The Sweetest Revenge

by Dawn Halliday

  “I cannot.” Her voice sounded brusque, just as she meant it to. “We must return you to the cellar.”

  “Will you come again?”

  She bit her lip.

  Here it is. Do it, Isabelle.

  She forced the words out. “Nay. I don’t think it would be wise.”

  Silence. Then, “Why?”

  He makes whores of ladies. He debauches them. He laughs at them.

  “I know better.”

  “What do you mean? I want to be with you, Belle.”

  She spun on him. “Whatever have you done to make me believe that lie? I have given you my body, my lord, but you shall never have my heart. Never again. I know what you do to women’s hearts. You twist them, rip them apart, then you toss them away.”

  But he had never relinquished his hold on her heart. He held it in his fist, squeezing tight.

  His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t lie to you. I never have.”

  Be cold, Isabelle, as he is. He held her heart in his death grip, just as he had seven years ago. He would abandon her, just as he had abandoned Anna. He would mock her, just as he had mocked Susan. She couldn’t let it happen. She must walk away. For Anna and Susan. For herself. For womankind.

  Say it, Isabelle. Say the words you rehearsed with Susan and Anna.

  “I am finished with you.”

  “No!” He surged upwards, straining against the bonds that held his wrists. His eyes shot silver sparks at her. “I won’t let you go, Belle. Not this time. I won’t…”

  “You’ve no choice,” she ground out, fighting her rebelling heart.

  “I won’t allow it.”

  She shook her head and backed away.

  “I’ll find you.” He yanked against the ropes. The bed groaned. Isabelle watched him struggle, her heart quickening, and for a moment, she thought he might actually succeed at tearing the bed apart.

  “I will have you, Belle!” he shouted, his face purple with rage.

  He laughed at Susan.

  He deserted Anna.

  “Me and a hundred others!” she cried. “I know who you are, Leo. I know what you are. I will never let a man like you have power over me. I won’t be such a weak, pitiable creature ever again. I’ve more self-respect than that.”

  She turned her back on him. She stepped over the threshold and slammed the door behind her.

  His words resonated within her. I love you. I’ll find you. I won’t let you go.

  She stumbled to her room, hearing him call for her one last time.

  “No, Belle! Don’t do this! No!”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Leo felt as if a very small, very sharp dagger had flayed him from head to toe.

  Belle had turned the tables on him. She had governed the events of last night. She seduced him, used his body, and left him aching for more.

  This was exactly what he had done to her seven years ago. To Anna Newton. To countless others. He used them, exploited them, and then walked away. If they complained, if they cried, he merely turned a deaf ear. Or worse, as in the case of Miss Newton, he skulked away in the dark, unseen and unheard, a coward.

  The women might keep him here for days, weeks, months. But by the bitter resentment in Belle’s voice, he knew she would not come to him again. He would rot in the cellar without her. He would lose his mind.

  Hercules entered shortly after Belle slammed the door. Leo glared at him, daring him to speak. No doubt the big man knew every detail of what had just transpired.

  Silent and expressionless, Hercules strapped the blindfold on, drew the coverlet over his body, and then left, shutting the door behind him.

  A few moments later, the door opened again.

  “Leo,” Lady M said by way of greeting.

  “Good morning, Leo,” Anna said.

  He heard them approach, one of them on either side of the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut behind the blindfold.

  How could Belle do this?

  “She planned it,” he whispered. “You planned it, all of you. Together.”

  “How does it feel?” Lady M asked gravely.

  He had no pride. Its last remaining vestige had drained from him when Belle walked away. He did not care what these women thought. He only cared what Belle thought. How much she must hate him, to make him feel she cared for him, to pretend to give herself to him, and then, after he’d confessed his love, to take it all away.

  The old Belle was too genuine, too innocent to have done such a thing. But his own actions had taken those traits from her.

  “It hurts,” he said, and even as he said it, the pain tightened in his chest.

  “Yes,” Lady M said. “It does.”

