“It’s only you that likes those dreadful things, as you well know,” Belle huffed, but her sister merely grinned at her.
“And don’t worry, I’ll tell Aunt Grimble you’re sick as a cushion, or the dreadful creature will be in here fretting you to death and making plans for you.” Her sister clapped her hands together and squealed with delight. “Oh, just think, Belle! We can be rid of her once and for all.” Crecy beamed at her and Belle could not help but smile back. “Lord, you should have heard her crowing at breakfast. Honestly, you’d think the marquess had proposed to her, she’s so full of herself.”
Finally, Crecy left in with a swirl of velvet skirts, and Belle was left alone. Of course, the moment she was, she wished Crecy would come back again. Because if left alone, she had no distraction from her thoughts and the inevitable turn they took. In a very short time indeed, she would be married to Lord Winterbourne, and she didn’t think her future husband was the slightest bit happy about it.
***
“Jab, slip, hook, cross.”
Edward tried to focus on the pads, in putting all of his frustration and anger and ... whatever it was he was experiencing that he could not name, behind each fist. Perhaps if he hit hard enough, for long enough, everything would become clear.
Because right now, everything was very far from clear.
“Jab, slip, jab, hook, cross.”
Charlie’s voice penetrated the fog of his thoughts and he clung to the sound of them like a drowning man at a straw. If he kept hitting, kept on fighting ...
“Jab, jab, hook, jab.”
They had moved indoors to the ballroom, now that everyone had gone. That was one blessing, at least. He’d not have to contend with the curious stares and the whispers that would question why he should marry a penniless nobody. Not that he cared what they thought. It was no one’s affair but his own.
“Jab, slip, hook.”
Though why had he offered? Well, of course, honour demanded it, but ... he still couldn’t quite believe it. He was marrying Miss Holbrook. Of all the annoyances and irritations he’d known this bloody weekend was bound to be filled with, finding himself leg-shackled hadn’t even been on the list.
How had it happened?
“Hook, jab, cross, jab, slip.”
He’d known it was a set-up. That’s what he couldn’t get over. He’d gone with the intention of saving Nibley and ended up trapped himself, and he’d bloody well known they were coming!
Why, if he’d been so desperate for her - and that much he did remember – why hadn’t he just hauled her off somewhere more private and comfortable? She had been utterly in his power: he could have had her and gotten rid of this dreadful itch beneath his skin. If only he’d chosen any one of hundreds of bloody rooms in this vast castle where the entire guest list wouldn’t have stumbled upon them. But no ... he had to do it in full view of the cream of the ton and find himself honour-bound to marry the chit!
“Jab, slip, hook, cross.”
And his sister hadn’t helped, the wretch. Anyone would think she’d planned it to happen, she was so bloody thrilled at the outcome. Though, with hindsight, she’d at least saved them all from a terrible scandal with her quick thinking.
He couldn’t help but wonder if a scandal might have been preferable, for him at least.
“Jab, jab, jab, jab, Jesus, man, give me a break!”
Edward dropped his fists as Charlie collapsed to the ground red faced and blowing, this thin chest heaving with effort.
“You tryin’ to kill me, blast you?” his sweaty valet wheezed, clutching at his heart.
Edward merely grunted and started to unbind his knuckles.
The creeping sense of frustration still lingered under his skin, and he knew just who was to blame. He should at least find some satisfaction in the idea that the wretched creature would be his to bed as often as he desired in a few short days, but somehow it didn’t help.
He was angry with himself, no, with her, for being trapped, and he didn’t want to see her at all, ever - and yet he didn’t know how he’d get through the next few days without crawling out his own skin if he couldn’t touch her.
The only image behind his eyes was Miss Holbrook in the library, her eyes a far brighter blue than he’d previously realised, highlighted perhaps by that lovely blue gown. It had been the finest he’d seen her wear so far, clearly saved for the ball.
Not that it had been in any way fancy, a simple cut and style and the bare minimum of frills. Miss Holbrook didn’t wear frills; he doubted she had time for them. He didn’t much care. All he’d wanted, all he wanted still, was to strip it from her soft curves with as much haste as was possible. And he’d been well on his way to doing just that, before the blasted guest list had filed in to watch.
Edward walked over to where Charlie was still sprawled on the ground, and offered him a hand up. Charlie accepted and hauled himself upright with a groan.
“P’raps once you’re married, you’ll find other ways to occupy yerself without killin’ me on a daily basis,” Charlie grumbled.
Shooting his outspoken valet a warning look that suggested this was not a safe topic of conversation, Edward began to walk away. “Have a bath prepared for me, please,” he said, his tone curt, before pulling his shirt on and heading back to his room.
***
Belle dithered behind the bedroom door and wondered if she could get away with having a tray sent to her room instead of going downstairs to eat. Surely that was cowardly? Well, yes, obviously it was, but it also seemed a lot more sensible than the possibility of facing the marquess over food. If she had to eat in front of him, she wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite, and after missing breakfast, as she’d been too stressed to eat, she was now famished.
Instead of opening the door she returned to the looking glass to check her reflection, again. Though why it mattered, she didn’t know. The marquess had made a bad bargain, and well he must know it. Though admittedly, he had seemed enthusiastic enough in the heat of their embrace last night.
Belle watched two high spots of colour appear on her paler than usual complexion and sighed. Yes, well, best not think of that. She was old enough to have no romantic illusions. The kind of woman that a man would bed without a second thought was not usually the kind he would happily marry. The idea that she’d been consigned to the first category rankled more than Belle liked to admit.