Chapter 3

Chapter Three

F rom the moment they were wed until Belle was delivered to her cabin on the ship, her husband’s hand did not leave her elbow. She may technically have been his wife, but she felt more like his prisoner. He followed her through the door and finally let her go. Panic set in when he closed the door behind them. His luggage had been taken to the next cabin, so why was he here? Lizzie was in the room with them. Surely he wouldn’t try to do anything.

“Is your cabin not next door?” Her stomach had tied itself into a tight knot.

“It is.” He clasped his hands in front of him and stood blocking the door. “But since you have a penchant for running off, and there’s no room for me to take up a post in the hallway, I’ll be standing right here until the ship leaves port.”

Tightness gripped her chest, and tears threatened. She turned away from him and swept across the small room. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Wouldn’t allow him the pleasure of knowing he was hurting her. Tears ran silently down her cheeks as Lizzie bustled about putting things away and getting organized for the five days they would be spending on this floating penitentiary.

An hour passed before the loud whistle sounded signaling their departure. Even still, she continued to stare straight ahead at the wall. She couldn’t look at him or the tears might start flowing again. A few minutes later, the ship finally began to move, and a while after that, he announced his own departure with another command.

“Mrs. Ingram, Lady Dalinridge is not to leave this cabin without my personal escort, except to use the lavatory. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my lord.”

She heard the door open and close behind her. Lady Dalinridge. She’d almost forgotten she was now a countess. The prize she’d been given in exchange for spending the rest of her life as this man’s prisoner. She finally allowed herself to let loose the sobs she’d been holding back. She threw herself into Lizzie’s waiting arms.

“Shhh. It will be alright, Belle. Or perhaps I should start addressing you as my lady. It would be more appropriate.”

Belle looked into her eyes. “Please don’t,” she begged.

Lizzie smiled sadly and pulled her back into her embrace. “I won’t.”

For the next five days, other than to use the lavatory, Belle didn’t leave her cabin, no matter how much the fresh air and sunshine called to her. Thankfully, he didn’t force her to. In fact, she didn’t see him or speak a single word to him, and was grateful for the reprieve.

But then, as the ship pulled into port, there was a tap on her door, and he once again stationed himself as a prison guard inside her room. When it was time to disembark, his hand attached itself to her elbow, once more, and didn’t let go until they were seated on the train. Even there, he was sure to make her sit next to the window and block her in. She hardly noticed the foreign countryside as it rushed past, and simply watched the sun drop lower and lower in the sky.

After the train, they climbed into a gleaming carriage emblazoned with his family crest. All the while, they never exchanged a single word. A line of servants waited in the dark to greet them upon their arrival, and he took her elbow once again after helping her to step down. Numbing cold had settled over her, and she couldn’t seem to return their smiles as they dipped into deep bows and curtseys to welcome her.

The only name that even managed to penetrate enough for her to remember it was that of the housekeeper, Mrs. Thistle, who led her up to her chambers. Apparently, at some point, her husband had let go of her.

Lizzie helped her out of her travel-worn clothes and into her nightgown. It was late. Belle was tired and numb and wanted nothing more than to sleep. Lizzie got her all tucked into bed, but then took one of her hands and cradled it between her own.

“He may come to you tonight, Belle. I didn’t figure he would on the ship because I was sleeping in your cabin, but this is his home now, and you are his wife.”

Belle could only bring herself to nod. Fear nestled itself inside her chest making it difficult to breathe. Lizzie squeezed her hand.

“Don’t fight him. You’ll be alright. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.” She bent down and kissed Belle’s cheek before tucking her hand under the blanket and leaving her.

In spite of her exhaustion, fear kept her awake. Her ears strained for any sound that might be him coming into the room. The night before her wedding, Lizzie had told her about what would happen in the marriage bed. Dread filled her veins with ice at the thought of him forcing a part of himself into her body. But he never came. Eventually the sun rose, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

But when another night came and went with no sleep, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could take it. Was he purposely torturing her, knowing she’d be just waiting for him to come in and claim what was his? She couldn’t do this.

After wiping the tears from her tired eyes, she sat down at the writing desk in her room and penned a desperate letter.

Dear Isaac,

He’s holding me prisoner…

* * *

Michael and Annabelle had hardly spoken a word on the crossing from America. He’d given her plenty of space and not pushed her for anything. He understood it was going to take her a while to accept her new life. But they’d been home for more than two weeks now, and she still refused to talk to him or even leave her own room. Today, that was all about to change. He’d been patient long enough.

If she wasn’t willing to accept this life on her own, he’d have to impose some rules that would force her to at least engage with him. He would not spend the rest of his life with his own wife refusing to speak to him. This morning, that meant she would no longer be allowed meals in her room and would have to join him in the dining room if she wanted to eat. From the raised voices he’d heard on his way down, he guessed Mrs. Ingram had already informed her of the change.

As if on cue, Annabelle sailed through the door, her eyes cold and proud as she glared at him. She marched over to the sideboard and filled a plate with an assortment of foods, and without missing a beat, turned and walked right back out the door. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so frustrated. He’d just have to be one step ahead of her next time.

That evening, Michael sat at the head of the table waiting for Annabelle, once again. She entered, perhaps even more confidently than she had that morning. She walked to the table, ignoring the chair that was being held out for her, lifted the cover from her food and picked up the plate from the table.

“No, Annabelle.” He kept his voice quiet, but the warning was clear. “Please sit.”

She lifted her chin and boldly met his gaze. “I don’t think I will.” She turned to leave, but he had her upper arm in a firm grip before she made it even three paces from the table.

“Leave us, Pearson.” The butler gave barely a nod before exiting and closing the door behind him.

