BLESSING THE CLEAR, moonlit sky that had followed the previous day’s storms, allowing him to travel through the night, shortly after dawn, Jack turned his weary job-horse onto the carriageway leading to Bellehaven.
The sick feeling that had plagued him ever since Egremont’s warning had driven him to ride scarcely without a stop, pausing only long enough to quaff a mug of ale at the posting inns while the sleep-stupored grooms he rousted readied him a change of mount. Within a few minutes, he would reach the manor and find Belle, perhaps share a laugh over his excess of caution, and finally release the knot of tension in his gut.
Except that no one challenged him as he rode past the gatehouse. Nor did he spy on the heights or hidden near the stables any of the extra men he’d hired.
Perhaps, thinking she no longer needed protection, Belle had dismissed them. But that didn’t seem likely, since Egremont had surely urged a continued wariness while Riverton’s investigation proceeded.
The innate soldier’s caution that had saved his neck on more than one occasion told him to avoid the stables and approach the house by stealth. With silent apologies to his exhausted mount, Jack tethered the horse among the trees and stole forward.
He had nearly reached the kitchen—from which issued no clanging of pots, scent of coffee, or cheerful voices going about their morning chores—when he heard muffled boot-steps. Slipping behind a shrub, he drew his pistol and waited.
Jack peered into the morning mist, trying to see if the group of men stealthily advancing were Belle’s servants. Then a slight, unmistakable figure approached.
“Jem!” he called in a low voice.
The boy turned and spotted him. “Cor, Captain, you gave me a start! Sure glad I am to see you, though.”
“What’s going on?”
“That nasty excuse for a nob, Lord Rupert, come yesterday and tried to snabble Lady Belle. I helped her get away and freed her people. Now they’re gonna tie up Rupert’s men whiles I meets her and she takes care of him.”
Not if Jack had his way. “Bring me to her.”
“Quiet, now,” Jem admonished as he led Jack into the house and up the servants’ stairs. “We don’t wanna give ol’ Rupert time to prepare us a welcome.”
Jack hadn’t realized just how great his fear had grown since riding into Bellehaven until he reached the attic and saw Belle in shirt and breeches, a sword at her side, standing with her back to them as she gazed out the attic window. Relief at finding her unharmed made him dizzy and he couldn’t get her name past the lump in his throat.
She half turned and saw him. “Jack!” she cried. But after that first flash of joy in her eyes, her face grew shuttered. “What are you doing here?”
“Egremont sent me,” he replied, dismayed as he watched her change before him from warmly welcoming into the remote, untouchable Belle of the early days of their acquaintance. “He worried Rupert might come here. Jem says he tried to kidnap you. Did he hurt you? Lead me to the villain and I will demand satisfaction!”
She turned to fully face him. His eyes were immediately drawn to a raw, ragged patch beneath her ear that looked like—a burn? “Lord have mercy!” he gasped.
“I believe demanding satisfaction is my right,” she replied. Unsheathing her sword, she nodded to Jem. “Are all my people unharmed?”
“Yes, my lady. The sheriff be sent for and Rupert’s men be soon locked up in the stables.”
“You’ve done well, Jem. Now, let’s finish this.”
Jack stepped in her path. “You mean to fight him.”
Her calm, cold eyes gazed at him without emotion. “’Tis a matter of honor.”
Honor. Sickness punched him in the gut, followed by intense, impotent fury. Rupert must have taken her against her will, damn his black devil’s heart. For an instant Jack thought of asking her to yield him the privilege of combat, but a second look at the implacable hardness of her face convinced him arguing that point would be fruitless.
“Let me stand as your second.”
She paused a moment, considering. “Very well. But only if you agree not to intervene in any way, regardless of what happens. Regardless. Will you swear it?”
“I swear.” Though if Rupert’s blade came anywhere close to Belle, Jack knew he couldn’t keep that promise.
Softly they paced down the stairs to the second floor, where Jem nodded toward one of the chambers. Belle kicked open the door and strode in, Jem and Jack behind her.
