Chapter 4

Chapter Four

S he was startled out of her thoughts by a roar that echoed through the house. What in heaven’s name was that?

Shouts continued as she tiptoed toward her husband’s study. The door was open, and light crept out into the hall.

“I know what I said before, Jones! And I appreciate you trying to stop me, but none of that matters now. I gave it up all those years ago for her. I needed to be sober in order to create a decent life for her. Instead, all I’ve managed to do is make her miserable, so what is the point?” Agony strained his voice.

“Please, my lord, don’t do this.” His valet sounded desperate.

There was a deep sigh, followed by a long, tension filled silence.

“I’m sorry, Jones, but you have three minutes. If you’re not back here with a bottle of brandy, you know where the door is.” Her husband’s quiet voice sounded tired and almost broken, but there was a finality to the statement. For some reason it made her heart ache. She wanted to beg him not to do whatever it was he was about to do.

There was another long pause before Jones answered in a resigned voice. “Very well.”

“No.” The whispered word slipped out, and she pressed her fingertips against her lips.

The valet’s brow was deeply furrowed when he came through the doorway. He turned the opposite direction from her, but as soon as he could no longer be seen by her husband, he spun around to face her, a finger to his lips, his eyes a desperate plea. He shook his head slowly, then waved his fingers in a shooing motion, before pressing his palms together as if in prayer. She understood the silent message. Jones was begging her to return to her own room and not make her presence known to her husband. He had certainly known him longer than she had, so Belle trusted his judgment.

With a dejected sigh, she nodded her assent. Jones mouthed the words ‘thank you’ before hurrying off in the other direction.

Belle wasn’t dressed for bed, but a chill was spreading through her body from the inside out, so she curled into a ball on her bed and pulled the blankets over her head. Somehow, for the second time in a month, her whole world was shifting. Except this time, it was inside her heart and mind. It had never occurred to her that Lord Dalinridge might have sacrificed… well, anything, ever. Let alone that he may have sacrificed something for her. The truth was, she’d never really thought of him as just a man. To her, he was a powerful beast who had plotted to destroy her happiness and had taken her prisoner. But that certainly wasn’t what she’d seen tonight.

The man who had been in her bedroom was kind and patient, and the one she’d heard in his study had sounded desperate, lashing out like a wounded animal. What did that mean? Why was he begging and threatening his valet for brandy? Did they keep it hidden from him? None of this made any sense, but she was afraid that her belligerent unwillingness to bend may have created a storm that they were all going to have to weather. Tomorrow she would try to do better. If she wanted to get answers to any of her questions, she was going to have to talk to her husband.

When Belle entered the dining room the following morning, she was disappointed that he didn’t occupy his seat at the head of the table. She chose some fruit and a piece of toast from the sideboard. Her stomach wasn't feeling up to anything heavy, but she would sit and eat just in case he eventually appeared.

As the footman pulled out her chair, the events that had taken place there the previous day flashed through her mind. Her cheeks instantly warmed at the memory. Why could she not stop thinking about it? And more to the point, why did she, increasingly, want him to spank her again? She shook herself and sat down. It was nonsense. Surely, no person of sound mind would have a desire for such things.

* * *

Michael groaned as he slowly opened his eyes. His head throbbed and every muscle in his body ached. His mouth tasted as if he’d been licking the floor of a stable. Nearly half of his body hung off the sofa he’d apparently slept on, and when he looked over the side, there was a chamber pot filled with the explanation for the foul taste in his mouth. He didn’t even remember retching.

He groaned as he pushed himself upright. The whole room tilted, and he was suddenly reminded why he’d retched. What was he doing? Drowning his sorrows was a slippery slope and was not going to actually fix any of his problems. He didn’t want to go back to that place again. He had responsibilities now and needed to be reliable, at the very least, for his club. He stumbled to the door and made his way precariously up to his dressing room. The bath was already filled and steaming. He gave silent thanks for his valet. He really didn’t deserve Jones. Especially after this.

Michael submerged himself in the hot water, the tension in his muscles slowly easing. He washed every inch of his body and his hair twice, but it wasn’t really his body that felt dirty. It was his soul. All these years. The need to be a decent man for his wife was the reason he’d given up drink in the first place, and now, his inability to be a decent man for her was the reason he’d picked it up again. The epitome of failure. How had he managed to bugger everything up so badly? All he’d actually done for his wife was hurt her. It was time for him to go back to London.

He was dressed in a shirt and trousers by the time Jones finally entered his room. Thank God the man was still here and hadn’t walked out on him.

“Good morning, my lord.”

“The pounding in my head says otherwise, but I’m glad to see you haven’t resigned.”

“It did cross my mind.” Jones settled Michael’s tie around his neck and began making the knot. “But then I thought perhaps you’d like to send me on a vacation to Bath, instead. I’ve heard the waters can be quite restoring and may help me to reconsider my feelings on the matter.”

