“He’s perfect for me.”
Caroline gave Belle one last squeeze before putting her at arm’s length so that she could get a good look at her. “I expect you’re right,” she replied. “Now why don’t we let your father get to know your, er, husband while you help me get settled in. It has been an uncommonly long journey.”
Belle thought that, all in all, her mother was taking this news surprisingly well. She shot a fleeting smile at John and followed her out of the room.
“I don’t suppose you’ve sent a notice to the Times,” Caroline was saying as she ascended the stairs.
“There hasn’t been time.”
“Hmmm. Well, I’ll have your father see to that immediately. Where is this new home John has purchased?” Caroline turned around as she reached the top of the stairs, a worried expression on her face. “He did say his name was John, didn’t he?”
“Yes, Mama. And it’s right next to Westonbirt. I met him while I was staying with Emma.”
“Oh.” Caroline made her way to her bedroom, where a maid was unpacking her cases. “I suppose I’ll arrange a reception for you next spring, when everyone is in town. But I do think that we ought to do something soon, if only to let everyone know you’re married.”
Belle privately wondered why it was imperative that “everyone” be immediately appraised of her marital status. “Won’t the notice in the Times suffice?”
“Not at all, my dear. We need to let the ton know that you have our approval. No need for everyone to realize that we hadn’t even met John until today.”
“No, I suppose not.”
Caroline suddenly clapped her hands together. “I know! The Tumbleys’s winter ball! It’s perfect. Everyone always comes in from the country to attend.”
Belle gulped nervously. Every year the Earl and Countess of Tumbley held a ball in November. It was one of the few events for which the aristocracy would travel back to London in the winter. Normally, she would have loved to go, but she didn’t think it would be safe for her and John to venture out into large crowds at night. “Er, when is it, Mother?”
“Sometime in the next few weeks, I imagine. I’ll have to check my correspondence for the exact date. I have such a stack of letters to go through.”
“I’m not really sure that we would want to go, Mama. We are newly married, you know, and wanting a bit of privacy.”
“If you wanted privacy, you should have hightailed it back to the country the minute after you said, ‘I will.’ But as long as you’re here, you’ll go to this ball, and you’ll do it with a smile on your face. And then you can go back to wherever it is that you’re living now and rusticate. Where are you living now—I mean, what’s it called?”
“Bletchford Manor.”
“What-ford Manor?”
“Bletchford Manor.”
“I heard you the first time. It’s a dreadful name, Belle.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean it’s hideous.”
“I know. We’re planning to change it.”
“See that you do. After the Tumbley bash, that is, because you’re not stepping a foot out of London before then.”
Chapter 19
John sat in Hardiman’s Tea Shoppe the next day, his back to the wall as he watched out for a man he hadn’t seen in over five years, a man who wanted him dead. He’d secured a table in the rear, with Alex and Dunford discreetly seated four tables away.
John kept his eyes on the door, and ten minutes past the agreed upon meeting time, George Spencer walked into the establishment. John felt the years rush away, and he was back in the Spanish tavern again, watching his countryman violate an innocent girl.
Spencer scanned the room with icy blue eyes until his gaze fell on John. He flicked his head back, propelling his straight blond hair from his eyes. He strode arrogantly through the shop until he reached John’s side.
“Blackwood.” His voice was cold.
“Spencer. You’ll pardon me if I don’t offer you the courtesy of rising.”
“Not at all. I’ve heard you’re lame. I wouldn’t want you to overexert yourself.” He shoved the chair back and sat down.
John nodded graciously. “A war wound. Some of us remained with the company through the action. Where did you go, Spencer? France? Switzerland?”
Spencer’s hands clutched at the table, and he nearly rose from his seat in his rage. “Damn you, Blackwood. You know that you forced me to desert. Do you know what it’s like to come back to England in dishonor? My father had to pay off the authorities just to keep me from getting arrested.”
John fought to keep his own rage in check. “And you think you don’t deserve to be arrested after what you did?” he hissed. “You should have been hanged.”
“Spare me your sensitivity, Blackwood. That girl was nothing. A stupid peasant, nothing more. She’d probably shared her charms with a dozen men before me.”
“I saw the blood on the sheets, Spencer. And I heard her screams.”
“For the love of God, Blackwood, I did the girl a favor. She was going to have to get that out of the way sooner or later.”
John gripped the table in an effort to keep himself from strangling him. “She killed herself three days later, Spencer.”
“Did she?” Spencer looked unconcerned.
“Don’t you feel any remorse?”
“Damn town was overpopulated, anyway.” Spencer held out his hand and idly examined his fingernails. “Those Spaniards breed like rabbits.”
“She was an innocent girl,” John bit out.
“I am forever impressed by your sense of chivalry. But then again, you always did have a soft spot for the ladies. May I offer you my congratulations on your advantageous marriage? So sorry it’s going to be such a short union.”
“Leave my wife out of this,” John bit out. “You aren’t fit to speak her name.”
“Oh my, aren’t we getting dramatic? I hope love hasn’t made you soft, Blackwood. Or perhaps your knee took care of that years ago.”