“Lord Rupert,” she called to the man standing before the washbasin in his shirtsleeves. The baron looked up, his eyes widening in disbelief.
“Belle! And Carrington? What is—”
“I have changed my mind about our sharing a relationship. You will be my opponent. Captain Carrington is to be my second. Name which of your men you wish to stand with you and my servants will release him.”
Rupert opened and closed his mouth, clearly still astounded at this reversal of his plans. Finally he seemed to take in Belle’s attire and the drawn sword in her hand. “Opponent? What nonsense is this? Carrington, you can’t mean to be a party to such an outrage!”
“I believe the outrage has already been committed. If the lady wants satisfaction, I intend to let her seek it.”
“See that he has a weapon,” Belle instructed Jem. “How fortunate you selected the most spacious bedchamber, my lord,” she said while the boy plucked Rupert’s foil from his baggage and tossed it on the bed.
Crossing his arms over his chest to confine the sword hand that itched to feel Rupert’s neck under his blade, Jack positioned himself near the door, where he could block Rupert’s flight—or intervene, if necessary.
“If you wish a second, speak now,” Belle added.
“You cannot believe I would deign to fence against you,” Rupert said scornfully.
“I shall take that as a no to my offer to await your second. Very well. En garde, my lord.”
When Rupert continued to stand unmoving, Belle picked up his sword and tossed it to him. He let it clang to the floor at his feet. Haughtily he stared at her.
“Very well,” she said with a shrug. “If you don’t wish to defend yourself, I shall make short work of this.” Whipping her sword into position, she advanced on him.
Rupert lost a little of his sangfroid. “You can’t mean to attack an unarmed man.”
Belle continued until her sword point nearly touched his chest. “Did you give me a chance to fight before tying me down like an animal?”
A growl issued from Jack’s throat and he lunged toward the baron. Sword still trained on Rupert, Belle whipped her other hand out, commanding him to halt. “Captain, remember your promise.”
Cursing, Jack stepped back and wrenched his own blade from its scabbard. “Very well. But if there’s anything left of him when you’re done, I claim the next round.”
“As you wish,” Belle said, her voice disinterested, her gaze riveted on the baron. “Now, Lord Rupert, I suggest you pick up your sword.”
When still the man did not move, she jabbed the sword forward, slicing open his shirt and drawing a thin trail of red across his chest. With a howl of pain and rage, Rupert stumbled backward.
“Shall I continue to stick you like the pig you are until you bleed to death? Or make a quick lunge and finish you at once?” she asked, as if debating whether to wear a straw bonnet or a chip hat. “Ah, I think slow will be better.” With another practiced swipe, she cut through his sleeve, grazing his shoulder.
This time, the baron rolled away from her onto the floor and snatched up his foil. “Very well,” he snarled as he regained his feet. “I shall fight. But don’t pretend to call this an affair of ‘honor.’ A tart who spread her legs for the titillation of the crowd like you did at Vauxhall has none to defend.”
“Stay, Captain!” Belle commanded, seeming to sense Jack reaching for his sword even though he stood behind her. “Do not force me to fight you, too. You are ready now, Lord Rupert?”
“You dare to think you can match me?” he sneered.
With that, she attacked, driving the baron, who took a precious second to react to the unexpected swiftness of her advance, toward the corner of the room. “Tart!” he taunted as, marshaling his superior strength, he pushed her back. “Harlot! This is the drab you would sully your name by wedding, Carrington?”
Fury bubbled through Jack at the first epithet, making him grind his teeth as he strained to keep immobile. By the second insult, though, he realized the baron was trying to draw him in and force Belle to split her concentration.
Deliberately Jack lowered his sword, making sure Belle saw him. “This lady can finish you without my help.”
Something—gratitude, perhaps?—flashed briefly in her eyes and she gave him a tiny nod. Then she refocused on Rupert, following a straight lunge with a cut over, then a feint as he came toward her, then another lunge to deliver a hard blow high on his sword.
