A Gentleman's Guide to Save a Lady: Misadventures of the Heart

by Wilde, Tanya

  “I should never have gone to the park, another mistake on my part. He cannot get close if I remain in the shadows and don’t step into the light.” But even as Belle said it, uncertainty stirred in her heart.

  Simon spotted it. “We are getting married and that is final.”

  She sat up straighter. “Even if you do manage to drag me down to the altar, while I shout obscenities I might add, I still have to voluntarily say yes. You cannot force my consent.”

  His eyes asked her, ‘Are you certain about that?’ while his hand raked through his blonde mane. “We will get married, even if I have to hold the blacksmith at gunpoint. I suggest you get used to my face, darling, you’ll be seeing it for the remainder of your life,” he bit out rather bitterly.

  “You imagine that would be a hardship.”

  He gave a rueful laugh. “You have not made it a secret that I’m not good enough to be your husband. Apparently, I’m only worthy of relieving you of your virtue.”

  Belle gasped in outrage. “I never said that!”

  “You’ve made your grievances quite clear. So I can only deduce that you can never come to love an earl like me.”

  An earl like him? Hah!

  But the word “love” brought her up short.

  Love.

  The earlier image of him standing before her, mouthing something while she enjoyed her lemon cakes suddenly invaded her mind.

  I love you, not the damn lemon cakes.

  Her heart stopped.

  “You said you loved me,” Belle murmured, the memory now so clear in her mind that she almost choked on it.

  He stilled, weary emerald eyes roaming her face, taking in every small nuisance and registering the slight twitch in her eye.

  Belle squirmed under his gaze, wishing she hadn’t blurted that out. But the memory had caught her so off guard, how was she meant to react to that? By the tick in his jaw, she estimated her reaction was not the desired one.

  “Yes, I may have declared something of the sort while you were too preoccupied with cake and bleeding to death,” he snapped.

  In hindsight, she may not have had the best timing in the world.

  “Simon,” she started but paused when she saw him stiffen at her placating tone.

  Simon was unlike any man she’d ever met, by no means was he a rake or the brooding sort. Always ready with a smile and a gentleman in every sense of the word, he also possessed a slightly wild imagination. In short, he was wonderful and she didn’t know what to do with him.

  Her hands trembled with uncertainty and her mind protested to what her heart was determined to utter. Yet if she confessed her true feelings and how much she desired to call him her own, he’d never let her go. She’d even wager he’d move mountains to claim her, which would ultimately end in resentment.

  Just tell him the truth, her traitorous inner voice counseled in desperation.

  No, she whispered back.

  “I cannot marry you.”

  An array of emotions passed over his face before a blank mask cleared away all expression. But she’d seen enough. Hurt. Disappointment. Betrayal. Desperation. And then calm. It was painful to watch and she ached all the more for it.

  I love you, too.

  He leaned forward, attempting to hide the slight tremble of his hands. “You need protection, Belle. Your brothers aren’t here and you have a madman on your tail that wants to kill you. I will be able to protect you better if you are my wife.”

  Belle shivered at the word “wife.”

  It would not be difficult to imagine being his wife. In fact, it was rather easy. Too easy. She must make him grasp the finality of her decision.

  Belle shook her head, her eyes pleading him to understand. “Marriage will only put you in more danger. I cannot allow that. I can take care of myself.”

  He scoffed, but said, “If you marry me you won’t have to. I’ll share your burden and protect you in all ways and in all things.”

  “Simon—”

  “If you are worried I’ll dictate your life, don’t be. It is not my wish to change who you are. We will be equals, partners in marriage.”

  Belle believed him. It sounded like heaven, in fact, which made it all the more painful to let go. If there were ever a man to pick for her husband, even before this mess with De Roux, she’d have picked him. And she’d have loved him until the end.

  “You don’t understand, perhaps you never will. I cannot marry you, Simon.”

  He settled back in his seat, his eyes fathomless as he regarded her. The stubborn set of his jaw was the only sign of his unyielding resolve. “Why do you run away from me, from us? I’ll not believe you do not feel the same connection I do.”

  Arms settling over her chest, she tilted her chin upward. “There are some things even I cannot change, no matter how much I may wish to.”

  “A more stubborn woman I’ve yet to meet. You. Love. Me.” Leaning forward, his gaze lit with truth, he dared her to deny it. “And I am hopelessly in love with you.”

  At her small gasp, he continued. “I’ve told myself your denial does not matter, but it pains me, truly pains me. I want your heart. I want to hear you say the words. But even if that never occurs, I still want you safe.”

  At a loss for words, her heart still hammering at his declaration, Belle could only stare at him, wide-eyed.

  “I will not let anything happen to you. Even if it means you shall hate me, you shall at least be alive to do so.”

  Belle closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Does Jo know what you’ve done?” she asked.

  His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I wager if she hasn’t yet, she will learn of it soon enough.”

  Belle looked away. That provided no comfort, not even a slither of hope. They would never reach her in time, should they even attempt to rescue her from this madness.

  No matter, she’d remove herself from his misguided clutches. Having survived death twice now, she figured she’d manage to outmaneuver an earl.