  “You understand it now, don’t you?” Anna’s voice was the gentlest he’d ever heard it.

  He remembered his panic the night he had bedded her. He remembered how he’d fled in the middle of the night, berating himself for treating an innocent young woman like a whore.

  But when she had awakened the morning after to bloody sheets and an empty bed, how had she felt? Did she hurt as he did now?

  Oh God. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

  “I understand,” he whispered.

  “Good,” Anna said.

  “It is over,” Lady M said. “You will never see her again.”

  No, no, no.

  The pain swelled. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

  “Hercules will take you back to the cellar,” Anna said.

  “The cellar,” he echoed.

  Those words unleashed the torrent of emotions raging within him, and as he writhed and choked and fought against the ropes, Anna and Lady M left the room.

  Hercules entered seconds later. “I see you are in a fighting mood this morning, monsieur.”

  Instantly, Leo stilled and clamped his jaw. He heard Hercules step to the edge of the bed.

  Leo’s legs shook. He wanted a fight. He needed a fight. He ached for the sensation of his fist contacting with flesh, of pummeling someone into the ground.

  Hercules was a prime target. He didn’t give a damn if the man was twice his size.

  “I know what you need,” Hercules told him.

  “I need to break your neck,” Leo muttered.

  “Ah. I would like to give you the opportunity to try.”

  “Would you?”

  “Oui. Come down to the cellar quietly, and I will give you your chance.”

  Leo turned his head away.

  Hercules helped him into his trousers, unbound his wrists, which were sticky, chafed from fighting against his bonds and oozing blood, and led him to the cellar. Still blinded by the strip of cloth covering his eyes, Leo stepped carefully down the flights of stairs, his body and mind merged into one raw, bristling, angry wound.

  In the cellar, Hercules shut the door behind them and slid the bolt into place. The big man slipped off Leo’s blindfold and tossed it on the blue chaise.

  “Below the neck?” The big man unbuttoned his shirt calmly, exposing a massive, broad chest. “No need to advertise our little duel, yes, monsieur?”

  “Very well,” Leo said curtly, disappointed. He would like to wipe that infuriating placid expression from the Frenchman’s face. But there were other ways of doing that, he supposed.

  It suddenly dawned on him why the giant was so eager to fight.

  Revenge.

  He wanted to punish Leo for what he’d said about Lady M days ago. But why now?

  “Woman problems, Hercules?” he murmured. “Is that it?”

  Hercules tossed his shirt to the floor. “Turn around, s’il vous plait, and I will untie you.”

  Leo turned his back to the giant. This would be the closest he’d been to freedom in ten days. No blindfold, no shackles, no ropes. If he could overcome Hercules, he could lock him in the shackles. Someone would eventually open the door. And then….

  And then he’d find Belle.

  Hercules untied his ropes, then moved away as Leo flung them across the room.

  Leo
turned to his opponent, flexing his sore wrists, taking up the ready stance he’d learned on his very first visit to Jackson’s seven years ago.

  Hercules raised his fists.

  “Has the lady finally proven too much for you?” Leo twisted his lips into a taunting smile.

  Hercules came at him, growling.

  Leo knew he was too eager for battle, but, unwilling to resist the temptation for one moment longer, he threw the first punch. It glanced off Hercules’s arm.

  Leo almost groaned with the beauty of it, of the force, the power, the connection of flesh on flesh.

  He slammed his fist into Hercules’s side. The big man let out an “Oomph,” the same sound he’d made the night he nearly broke Leo’s nose, the night he’d been captured.

  They circled, traded jabs, circled again. The chaise got in the way, for the cellar was not a large room. Most of Leo’s blows connected but hardly seemed to do any damage. None of the Frenchman’s blows connected, for Leo was too quick, and he assumed one punch from the giant would finish him. His only hope was to wear him down slowly.

  The Frenchman’s expression was focused now, his thick brows drawn together in concentration, his enormous shoulders tight, glistening with sweat, rippling with muscle.

