Chapter Forty-Five

B ella looked up into a pair of clear gray eyes, filled with love.

“My Bella…”

She tilted her head back, offering her lips, while she moved her hands across her body. Her fingers lingered on her breasts—the silken skin with the little buds at the center that beaded as she flicked them with her thumb. Then she moved her hands lower, toward the downy curls that were already damp with need.

“Lawrence…”

Relishing her wantonness, she moved her fingers slickly against herself. Any moment and he’d kiss her and whisper wicked words while he slipped inside her.

But the moment never came.

She opened her eyes to find herself alone, in her chamber at Ilverton Manor.

A clock struck in the distance, seven notes in succession, and she pulled back the bed sheets and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, then froze.

A small patch of blood was visible between her legs.

The door was knocked upon, and, her cheeks warming with shame, Bella lowered her night rail then leaned forward, drawing in a deep breath to fight the swell of disappointment.

The knocking came again.

“Lady Arabella?”

“Come in, Connie.”

Her maid opened the door. “Oh, Lady Arabella! You’re not up yet. The master’s expecting you to attend him at breakfast. Your aunt was most insistent you be on time, and the breakfast gong will sound any minute.”

Bella cringed at the fear in the maid’s voice. “Forgive me, Connie,” she said. “Be assured I’ll tell His Grace it was my fault for being late.”

“That’s right kind of you, Lady Arabella, but there’s no need. I’ve set out your gown. I’ll have you ready in no time.”

Bella stood. The world shifted out of focus, and she stumbled against her maid.

“Steady, Lady Arabella! Are you unwell?”

“N-no,” Bella said, fighting back tears.

“Oh, mercy!” the maid said. “I should have known, but you’ve been away. I didn’t know when to expect it.”

“Expect what?”

“Your…” The maid blushed. “Y-your monthly bleed . Shall I tell His Grace your health’s delicate today? Perhaps your aunt can be persuaded to have a tray sent up for you.”

“N-no—please don’t trouble yourself, Connie.”

“It’s no trouble, Lady Arabella. I can get anything you need.”

Bella placed a hand on her belly—her empty belly. “Nobody can give me what I need,” she whispered.

“You’ll feel all right again in a day or so,” Connie said. “Some sweet tea will settle your stomach. I can bring you fresh cloths and change the bedsheet. Why don’t I—”

“No!” Bella cried. “There’s nothing you can do, Connie! Why can’t you leave me be?” She sank onto the bed, the tears flowing more freely.

Connie placed a light hand on her arm. “Can’t you tell me why you’re so distressed? I want to help.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” Bella said, forcing a hard edge to her voice. “Didn’t you hear me the first time?”

“I know what you said, Lady Arabella, but there’s more to knowing what someone’s saying than hearing the words.”

Bella looked into her maid’s eyes. They were a pale brown—wide, expressive, and filled with compassion.

“Connie…” She hesitated. “I-I hoped… I mean, I believed that I w-was…”

The maid’s blush deepened.

Bella rose to her feet. “It matters not,” she said. “Perhaps it’s for the best. After all, the duke…”

“I understand,” Connie said. Then she spoke more brightly. “Now—how about I fetch your cloths, then get you dressed? You’ve been stuck inside these past few days. Some fresh air will revive your spirits.”

Bella approached the window and looked out. Her heart ached as she spotted the hedge at the back of the garden, behind which was the site of the bonfire.

Perhaps what she endured now was retribution for the sins she had committed.

While Connie dressed her, Bella remained silent, staring out of the window, complying with her maid’s instructions like a meek child. She lifted her arms, stepped into her petticoats, and turned her head from side to side as Connie twisted her hair into curls. Finally, she stood before the dressing mirror, looking every part the haughty heiress she’d always been.

Except for the expression in her eyes.

“There!” Connie said. “You look perfect, Lady Arabella. Nobody would know your health was delicate.”

Bella sighed, and a tear ran down her cheek.

“Oh, miss,” Connie said. “I know I’m behaving out of turn, but you look so sad. Is it because you wish you’d not returned here?”

