Chapter Sixteen

S weet heaven —this was a nightmare.

Before her stood—if standing were an appropriate term for something that looked as if it might blow over at any moment—what could only be described as a hovel.

A squalid little place with windows caked in dirt, rotting timber, a chimney that leaned sideways, and a gate falling off the hinges.

And she was expected to live in that ?

She glanced about, summoning a grain of hope that the building before her was a stable, or a gatehouse, and that the main dwelling was further along the track.

But there were no other buildings.

The only saving grace was the garden surrounding the building—a neatly trimmed lawn, borders filled with shrubs surrounded with fresh earth, as if they had just been planted…

She caught her breath at the flash of a memory—or perhaps a dream—of a man, stripped to the waist, sweat glistening on his bronzed body while he drove a shovel into the earth.

“Bella?”

A huge hand caught hers. Instinct drove her to curl her fingers around his and her fingertips over the callouses on his palm—the evidence of hard toil. A primal urge flared before she bit her lip to suppress it.

Whatever or whoever she might be, she was not a wanton.

He gestured toward the building. “What do you think? I’ve made a lot of improvements.”

“You mean—it was once worse than this?”

“Don’t say that, love. It’s better than our last home. Don’t you remember?”

She shook her head. Perhaps there was a reason why her memory was yet to return. Her life was so dreadful that her mind, in an act of kindness, had obliterated it.

But now it was before her, in all its horror.

“Come on, love,” he said.

“Sweet Lord!” she cried. “Can’t you say anything other than come on, love ? Is your command of the English language so restricted?”

He chuckled and steered her toward the door. “Come on, love—your palace awaits.”

Curse him! He was goading her.

But she wouldn’t rise to it. Summoning as much dignity—and courage—as she could muster, she entered the cottage.

A narrow hallway awaited her, with a door either side and a tiny staircase at the end. The Beast led her through the first door, into a parlor—or something resembling a parlor. It was a small, low-ceilinged room filled with mismatched furniture—a sofa that looked on the brink of collapse, a leather chair with scuff marks on the arms, and a threadbare rug. A sliver of light struggled across the room, picking up a host of dust motes that swirled angrily as she moved about. The walls, covered in stains, were bare, save for a set of candle sconces, and cobwebs clung thickly to the corners of the ceiling, spreading out in tendrils to conquer the upper part of the walls.

“Sweet Lord!” she cried.

“I know,” he said. “It’s luxury compared to our last home. But nothing’s too much for my Bella.”

Was he jesting?

“Is this it ?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at the odors—the cocktail of damp, dust, and something that indicated the existence of a dead rodent beneath the floorboards.

“No, that’s not it, of course!” He laughed. “There’s two bedrooms upstairs, together with my study. “And”—he puffed out his chest with pride, reminiscent of a strutting bird showing a prospective mate a particularly delightful nest—“we’ve a privy at the bottom of the garden so you can see to your needs in the fresh air.”

See to your needs.

“Must you be so coarse?”

“Better that than refer to your takin’ a piss.”

She shuddered, but he merely laughed, then led her out of the parlor.

“The kitchen needs a little work,” he said.

After showing her that cesspit of a parlor, if the kitchen was the room he’d singled out as needing a little work, what state must it be in?

“But,” he added, “with your resourcefulness, you’ll easily manage your chores in there.”

Chores.

There it was again, that dreadful word, and all the implications that came with it.

“What do you mean…” she began, but a volley of shrieks interrupted her.

Footsteps clattered on the stairs, and the building seemed to vibrate. Then two pairs of feet appeared at the top of the staircase, followed by the bodies of two…

Two what?

Feral creatures—wild beasts in rough-spun smocks, dark breeches, and thick boots—descended the stairs. One of the creatures lost its footing and slid the rest of the way, landing in a heap at the bottom.

“Bugger!”

“Ha ha!” the other cried in a singsong voice. “Bobby’s landed on her arse!”

“Piss off, Billy!”

“Piss off yourself. Or I’ll stick a spider in your breeches.”

Dear God Almighty—what fresh horror is this?

“It’s our children, Bella, love,” the Beast said.

Heavens —she’d spoken aloud.

Surely these urchins couldn’t be her children? Wouldn’t she have remembered having to endure a life with such unpleasant, filthy creatures?

“Stop it!” the Beast roared.

The creatures stopped arguing. Two pairs of bright blue eyes stared at Bella. Then both children tilted their heads almost in unison as they cast their gazes over her. They looked identical with their tangled masses of dirty blond hair and faces caked in dirt, the only difference being that the one who’d slipped onto the floor had slightly longer hair.