Nearly losing his grip, the baron cried out in pain as he reached down to brace his sword hand. When he looked back up at Belle, a feral anger gleamed in his eyes.
Jack’s hand clenched on his sword, but Belle appeared unmoved. “Now are you ready to begin, my lord?”
With a growl, the baron attacked. Jack held his breath, concentrating on the clash of blades to determine how he would intervene to protect Belle, should that become necessary. But despite Rupert’s furious charge, she appeared icily calm. And as she parried his final lunge and counterattacked in a series of moves as ferocious but more precisely executed than the baron’s, totally fearless.
For endless minutes, they challenged each other back and forth across the narrow space—lunge, cut, feint, withdraw, check, countercheck, lunge, the baron’s advantage in height and weight offset by Belle’s superior technique. Until Jack realized Belle was using against Rupert the tactic he’d used on her at Armaldi’s: forcing the baron to fight with all his strength and waiting for him to tire.
Her strategy was succeeding, though the baron, sweat dripping down his face as he fought in teeth-clenched fury, seemed unaware of it. Another few moments and the baron started gasping for breath, his sword arm beginning to droop, his lunges and counters growing increasingly sloppy.
Finally, as if taking pity on Rupert’s deteriorating display of swordsmanship, in a precise series of advances, Belle drove him into a corner, then drew him off balance into a lunge. With a brutal blow that would have done credit to a dragoon, she slashed her sword back, sending him to the floor and the foil flying out of his hand.
Flat on his back, Rupert reached out, fingers scrabbling for the foil that was now out of his reach. Terror filled his eyes as he stared up into Belle’s implacable face.
Suddenly her expression changed, the naked hatred Jack had glimpsed the moment before she stabbed him in their duel filling her eyes. With a snarl, she pressed the tip of her foil against Rupert’s already bleeding chest. He whimpered, the sound between a plea and a sob.
She would strike now, Jack knew, plunge her blade through Rupert’s heart and end it. Exact revenge for whatever indignities he had forced on her bound and helpless body, for Vauxhall and for all she had suffered in the long years of her bondage to Bellingham.
Though having Belle kill Rupert would complicate matters, perhaps force him to remove her from England to avoid the law, his heart urged her to drive the blade home.
Jack gave an involuntary gasp as her hand moved. But instead of finishing off the baron, she flung aside her sword and strode away from him.
“He’s not worth the dirtying of good steel,” she said as she passed Jack, tears gathering in her eyes. “Get him out of my sight before I change my mind. Jem, lend me your knife, please.”
After catching the blade he tossed, she walked out.
Jack advanced, and with the boy’s help, pulled the shaking baron to his feet. Half carrying, half dragging him, they herded Rupert down the stairs.
When they reached the downstairs parlor, Jack shoved the baron into a chair and ordered Jem to fetch his carriage and coachman. Though Jem shook his head in silent disagreement, he went as Jack bid.
As soon as the boy exited, Jack turned to Rupert. “You have estates in the West Indies, I believe?”
Still breathing hard, Rupert nodded.
“You have just conceived a burning desire to inspect them—and will find them so much to your liking, you shall settle there permanently. I would urge that Belle press charges for kidnapping, but I don’t wish to subject her to the notoriety of a trial. Relocating to the Caribbean might be beneficial in any event, since I understand you’ve had dealings with a certain Mrs. Jarvis which are unlikely to sustain the legal scrutiny they are shortly to receive.”
The baron shrugged, some of his arrogant hauteur returning. “So I pay a madam handsomely to insure a steady supply of unsullied wenches? What concern is it to me how she recruits her tarts, as long as they are fresh and can rut as enthusiastically as Belle?”
Fury long suppressed whipped through him. An instant later, Jack finally took the satisfaction of feeling his fist connect with the baron’s jaw.
“Consider that a mild sample of what you’re owed, you miserable excuse for a gentleman. You should know that, after Waterloo, I’m not squeamish about seeing men die, nor do I possess as fine a sense of honor as Belle. If I ever see you again, I won’t wait to offer you a sword.”