Michael chuckled as Jones buttoned his waistcoat. “Well played, Jones.” Part of him was proud of his valet for using his despicable behavior as a means to extort him. “Done,” he said with a nod. A whisper of a smile flashed on Jones’ face. “And I believe you are due for a pay rise, as well.”

Jones held up his coat and he slipped his arms into the sleeves. “As much as I would appreciate that, I feel as if I may be taking advantage of the situation.”

“Well the good news for you is, it isn’t your decision to make,” Michael said as Jones straightened his tie once more.

He placed a firm hand on the man’s shoulder. “I put you in an impossible position last night Jones, and for that I am sorry.”

“We all have our demons, my lord. Even you.”

Michael breathed in deeply and clapped Jones on the shoulder. “Now, I’d like to leave for London as soon as possible.”

“Yes, my lord.”

That evening, Michael stood in the ring with a brute even larger than him. That didn’t happen often, and this night, he was glad it had. Hopefully the man would pummel him.

Branson’s was a friendly sort of fight club. Not in the sense that your opponent wouldn’t beat the living tar out of you, but most fighters wore gloves, which made it a little easier on the hands and the body, and you could also make certain requests.

“Not in the face, please.” Not a chance Ash would let him come back to work with two black eyes, and he desperately needed to go back to work and restore some sense of normality and purpose to his life. The man nodded, and they tapped gloves.

They were very evenly matched, but eventually Michael tapped out from sheer exhaustion. Last night’s drinking had taken its toll on him. The man had spared his face, as he'd asked. His ribs, on the other hand, hurt like the very devil while putting on his shirt. Hopefully they were only bruised and not broken. Either way, the physical pain was exactly what he’d needed in order to clear his head. Unfortunately, it didn’t vanquish his guilt the way he’d hoped it would. Belle would definitely be better off if he stayed here in London. Especially until he was certain the drinking wasn’t going to take hold of him the way it had in the past.

Michael walked the mile or so from the club to his townhouse to take everything in. He’d missed Raven Row. A sliver of London where the downtrodden came for the opportunities, and the rich came for the gambling. It had been his home for more than 12 years, and it was a part of him. Here, he was just Michael. Michael didn’t have to live up to the obligations or expectations that Lord Dalinridge did. He breathed in one last lungful before entering his townhouse. The air wasn’t fresh or clean, but it smelled like home.

Jones gave a disapproving sigh when he saw the bruises forming over Michael’s body, but he didn’t actually say a word. He simply helped him prepare for bed and then left him. Thankfully, the remnants of last night’s binge, combined with the travel and physical exertion, meant that he slept like the dead.

He felt much more himself by the time he made his way to The Raven’s Den the following day. It was midday, and even though the club was empty, he could still hear the familiar sounds of raucous laughter, cards shuffling, cheers or groans depending on how the dice landed. The lingering aroma of clay chips, cigar smoke, and expensive booze wrapped around him like an embrace.

Thursdays were when they had their weekly meeting to go over any news or business concerning the club. Michael had come a few minutes early so he could fully appreciate the surroundings, but Patrick and Ash would arrive soon enough.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away.” Ash smiled as he looked down from the balcony that overlooked the gaming floor.

As Ash made his way down, Patrick entered through the back door right on time, as always. “Michael!”

Michael grunted as both men clapped him on the shoulders, jarring his injured body.

“Jesus, man.” Patrick took a step back to get a better view. “You look like hell.”

A laugh escaped before Michael remembered how painful it was. “Thanks, my friend.”

“He’s not wrong.” Ash eyed him as he went behind the bar to pour some drinks. Thank God there was some fresh barley water for him. It was always kept stocked, even on his days off. Just in case.

They all sat in their usual chairs at their usual table. Ash set his raven topped cane on the table in front of him, and Patrick immediately began spinning a coin. Just like it always was. For a moment, Michael could almost believe nothing had changed. But it had changed, and his friends were staring at him expectantly. They knew he’d given into his demons. Or at least Ash did.

“How’s your new bride?” Patrick asked cautiously while Ash continued his silent scrutiny.

“She… we… I…” Michael sighed and closed his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Ash asked.

Slowly, Michael nodded. He wouldn’t pretend to not understand the question. “I don’t have any alcohol in my townhouse, so I won’t show up for work drunk if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, actually. We’re your friends, Michael. We haven’t forgotten how hard you worked to give it up.”

Of course they hadn’t. They’d supported him through all of it, the good days and the bad.

Patrick placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’re here for you if you need anything. I hope you know that.”

He didn’t like being coddled for being a failure. “Can we please just talk about business?”

Ash merely raised a brow. “On to business then.”

* * *

For the tenth night in a row, Belle sat at the foot of the long, empty table, picking at her food. The butler and a footman both stood off to the side, as they always did, just in case she might require something. How was this happening? Once again, her husband had abandoned her in a house full of servants, only this time, it was her own fault.