Bella opened her mouth to admonish her, but the words caught in her throat, and she stifled a sob.

“Oh, miss! Were you happy there with”—the maid lowered her voice to a whisper—“the gardener?”

Bella fought to voice her denial, but she surrendered and nodded her head.

“Why didn’t you stay with him?”

“It’s not that simple, Connie.”

“It is, if you follow your heart.”

“ My heart wasn’t the problem,” Bella said. “He didn’t love me. He pretended, tricked me into becoming his wife, and mother to his children—as vengeance. He must have hated me so much for what I did.”

“You burned all his tools, miss, and his drawings. They may have meant nothing to you, but to him, they were everything.”

“Oh, Connie!” Bella said. “You make me quite ashamed. But, you see, that’s why I can never face him. I grew to love him—I still do—but if he hates me so deeply to have taken such vengeance… I cannot bear it. I cannot bear to be hated by the man I love!”

“I think…” Connie began, then the breakfast gong echoed in the distance. “Heavens! Let’s get you downstairs. Let me tidy you up.”

The maid lifted her hand to Bella’s face and brushed away the tears. Unable to withstand the simple act of kindness, Bella took her maid’s hand and squeezed it.

“Thank you, Connie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You can trust me, Lady Arabella.”

There was a knock, and before Bella could respond, Dunton’s footman entered.

“The master doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Bella fixed him with a cold stare. “Thomas, how dare you enter my chamber! I’ll have you whipped for that.”

She exited the chamber, pushing him aside.

“Do not follow me,” she said. “I know the way, and am not in need of a gaoler.”

He merely grinned, then followed her to the breakfast room, where Dunton and Aunt Kathleen were already seated at the table. The duke rose to his feet.

“You’re late, child,” Aunt Kathleen said.

“I came as soon as I heard the gong, Aunt.”

Dunton settled back into his seat as Bella took her place. “Thomas, my fiancée is hungry,” he said.

Bella waved the footman away. “I’m not hungry. Fetch me some tea.”

“You must eat, my dear,” Dunton said. “Thomas, bring her some eggs.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The footman spooned eggs onto a plate and placed it in front of her.

Dunton nodded toward the plate. “Eat, my dear.”

“I said , I’m not hungry,” Bella snapped. “Must I always bow to your demands?”

“A wife must obey her husband,” he replied. “It’s better for her if she learns her place sooner, rather than later.” He leaned forward. “Now. Eat. ”

Bella shivered as invisible fingers brushed the back of her neck. She took up her fork and picked up a mouthful of eggs, which wobbled and glistened in the sunlight. Her stomach churned, but Dunton continued to stare, his gaze darkening. Ignoring the rising tide of nausea, she slipped the fork into her mouth, then swallowed.

“That’s better,” Dunton said.

Aunt Kathleen smiled coldly. “I told you my niece would learn her place eventually.”

“Perhaps, but she’d benefit from a little more correction. She cannot be seen to deviate from the righteous path.”

“Righteous?” Bella let out a mirthless laugh. “You dare lecture me on righteousness?”

Dunton’s eyes narrowed. “Have a care, my dear. You forget to whom you are speaking.”

“I know perfectly well to whom I’m speaking,” Bella replied. “A man who’s debauched countless young women, including my friend, Miss Howard.”

“Friend!” Dunton scoffed. “Juliette Howard whored herself in an attempt to marry above her station. The devil knows who sired her bastard. But at least I’ll not have that problem with you.”

“What do you mean?” Bella asked.

“Hush, girl!” Aunt Kathleen said. “It’s not seemly to speak of such things.”

Her aunt and Dunton exchanged a glance, and Bella’s cheeks warmed with shame.

“Has your maid been inspecting my bedsheets, Aunt?” she asked.

“I said , don’t speak of it!” Aunt Kathleen said, rising to her feet. “I thought I’d raised you better than that, yet you talk like a whore. You should be grateful His Grace is still willing to take you on.”

“Would he have been so willing were I carrying another man’s child?”