  Fighting erased the images from Leo’s mind. He felt them fade, smearing, their colors blending into mud, like portraits drowned at the bottom of the sea. His shackles melted off, and his shame, and the ladies’ anger. The image of Belle, her beautiful body curled up on the bed, her arms modestly covering her breasts, drifted away on the tide.

  All that existed now was the fight: the rasping breaths of his opponent, the sweat trickling down his temple, the search for an opening, a place to make contact, a path to freedom.

  Suddenly, a massive, meaty fist came at him from the left. Leo tried to dodge away, but the fist plunged into his stomach, the bigger man’s full weight and strength behind it.

  Gasping, his body devoid of air, Leo reeled backward and crashed into the wall, the back of his head banging into the lowest curve of the ceiling.

  With blurring vision, he glanced at his opponent. Hercules bent low to avoid hitting his head and took a step forward, his expression fierce. Another step and Leo would be trapped. Hercules’s massive leg rose and moved forward, as if in slow motion.

  Leo dropped his head and ducked beneath Hercules’s raised arm. Then he spun around and attacked.

  Punches flew now, his own punches, formidable punches which came from deep within him. The Frenchman grunted each time Leo’s fist slammed into his flesh. John had driven him to this. John had lied, had allowed him to turn to debauchery and vice just so Leo wouldn’t marry a commoner.

  Leo imagined this was John, and that he was fighting him for seven lost years.

  The big man’s knees weakened; his body sank to the floor.

  And then Leo realized Hercules was down on hands and knees, gasping for breath, his head dropped between his shoulders.

  Some instinctual response caused Leo to step back, to wait until his opponent stood once again. If he could.

  Get him now! a voice cried inside of him. Shackle him to the wall!

  He could not. It was against his code of honor to beat someone who was down.

  Appalled by his own unwillingness to take advantage of his victory, he watched Hercules gather his strength.

  Hercules looked up, and his sweaty face split into a grin. “Good work, monsieur,” he rasped. “Most excellent.”

  He held up a hand.

  Leo took it and pulled him to his feet, unable to return the Frenchman’s smile. He felt alive again, but no better. Pummeling the Frenchman wouldn’t bring Belle back to him.

  Hercules clapped his shoulder. “You may dress yourself,” he wheezed. “The clothing is on the sofa. New tailcoat and greatcoat, but the waistcoat is yours.”

  Leo shifted his gaze warily from the clothes to Hercules’s face. “Does this mean what I think it does?”

  The giant lifted a shoulder. “Depends what you think.”

  He almost couldn’t say it. He dashed a drop of sweat from the end of his nose. “They intend to release me?”

  Hercules’s mouth twitched. “Oui, monsieur. I believe so.”

  Leo bowed his head, his shoulders sagging with relief. They would not drive him to insanity down here after all. He would find her. Some way, somehow, he would make her forgive him, make her love him again.

  ***

  She was not well. Isabelle leaned forward on her chair, clutching her stomach, her arms hidden by the mahogany table.

  She had just told Anna and Susan the details of what had happened. Anna had hugged her and offered her congratulations. Susan was worried.

  “Oh dear, Isabelle. I told you what signs to look for, when to pull away,” she said. “What if you are with child?”

  Isabelle simply shrugged. It had been the last thing on her mind. It was too late for regrets.

  She stared down at her breakfast, which she must eat if she did not want to raise further questions from her friends. The thought of eating nauseated her.

  Anna raised her cup of chocolate to her lips. “You were perfect, Iz.”

  Isabelle forced a smile. “Because I had a perfect teacher.” She glanced at Susan. “Correction. Perfect teachers.”

  “And yet you are miserable,” Susan murmured.

  Isabelle blinked and looked down at her plate, fighting welling tears. It was over. In two days, she’d leave London in a carriage bound for the Highlands.

  “Don’t be sad,” Anna said.

  Isabelle lifted her head. “I will be leaving you, and I…I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to return.”

  She lied. That was part of it, yes, but the biggest part had to do with the look of shock on Leo’s face, the desperation and pain she’d seen there right before she’d walked out. She had been cold, callous, someone entirely apart from herself.

