Chapter Forty-Nine

L awrence fisted his hands, fighting the instinct to spring forward and smash Dunton’s face to pieces.

That vile bastard had his filthy hands all over Bella. Nausea clawed at his stomach as he caught sight of her torn neckline, below which he could discern the outline of her breasts.

Even with her in the clutches of her tormentor, Bella’s eyes flashed with spirit. But as she caught sight of Lawrence, the fire died in her eyes.

“Lawrence…”

His heart ached at the sorrow in her voice. Did she really believe what she’d said to Whitcombe? That he hated her?

“H-how did you find me?”

“Your maid—Connie, is it?” Whitcombe said. “She told us where you’d gone.”

“Is she all right?” Bella asked.

“She’s safe, Lady Arabella. Her brother’s with her.”

“A-and you came to help me?”

Whitcombe smiled. “Trelawney can be a persuasive man when he wants to be.”

Dunton stared at Whitcombe, dim-witted confusion in his expression.

Her captor having lowered his guard, Bella twisted herself free, then she rammed her knee into Dunton’s groin. He toppled forward with a groan, landing on his knees.

“Miserable whore!”

“Better a whore than your wife,” she sneered.

Dunton clutched his groin and groaned. “Thomas…”

Whitcombe barked, “Rutley! Smith!”

Two footmen climbed down from Whitcombe’s carriage. The first drew a pistol.

“I came prepared,” Whitcombe said. He gestured toward Millie. “Rutley, see to it that Thomas remains where he is. You’re at liberty to shoot if he moves. Smith, take care of the woman.”

Millie let out a sigh and opened her eyes, and Thomas tightened his grip on her.

“Let her go!” Bella cried.

She stepped forward, but Dunton pulled her back.

Lawrence sprang forward. “Get your filthy hands off my wife.”

“Wife!” Dunton scoffed. “She was nothing more than a slut who spread her legs for you.”

“She’s my wife in everything that matters,” Lawrence said. “I didn’t need no piece of paper to know that I loved her—and love her still.”

Bella’s eyes widened, and Lawrence’s heart ached at the disbelief in them. He held out his hands, holding his breath. She stared at them for a moment, then met his gaze, a sheen of moisture in her eyes.

“You love me?”

“Aye, my Bella,” he said. “You’re the air in my lungs, the blood in my veins, and the light in my soul. Without you I am nothing.”

A flicker of hope flared in her eyes, and she reached out and took his hand, sliding her fingers between his.

“I can never atone for deceiving you,” he said, “though I’ll spend the rest of my life trying, if you’d permit me. But that deception brought you into my life. My beautiful, kind, clever Bella. You may not be my wife in name, but you are my equal—more than my equal. You are my heart, and my home, and I am incomplete without you. We all are.

“All?”

Lawrence turned toward Whitcombe’s carriage, where the children, bristling with need for their beloved mama, but tempered by Whitcombe’s orders to remain in the carriage, were watching the exchange.

“The children…”

Hope swelled in Bella’s eyes, and his heart ached at the love there.

“Spare me this nonsense!” Dunton said. He stumbled forward, reaching for Bella.

“Charge!” a high-pitched voice cried, and the children tumbled out of the carriage, brandishing sticks, then raced toward Dunton.

“Don’t touch my mama!” Roberta said.

William raised his stick. “Begone, foul Napoleon!”

Dunton whimpered and raised his arms, and Lawrence’s heart soared as Bella let out a giggle.

“Mama—we’re here to rescue you from enemy hands,” Jonathan said.

Bella reached for the little boy and drew him into her arms. “I thank you, kind sir,” she said. “My, how you’ve grown during my incarceration!”

“Foolish brat!” Dunton said. He raised his hand, but before he could strike, Whitcombe caught his wrist.

“I’d advise you to think carefully, lest you wish to add the assault of a child to your list of crimes.”

“Crimes?”

“The attempted murder of Lady Arabella Ponsford…”

“Don’t be a fool!” Dunton replied.

“How else did she end up almost drowned in the river?” Whitcombe said. “Not to mention your abandonment of her.”

“Abandonment?”

“You were seen at Drovers Heath, claiming not to know the woman who was your fiancée. Trelawney and I obtained written testimony from Dr. Carter.”

“Preposterous,” Dunton said, though his voice wavered.

“Not to mention your attempts to defraud Lady Arabella out of her fortune. A certain Mr. Crawford has been overly willing to talk while residing in Newgate.”

Dunton narrowed his eyes, the glare of arrogance fading as he glanced toward Lawrence then back at Whitcombe. “You can’t prove anything.”

“There’s enough doubt over your innocence to destroy your reputation,” Whitcombe said. “And, with enough debt to land you in Newgate as Mr. Crawford’s cellmate, your reputation is all that you have. Unless you agree to my demands.”

“What demands?”

Whitcombe made a dismissive gesture. “We can discuss that later. But now, I’m sure these good people are anxious to enjoy their reunion. Is that not so, Baxter? I know Trelawney—and Mrs. Trelawney—is anxious to know that your wife is unharmed.”

Bella’s smile disappeared. “I’m not his—”

“Hush,” Lawrence whispered, holding a finger to her lips. “Let me remedy that.”

He lowered himself onto one knee.

“Lady Arabella Ponsford, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? I have nothing to offer you, but I ask you to fill my heart and home, and to love my children as your own—as they love you.”

She took his hand and lifted it to her lips. “You’re wrong,” she whispered.

He swallowed the stab of hurt and lowered his gaze. It was too much to expect her to forgive him after what he’d done.

“Won’t you ask me why you’re wrong, Lawrence?”

He glanced up to see her smiling at him, her eyes glistening.

“Never say that you have nothing to offer me,” she said. “A hardworking, honest soul, a doting father, and a loving husband—what are titles and fortunes compared to that?”

“Then…” he said, hardly daring to hope.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I’ll marry you. I was never happier than when I believed I was your wife—and mother to your children. I treasured the memory of our life together as a beautiful dream. And now you offer me the dream—a life with the man I love, and children I adore, as if they were my own…” She shook her head, and a tear spilled onto her cheek. “I cannot imagine such happiness.”

“Oh, Bella!” He rose and pulled her to him, crushing his mouth against hers. She molded her body against his, and his manhood twitched with eagerness as he felt her two little peaks pressing against his chest.

“Ahem.”

She broke the kiss, her face flushing, but Lawrence pulled her close.

“Whitcombe, would you deny me this moment?” he asked.

“Of course not, my good man.” Whitcombe chuckled. “I only wished to offer my carriage, which is at your disposal. I can see to Dunton’s.” He gestured toward the pathetic figure cowering before him.

Lawrence stared at Dunton. To think he’d once envied men such as him. But he was the richer of the two, because while Dunton had known desire, lust, and greed, he had never known love. And he never would.

He held out his hand, and Bella took it, smiling up at him with her soft blue gaze. Together, they climbed into the carriage with their children, a family reunited.