Dunton’s face reddened. “My dear, you’re distressed,” he said, rising. “You should return to your chamber to rest.”

“I shall not .”

“I expect you to honor me as a fiancée ought.”

“Will you honor me in return,” Bella asked, “or merely spend my fortune?”

He strode toward her. “It’s my fortune now the marriage contract’s been drawn up.”

She stood, scraping her chair back. “Come no closer.”

“Tut-tut, what a willful harpy you’ve become,” he said, grasping her arms.

“Unhand me,” she snarled. “Do you think I’d marry a man who thinks nothing of abusing me to get his own way?”

He curled his fingertips into her flesh. “You’ve no idea what I’m capable of doing to get my own way,” he said. “You think I can’t control one silly, spoiled little heiress?”

He grasped her chin and forced it upward until their eyes met, his glittering with lust and fury.

“You will marry me, my dear, and you’ll show me proper deference and gratitude.”

“Your Grace!” Aunt Katheleen cried. “Please desist.”

He released Bella’s chin, and she could have wept with relief at her aunt finally coming to her rescue.

“I’ll discipline the girl as I see fit,” Dunton said.

“I did not mean to question your authority, Your Grace,” Aunt Kathleen said, “but with the wedding approaching, it’s better to leave her face unmarked.”

Dunton smiled. “How sensible and practical! Arabella, you’re fortunate to have such a caring aunt.”

He forced his mouth over hers, and her stomach churned as he slipped his tongue along the seam of her lips, probing to gain entrance. She jerked her head back, and he let out a low laugh.

“I like a little spirit,” he said. “It’ll makes the victory so much sweeter when I break you in.”

“You’ll never have me, Dunton,” Bella said.

“Where would you go?” he asked. “You’re already ruined. Nobody in Society will receive you if you refuse to marry me. Whitcombe told me as much.”

“Wh-Whitcombe?” Bella cringed as she recalled the contempt in the man’s eyes the day he encountered her in the Trelawneys’ garden. Whitcombe hated her, and with just cause, given how she’d ridiculed and tormented his wife. Why hadn’t she befriended the gentle, pure-hearted Eleanor? Never did she need a friend more than now.

“I saw Whitcombe at White’s when I was in London,” Dunton said. “He warned me that I’d suffer a lifetime of misery were I to indulge your whims.” He grinned. “I do declare, my dear Lady Arabella, that he loathes you. Do you think you’d survive without the protection of my title?”

“You cannot force me to marry you,” she said.

“I can, and I will.” He turned to the footman. “Thomas, escort Lady Arabella to her chamber. I’m concerned for her state of mind.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my—”

“She’s been having violent outbursts of late, and I fear for her safety and that of others. Take her to her chamber and let me know if she gives you trouble.”

“Don’t be foolish!” Bella cried. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I beg to differ, my dear,” Dunton said. “A woman in possession of her wits would not abandon her family and disappear for months, nor would she have violent fits of temper. What say you, Lady Smith-Green? Should we perhaps send for a doctor to determine her state of mind?”

Bella shivered at the undercurrent of threat in his voice. “Y-you wouldn’t…”

“Not if you give me cause to believe that you’re perfectly sane,” he said. “But we must always consider whether you should be placed somewhere where you can be cared for properly.”

An asylum… A cold, stark place, where sorry individuals were incarcerated by those who wished to be rid of them.

Bella cringed as she recalled the barbs she’d directed at Eleanor Howard, whom Juliette had once said was destined for an asylum due to her inappropriate behavior. To her shame, she’d joined Juliette in her taunts, reveling in the gratification to be had from ridding Society of undesirables.

And now she was an undesirable herself, a misfit to be controlled and punished—or incarcerated if she failed to obey.

“Thomas, take care of my fiancée,” Dunton said. He leaned over Bella and kissed her on the forehead, and she fought her revulsion as he flicked his tongue out, running it along her skin.

Then the footman took her wrist. Surrendering to defeat, she let him lead her back to her chamber. As soon as she entered, the door closed, and she heard the key turn in the lock.