Chapter Forty-One

B ella leaned back in the carriage, willing her headache to subside. But the pain only worsened as a cacophony of images and memories crashed into her mind.

A high-pitched scream of anguish cut through the memories, and she snapped her eyes open. Through the window, the trees whipped past as the carriage gathered speed. Then the voice screamed again.

“You said mothers never leave their children!”

She sat up and leaned toward the window. “Jonathan!”

A thick hand pulled her back. “Hush, woman! Don’t make a scene.”

“But—”

“They’re nothing to you, my dear,” Dunton said. “Some peasant and his spawn.”

Bella stared at his fleshy fingers covered in bejeweled rings. Then she lifted her gaze, following the line of his elegantly fashioned sleeve toward the collar of his jacket, his silk necktie—and his cold, lust-filled eyes.

My fiancé…

Nausea overcame her, and she jerked backward, catching her breath.

“What’s the matter now?” he asked.

“I’m going to be sick.”

“Bloody hell, that’s all I need…” he muttered. “Can you at least wait until we reach our destination?”

“Wh-where are we going?”

“We’re going home ,” he said, his voice thick with exasperation.

Home…

Where was her home? Not the elegant, soulless London townhouse she’d lived in until her betrothal, nor the dark, neglected shades of Ilverton Manor. Perhaps the house she’d lived in with her parents had been a home—the elegant Jacobean mansion she’d forgotten until it had forced its way into her dreams.

She closed her eyes, and another image floated into her mind—a tiny, whitewashed building, the front door surrounded by a trailing rose; a parlor that carried the aroma of lavender, smoke, and wood; a kitchen with a range that had come to accept her rule; an array of children’s toys adorning every surface; a garden filled with life, following the contours of nature, and…

And four souls she’d grown to love.

That was her home. Not a building in which she merely existed, but a place where she was needed, valued, cherished…and loved.

But it had been a lie—an act of vengeance played out by a man who despised her enough to deceive her into servitude. A man who had taken her freedom, her maidenhead—and her heart.

But she was not Bella Baxter, the pathetic creature ruled by her heart. She was Lady Arabella Ponsford, daughter of a duke.

And Lady Arabella was not weak. Lady Arabella was sensible enough to know that succumbing to the needs of her heart only led to misery and ruination.

She had already suffered ruination—she would not be conquered by misery.

She smoothed her features into the mask of the Society debutante, then wrinkled her nose and glared at the offending hand.

“Unhand me, Your Grace,” she said. “Unseemly behavior is not to be tolerated.”

“Unseemly behavior?” Dunton laughed. “You give a fine argument, madam, and I’d listen, had you not been wandering about the countryside like any slut. You looked quite content riding alongside that hobbledehoy.”

“A temporary aberration,” she said. “I was afflicted by memory loss, and was deceived by a…” She hesitated, her body tightening with need at the memory of a pair of slate-gray eyes filled with desire, and his gentle touch that soothed her body before igniting the fires of pleasure. “I was deceived by a brute ,” she said, channeling her bitter hatred into that final word.

He was a brute—and she would never forgive him. Not for behaving in the uncouth manner of a commoner, nor for attempting to wreak vengeance on her. No—she could not forgive him for deceiving her into believing, for a bright, glorious moment, that a little corner of goodness resided in the world.

And she could not forgive him for making her fall in love.

Dunton pulled her close, parting his lips for a kiss.

She turned her head away, fighting the ripple of nausea at the stench on his breath. Sweet Lord—had he been drinking liquor already?

“You forget yourself,” she said coldly.

“Come now, Arabella,” he said. “I’ve waited a long time for our reunion. And a woman must obey the man she pledged herself to.”

“Her husband, yes,” she said, “but you’re not my husband.”

“Not yet—but we can seal our union here and now.”

“Do you wish to ruin me?” she cried. “Like you ruined Juliette Howard?”

“That little harlot spread her legs to trap me into marriage. She’s nothing but a commoner’s daughter—their sort are animals compared to us.”

“Which is what you’re doing now, by anticipating the wedding night,” she said. “Are you an animal, Your Grace?”

He pulled her hard against his body, and her stomach churned as his manhood pressed against her thigh.

“A feisty mare, aren’t you, beneath that cold haughtiness,” he said. “But women are all the same—inside you’re all whores, begging for a man’s cock.”

“Stop!” she cried. “Or I’ll scream.”

“Who would hear you?”

“If you defile me, I’ll never marry you—ruined or not.”

He hesitated, anger and lust flashing in his eyes. Then he loosened his grip.

She pulled herself free and shifted away from him.

“Forgive me, my dear,” he said. “I was quite overcome by the violence of my affections. Your aunt will testify to the fact that I’ve thought of nothing but you from the moment you were lost.”

“Aunt Kathleen?”

“She’s been most anxious for your return.” He raked his gaze over her form, then the sneer returned. “Perhaps it’s best if I leave you in peace for the time being,” he said. “I daresay you’re riddled with lice, having lived in that hovel.”

“Yes,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm. “I daresay I am. I’m anxious to take a bath, and”—she plucked at her skirts of the gown Sophie had given her, which she’d trimmed with pink ribbon, and smiled, ignoring the pain in her heart—“and to have this garment burned.”

“Quite so,” he said. “But once you’ve been restored to your true self”—he licked his lips—“ then you shall be mine.”

The urge to flee swelled within her. But where would she go? Back to the man who’d destroyed her faith and broken her heart? Or forward, to the world into which she was born—a world of duty, honor, and security?

What did she care if there was no place in that world for her heart?