Capture Me (Royals Saga: Smith and Belle Book 3)

by Geneva Lee

  We couldn’t outrun time. Our only hope was to outrun the past.

  A spray of glimmering light fragmented on the roof of the car, and I realized Belle was its source. The sun had caught the diamonds in her wedding band.

  She was wearing it. Despite everything that had happened and despite how difficult the vows we’d made must feel to her now, she had finally put the damn ring on her finger. If I’d believed in a higher power, I might have seen it as a sign. Just as a new day appeared to taunt me, it had also reminded me that I had something worth fighting for. I’d joined this cause long before I met Belle Stuart—long before I’d understood why I felt compelled to.

  Now I knew.

  Every decision I’d made had brought me here to this moment, and while I wished the circumstances were less fucked up, I loved the outcome: her. Belle had come into my life for the worst possible reason, and somehow despite all the ugliness that surrounded our meeting, she’d given me something I thought was impossible. Love. Purpose.

  Hope.

  And even though I had a harder time holding on to the latter two gifts, the love was always there. And it was that love that kept leading me back to a place where I could believe again.

  “You’re quiet,” she murmured.

  That was the pot calling the kettle black. “You’re a very focused driver. I didn’t want to break your concentration.”

  “I’d like to see you try,” she shot back, a grin tugging at her lips. But as quickly as the lightheartedness had appeared, it vanished.

  “Pull over and I’ll show you,” I offered, trying to find it again. But there was no point. Moments of levity would be fleeting for the foreseeable future.

  “How’s your bandage?” she asked in a sharp voice, redirecting my attention to the trouble at hand.

  I lifted my shirt and shook my head. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Are you going to ask where we’re going?” she prompted, her blue eyes flashing quizzically at me before returning to the road.

  But I didn’t need to ask. I’d seen the signs for Somerset several times in the last hour, and I knew exactly what we would find there.

  “I could be kidnapping you,” she continued dryly when I didn’t respond.

  “Beautiful, it’s not a crime if I’d follow you anyway.” I traced a figure eight on the back of her hand.

  “I’m taking you home.” The statement was confessional in nature, as if she expected penance in exchange for this revelation. Given her history with her family home, I couldn’t exactly blame her.

  “I know.”

  “I’m not sure we’ll be escaping danger there.”

  “It will be better than being in London,” I said.

  She snorted, shaking her head. “You haven’t met my mother.”

  “She gave birth to you, she can’t be all bad.” Although the fact that she’d sued her own daughter didn’t support my theory. I needed to start putting on my game face now.

  The look Belle shot me made me seriously doubt the validity of that statement.

  “Stuart Hall is lovely during the holidays,” she continued, but I couldn’t help but notice that she had grown distant.

  There were a million things to discuss before we arrived. We needed to have a plan of action. We needed to agree on a story to tell her mother. She needed to have my lawyer’s information if I was arrested in connection to Jake’s murder. All of that could wait though. Belle had faced my past, now I would help conquer hers. Because that was the only way we could look to the future together.

  Chapter 6

  I imagined for some people coming home produced a warm feeling. Up until I met Smith, buying shoes was the closest I’d come to capturing that sensation. Home had never been my refuge. It had been the place I’d fled from as soon as my mother deemed me old enough to attend boarding school at the age of six—a year too late to retain my innocence. This place had stolen that from me. This house had whisked away my youth and demanded my blood and fear ever since. I wished I didn’t blame my father for falling victim to it. As I’d grown older, I even understood to some extent. But I couldn’t divorce what he had done with this place any more than I could pretend it hadn’t happened. I had found his body, and even though it took me years to truly comprehend the permanency of death, the sight of his bloated, blue face had been glimpse enough.

  “It’s magnificent,” Smith commented from the passenger seat.

  I tried to see it through his eyes: the large brick expanse of the main house built in the seventeenth century; the manicured hedges that lined the circular drive that had once seen carriages and riders daily; and, of course, the grounds stretching past my line of sight to where the stables and various outbuildings still stood.

