by Nichole Van
Colin took a leisurely sip of cognac, savoring the slow burn down his throat. Stratton’s library hung with hushed silence, the only sound being the continual pitter-patter of the rain. Bluish, gloomy light shrouded the room.
Setting down his drink, Colin angled the book in his lap toward the dim window light, turning the page. His mind had been too chaotic to focus on his ledger in the end. So he had turned to reading. But he had ignored Stratton’s well-worn copy of Ivanhoe and had chosen a sensible treatise on modern farming techniques instead.
Reading overly-wrought novels was a little painful at present.
Though, for the record, modern farming techniques were appallingly dull. He steadfastly held on, refusing to even glance toward the novels dotting the room.
Belle and Miss Rutger had left nearly two hours previously, returning to London, giving him some much-needed time and space to sort through his mental state.
Caustic anger, betrayal, grief, disappointment, disbelief . . . the toxic combination of emotions rode him hard.
Worse, little bursts of Belle Heartstone wiggled past his mental defenses.
The divots that bracketed her lips when she smiled.
The lingering smell of lemon and lavender that eddied in her wake.
The porcelain beauty of her face.
The soft shine of kindness in her gaze—
Stop, he commanded himself. You must cease this. She lied and deceived you.
Though once the initial shock had faded slightly, Colin struggled to wrap his brain around the truth—
LHF was Miss Belle Heartstone.
The same Miss Heartstone who had proposed to him in Hyde Park all those years ago.
The same Miss Heartstone who had rejected every able-bodied member of the ton for the past seven years.
The very Miss Heartstone of the lovely eyes and pretty face who had been slowly burrowing her way into his heart all week—
Bah! His budding affection for her had been a weak puppy love at best. A passing fancy.
True love took years. Lasting love grew through shared experiences, through trust built on a thousand joint decisions and discussions. Through trials surmounted and one’s deepest ideals exchanged.
Much like he had done with—
Damn and blast!
That tight achy feeling in his chest threatened to choke him.
Enough.
How was he to reframe his relationship with LHF?
How was he to now imagine a young (!), beautiful (!!) woman (!!!) in the role of his elderly mentor and confidant?
It boggled the mind.
He turned another page in his book, eyes seeing words but not comprehending them.
All he saw were Belle’s eyes, anguished and desperate, owning her mistakes and pleading for his forgiveness—
Stop!
Were all women intent on deceiving him? First Sarah and now Belle? How was he ever to trust a member of the opposite sex again?
He brutally repressed the dry voice that whispered Belle’s explanation made sense, that she had tried to tell him—too late, but still—that, he too, might have acted the same way, if presented with a similar situation—
No!
But the voice would not be silenced. It continued on, pointing out her brilliance as a business advisor. Women were so capable. It was an eternal shame that they were forced to remain closeted in such a narrow sphere of life. To see one woman break free in such a spectacular fashion—
Enough! Stop!
He didn’t want to think on his hypocrisy or the peal his mother—God rest her soul—would ring over his head if she could see him at present.
No. He would wait out the rain and then he would go for a bruising ride. A satisfying gallop cross-country would do wonders for his mood.
And if he found the thought of another week of contemplative silence somewhat daunting, well . . . he would overcome it.
There were many other women in the world. No need to hang on to a woman who masqueraded as a mentor and best friend that he could open his heart and soul to—
Colin slammed the book shut and tossed it aside. He drained the rest of his cognac in a quick gulp.
Enough of Belle Heartstone.
He would soon be rid of her, once they managed to disentangle themselves financially. He would never have to see her again, to think about artifice and subterfuge that had shrouded every letter she wrote to him as LHF.
Part of him hated that it was all tainted now. The stain of her deception spread through everything they had created together.
Somehow he had to move past it—
The rattle of loud voices drifted in from the large entrance hall.
Women’s voices, agitated and excited.
Far too many women to be the housemaids or Lady Stratton.
He thought he heard Stratton in the midst, calling for his horse.
Frowning, Colin stepped out of the library, moving through the music room.
The voices became more distinct.
His stomach plummeted as he recognized them.
“—bridge was swept clear away.” Mrs. Jones-Button was saying. “The carriage became mired another two times before we managed to arrive back here.”
“I was so frightened.” That was a younger Miss Jones-Button. “The water was rushing so quickly.”
“Aye,” her mother agreed. “The coachman declared that the old stone bridge was simply no match for the current. The gentlemen crossed earlier before the water rose so dramatically, or at least that was the report of the tollman.”
“Heavens!” Lady Stratton exclaimed.
Given the clamor in the hallway, it would seem that all of the Desperate Debutantes had returned.
His mind instantly careened to Belle Heartstone. She had left before the younger women in the end, as the Desperate Debutants had spent hours sorting their problems with the horses. What had happened to Belle? Had she crossed the bridge in time?
He ignored the flare of worry. He reminded himself that he did not have charitable feelings toward Miss Belle Heartstone at present.
Colin walked into the entryway. The chaos was just as it sounded. Fluttering ladies and their mothers. Stratton and two footmen shrugging into greatcoats.
