The night before came flooding back in a series of vibrant and intoxicating flashes; her attempted escape, his anger, her anger and then… their mutual surrender. She had never felt a force quite like it in all her twenty years. If she had thought her attraction to him was confounding before, well now, it was that much more so. There was no explicable reason for the way she reacted. She should have been furious, but instead she had participated in his lovemaking with a vigor and passion she didn’t know she possessed.
Why was she so weak when it came to him? His eyes… She remembered at dinner how they held her spellbound. There was a magic about him that should terrify her superstitious gypsy nature. Then again, she’d always lived by her own rules, her own superstitions. She loved her family and tribe but… she’d been searching her whole life for a place to belong. Could it be here with the Grast?
Her eyes peeked out from under the covers and searched the room. She was alone. Rising naked from the bed, relishing the stiffness of her muscles, she realized that pleasure was a wonderful and addicting thing.
Her clothes were still strewn around the room, testament of their night. She paused in picking up her skirt. Though, all of it hadn’t been about consuming passion. There was an edge to him that she would’ve sworn called to her. A tenderness behind the roughness that she knew if she’d explore, she would find something that might just change everything. It was in the moments when he forgot she was his prisoner that she felt her heart melting. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? She was still his prisoner. Turning her in or not, she was his to rule over. The blackmail and the draught, not even the night they just shared could erase that.
The reality of that thought was like a cool dip in the summer. A relieving soak that chilled the hot madness.
She pulled on her skirt and found her scarves and shirt. Belle dressed with expediency for she had no idea when he’d return and she knew staying after what they just shared would be dangerous. She needed to get out while she still could. She needed freedom, not imprisonment. Dressed, she went to the door, praying silently that it was open. The knob turned under her hand, for the briefest of moments disappoint hit her. She hadn’t realized she’d been hoping he’d have locked her in, forcing her to stay. But as she moved to leave, she found herself face to face with Witherby. He was holding covered dishes in his hands.
“Oh, good morning, my lady. Your grace thought you’d like to dine in his chambers,” Witherby said, collecting himself from his startlement at her abrupt appearance.
‘Your grace?’ Then he’s a duke?
Guilty at being caught and unsure how to proceed, she smiled and moved aside so he could enter. “Thank you. I was just going to get something to eat myself,” she replied to his back as he set down her breakfast at the only table in the room.
“Good thing I arrived when I did then, isn’t it? Perhaps we would have missed each other,” he responded smiling, but this elderly man had a cleverness about him. She suspected he knew better.
Belle blushed and took a seat. “Good thing.”
Witherby lingered, looking as if he wished to say something more but clearly struggling mentally about the propriety of speaking out of turn.
“Is there something else?” the gypsy offered to free them both from the awkwardness of his behavior.
“There is, my lady. I… I have never spoken ill of my master, but I feel I must warn you of something.”
Warn? Her heart sped up. “What is that?”
Witherby looked incredibly uncomfortable. Whatever the man was trying to impart on her, was very, very important. “He isn’t well, my lady.”
“How so?” she answered anxiously, slightly fearful of his tone.
“Five years ago, there was a fire, my lady. I’m sure you noticed that the West Wing is all but ruins now. My master, the Duke of Belladora, was the only survivor. Family, staff, they all perished. Your grace survived because he was the only one living in the East Wing. Anyway, his grandmother felt it was his fault—that he could have saved someone, anyone if he had been… kinder hearted. She… well, she was my employer for many years until her death and I know it sounds superstitious, but I believe she did something to him after the fire.”
Belle shook her head, trying to keep up with the unravelling story. “Are you suggesting a spell?”
The old man nodded and cast a nervous glance at the door. “He was badly burned in the fire trying to save some of his wealth. He had to be recuperated for many months. When he started to get well again, he was back to being his vain and greedy self. One day--I didn’t mean to spy--but I saw his grandmother give him a strange draught. I swear on my life that his entire being glowed pink—like a rose—upon taking it. She had said something about him never hurting anyone ever again.”
It was quite a tale. Had she never lived among gypsies, she might have thought this man as mad as his master but… gypsies believed in the spirits, good and bad, and magic. Her mind recalled how she felt every time she looked into his sunset eyes... the hypnotic pull…
“That’s when it started,” Witherby continued, “When his madness started. He thinks he has continued his life but he hasn’t. Belladora has been abandoned, except for him and myself, for five years.”
“Why do you stay?”
“I am under contract by his late grandmother. I am paid well to stay here and take care of him, to buy him food and other things.”
Belle stared at her still covered breakfast, stunned and overwhelmed. Her heart felt so fragile. All this information combined with her conflicted revelations of moments ago… how could she leave? This man was not well. Who would take care of him after Witherby was gone?
“I didn’t mean to speak so. I just thought you should know and that since you’ve been here, he’s a different man,” Witherby continued; Belle closed her eyes, feeling her heart ache further. “He’s kinder and happier than I’ve ever seen him… I just thought you deserved to know the truth as well. It’s not pretty.”
“Thank you, Witherby.”
He bowed and left, closing the door behind him, but not locking it.
***
The forest whipped around her in a teary blur as she clung to Peony. She hadn’t thought leaving would be so difficult. Yet, she couldn’t stop thinking of his disarming smirks, the way he looked riding Peony, the gentle way he held her as they fell asleep…
If there was a spell, then Witherby was wrong. It was a spell that made lost girls like herself fall prey to mentally unstable men of wealth. She didn’t even know his name. It was probably for the best.