  “Clara told me that it was like stepping into a Jane Austen novel,” I told him.

  He tipped his head in agreement. “It is.”

  My mother certainly fit the bill of the rude lady of the estate. I was sure good old Jane would have plenty to say about her.

  I pulled the Bugatti to the front entrance and put it in park with a deep sigh. This wasn’t exactly how I’d pictured bringing Smith to meet my mum. Although, in all fairness, I’d spent more time fantasizing about never speaking to her again. It hadn’t crossed my mind that the two should be introduced.

  “I’m assuming your mother doesn’t know we’re married,” Smith guessed, his forehead wrinkling in concern as he studied my face.

  “Unless you put an announcement in the paper, probably not.” I didn’t tell him that she had an uncanny ability to find out about my personal life. We had enough to worry about. I didn’t need to stress over how much she knew about Smith and me.

  “Your aunt wouldn’t tell her?”

  My chest constricted at the mention of Aunt Jane. I hadn’t even told her I was married, although I had a feeling she had figured it out. “Definitely not.”

  I opened my mouth to clarify, but he stopped me.

  “You don’t have to explain. I know enough about the situation.”

  Like the fact that my mother was suing me for my business or that she’d forced my father to disown my half-brother. Smith might not have met her, but I was certain he already had an opinion.

  A friendly, round face greeted me at the door. “Miss Belle!”

  I shot Smith a warning look. I didn’t want him to run around correcting anyone about my marital status yet. “Belinda!”

  She caught me in a hug before I could explain my unexpected appearance.

  “Aren’t you the sight! Come in out of the cold,” she commanded, waving us inside the massive entrance hall. I was careful to keep my back turned to the door behind me, focusing instead on the infectiously cheerful woman that had helped raised me. Belinda had been with our family for years, and I’d often suspected that she was my fairy godmother sent to protect me from my wicked mother. I could think of no other reason why the kind-hearted woman had stayed on the staff through both of my fathers marriages and his suicide.

  “She’s not expecting us,” I warned her, my eyes darting to the staircase as if my mother might appear at any moment.

  “Your mum is out on a ride. She went up to see the neighbors. Don’t expect her back till afternoon.” Belinda glanced around us looking for bags. Then she paused and studied us more closely. “What happened to you, child?”

  My hand flew to the wounds on my face.

  “Car accident,” Smith lied smoothly, placing a reassuring hand on the small of my back. “I’m afraid we’re both banged up. The doctor ordered rest, and I didn’t trust Belle to get it in the city. I just started driving when she suggested we head here.”

  It was a perfectly rational explanation for how we looked, but what sold it was my husband’s dazzling smile. I knew for a fact that he could charm the pants off a woman.

  “Hopefully, my old clothes still fit.” I couldn’t imagine what I’d left behind between visits from university, but I knew there would be some things.

  �
��Of course, they will, love.” Belinda eyed me. “You still have your figure.”

  “But you…” I glanced at Smith, wondering if I could risk a trip to the nearest village.

  “I’ll pull some things from your father’s closet,” Belinda interrupted the thought.

  I wanted to protest, but I didn’t have many options. Not when all I wanted was to lock the door and hide.

  By the time Belinda had brought us hot tea and a light breakfast, I’d forgotten my apprehension. She was what made this place a home. It was likely the reason my mother had been threatening to sack her for years.

  But as my mother’s shrill voice rang through the dining room, I remembered why it wasn’t my home. “Who has parked that ostentatious vehicle in my drive?”

  There was no point in trying to collect myself. That much I knew. Instead I raised my teacup, held it up in toast to Smith, and took a sip. I didn’t bother to look up from it when she appeared in the doorway and stopped dead in her tracks.

  She opened her mouth to speak but froze when she saw that I wasn’t alone. Instead she held out one thin hand and beckoned for me to follow her.