“Blake!” Stratton exclaimed as he caught sight of Colin. “There you are, thank goodness. Miss Heartstone’s carriage was caught in the current and swept downstream.”
Terror flooded Colin’s body. Which surely was the wrong feeling for the moment. Concern, certainly. But terror?
Every head turned his way.
“Oh, Lord Blake! It was horrifying!” Mrs. Button-Jones pressed a shaking hand to her bosom. “I don’t know that I shall ever forget the sight. Miss Heartstone’s carriage crossed the bridge, just as an enormous tree came sailing downstream—”
“It took the bridge right out,” her daughter continued. “The noise was astounding.”
“Yes,” said a third. “Miss Heartstone’s horses had just reached the opposite side and the force of the impact snapped the hitch right in two, setting the horses free.”
“The postillion managed to keep the horses in check.”
“True, but her coachman and two footmen were sent tumbling into the water. One managed to cling to the side of the carriage as it bobbed downstream.”
“Like a cork in a torrent! The whole carriage could be in the ocean by now!”
“We’re off,” Stratton met his stunned gaze. “You’re coming, right?”
Colin didn’t trust himself to respond beyond a curt nod.
Belle.
He had to reach Belle.
There was too much unsettled business between them.
As he raced for his coat and horse, Colin refused to examine the strongest emotion pummeling his chest—
Breathtaking, mind-numbing panic.
21
. . . How could you have deceived me so? How could you not have told me the truth? I trusted you with everything that I am, every hope and wi
sh, every profound thought. I loved you as a child loves a parent. Your betrayal has been a death. You killed LHF and the person he was to me. I feel like I have lost my father all over again . . .
—letter from Lord Blake to Miss Heartstone, written, brooded over, and then tossed into the fire
They should never have attempted to cross the bridge.
Belle realized this too late.
It was just . . . she had been so desperate to reach London and home. So when the driver was hesitant to cross the bridge, Belle had urged him forward. She couldn’t imagine having to return to Stratton Hall and endure Blake’s stony gaze and censorious looks. Anything seemed preferable.
Careful what you wish for.
Belle clung to the inside of the carriage, clenching her chattering teeth, sternly telling herself not to panic over the rising water.
After being swept off the bridge, the carriage had floated downstream, being tossed and turned in the current. Her carriage was well-made and strong, and so it took to the water, bobbing up and down, instead of shattering. Anne and Belle had clung to the leather straps hanging from the ceiling, desperately keeping their heads above the swamping water.
Fortunately after only a few minutes, the carriage had whirled to a stop. A large island divided the river and the carriage had snagged on a tangle of logs and other debris at the island’s edge, pushing the vehicle into a slow, circular eddy nearer the bank.
The good news? They were no longer careening down the raging river, and Belle was quite sure neither she nor Anne had any broken bones. Just some scrapes and bruises.
The bad news? They were still too far from shore to attempt to reach it alone, not to mention the freezing cold water swirling around them.
“H-hold on, Anne,” Belle ordered from her side of the carriage. “We c-can both hold on ’til help arrives.”
Anne nodded her head, clutching her leather strap tightly. But Belle could see that the cold water was getting to her friend.
They had been in the water for what felt like hours.
“You st-still th-there, Henry?” Belle called to the young footman clinging to the outside of the carriage.
“Yes, madam,” he replied, his voice muffled.
Henry had managed to crawl onto the carriage roof and shout for help. He said some passing farmers had noticed him and then disappeared, hopefully running for reinforcements. The current was too strong for him to attempt to get across alone and the debris surrounding the island made it impossible to land there.
Belle and Anne remained trapped in the carriage. Their waterlogged skirts would make clinging to the outside of the carriage fraught at best, not to mention the difficulty of having to crawl through the carriage window and scale the carriage without upsetting it. Their position on the snag of debris was tentative at best.
No, better to remain inside.
Belle wasn’t sure how long they clutched to the inside of the carriage. Her wool pelisse thankfully provided some protection from the frigid water, but her chattering grew so bad, she struggled to keep her hold.
Anne, however, was in worse shape. Her pelisse wasn’t as thick as Belle’s and more of her body was submerged. Belle became truly alarmed as Anne’s shivering subsided and a sort of strange lethargy took her over.
“Th-think warm thoughts, Anne,” she encouraged. “India in the h-hot sun. A r-roaring f-fire—”
“Don’t know how much longer I can manage,” Anne whispered. “So tired. Must . . . let go.”
“D-don’t you d-dare!” Belle chattered. “You m-must remain strong.”
“So tired.” Anne’s eyes drifted closed, her grip slipping.
“No! Anne!” Belle tried to shift, needing to move to support her friend, but even the slightest movement jostled the carriage, threatening to dislodge it.
“No!” Belle cried. “Anne! Do not fall asleep!”
Anne struggled to open her eyes, hands slipping further. She would sink into the water and drown if Belle didn’t do something.
“Anne! L-look at m-me—”
A whoop rose from Henry above her. “Here! Over here!”
Then . . . Belle heard it.
