursed when Belle lost consciousness. He urgently felt for her pulse, nearly collapsing from relief when the steady, rhythmical beat beneath his fingers signaled life.
“What the bloody hell did you give her?” He heard St. Aldwyn’s incredulous voice behind him.
“I cannot say,” Simon muttered in a grave tone. “I bought it from a gypsy.”
“You did what?”
“He assured me it was safe and would only put her to sleep.”
“Laudanum would have done the trick.”
“She’d have tasted it in her milk. The concoction the gypsy gave me was sweet.”
St. Aldwyn shook his head, “Nothing says I love you like ‘my apologies for almost killing you, dear, while attempting to kidnap you and force you into matrimony.’”
“Shut up.”
Simon gathered Belle into his arms, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. He turned toward the doorway, but stopped when he caught sight of St. Aldwyn’s sly smile.
“Move out of my way.”
“In a moment, I want to commit this image to memory.”
“What is so funny?”
“My best friend kidnapping the woman he loves, after rendering her unconscious with a potion he bought from a gypsy.”
Simon shoved past Damien, careful not to jar Belle. He would have punched his friend if he hadn’t been holding her. Of course, he was right. He supposed his behavior was a bit out of character but did love not make you do things you would not normally do?
He glanced down at Belle’s beautiful face. She was so quiet, so still, that it disturbed him. He kept his arm in such a position so that his fingers remained on her pulse—just to make sure nothing was amiss.
Simon swiftly made his way through the now familiar halls of her home careful to stay clear of any light. When they reached the servant’s entrance, he entered the awaiting carriage without pause, arranging Belle comfortably on his lap.
Later, when she woke, all hell would break loose, but Simon was confident he could manage the situation, and her.
St. Aldwyn appeared at the carriage door.
“Good luck old chap, I am rooting that she allows you to remain breathing.”
Simon nodded. “As am I. You will hold off the cavalry?”
St. Aldwyn nodded. “I have a few tricks up my breeches, and the keys to all the closets,” he drawled, then waggled his eyebrows. “Or the kitchen, wouldn’t want to starve my wife to death.”
Simon chuckled. “Godspeed.”
And with that, his friend shut the door and rapped it on the side. Moments later, the carriage shot forward, taking him to what would hopefully not be the death of him.
Chapter 21
Belle woke up to the sounds of squeaking carriage wheels rolling over a dirt road and the thudding of hooves. A groan escaped her parted lips when she arched her back and her muscles disapproved of the action.
What on earth?
She opened one eye, squinting to make sense of her surroundings.
Simon sat across from her, his eyes shut.
What on earth? The words repeated in her head.
She tried to recall how she got here, but her mind appeared to be a bit vague on the events. However, she did recall a warm sweetened cup of milk.
They weren’t restrained, which meant however she got here, at least it had not been against her will.
At least, not entirely.
Her other eye popped open and the pair narrowed on the silent form sitting across from her. A day’s growth of whiskers coated his jaw and tired lines had settled in the corners of his eyes. Even the line of his mouth was pulled thinner than usual.
Her eyes flickered to the snug blanket that had been tucked tightly around her. Why would he think to keep her warm, except if they were traveling far away from home?
Suspicion bloomed.
“What did you do?”
At her hoarse whisper, his eyes opened, alert, and settled on her stormy ones. Weariness replaced…fear?
He said nothing, only cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Her suspicion strengthened to the point of panic.
“Where are you taking me?” Belle asked, more urgently this time.
She must not have sounded quite like herself for concern flared in his gaze. Something settled in her mind and through the haze of her fog-filled head, a distant memory took form: the determination that settled in his gaze when she told him she’d not marry him.
“We are on our way to Scotland. As for what I am doing, I believe they call it kidnapping.”
Her brows rose at his explanation. “Why would you kidnap me?”
But some part of her already knew the answer.
“Why to marry you, of course.”
Belle blinked up at Simon, her mind refusing to capture the significance of his words. Marry her? He must be delusional. The notion was too ridiculous to contemplate, and yet, here she was, tucked away in his carriage without so much as a chaperone.
Belle straightened.
The milk.
She shot him a glare.
“You drugged me? Even after I made my wishes clear?” Her voice sharp and incredulous; she was unable to fully believe that he was capable of it.
He had the grace to look sheepish when he answered. “I laced your milk with a sleeping potion.”
Belle heard the words but comprehension seemed slow to arrive. He had done what?
“We are traveling alone,” she accused as her eyes swept the carriage again, noting for the first time more blankets stacked beside Simon and hot bricks on the ground at her feet for warmth.
He nodded. “I left a note on your pillow. Your aunt will know by morning that you eloped with me.”
Eloped?
As in marry?
As in marry him?
Yes, Belle. He said as much—twice! Gather your wits!
Her throat tightened. This could not be happening. Surely this couldn’t be happening. A dream, this must be a dream.
Yet even as she thought it, she wondered how she’d not anticipated this rash action on his part.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“You lied to me,” he simply replied.
That brought her up short. “I beg your pardon?”
“You were shot, and then you lied.”
So that had been the last straw, the one to push him over the edge.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
Simon, apparently noting the action, handed her a canteen of water. “Here.”
She took the flask with shaky hands and drank a few sips before handing back the canteen.
This was unacceptable.
She could not marry him, no matter what. But how to defuse the situation?
“I was only grazed, hardly shot,” she began.
“You
were shot at,” Simon growled. “And I did not even know! You never thought to inform me, even though you had opportunity enough. You chose to risk death over appraising me of events.”
Belle supposed she could not argue the claim. It was true. Guilt poked her in the chest. She’d not thought of it like that, only believed it was best at the time.
“I’m sorry, Simon. But I still cannot marry you.”
But he wasn’t finished.
“You were delirious from blood loss, and you let me think you were foxed!” Simon raised his voice. “How could you do that?”
“Well, I was pickled, somewhat, so that was not a complete lie.”
“That is not the point!”
Memories began to filter through her mind of that day. Giggling. She recalled too much giggling.
“That day is a bit hazy. I was in shock, Simon. I cannot recall much after leaving the park. Besides, I should hardly be punished for a lie with marriage.”
A sudden memory of her stuffing her mouth with lemon cake surfaced and she almost groaned. What a fright she must have appeared.
“Punished with marriage?” He paused momentarily at that. “Nonetheless, the point here remains clear. I cannot protect you the way you require protection unless we marry.”
She was listening to Simon, but another memory tried to push through to the surface. She recalled him standing over her and…
“It is not your place to protect me,” she absentmindedly replied, focusing in on the memory.
The sharp inhale of his breath drew her eyes to him once more. The image flitted away.
“The hell it is not!”
“Simon, that night in the garden and the other…” she cleared her throat, “They were a mistake. We should never have happened. You don’t need to fulfill any duty toward me.”
“Is that what you think?” His words were a soft whisper now.
“I—I do not know what to think, half of the time.”
A ragged sigh tore from his chest. “I am terrified for you, Belle. This is not about duty.”
“That is still no reason to marry. My brothers are here, perhaps not in eyesight, but close.”
“A spy is hell bent on killing you and hell if I know what your brothers are actually doing about it.”