Jack hauled the baron up and held him at arm’s length, pleased to note that his split lip and the bruise forming on his jaw had removed the arrogance from Rupert’s face. “If, before you take ship for the Caribbean, you have an urge to reveal to anyone what occurred here, resist it. For if I hear a whisper of anything that transpired, there will be no hellhole on earth deep or dark enough to hide you from my wrath. Have I made myself clear?”
Though Rupert conceded nothing, after a moment he looked away from Jack’s unflinching gaze.
Jem entered with two stout footmen. “The coachman be harnessing the horses. We’ll see he gets in the buggy. You best go check on our lady.”
As they pulled him toward the door, Rupert jerked free of his captors to look back at Jack. “She’ll never have you now.” His lips stretching into a smile that died when it encountered the cut on his lip, the baron limped out.
Praying he could find some way to repair the damage Rupert’s visit had wrought, Jack took the stairs two at a time to Belle’s chamber.
HER OWN ROOM was deserted. Jack continued down the hall, throwing open each door until he found her in the last bedroom. Seated at a dressing table, she was inspecting herself in the mirror—Jem’s bloody knife held in one bloodied hand.
His heart dropped to his boot tops and he knocked over a side table unlucky enough to be in his path as he rushed to her. “Belle, what have you done?”
The eyes that looked up at him, full of rage and pain when she fought Rupert, were now expressionless. Blood dripped steadily down her neck from three cuts she’d scored across the burned place beneath her ear.
He wanted to wrap her in his arms, but she thrust out a hand, warning him to approach no closer. “He knocked me out, tied me down, violated me. Then he…he b-burned the mark of his signet ring into my neck. I could see the ‘R’ reflected in the mirror. I couldn’t b-bear it.”
Jack felt sickened to the depths of his soul. And if he, who was only hearing the story secondhand, felt repulsed, what must Belle be feeling?
“I can still kill him.”
She shook her head. “Were I not so weak, I should have done so. But killing him cannot undo what he’s done.”
He wanted to wail with anguish for her. But most of all, he wanted to cradle her to him, treasure the life that others had treated with such callous disregard.
“I’m sorry,” he began, pushing the words with difficulty out of his constricted throat, “that I wasn’t here when you needed me.”
For the first time since she saw him in the attic, her expression softened. Her eyes full of grief and regret, she said, “You could not have known.”
He stepped closer and again, she warned him away. “Don’t. I…I don’t think I can bear being touched.”
“Please, Belle, I need to hold you,” he said, the words ripped from the agony in his chest.
She must have seen the truth of it in his eyes, for with a tiny sigh, she made room for him on the bench. He threw himself down and gathered her in his arms, crushing her to him as tightly as he dared, his tears beading like diamonds in the gold of her hair.
At first stiff in his embrace, after a moment she relaxed, then clung to him, weeping silently while he held her, wanting never to let her go.
Afraid of what would happen when he had to let her go.
All too soon, she straightened and pushed him away. “Thank you. I guess I needed comfort more than I knew.”
“Give me the right to comfort you always. Marry me.”
She smiled sadly. “Once there might have been a chance for us. But this—” she pointed to her neck “—this changes everything.”
“Why should it? I told my mother I intend to marry you, and she will support us. My sister will be wed at the Season’s end. Why can we not marry immediately after?”
“The ton might—might—forgive Bellingham’s mistress, were she well born enough and supported by sufficiently influential friends. But to excuse my having been Bellingham’s whore and Rupert’s?” She shook her head. “I would not have you dragged down by my degradation.”
“No one need learn of what happened here.”
She sniffed scornfully. “As no one learned about Vauxhall? Oh, I do not doubt you threatened Rupert, but he brought a dozen servants. You cannot silence them all. Besides, this mark will shout out the news, were you to cut out the tongue of everyone who was present.”
“I cannot perceive the outline of a letter now. As the burn heals, the skin will wrinkle. No one will know.”
“I will know,” she said simply.