The shouts of men and horses.
The noise roused Anne, who lifted her head in a groggy circle of motion.
“Anne, p-please!” Belle begged. “H-help is here. J-just a little longer.”
Anne barely nodded, but she did use her remaining strength to clutch her leather strap tighter.
After an infinity of heartbeats, Belle heard voices outside the carriage.
“Tie off the carriage, man.” Lord Stratton said. “It could break loose at any second. And if it does, I want to ensure it won’t go downstream.”
“Aye, my lord,” an unknown man replied.
The carriage jostled as men moved around it, shouting orders.
“Can we get the carriage door open?” a painfully familiar voice asked.
Oh! Belle closed her eyes.
Lord Blake.
Blake was here.
He had come.
She didn’t know whether to be thrilled or mortified.
Honestly, at the moment, Belle was too relieved to care. Later, she would allow herself to feel the full weight of embarrassed horror over this situation.
“No, the pressure from the water is too great. We’ll have to go through the window,” Stratton replied. “Fortunately, most of glass is already broken.”
“Miss Rutger? Miss Heartstone?” Blake called.
“We’re h-here,” Belle said. “Anne is in d-dire need of help.”
An eternity of minutes passed. Hearing the gentlemen talking outside, Belle surmised that they must be roped together and were being held up by a string of men stretching from the riverbank.
Finally, a gloved hand reached in and carefully removed the last of the glass from the window nearest Belle, pushing past the sodden window curtains.
Blake’s face appeared, hair plastered to his head, rain streaming down his face, blue eyes hard, jaw clenched.
Their gazes locked. A muscle twitched in his cheek, but he gave nothing else away.
Belle swallowed.
No need to ask if he was still furious with her. If she had even an ounce of energy left, she would have blushed from the intense embarrassment of it all.
This poor man. All he wanted was to be rid of her.
“Do you think you can crawl through the window, Miss Heartstone?” he asked.
“Yes, b-but Anne is in worse shape.” Belle half-turned, looking back at her companion who held on, but just barely. “I’ll need to assist her through from this side.”
Blake’s jaw hardened further. “I didn’t ask that, Miss Heartstone—”
“Anne needs help—”
“You are nearest to the door—”
“I won’t leave her.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
Oh!
“My lord, I manage thousands of people and make decisions that affect whole counties.” Belle hissed. “It doesn’t take a genius of probabilities to understand that I am more physically able to hang on here. I will survive. Anne, however, may not!”
Without waiting to hear his reply, Belle turned to Anne who was in danger of falling asleep again. Whatever the men had done, the carriage felt more stable. Belle moved across the carriage, her limbs shaking and numb in the cold water. Wrapping an arm around her friend’s waist, Belle used the last of her energy to move her the few feet to the window. Stratton and another man appeared behind Blake. With Belle’s help from inside, the men managed to pull Anne out.
Belle expected Blake to move off with Anne, but instead, Stratton and the footman supported her friend into the water.
“Miss Heartstone.” Blake extended his hands.
Too tired to fight any longer, Belle took his hand. Despite the barely leashed tension of his face, his hands were infinitely careful with her. He reached through the window and wrapped an arm around her torso, easily lift
ing her out, sodden skirts and all.
For her part, Belle clutched to his neck, assisting with what strength she had left.
Once free of the carriage, Belle expected him to pass her off to one of the waiting men, but again, Blake surprised her. He kept her cradled in his arms. His expression may have been grim, but his arms told a different story. He clutched her to him with astonishing gentleness, as if she were treasured. As if she were something precious.
“Hold on tight,” his voice rumbled in her ear, his tone clipped.
Belle nodded, not trusting her voice to speak.
Ah, Blake.
Even disliking her as he did, he couldn’t allow her to suffer. He still had come to her rescue.
A line of men stretched from the riverbank, all tied to a rope and holding on to each other for support in the current.
She clung to Blake as they inched their way through the churning water back to shore, the men keeping them upright as they passed.
Dimly, Belle noted the strength in Blake’s upper body, the hard muscles flexing underneath her hands, adjusting constantly to keep her protected and safe.
Finally they reached solid ground, sending a shout of relieved joy from the gathered crowd. Instead of setting her on her feet, Blake clutched her more tightly. He climbed the riverbank and carried her to a waiting carriage.
Stratton himself opened the carriage door. “Let us get you home and warm, Miss Heartstone.”
“I d-don’t want to be a bother, Lord Stratton,” Belle protested as Blake set her carefully down in the waiting carriage. A hot brick was instantly placed at her feet, a wool blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “I’m h-happy to go to a l-local inn. I simply need to w-warm m-myself.”
Belle held Blake’s blue eyes as she said this, trying to communicate through her gaze that she had not intended this outcome, that she respected his right to privacy and a Belle-free existence.
Blake’s eyes gave away little, their blue depths stormy and turbulent.
“Nonsense!” Lord Stratton shook his head. “I’m appalled you would even suggest such a thing. You are welcome at our home for as long as you wish to stay, Miss Heartstone. I will not hear another word on this matter.”