John took a deep breath and forced himself to count to five before speaking again. “Just what is your plan, Spencer?”
“Why, to kill you. I thought you’d figured that out already.”
“May I ask why?” he asked, his voice icy with politeness.
“Nobody plays me for the fool, Blackwood, nobody. Do you understand me?” Spencer was growing agitated, and his brow was tense and damp with perspiration. “What you did—”
“What I did was shoot you in the ass.” John leaned back and allowed himself his first smile of the day.
Spencer jabbed his finger at John. “I’m going to kill you for that. I’ve been dreaming about it for years.”
“What took you so long?”
John’s calm manner only served to enrage Spencer even further. “Do you know what happens when a man deserts? He isn’t exactly welcome back in England. His fiancee decides that she might do better elsewhere. His name is dropped from all the lists that matter. You did this to me. You.”
“And is England suddenly welcoming you with open arms? I had heard you weren’t welcome at the best of parties.”
For a moment John thought that Spencer was going to leap over the table and go for his throat. Then, abruptly, the blond man calmed down. “Killing you won’t solve all my problems, of course. But it will bring great joy into my life.”
John sighed. “Look,” he said mildly, “I suppose I don’t really need to tell you that I’d rather you didn’t kill me.”
Spencer let out a short bark of laughter. “Elegantly said, but then again, I’d rather you hadn’t ruined my life.”
“Why did you come today? Why sit here and make idle conversation?”
“Maybe I was curious. What about you? One would think you’d be hesitant to meet with your killer.” He leaned back and presented John with a jaunty grin.
John was beginning to wonder if Spencer was insane. He was obviously o
bsessed, but at the same time, he seemed bent on maintaining normalcy, sitting here chatting with John as if they were old friends. “Maybe I was curious,” he replied. “It’s a unique situation. It’s a lucky man who gets the opportunity to meet with his killer under such civilized circumstances.”
Spencer smiled and inclined his head, graciously acknowledging what he perceived to be a compliment.
“Suppose you tell me what you’re planning. You wouldn’t want this to be anything less than a challenge, would you?”
“I couldn’t care less if it’s a challenge. I just want you dead.”
John smiled tightly. Spencer certainly didn’t believe in indirect speech. “No hints at what I might expect?”
“Something quick and easy, I think. No need to make you suffer.”
“How kind of you.”
“I’m not a monster, just a man of principle.”
While John was pondering that unbelievable statement, Spencer focused on something over his shoulder. “Is that your lovely wife I see, Blackwood? I must commend you on your marital success.”
John felt his insides run cold. He twisted in his seat, his gaze swinging around until it fell upon Belle, who had just entered the shop with Emma and Persephone.
John took another deep breath, trying to contain himself. He was going to kill her. He was going to put her over his knee and blister her bottom. He was going to lock her in her room for a week. He was—
“Not very excited to see her, I see.”
John swiveled back to Spencer and snapped, “Another word from you, and I will strangle you as I sit.”
Spencer leaned back and chuckled, enjoying himself enormously.
“Our conversation is over.” John stood up and walked across the room without a backward glance. Alex and Dunford would make sure Spencer didn’t attack him. He grabbed Belle’s arm before she could even sit down, hissing in her ear, “You are going to be a very unhappy woman.”
Belle had the good sense to keep her mouth shut. Or it might just have been that she was dying to get a good look at George Spencer, who had risen to leave just after John. He passed right by them on his way out, tipping his hat at her and murmuring, “My lady.”
The only bright spot in John’s nightmare was the enraged expression on Belle’s face. He had no doubt that she would have had a fair portion of Spencer’s face under her fingernails if he hadn’t been holding her firmly by the arm.
Once Spencer was safely out of the shop, John yanked her around to face him and said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Before she had a chance to answer him, Alex showed up at his side, grabbed Emma similarly and hissed, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Persephone looked at Dunford and smiled, waiting for her turn, but much to her disappointment, he just stood there and glared at all three women.
“John,” Belle said. “I don’t really think this is the time.” She turned to the rest of their group and gave them a wide but weak smile. “So sorry, but we’re going to have to leave.”
John growled. Persephone took that as a sign of agreement and waved at him. “Hope to see you soon,” she said brightly.
John growled again and this time Persephone said nothing.
Belle looked up at her husband. “Shall we go?”
He walked out, and since her arm was attached to his hand, she went along with him. When they reached the street, John turned to her and said curtly, “Did you bring a carriage?”
She shook her head. “We hired a hack.”
This didn’t seem to please John, and Belle didn’t say anything while he hailed down another one. They rode home in absolute silence. She stole occasional looks at his profile and noticed that a muscle in his cheek was twitching violently.
He was furious. She peeked over at him again. The twitch had speeded up. Beyond furious. He was only waiting until they got home so he wouldn’t embarrass her in front of the driver.
She supposed she should be thankful for small favors.