Apparently, he’d gone to London. Whatever that meant. No one seemed to really know, and they certainly couldn’t tell her when or if he’d be coming back. She should be relieved to have him gone, so why wasn’t she?

She should be enjoying her freedom in his absence. There was an entire estate for her to explore, but for some reason, her spirit for adventure seemed to have left her, as well. The only thing her mind was curious about anymore was her husband. It was preposterous. He was nothing but a bully and brute. But was he really?

With a sigh, she set her napkin on the table. The footman was at her chair in a trice, pulling it out as she stood.

“Do you require anything else, my lady?”

“No, thank you.” He bowed and the butler held the door open for her as she left the room. How was it possible to feel so lonely in a house filled with so many people? It shouldn’t feel that much different from how she’d spent her whole life, but it did. She hadn’t been Lady Dalinridge there, she was just Belle.

On her way past, she tried the door to her husband’s study. It was locked, of course. There had to be some kind of useful information in there though. As she stared at the door, her sense of adventure began to stir, just a bit. She was going to get into that room and find some answers.

That night, a while after Lizzie had tucked her into bed, she crept out of her room and tiptoed down to his study. Her nerves hummed with excitement as she pulled out the hairpin and set to work. Isaac had taught her how to pick locks, and although he would have teased her for how long it took her to beat this one, she was ultimately successful. She did a happy little dance as the door opened just a crack.

She would need more light to see whatever she could find in there, so for tonight, she quietly pulled the door closed and went back to bed.

The following morning, it took every ounce of discipline she possessed to not allow her excitement to show on her face. When she finally finished with breakfast, she walked as nonchalantly as she could manage to her husband’s study. After checking to make sure no one was around, she slipped inside and closed the door softly behind her. The racing of her heart was exhilarating.

The room was much larger than she had imagined it to be. A huge wooden desk sat before her, and across the room was a sofa and a handful of chairs and tables. Shelves filled with books lined an entire wall.

As she sat in the chair behind his desk, she was dwarfed by the furniture, a reminder of just how large he was. Her heart fluttered nervously.

What would he do if he found her in his study? She swallowed, remembering the spanking he’d given her. Would he give her another one? Her breathing quickened. When she thought about that, she could still feel the warmth of his palm as it gently rubbed her bottom.

She shook away the thoughts and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Surprisingly, none of the drawers in the desk were locked. Not that it would have stopped her. She spent the next hour poring over paperwork and documents, trying to piece together as much as possible.

Apparently, he really did own a club of some kind called The Raven’s Den. There was another address that must be for wherever he stayed while he was down there. She jotted down as much information as she thought she might need. One thing was certain, even if she had driven him away, she wasn’t going to just let him abandon her here in this giant house with all of its many servants. This time, she was going to go down there and find him.

* * *

There was a conversation coming. Michael could feel it creeping toward him like a wraith on a foggy night.

He bent down and stacked boxes of chips into his safe and closed it up tight. When he straightened, Patrick was leaning against the doorjamb, blocking his only escape.

“I’m fine, Patrick,” he said grumpily. “I haven’t had a single drink since I got down here, or even the desire for one.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but you’ve been here two weeks, Michael. How long are you planning on hiding from her?”

“I don’t know,” he said with an agitated shrug. He didn’t want this talk that was coming.

“Michael, I’m not going to pry into your personal business.”

Michael snorted. “Why do I get the feeling that’s not true?”

Patrick ignored him and continued. “As I’m sure you’ll recall, before Rosie and I married, we had our share of difficulties.”

Michael nodded. He remembered. They’d talked about it in this very room one night.

“For a long time, I thought if I married her and then sent her away, she would have the protection of my name, but also be protected… from me.” He looked at Michael intently. “Is any of this sounding familiar?”

Michael stretched the tension in his neck. “Perhaps.” He dropped his gaze to his thumbnails as he nervously clicked them together. “It’s not the same as you and Rosie, though. Belle didn’t choose me.” She had very likely chosen someone else. Not that it made any difference. “She deserves so much better than me.”

Patrick pushed away from the doorframe and crossed the room to place a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Be that as it may, you are what she has, so you’ll just have to step up and become what she deserves.”

Michael blew out a long breath. Patrick was right, of course. He couldn’t very well stay here and hide forever. At some point he was going to have to attempt to repair the damage he had caused. There had to be something he could do to make things better. She deserved happiness. Perhaps all he needed was a conversation with her. If she would be happier with him gone, he could always come back here.

“I guess that means I need to go back.”

Patrick nodded. “On the very next train. But I want you to promise me that if you get to that place again, you’ll send a telegram down here before you even take a sip. If you won’t make me that promise, I’m coming with you.”

They took their promises to each other very seriously, so he wouldn’t make it if he wasn’t confident he would keep it. He nodded slowly before meeting Patrick’s gaze. “I promise.”