by E J Kitchens
Not that it mattered. Her work at the castle would be done after today.
Why did that make her heart feel like something the cat played with?
Using her memory of Beast’s path in her dream to guide her, Belinda directed Marigold to the main road, then the village. She pulled the horse to a stop just outside it and dismounted. A lady of her supposed standing—if they ignored her hat and noticed only her dress and shawl—wouldn’t be walking alone through town, much less riding alone. Walking was at least a little less conspicuous.
After rubbing Marigold’s muzzle and promising to return soon, Belinda walked the rest of the way into the village with its wattle and daub houses and cobblestone streets. Her eyes searched for the post office, trying to ignore all else, including the stares and the guilty thumping of her heart. She was going to mail Beast’s true letter to his parents, and when they saw it, they’d have to acknowledge a change of heart and have Lady Violetta remove the curse. The fool deserved the curse he clung to, but she was going to break it, so help her. If only to sleep in peace again, with no dreams. Belinda set her jaw, told off the heavy lump in her chest called a conscience, and marched on.
Thus, she entered town, head high, shoulders back, distracted.
And was promptly grabbed by the first hoodlum who saw her.
“Lindie pie!”
Belinda squeaked as a large pair of hands snagged her around the waist and spun her as if she were four years old.
“Put. Me. Down,” Belinda snarled as she hit Gaspard on the shoulder with all the strength of a lady with injured dignity.
The brute laughed but dropped her, catching her arm with a smirk as she struggled to get her footing. She tugged her arm away and glared at him as she straightened her hat.
“Sweetie pie, quit the act and give us a kiss. I’ve been worried about you. Where’ve you been?” Gaspard cupped his hands on her shoulders and leaned toward her. Giving her less distance to cover as she gave him a quick smack on the cheek—with her open hand.
Refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her shake her stinging hand, she stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here? And what did I tell you about calling me ‘anything-pie’? It’s Miss Lambton.” Belinda scanned the village—which wasn’t one near her own—for a post office or other likely spot to find a courier, or other excuse to get away.
Gaspard merely laughed, drawing her gaze briefly to his. The hint of anger and impatience in his eyes sent a chill down her spine. “I came on business.”
“For the butcher shop?”
“For us, our future.”
“I told you there is no ‘us,’ nor will there ever be.”
“For big game then,” he said, a familiar glow of pride and determination in his eyes.
By which, she thought, her irritation growing, he meant the sport of capturing her as his bride. Maybe actual hunting with his pack of hounds too, as he was sometimes hired to do, but definitely chasing her.
Would he never stop? Why did he fool himself so? Sadness for him sifted the anger bursting in her chest. But underneath both crawled that frightening tug that made her want to please her old friend, one of the few who cared about her. Even now she could see the laugh lines about his eyes from jokes they’d shared, knew of the callouses on his hands and how they’d helped her family at times. Hadn’t he always been kind, until he grew tired of her refusals? He’d be kind again if she married him.
Belinda clutched her shawl tighter about her shoulders. He knew as well as she that she’d give in eventually. That no one else would have her. No one else cared. Wasn’t that true?
No. No, it wasn’t. That was the gray talking. That was what Gaspard had told her. She knew better than that. She’d never settle for someone whose character she couldn’t trust. And there were others besides him who cared for her. She pinched the yellow silk of her shawl between her fingers like a lifeline to truths sometimes hard to believe. You’re a marvel, Belinda Lambton. The gray tug lost its hold on her.
Regaining a poise worthy of the dress she wore, she said kindly, but firmly, “Gaspard, I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you—it was unintentional—but I will not marry you. I ask you to respect that and never speak of it again.”
Grunting, Gaspard crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You sound like your high and mighty sisters—even look like them in that dress. Is it one of their castoffs? This is getting tiring, Lindie pie.”
You’re telling me. Belinda rolled her eyes.
“Don’t do that to me.” Gaspard grabbed her elbow and pulled her to his side. “You’re coming home with me.”
“Is she?”
Belinda drew in a sharp breath, wishing she had a curse or mask or anything to hide behind. The protective edge in that new voice was almost as familiar as the blue eyes she knew she’d see if she turned. Curses upon curses. She could take care of this herself. Must she be doubly embarrassed by him helping?
Gaspard spun around, forcing her around likewise. She took the opportunity to kick him just above his ankle and pull away.
“She belongs to me and is no concern of yours,” he growled fiercely, despite his list to the side from her well-executed kick.
Belinda’s indignation erupted in an inarticulate sputter that quickly died in the flames of embarrassment as she noted that Robert wasn’t alone. Two soldiers flanked him.
That made three men with hands on their swords because of her.
Fortunately, Gaspard could count that high.
His stance lost some of its fight. The biggest, toughest man in the village was cowed.
Well, almost cowed.
Close enough. It was a new sight, and oh, Belinda loved it. She stepped pertly to Robert’s side. “Please excuse him,” she said. “He’s an old acquaintance who thinks I need help getting home. But he must understand that I don’t need help and I have no intention of going home until my father’s there to greet me.” She lifted her chin in defiance of whatever comeback Gaspard would give, but of course, the surly butcher wasn’t listening to her but ineffectively trying to glare down Robert.