  “You refused my invitation to visit,” she spat out as soon as we were out of eyesight. It was just like my mum to want to save face, if not ears.

  “He can still hear us if you yell,” I warned her, trying to maintain my calm.

  “I don’t know who that man is or why you think you can waltz in here and act like you own the place—”

  “Because I own the place,” I interrupted her, but she didn’t stop talking.

  “It is common courtesy to call before arriving at someone’s home.” My mother twisted her hands together as if wringing out a rag. I couldn’t help but imagine doing the same to her neck.

  “It’s hardly a huge imposition on you,” I pointed out, heat rising to my cheeks. “You have over thirty rooms here. I’m sure we can dust off the furniture in the south wing. You won’t even notice we’re here.”

  “That is hardly the point.” She jabbed a finger at my chest. “I assume you received the papers I sent.”

  “You mean the papers you served me?” I shot back. So far she hadn’t said a thing about my obvious injuries. She hadn’t bothered to ask who Smith was or why we were here. She’d only focused on making it clear how unwanted we were in my family home—a home that I still owned.

  “Let’s not make this ugly,” she said in a low voice.

  “Afraid our guest might hear?” I said as loudly as possible.

  “I have no idea who that man is.”

  I considered telling her he was my lawyer, simply to scare her. “Smith Price.”

  “Your former employer?” Of course, she knew who he was. “This is a delicate situation, Belle. I don’t think you understand that.”

  “I think I do,” I rebutted. “We wouldn’t want people to know about our financial difficulties or that you’re suing your own daughter for rights to her company. It’s too late, Mother. You already made this ugly.”

  “If you had any hope of landing that man, you’ve seriously undermined the possibility,” she hissed. “No man wants a woman who comes with financial baggage.”

  “Maybe you’re wrong about that.” Or maybe she was right. I hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with Smith about the extent of my family estate’s troubles. I hadn’t wanted him to get involved before. I had been afraid he would take pity on me and attempt to bail me out. I’d never even considered the implications when I’d married him. In my mind, our lives were still separate in so many ways, but that wasn’t the point of marriage—and it wasn’t what I wanted with Smith. Given all that we’d been through, I couldn’t imagine keeping anything from him. But perhaps hearing it shouted during a screaming match with my mother wasn’t the appropriate way to go about opening up to him.

  “Maybe,” she muttered. “Perhaps he’s simply after the house or the land.”

  I laughed hollowly. “He doesn’t need our debt or our skeletons.”

  “You would be surprised what men will do for the chance at—”

  “Pardon me.” I whipped around to discover Smith’s muscular shape filling the corridor behind us. “I couldn’t help overhearing.”

  My mother glared at him, but he simply smirked back. It was the arrogant grin I’d once despised even though it made me weak in the knees. Now I loved it about him, especially when he leveled it at her.

  “Perhaps I could,” he admitted. “But I make it a point to be aware of all things concerning Belle. Naturally I wanted to be near her as she returned to her family estate.”

  “Naturally,” my mother repeated in a dry tone. “Stalkers make it a point to know everything about a woman. Are you a stalker, Mr. Price?”

  “Hardly.” There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes at the accusation.

  “You’ll forgive me if I tell you this is none of your business,” my mother said coldly.

  “Actually it is, seeing as I’m married to your daughter.”

  It was a miracle that in a house this old nothing burst into flames with the look she shot him. Her gaze continued to scorch as it turned on me. “Explain.”

  “When a man and a woman love each other very much,” I began in a flat voice.

  “Don’t sass me, young lady.”

  Smith stepped between us. “Don’t speak to my wife in that voice, ma’am.”

  She shrank back, a hand pressed to her chest. After a few minutes of silence, she straightened up. “Take the south wing.”

  It was a slap in the face to be sent to the far end of the house, considered shabby even for unimportant guests.

  “We’re preparing to film in the other wings,” she explained when she saw my face.