“William, Roberta, stop playing the fool,” the Beast said. “Look who’s back?”

Roberta? Surely one of those urchins wasn’t a girl ?

“Hello, Mama,” they chorused.

“Very good,” the Beast said, turning to Bella. “You remember the twins, don’t you?”

She shook her head.

“Oh, love!” he cried. “That’s so disappointing. I’d have thought our children would have restored your memory, given how much you’d longed for them—not to mention how vigorously our efforts were to start a family.”

“Don’t be so crude!” she said.

“It’s never bothered you before,” he replied. “You’ve always had a ripe tongue, Bella, love. You curse enough to make a sailor blush.”

“I do not !”

“You’ll remember soon enough,” he said in the good-natured tone that was beginning to needle at her.

Did nothing discompose him?

“Two children…” She shook her head. “I can’t have two children. This must be a horrible dream…”

“Now, Bella, you must stop this nonsense. We don’t have two children.”

The urchins stood, nudging one another as they jostled for position.

“Then—they’re not my children?”

“You misunderstand me, love. It’s—”

He broke off as a high-pitched wail came from upstairs.

“What’s that ?” Bella cried.

“Not again!” he huffed. “William, go upstairs and set him free.”

“But we’re pirates, and he’s our prisoner.”

“Just do it.”

One of the urchins stuck out its tongue—bright pink against the grime on its face.

“Do it now ,” the Beast growled.

A crash echoed from above, followed by screeching, then a small, red-headed whirlwind descended the stairs with a wail.

“Papa—Papa! Billy tied me up, and Bobby put a frog in my bed!”

“Jonathan, don’t tell tales, you nasty sneak. Not in front of our”—Bobby glanced at Bella—“our mother .”

“Mama!” The whirlwind let out a cry, then flew toward Bella. Before she could prevent it, the creature flung its arms around her legs. “Mama, you’re back! What’s for supper?”

The Beast caught the child by the shoulders. “Let your mother catch her breath.”

“But you said we should—”

“Yes, and you’ve given her a lovely greeting, son. But she’s a little tired. She can’t cook supper tonight.” He glanced at Bella and raised his eyebrows. “Unless she wants to?”

“I do not want to,” Bella said.

Who the devil did they think she was—some sort of housemaid and cook?

The Beast sighed. “Never mind—we’ll make do. I can fetch something from the Oak for tonight.”

“The Oak?”

“The Royal Oak—the inn in the village. Perhaps a bit of mutton stew? You can resume your chores tomorrow.”

“Chores again!” Bella scoffed. “What do you mean, I can resume them tomorrow? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous!”

“I’ve no objection to your resuming your chores tonight, love, but I thought you’d be tired from your journey.”

“I am tired!”

“Then you can start tomorrow,” he said, “once you’ve walked the children to school.”

“Once I’ve what ?”

He let out another laugh. “It’s an easy enough task, and, tell you what, I won’t ask you to make breakfast tomorrow—how about that?”

“You’ll prepare breakfast?” she asked.

“Heavens no!” He laughed again. “What self-respecting husband would prepare breakfast? We’ll make do tomorrow without it. But the day after tomorrow, we’ll be hungry, won’t we, children?”

“Yes!” two voices cried in unison, but the red-headed creature let out another wail that sliced through the air. Bella winced at the pain in her head. So much noise!

“I’m hungry!” the red-headed creature cried.

“Don’t be such a baby,” one of the other children sneered.

“Stop it, Roberta,” the Beast said. “Don’t tease your brother. He’s missed your mother, haven’t you, Jonathan?”

The creature nodded once more and reached for Bella again. She recoiled at the sight of his dirt-covered hands and the notion of where they might have been.

She glanced about the hallway, at the walls that closed in around her, and her chest constricted as she struggled to draw breath. The hallway shifted out of focus, and her legs began to give way. But before she pitched forward, two strong arms took hold of her. For a moment, a ripple of need threaded through her body.

But she ignored it.

“Let me go, you vile peasant!”

“As my wife commands,” he said, his voice thick with amusement, and he released her. She slid to the ground, landing legs akimbo. As she hit the floor, a puff of dust erupted from the carpet, and she convulsed into a volley of coughs.

However dreadful a nightmare might be, it came with one consolation—freedom through the inevitability of waking up.

But this…

This was reality, from which there was no escape.