  Belle snuck a peak at Simon, quickly averting her gaze when she found him staring at her with a sad droop in the set of his shoulders that hadn’t been there moments ago.

  She admitted to herself that she never could quite catch her breath every time she looked at him. There was something about him, something that made her want to throw caution to the wind and embrace the life she never imagined she’d have.

  But he was an earl, and an earl required an heir. He might overlook her barrenness now, in the face of danger and in the bright eyes of love, but when the danger passed, when love settled into a less-passionate thing, all that would remain was the truth of what he’d sacrificed in a moment of passion.

  He’d have no sons or daughters of his own. Never hear the laughter of children in his home. Never have anyone to carry on his title or to dote on him in his old age. She knew what that future felt like and she could spare him that. If she gave into him now, he’d only ever have her, then regret, and, eventually, resentment. And that—that she could not bear.

  Better to love him only from afar, better to see him truly happy someday when he moved on from her, then to have him grow to hate her and their life together.

  Resolved, she turned her attention to his plan, which had a few holes in it. Such as her aunt. She would never find the note. Her maid would, and she’d destroy it, knowing that if her mistress had eloped, Belle would have at the very least informed her. Since her maid was aware of her persona of Madam De La Frey, she knew to be discreet in any matters involving Belle.

  “We are getting married. That is the end of it,” Simon said as if he could hear her thoughts.

  Belle did not glance his way but continued to stare out of the window.

  “We shall see about that,” she replied, her whisper barely audible.

  Chapter 22

  Belle waited until their driver vanished into the Twin Brothers Inn before she jumped from the carriage and dashed in a different direction. She only had moments before S
imon, already inside securing their luncheon, would notice the driver had left his post and would rush back outside himself. Though Gretna Green was famous for its elopements, it was still just a tiny village, consisting of only a few constructions.

  She headed for the only immediate shelter in sight, which happened to be a coach a few feet away from where they halted. A pang in her chest stalled her for a moment and she glanced over her shoulder with longing and regret.

  Really, what did Simon expect? That she would just allow herself to be drugged and kidnapped? That she would be passive about something in which they so fervently disagreed? This was not the Middle Ages. Men did not throw women over their shoulders and ravish them in caves. These were modern times and she refused to give in to such barbaric antics. No matter how endearing the sentiment.

  The coach was the perfect place to hide and without further thought she threw open the door and jumped in, startling two young lovers out of their embrace.

  “My apologies. Please do not stop on my account,” Belle murmured, unconcerned that there were occupants in the coach. In fact, it suited her purpose much better. Now, no unsuspecting couple would discover their coach had been appropriated—they were already aware of her. And perhaps they’d prove interesting company on her journey home.

  The couple continued to stare at her eyes wide.

  Belle raised a brow. “If you do not mind, I will just wait here for a while.”

  That brought them out of their shock.

  “Of course,” the lady replied, a delighted smile spreading across her face. “I am Lady Lucinda Albright and this is Lord Beaverstoke.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both, I am—”

  “You are Lady Belle Middleton, yes?” Lucinda replied with obvious excitement. “We know who you are. You’re quite famous.”

  Taken aback, Belle regarded them with suspicion.

  Famous?

  Surely not.

  She studied the couple with newfound interest. Lady Lucinda bubbled with merriment, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. Wild, dark curls framed her face in direct contrast to Lord Beaverstoke’s thinning light hair. A pretty girl made even more so by her partner. It was clear she outshone him in every way, casting him into the shadows. But by the looks of the young lord, he may even prefer it that way.

  Her gaze took him in, not certain she’d ever heard or seen him before. He was quite unremarkable, with his mouse-colored hair, pointy nose, and thin lips. Perched on said nose were small glasses, almost too small for his long, pointy face.

  Wait…a memory flitted through her mind. A rumor of a clumsy lord that fell over his own feet when he brought his lady love roses. The thorns of the roses scratched his face during his tumble as he had forgotten to have them removed. Could this be that couple?

  “You must have me confused with someone else, Lady Lucinda. I’m hardly famous.”

  “Oh, but you are! You are acquainted with the most notorious rakes in London,” Lucinda whispered scandalized. “What’s more, your friends married two of those rakes!”

  Belle blinked at the couple sitting across from her at a loss for words.

  Lord Beaverstoke remained silent but watchful.

  “Well, I daresay you will be quite famous then, as well—eloping with the gentleman that forgot to remove the thorns from his roses.”

  Lady Lucinda giggled. “Oh, that was quite brave of him! I fell in love instantly when I saw him standing before me all bloody and bruised, yet not letting that get him down.”

  Belle clamped her gaping mouth shut. It was a wonder Lord Beaverstoke survived at all, she mused with a touch of sarcasm. Brave indeed.

  “I say, why are you in Gretna Green? Are you eloping, as well?”

  For the first time, Lord Beaverstoke looked truly intrigued by the conversation.

  “I—well, no,” Belle murmured, pulling back the curtain somewhat to see if Simon had discovered her missing yet. “I find myself in a bit of a spot and would consider it a personal favor if you’d escort me home. That is if you aren’t planning on crossing the seas in celebration of your nuptials.”