  “Including the north hall?”

  “That hall is reserved for family,” she said in a clipped tone. If there had been any doubt, I knew exactly where I stood with her now.

  Belinda, utilizing her unparalleled eavesdropping skills, had listened in and beaten us to the guest wing before the awkward audience with my mother. Within minutes she’d fluffed and dusted, preparing the hall’s largest suite for guests. I’d hidden in the room as a young child, knowing my mother wouldn’t bother searching this part of the house. It was a small comfort that she was unlikely to check in on us now.

  “Thank you,” I told her sincerely.

  She waved it off. “I imagine you two need to rest. Newlyweds are always so tired.”

  Smith turned just in time to see her wink at me. Apparently she’d caught that we were married. Regardless, I was happy to see her go. After the run-in with mother, I wanted to be alone.

  “I see where you get your tenacity,” Smith remarked as he settled onto the bed and kicked off his shoes.

  I whirled around, pointing a shaky finger at him. “Take that back, Price.”

  “It’s not an insult, beautiful.”

  My mouth fell open. Was he really comparing me with her?

  “I only wish your father was here,” he continued, “because I know that’s where you got your heart.”

  I clamped my lips shut and raised my eyebrows, still offended.

  “You look like her. You don’t filter yourself, but beautiful, that’s where the comparisons end.”

  I grudgingly sank onto the bed beside him, but I couldn’t stay mad. I knew he was partially right, but not about my father. My memories of him were too fuzzy to have made an impact. “Jane was the one who really cared about me. I’d like to think I’m like her.”

  “I look forward to getting to know her better.”

  We stretched out on the bed, our arms pressed together. After the last two days, I didn’t have energy for anything else.

  “I’d like that, too.” The words cracked over my dry tongue. Would we ever have that chance? It was impossible to say.

  “Someday,” he promised.

  “How do you know?” I asked, staring at the ceiling. “How can you be sure we’ll get through this?”

  “Toge
ther. When you love someone you make it through the bad shit together. That’s how love works. That’s why love works.” Smith turned his head to the side and brushed a kiss over my forehead. “Now sleep.”

  Chapter 7

  Sleep came in dreamless fits, and when I woke up, I discovered night had fallen again. We’d slept the whole day. Making my way to the bathroom in the dark, I fumbled for the light switch, momentarily startled to find myself at my mother’s house. Almost instantly the last few days rushed back to me.

  I stared into the mirror, but this time I didn’t see the bruises or the cuts. All I saw was the exhaustion lining my face. I could feel it throbbing at my temples, the ache spreading across my skin until all that was left was the heavy weight of existence. I was alive, which was ostensibly a good thing—so why did I feel so burdened by every breath?

  It was like those interviews you see on television after a natural disaster or a bombing. Half of the people are screaming with gratitude that they’re safe, thanking god for it. The other half are still shell-shocked, too numb to understand what happened. I’d seen it a million times. I’d even witnessed it firsthand after the bloody events of Clara’s wedding.

  It was different to feel it. Or rather to not feel it.

  When Smith had been in danger I was precise in my focus, attending to each moment as it came. I’d allowed myself a brief reprieve in bed with him, because I’d stupidly thought I could fuck away the pain and anger and fear I’d felt since we returned to London.

  But now it was here, literally staring back at me, and I couldn’t deny the truth any longer. The whole situation was a bloody mess. I had thought when I’d walked away from Jonathan that I’d chosen a new life for myself—a future of my own choosing. But had I only been kidding myself? Now I was back in the last place I wanted to be, facing not only the ghosts of my recent past, but those of my childhood. Death seemed to follow me. My father had been lured to a place so dark that he welcomed death. My best friend had gone to church on her wedding day, me at her side, and watched death attempt to steal her husband. A few nights ago, a stranger attempted to introduce me to death directly; I’d shaken death’s hand and managed to live—only to watch the stranger die.