Michael snatched the plate from her hand and placed it back on the table. “I told you to sit.

She gave him a hostile glare. “And I said no.” She spat the words contemptuously, and his mood veered sharply toward anger.

“Whether you like it or not, Annabelle, you are my wife now, and you will obey me.” She tried to pull her arm out of his grasp.

“Or what?” she challenged, the words laced with ridicule.

“Or I’ll put you over my knee.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, immediately calling his bluff.

He leaned in, his lips nearly grazing her ear. “Never call the bluff of someone who owns a gaming hell. He might not be bluffing.”

With his free hand, he spun the dining chair around. She gasped as he pulled her face down across his lap and locked her squirming body in place with an arm around her waist. He reached down and threw the hem of her skirts toward her head. Her backside was only half protected by her split drawers, and even in his moment of anger, it was a glorious sight. He brought his hand down with two quick cracks.

She went completely still as redness began to bloom on the visible part of her bottom. Jesus! What the hell was he doing? Without thinking, he gently rubbed the pinkened skin, to try to soothe her, and a soft whimper escaped her lips.

He was a vile bloody cad.

He put her on her feet and set her away from him, wishing he could take back his actions. Her eyes were wide and disoriented, and tears trembled at the corners. A long, painful silence stretched between them until she finally turned and ran from him.

“Annabelle, I’m sorry,” he called after her.

She turned, tears now running freely down her cheeks. “My name is Belle.” She hauled the door open and disappeared.

Well, at least her name was fitting for the occasion, because he had certainly acted the beast. Christ, what had he done? She must be scared half to death. How could he ever possibly repair the damage he’d just done?

He ground the heels of his hands against his eyes as guilt ravaged his heart. If he was in London right now, he would go to a boxing ring and let someone beat him to a pulp to at least make himself feel better. But here, the disdain was going to eat him alive. In the before days, he would have simply drunk himself into oblivion, but he hadn’t had a sip of alcohol in more than a decade. Besides, neither of those options would actually help her after what he’d done. He stretched his neck and tried to push down the anger that boiled within him. He’d been a heavy-handed brute, and he needed to do something to try to make it better. At the very least, he needed to apologize.

Slowly, he made his way up to her chambers. As he approached, the door swung open and Mrs. Ingram marched out, shutting it with a heavy thud behind her. She glared at him but said not a word as she huffed past him. No more than he deserved.

With a heavy sigh, he knocked softly on the door. “Go away!” Belle shouted from within. Well, he certainly wasn’t going to do that.

He entered the room slowly, trying to be as unthreatening as possible, but she still scurried behind the chair she’d been sitting in, putting the piece of furniture between them as a shield.

“Have you come to beat me some more?” Her reddened eyes were wide with alarm and her chest heaved with her labored breathing.

The words were like a punch to the gut. A punch he very much deserved. “No,” he said quietly, having a sudden idea of how he might be able to at least make her feel better. “I’ve come to give you the opportunity to hit me back.” Her head jerked and she took a step back.

“What is this?” Her voice was thick with skepticism, and he didn’t blame her. It sounded ridiculous even to his own ears.

“It is just what I said. It’s not a trick or a trap.” He shed his coat, waistcoat, and tie, draping them over a chair, and stepped slowly toward the center of the room. “I won’t try to stop you, and I won’t retaliate in any way.”

Even in the dim light he could see the suspicion in her eyes. “I know it isn’t worth much to you, but you have my word.” He closed his eyes and clasped his hands in front of his manhood, just in case, and then he waited. Minutes passed in complete silence before he finally heard a single, hesitant step. After a moment, more footsteps followed until they stopped just in front of him.

Another minute or two passed before his chest was finally met with a small, tentative swat. Michael didn’t move or open his eyes, and eventually, it happened again. And then again, a bit harder each time.

“It isn’t fair,” she cried, her fist pounding into his chest.

“You took everything from me.” She continued to punch him, each one punctuating another grievance.

“My home, my friends, Isaac, everything.”

Isaac. That must be the man who held her heart.

“You’re nothing but an arrogant bully. Who delights in hurting me. And keeping me prisoner.”

The list of all his faults and everything he’d done wrong continued, and the pain he heard behind the words hurt far more than her fists ever could.

“I just want to go home!” She slammed both of her fists into his chest before wracking sobs overtook her.

Only then, did he finally move. He wrapped his arms gently around her, and when she didn’t attempt to flee, he let out a relieved sigh. Instead, after a moment, she rested her cheek against his chest, continuing to cry. He simply held her, his heart aching.

Eventually, her sobs faded to sniffles, but she didn’t leave his embrace.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“I know.” He placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “I know.”

He stepped back slowly, holding onto her shoulders until he was sure she was stable on her own feet. “Goodnight, Belle.” He retrieved his clothes from the chair and left her.

* * *

Belle stared at the door long after it had closed behind him. What had just happened? Her mind struggled to reconcile the beast who’d torn apart her whole world, who’d ripped her away from everything she’d ever known and made her his prisoner, with the man who’d just embraced her with such tenderness.

She settled into the plush armchair. How was that man, who’d simply held her while she’d cried, the same man who’d just a half hour before, thrown her across his lap and spanked her?

Oh, but that spanking was a conundrum all its own. The feelings it had stirred in her were beyond confusing. Sure it was humiliating and had stung a bit, but it had stirred something within her, and when he’d touched her gently to soothe her skin, she’d nearly moaned. A part of her had desperately wanted more. Even now as she conjured it in her mind, warmth began to blossom low in her belly. What could it possibly mean?

And another thing, what had he meant when he’d said he was the owner of a gaming hell?