The hack pulled up in front of the Blydon mansion, and Belle scurried out while John paid the driver. She raced up the front steps, through the hall, and into the rear drawing room. She wasn’t trying to avoid John—well, perhaps she would have tried if she thought she had any chance of getting away with it. But as it was, she was simply trying to choose a room which was as far away from the servants as possible.
John was only a few steps behind her, so completely enraged he was barely limping. He slammed the door behind him. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“I was worried about you.”
“So you followed me to my meeting with Spencer? Pardon me if I don’t commend your common sense.”
“But—”
“Do you understand what kind of man Spencer is?” John exploded. “He rapes women. Rapes. Do you understand the meaning of the word rape?”
Belle crossed her arms. “I hate it when you get sarcastic.”
“Deal with it.”
She clenched her teeth against his harsh tone and turned away.
“Damn it, woman! You put yourself in a dangerous situation. And dragged along Emma and Persephone in the process. Did you think about that?”
“I thought you might need me,” she ground out.
“Need you? Of course I need you. Safe and sound and tucked away in the house. Not wandering around in front of killers.”
Belle whirled back around. “I’m not some helpless little miss who is willing to sit at home while you gallivant about town. And if you think for one minute that I’m not going to do everything in my power to keep you safe, then your brain is quite broken.”
“Listen to me, Belle,” John said in a low voice. “We didn’t know that much about Spencer. We had no idea what he was going to do. For all I knew, he might have decided that the best way to get to me was through you. He might have grabbed you this afternoon.”
“I thought you said you were sure that Spencer wouldn’t try anything in a crowded shop. Were you lying to me? Were you? Were you lying just to keep me from worrying about you?”
“Damn it all to hell, of course I wasn’t lying to you. I didn’t think Spencer would do anything at Hardiman’s. All the same, I couldn’t be one hundred percent certain, and I didn’t see any reason to put you in any danger.”
“I’m going to help you, John, whether you want it or not.”
“Good God, woman, stop being so stubborn. These things take planning and finesse. If you keeping barging into this without looking where you’re going, you’re just going to get in the way.”
“Oh, please, John. I wouldn’t have to barge into anything if you would only include me.”
“I won’t have you put into a situation from which you cannot extricate yourself.”
“Do me a favor, John. Worry about yourself. I can run fast. Faster than you.”
John flinched as though he’d been hit. “I had no idea my injury made me so much less of a man in your eyes.”
“Oh, John, you know I didn’t mean it that way.” Belle flung her arms around him and held him close. “I’m just so scared and so angry, yes angry at this man.” Belle paused and caught her breath, surprised by the realization that she felt more fury than fear. “I’m angry, and I lashed out at you, and that wasn’t fair. It’s just that I love you so much, and—”
“Belle, please.”
She let go of him and furiously pushed him away. “Please what? Please don’t tell you I love you? Please don’t love you?”
“I can’t accept it, Belle.”
“What is wrong with you?” she burst out. “Why can’t—”
“What is wrong with me,” he said in steely tones, his hands gripping her upper arms like manacles, “is that I raped a girl.”
“No,” she choked out. “No, you didn’t. You told me you didn’t.”
“It might as well have been me,” he said, unconsciously echoing Ana’s mother’s words.
“John
, don’t say such things. It wasn’t your fault.”
He let go of her with a chilling abruptness and strode over to the window. “I could have gone up to that room a thousand times before I finally did.”
Belle’s hand crept up to cover her horrified mouth. “Oh, John, what has this done to you?” she whispered.
“Has it made me less of a man? Yes. Has it blackened my soul? Yes. Has it—”
“Stop!” She covered her ears, unable to bear his words. “I don’t want to hear it.”
He whirled around. “You’re damn well going to hear it.” When she didn’t move, he stalked back to her and wrenched her hands from her ears. “This is the man you married, Belle. For better or for worse. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“When will you understand that I don’t care what happened in Spain? I’m sorry that it did, and I pray for that poor girl’s soul, but beyond that, I don’t care! It hasn’t made you an evil person, and it doesn’t make me love you any less!”
“Belle,” he said flatly. “I don’t want your love. I can’t accept it.”
Before she even realized what she was about, her hand flew up, and she slapped him across the face. “How dare you?” she breathed, her entire body shaking with rage. “How dare you belittle me this way?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I have never, not even once in my life, given my love to another man. And you throw it back in my face like a trifle.”
His hand closed around her wrist. “You misunderstand me. It is because I value your love so highly that I do not accept it.”
“You don’t accept it because you don’t want to accept it. You’re mired in misplaced guilt and self-pity. How am I meant to build a life with a man who cannot leave the past where it belongs?”
He dropped her hand, feeling like the lowliest of bastards simply for touching her.
“How can I possibly let myself continue to love a man who can never love me back?”
He stared at her, his entire body suddenly feeling rather queer. “But Belle,” he whispered. “I do love you.”
John wasn’t certain how he expected her to respond, but it was certainly not in the manner she did. She stepped back as if hit, and for a moment she was utterly incapable of speech. She pointed a finger out, jabbing it in his direction while her throat worked violently. “No,” she finally gasped. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t tell me that.”