  Worse, she had almost relished it.

  I love you. I’ll find you. I’ll never let you go.

  She sucked in a breath. She couldn’t count on those words. She’d believed similar words seven years ago, and he had never come. She would be foolish to think he would come this time.

  He would hate her for what she had done. She hated herself.

  Susan gazed at her, her face expressionless.

  “But you will come to visit?” Anna said.

  She gave the younger woman a doubtful look. “I am entirely at the mercy of my aunt and uncle. ’Twas only because of my Great-Aunt Mary’s endless cajoling that I was able to come this time. She had to come fetch me from the Highlands, at her age, and she is in poor health. I don’t know if it’ll happen again.”

  “Well then,” Anna said. “I shall come fetch you myself.”

  “That is very sweet, Anna.” Isabelle smiled gratefully but inwardly cringed at the thought of Anna face-to-face with her Uncle Ewan and Aunt Una.

  Susan dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “I know we’ve discussed this, Isabelle, but there is always the option of staying. Mr. Sutherland—”

  “Nay, Susan,” she choked. “I cannot.”

  Understanding dawned in Susan’s expression. “Good heavens. You do love Leo.”

  Groaning, she dropped her face into her hands.

  Susan didn’t speak. Anna didn’t move. Slowly, she raised her eyes. Both women stared at Isabelle across the table.

  “Oh my,” Anna whispered. “You are wretched, Isabelle. You must be horribly, madly in love with him.”

  Why must she love the man who had done so much damage to them all?

  “I don’t wish to love him,” she whispered. “I wish I could love Mr. Sutherland. I really do.”

  “Why did you do it, then?” Anna frowned. “If you love Leo, why did you walk away from him?”

  Isabelle twisted her hands in her skirts. “Because I hate him, too. I hate him for what he became. I hate him for what he did to you both.” She dashed an errant tear from her fac
e. “I’ll never forgive him.”

  Their faces softened with pity. “You are the best friend in the world, Isabelle,” Anna said gravely. “I won’t forget it. Someday, I hope I may do something just as selfless for you.”

  Selfless? No, everything she had done was selfish in the extreme. She had served her revenge coldly, and now she would suffer, just as the villainous Marquise de Merteuil from Les Liaisons Dangereuses had suffered in the end.

  “You hate him,” Susan said, “but you still love him.”

  “Aye.” She shook her head hopelessly. “Oh Lord, what am I going to do?”

  ***

  Late in the morning, a blindfolded Leo sat in a carriage bumping down a cobbled road. Hercules sat beside him. They had driven for some time, turning corners seemingly at random. He supposed the strange route was meant to confuse him.

  It had.

  Now he knew why Hercules had chosen to fight him today. It was his last chance.

  The carriage jolted to a halt, and Hercules pulled off the blindfold.

  “You are free now, monsieur. Bonne chance.” He held out his hand; his face was as blank as could be. Leo wondered what thoughts rumbled through that gigantic skull.

  He took Hercules’s hand, scrambling for the right words. This was a most awkward situation. “Thank you,” he muttered. “And…er…good luck to you, too. Ah, good luck with the lady.”

  He opened the carriage door and stepped out into Hyde Park. Behind him, the door slammed shut, and the carriage lurched away. He turned in a slow circle. What now?

  A man and a woman approached, talking, laughing. The man looked adoringly at the woman, undoubtedly his mistress or his wife, though one would seldom see a man looking upon his wife with such naked affection. The couple passed, neither sparing a glance for him.

  He should go home, he supposed. Home was not too far from here.

  Clouds obscured the morning sun, and a shadow passed over him. He shivered, clasped the new, ill-fitting greatcoat around him, and began walking.

  He moved slowly. After ten days in the cellar, he relished the freedom of it, the simple ability to be able to go where he pleased. Despite the cold, he felt a brand-new appreciation for fresh air, for the sun and clouds, for strangers going about their business, for the ground beneath his feet, for walking.