She had some notion that she should go to Scotland. Since she no longer had the jewels she had stolen, she had taken the beautiful jewel from the Grast’s safe. It was the most exquisite item she had ever seen. An intricately cut ruby, the size of her fist, shaped into a beautiful blossoming rose. It was too extravagant to sell, but she had taken it anyway. A memento of him. She wondered how mad he was going to be when he found it missing. It was too painful to meditate on.
Could she have already fallen in love with this broken man? Was that possible? Could one fall in love after so little a time, after their terrible circumstances?
“Belle!” The Grast’s voice echoed hollowly through the woods around her.
Her name was howled in such apparent anguish, not anger, it made her blood run cold. It sounded as if the Grast’s heart was breaking… If he was hurting as much as she was then surely… Did that mean he loved her as well?
The gypsy pulled Peony to a stop, her heart racing erratically in her chest. Rain began to sputter down on her through the canopy of leaves overhead. What would it mean to stay? Did it mean giving up her freedom? Would he force her to do whatever it was he wished? Would she be free to leave if she found out he didn’t love her?
She had spent most of her life searching for love, for acceptance. Was all that back at Belladora? Her Grast certainly needed someone and Witherby had said that he had been acting happier and nicer than ever before.
Was she destined to save him?
Belle cast a glance over her shoulder in the direction of the estate. She hadn’t gone too far. She could still turn around. Would he be angry? She decided she didn’t care. Just the thought of returning had made her heart drum happily. Her bare feet kicked into Peony’s sides and she steered her around.
No more running. No more hiding. No more elaborate heists. She was now plain Belle. She was his Belle.
The forest was quickly becoming tacky with mud and Belle didn’t want Peony to throw another shoe, so she led her toward the main road. Breaching the forest, she smiled expectantly toward Belladora but instead, her heart stilled. There was grey smoke rising in the direction of the manor.
No, please, no, she silently prayed.
The next several minutes were agony as she pressed Peony to go faster and faster. The mare had hardly come to a halt outside the manor when Belle jumped off her. She saw Witherby coming out the front doors, coughing. She ran to him and helped him a safe distance away.
“Where is he?” she asked when the old man could talk again.
“Inside. He won’t leave. Adam is living in delusion again.”
Adam. She moved to run inside but the old man’s grip was tight. “Don’t be foolish! The manor is old and already half burnt. It would be your death to enter.”
Belle shook off his hand. “I’m not just going to let him die. I don’t care if he’s mad. He needs me.” She dashed off.
Entering the front doors meant walking into a wall of smoke. The acrid air made her eyes blur with stinging tears and made her throat feel tight.
“Welcome! I hope everyone enjoys the ball tonight. I have a special announcement to make later!” her Grast’s voice boomed above her.
She squinted up and saw him standing at the top of the staircase. She raced forward, coughing as she made her way up the stairs. The banister was on fire and heading toward him. She had to get him out of here fast for it wouldn’t be long until the fire crept to the ceiling.
“Grast! Come on, we have to leave!” She tugged on his arm.
His golden eyes settled blankly on her face. They squinted and then he raised a hand to her cheek, touching her softly. “Belle?” he murmured almost too quietly to be heard above the din of the burning manor.
“Yes, it is me. Your Belle.” She rubbed her cheek into his hand, tugging his arm again.
“Belle!” He stepped forward and embraced her suddenly as if seeing her for the first time, knocking the air from her lungs.
He released her when she started coughing again. She swayed a little from all the smoke and he caught her. As he took in his surroundings, his eyes widened and he swept her into his arms, running down the stairs. There was a loud groaning and the chandelier fell directly in front of them, burning rafters raining after it.
Sidestepping it, he made it to the front doors and out into the drizzling rain. Cool air burned their smoke laden lungs but it felt fresh, like life. He didn’t stop until they were well away from the burning manor. Then he set her on her feet.
Belle stayed in the safety of his arms as she hugged him to her chest, tears of happiness wetting his fine cambric shirt. Her relief was so sweet she ached from it.
“What are you doing here, Belle? I thought you left me…” he murmured, burying his face in her wild hair.
She pulled back enough to look up at him. “I did but I realized that was a silly thing to do,” Belle was nervous now; she hastily added, “I took something from you.” She went to Peony and pulled the ruby from her saddlebag, handing it to him. “I’m sorry. I swear to you I wasn’t going to sell it. Well, at first that was my intention but then I decided I just wanted to keep something of you.”
His long fingers smoothed over it and he shook his head slowly. Her heart sunk low in her chest until he threw back his head and laughed.
The Grast tossed the precious stone behind him dismissively. “I don’t give a damn about that. I only care about you.” He held her face. “I love you, Belle.”
“I-I love you,” she stuttered, fighting back more happy tears.
He smirked and leaned down to kiss her. When their lips met, warmth bubbled up between them, cascading from their mouths. Belle gasped and watched in amazement as a pink glow ran through her Grast. It was over in an instant but when his golden eyes met hers, she saw that the spell was broken.
He looked down at his hands and his singed clothing. “You saved me, Belle.”
She shook her head, falling into his embrace again. “No, you saved me, Adam.”
“Adam?” He smirked down at her. “What happened to ‘Grast?’”
“You were never a grast.”
“What does that word mean?”
A slow smile appeared on her lips. “It means: beast of burden.”
He laughed, sweeping her off the ground and higher onto his chest. She had to kiss him again. And again and again. She doubted she’d ever want to do anything else for as long as she lived.
Finally, when they both needed air, Adam pulled back and chuckled. “Who would have thought, the Gypsy and the Beast?”
The Beast of Belladora Page 4