“Which is ridiculous, of course,” she said with a sniff of disgust, arranging the skirts of a truly disturbing puce gown as she sat. “As if one of my status should reside in one of the lesser bedrooms now, when my niece is a marchioness.” She gave a smug titter of laughter and Belle returned a thin smile.
“Actually, Aunt Grimble, I have already instructed that your bags be packed up for you,” she said, finding that this was rather easier to do if she remembered all the spiteful little words and deeds that her Aunt had treated her to ever since her father’s death.
“Of course you have,” the wretched woman continued, apparently oblivious to Belle’s demeanour. “You know what is due to me, after all the kindness and charity I have shown you and your poor sister, when you might have been destitute if not for the goodness of my heart.”
“Oh, Aunt Grimble,” Belle said, smiling broadly at the woman and really quite enjoying herself now. “I assure you, I will never forget the goodness of your heart, which is why your bags are being loaded onto a hired carriage, which will take you home the moment you have collected the last of your things. I don’t expect we shall see each other again, so I will bid you a good day.”
With that, Belle swept out of the room, feeling rather like a duchess, never mind a marchioness, and was left with the pleasing picture of her spiteful aunt’s mouth opened in shock as she closed the door on her for good.
Hurrying across the hall to Garrett, she took great pleasure in confirming that the woman would never be allowed entry to the house again. Of course, Belle wasn’t so cold-hearted as to do nothing for the woman, and decided that she would speak to Winterbourne about giving her aunt an allowance to add to her own, which would enable her to live very comfortably and without fear of any hardship. But that was all, and, in Belle’s opinion, far more than she deserved.
Once she had confirmed directions to the ballroom with Garrett, he sent her on her way with a suspiciously approving smile. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was in league with Charlie.
Belle was gifted with the most wonderful view as she slipped into the room, and had to wonder if the clever valet had arranged it purposely.
Lord Winterbourne was turned slightly, though his back was towards her, affording her a spectacular vantage point of a truly magnificent physique - without being noticed. There had even been a chair provided. How thoughtful! With an amused smile, Belle took her place and watched the show.
It carried on much as before, with Charlie calling the moves and the marquess repeating them until a new set was called. It was almost hypnotic, watching that muscular body as it moved, hearing the grunts of effort and the swift inhale of breath.
As before, however, the effect on Belle was ... intriguing.
Her own breathing came quicker, her skin feeling almost prickly as she realised that she truly did desire this man, her husband. She wondered what it would feel like to watch him actually fight an opponent. The idea was in some ways appalling, the possibility of him being hurt, one that was surprisingly frightening to her, and yet ... The idea of him taking on and beating an opponent made something that might have been pride swell in her chest.
It was pride, she decided, as the training session continued. She was proud to be married to this angry, damaged man. After everything he had been through he was still fighting, in his own way. He was going about it all wrong, of course, but perhaps when a soul became that lost, the way back was impossible to see. A strange ache wrapped itself around her heart. Stubborn and headstrong was what Charlie said the marquess needed. Well, then, that was what the marquess would get.
Chapter 19
“Wherein our heroine is stubborn, headstrong, and rather bold.”
Edward dropped his fists, his muscles aching, his body taut and sweating. The pounding in his head had reduced to a steady thud and his guts felt tender, but after last night, that was the least of his concerns.
Yesterday in its entirety was vague, to say the least, and he wasn’t totally convinced he hadn’t dreamed the whole episode. He was, however, fairly certain that he remembered sitting on the freezing ground of the stables with Miss Holbrook – no, wait - with his wife sitting on the ground beside him. He had a hazy recollection of her threatening to freeze to death beside him, and looking down to see she was wearing that dreadfully shabby pelisse, and what looked like a cotton nightgown beneath. Good God, he’d have to instruct Violette to get her some new clothes before everyone believed he was tight-fisted as well as unhinged. He also remembered - and this was where things got really murky - but he felt sure he’d had the sense that she somehow understood his feelings about being at Longwold.
Like trying on a favourite coat and finding it suddenly three sizes too small.
Edward frowned and caught the towel that Charlie threw him, wiping the sweat from his face and neck as her words rang in his ears. Surely, he had imagined that? How could she possibly put into words something he himself had never been able to articulate to anyone?
“Bravo!”
Edward’s head snapped around, jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of clapping on the far side of the ballroom. His mouth fell open as he found Miss – no, dammit - his wife applauding him!
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, outraged that she should be here, watching him. Another, rather sly voice whispered in his ear that he rather liked the fact she watched him, but he silenced that one with haste.
To his chagrin, the wretched woman didn’t look terrified or stammer an apology but walked towards him, her eyes on him with such bold admiration that he was appalled to feel a resurgence of that knee-buckling desire that had overcome him in the library. And just look where that had gotten him!
“I wanted to see you spar,” she said, smiling at him and nodding a greeting to Charlie, who grinned back at her with obvious approval. The damned traitor. “That is correct, I think, spar?” she asked, and then carried on, as no answer appeared to be forthcoming. “Have you ever boxed in an actual match?” she asked, her expression genuinely curious. “I hear that Mr Jackson’s establishment on Bond Street is where all of the gentlemen of the ton go?”
“Ah, his lordship is a right favourite of Mr Jackson,” Charlie said, with obvious pride as he totally ignored Edward’s look of indignation. “Sparred with him many a time, ‘e ‘as. Ain’tcha, my lord?”
Edward narrowed his eyes at Charlie and wondered what the devil he was up to.
“Oh,” Miss ... no ... dammit, Belinda, her name was Belinda, exclaimed, looking at him with such admiration that he felt really quite unnerved. “How I should have liked to see that.”