He knew his arguments were failing, could almost feel her slipping away. While he cudgeled his brain to find some new line of appeal, she said softly, “Could you really stand to live with me, knowing your wife had been taken by that…degenerate?”
He could scarcely bear the thought of it—because of her anguish, not his. “’Twas an abomination you resisted with everything at your command. I can move past it.”
“I’m not sure I can. When you were here, you taught me to see loving in a new way, as something pure, giving, tender.” She paused, wrapping her arms around herself as her gaze trailed off to the far distance. “Now all I remember is the ropes burning my wrists and the—the stink of Rupert on my body. I don’t know if I will be able to allow anyone to touch me intimately ever again—even you.”
“Then I won’t touch you. My pledge, my first pledge to you, still holds. I will never take anything that you do not gladly give.”
She shook her head impatiently. “Leaving aside that you deserve a wife you can be proud of, you owe your family an heir. I couldn’t promise to let you provide one.”
“I have cousins in whom I have full confidence.”
She rose and walked away, one hand rubbing absently at the raw marks the ropes had cut into her wrists. “You are a stubborn man, Jack Carrington.”
“Do you still love me, Belle?”
She halted, looked back at him. For a long moment she said nothing, and his spirits sank. If Rupert had managed to crush every tender feeling in her, Jack might have to kill the bastard after all.
“How could I help loving you?” she said a moment later. “You who are everything that is good and honorable and noble in this world.”
“Then for the love of God, Belle, marry me!”
“How can I claim to love you and allow you to marry a woman who would force you into a lifetime of exile from decent society, one whose name is a byword for carnality?”
“Is society’s respect so important to you?”
“You are frustrated now—and you desire me. But later, when lust fades, you will thank me for saving you from throwing away your honor and the position of esteem you now occupy. Here in our own private heaven, Jack, we shared a beautiful dream. Don’t ruin it by trying to make it into something it can never be. Leave me at least that.”
“We can make that dream a reality if you’ll just marry me,” he insisted.
Suddenly the strength seemed to leave her and she swayed on her feet. He ran to catch her, but she pushed him away and staggered to the bed. “Please, I cannot bear any more. If you love me, grant me one request.”
Tight-jawed, fearing what she would ask, he replied, “What?”
“Go. Leave me now and don’t come back.”
For a long moment he stood irresolute, but he had barraged her with every argument he could muster and still she resisted. More than that, he could see she was exhausted, physically and mentally driven to her limits.
“Very well, I’ll go. I cannot promise not to return.”
She nodded, as if that were concession enough for now.
On the threshold, he hesitated. “Shall I send Mae and Watson back to you?”
Her lips trembled and she blinked back tears. “I would appreciate that,” she said, her voice a whisper.
Jack swept her a bow. “Then goodbye, my love.” Grimly he strode from the room.
TOO DRAINED TO MOVE, Belle lay back, watching dust motes dance in the sunlight now pouring through the chamber windows. ’Twas only midmorning of a very fair day.
The day her hopes died.
’Twas partly her own fault, she supposed. She had underestimated Rupert’s cunning and his malice. She would pay for that lapse the rest of her life.
Thank heaven Jack had granted her request. She wasn’t sure she could have resisted much longer, as vehemently as she believed everything she’d told him. All she need do now was remain steadfast. In a month or a year, he would weary of her continued refusals. Some pretty, charming, well-bred girl would catch his fancy, one whose impeccable lineage would make her a suitable bride.
Then he would bless her for saving him from taking a wife who brought him nothing, not even the promise of performing on him the arts she was reputed to possess.
While she…She had a sudden vision of life stretching before her, an endless void of loneliness and regret. She wouldn’t think about that yet.
Kitty would be safe. Jack would find happiness elsewhere. That would have to be enough.
She let herself sink toward the blessed oblivion of sleep. Later, when she woke, she’d order that her own bedchamber be stripped and everything in it, furniture and all, be burned. She’d dress her wounds and soak in a bath, the water as hot as she could stand it.
But she didn’t think she would ever feel clean again.