  “Of course we will take you home! But are you hiding from someone, Lady Belle?” The ever-curious Lady Lucinda asked. Her eyes caught something beyond Belle, through the parted curtain. “Well, I never! Is that the Earl of Westfield?”

  Both Lady Lucinda and Lord Beaverstoke were looking out the window now in curiosity.

  Drat.

  Belle sank lower, hoping their curiosity would end soon and not draw Simon’s attention. She should have insisted that they take her home the moment she entered the coach.

  Curiosity got the better of her and she peeked up just in time to see Simon pause at finding their carriage empty. He stood unmoving for a moment before he sent a murderous glance to where the driver should have been perched. Of course, Belle had been the one to insist that their driver take the opportunity to relieve himself and grab refreshments. And even though Belle could not quite see his eyes she sensed his fury. And fear.

  She had not even considered that he might imagine something truly dangerous had happened to her, rather than assuming she ran from him.

  Guilt stabbed at her.

  Perhaps she’d made a mistake, but it was too late to back out of her decision now.

  Then Lady Lucinda lifted her hand and waved at a now very panic-stricken Simon. Belle nearly punched the woman.

  Simon glanced their way and Belle plastered herself against the seat, out of his line of sight.

  “Stop waving at him!” Belle hissed.

  Lucinda frowned at her. “Why ever? Oh…” Her mouth formed a round “O” as realization dawned. “You are eloping with Westfield!”

  Belle was just about to bolt out from the other side of the coach when the door swung open, revealing an anxious Simon. His relief upon discovering her was quickly shadowed by his anger, but he kept his voice charming when he said, “There you are, my dear. I see you’ve made new friends.”

  Belle’s eyes narrowed on his easy smile. He knew very well she’d tried to escape her fate and failed.

  His hand reached into the carriage and he held it palm up and out to her, expecting her to take it. She shot him a glare before finally placing her hand in his.

  Without so much as a farewell, Belle climbed out from the coach. Simon never let go of her hand, walking her back to their own carriage.

  “We need to talk.”

  Oh, now he wanted to talk when before had refused to listen to reason. She turned toward him, hands on hips, just outside their carriage.

  “There is nothing to talk about. You are forcing me to marry against my will. Not only do I find it barbaric, but I will also never forgive you for it.”

  “Damnation, would it be so bad to be married to me?” he snapped and Belle felt the familiar ache in her heart flicker to life.

  She looked up from the ground and wished she hadn’t.

  Misery stared back at her.

  How was she to explain to him in a mere moment what had taken her four years to accept?

  “You do not understand.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  Belle considered him. He deserved the truth. But to crack open her deepest, darkest pit of misery and regret, one she’d fought hard to close, was difficult. It highlighted both her greatest mistake and greatest flaw. But, if it served to finally wipe the hurt from his eyes, she’d do it.

  Her hands instinctively moved to rest over her wound, his eyes following the motion.

  “When…when I nearly died, I cannot recall how I dragged myself from the docks or how my brother found me. I only remember waking up on a ship in unbearable pain, crying as someone tended to my wound.”

  His eyes softened and she turned away, staring at the inn’s sign above the establishment. He said nothing, giving her space to speak.

  “To this day I don’t know why I was the one Edgar singled out. But the next time I woke, I was in my bed, recovering from my wound.”
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  She turned to look at him then, her eyes bright with tears. “The doctor said I would live, but that I would never bear any children. I can never give any man an heir, a tragedy I accepted a long time ago, but one that you must now understand. Do you see now why I cannot marry you?”

  “I’m so sorry, Belle. No woman should ever have to endure what was done to you.” He took a single step closer to her, bringing her into his arms. “But I do not care that you cannot bear me a child. I love you.”

  Belle stilled.

  Surely he could not mean…

  She shook her head. “Simon—”

  “Is that your only reservation?”

  “—you say that now, but you are an earl. I cannot sire you an heir.”

  “I. Don’t. Care.”

  “You will,” Belle pressed. “Perhaps not now, but one day you will come to discover the cost of your sacrifice and you will resent me for it.”

  “I could never resent you. I love you. Do you know what that means? Unconditionally. I’ve fallen madly in love with you. I’m starved for you, I cannot breathe without you.”

  Belle took a step back, breaking the contact between them, shaking her head in denial.

  Love—the reason that crushed all reasons.

  It could not be as simple as that, could it?

  “Do you love me, Belle? Or do you just love those damn lemon cakes of yours?” The last was growled on a sour note, causing hysterical laughter to erupt from her.

  They stared at each other in silence, Belle contemplative as Simon watched her with weariness. Nothing remained but the truth. She’d come this far, hadn’t she?

  “I do love you, more than I love those damn lemon cakes.”

  “Thank God!” Simon replied, his voice hoarse with emotion as he hauled her into his embrace and pulled her tightly against him. “Say it again.”

  “I love you.”

  “Again.”

  Belle shook her head in exasperation. “But Simon—”

  He silenced her with a soft kiss, sensing her inner turmoil. “I don’t care about any of that, sweet.”

  She felt the tears falling down her cheeks, then. Simply overwhelmed.