Robert raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, and Belinda’s heart gave a painful twist at the sense of something missing in that expression—fur, lots of almond-colored to deep-brown fur around those blue, blue eyes.
“I don’t think King Patrick would approve of anyone owning another,” Robert said icily. “That’s not done in this kingdom, so I would refrain from making claims of that sort.” He offered Belinda his arm, and she took it. “You needn’t worry about getting the lady home. I will make sure she is safe.”
Belinda’s smile faltered but soon swept back into its proper curve. Somehow, she fancied that Robert would gracefully accept her refusal to be escorted home.
“I’ll see you soon, Belinda.” A moment of steely glares passed before Gaspard’s words escaped his clamped jaw. He scowled his displeasure at her, glowered at the three men, then stalked away.
“Not for three weeks, until my father’s home,” she called after him. And maybe not even then, if she could help it. She’d see her father, her few true friends, but not him. “Give my regards to your aunt and uncle.”
Gaspard soon lost himself among the men and women walking the street, freeing Belinda from her need for company. She made to step away from Robert, but he stayed her with a light touch to her arm. He dismissed the soldiers, and she braced for the sight of those unnerving eyes as he turned back to her.
“Would you walk with me, Miss Lambton?”
She nodded, and he guided her slowly down the street. It was dusty and the flowers in the window boxes had withered and been cut back, but there was still an air of respectability about the village that made her encounter with Gaspard all the more humiliating. “All that wasn’t necessary, Robert, but thank you. It saved me from the added indignity of having to drag Gaspard off the street after I knocked him senseless.”
Robert’s lips quirked, and he coughed suspiciously. He
wouldn’t have a ghastly, toothy smile. Belinda scolded her foolish thoughts and schooled her expression to prevent any unnecessary smiles of her own.
“I’m happy to have saved you that embarrassment, Miss Lambton. But I must confess, I was pleased to have an excuse to speak with you. Seeing you was an unexpected pleasure.” He paused, his expression one of eager expectation, and a careful hope, that puzzled her.
She smiled uncertainly at him. “I am happy to see you again too, Robert.”
He waited, and when she said no more, the hopeful look dimmed. He started them walking again, past a dressmaker and a baker. Where was the post office?
“Did—did someone send you to find me, Miss Lambton?” he asked at last.
“No,” she said, startled. Wait. She took in his height and build again. Was he the man Lyndon met in the village that day it was storming? It would make sense. Could he give Beast’s parents the letter for her?
“Oh.” His shoulders slumped, his brows furrowing. She didn’t like that defeated look on him. What was his connection to Beast? Her nose itched.
“Do you always travel this … way?”
“Sometimes. I do not travel so easily as some, however.” His face twisted into that expression of near-hate he’d given Lucrezia as he’d tugged on his ear the previous day, then sank into one of hurt. “Sometimes I try to meet up with an old friend, but our paths never seem to cross.”
Intentionally not, if she knew that fur-ball coward of a friend of his. Yes, Robert would help her. “Perhaps he’s an earlier riser than you expect,” she said drily, considering how she should broach the subject of the letter. Directly talking about curses was tricky.
Robert huffed. “It wouldn’t surprise me. He can be anything he believes he needs to be. But I must honor that, I guess.”
That lump called a conscience rose with a vengeance in Belinda, still miffed from her earlier dismal of it. “There are times to force change, aren’t there?” she asked.
“Yes. Sometimes it’s necessary.” He gave her a questioning look. “But it doesn’t always work out well.”
Belinda looked away, his eyes too familiar to be comfortable just then.
“I suppose sensible people have reasons for what they do,” he continued, “though I must confess I sometimes find their actions difficult to justify.”
Had she a right to force Beast to give up his curse? As Gaspard tried to force her to marry him, to allow him to look after her? He would claim good reasons for his actions and his disregard of her will. She claimed breaking Beast’s curse was for the best. Beast claimed keeping it was for the best. Hadn’t he told Lyndon, It’s better this way?
“You think your friend sensible?” she asked.
A half laugh escaped Robert. “‘Undoubtedly, yes’ is my initial response, but I begin to wonder. He may yet be—in all ways, or in every aspect save one.” His voice hardened. “I am, in general, the latter: sensible in all save one.” A faint hint of color rose in his cheeks. He added hurriedly, “At least, I strive to be sensible and honorable in all. So does he. Or he did.” Robert shook his head. “I wish I knew,” he said quietly.
“Is Lucrezia around?” Belinda asked, almost without thinking about it.
Undoubtedly, yes, Robert had said. The words knotted around her heart, warred there, and won. She would not force Beast’s change. And especially not through deception.
How could she feel both better and worse for the same decision? Was it not for the best—for everyone—if he gave up his curse?
It wouldn’t be better for you—you’d lose him.
I don’t have him now and don’t want him!
Belinda shut her heart against both ridiculous notions and unscrupulous uncurse plans.
If Robert gave any indication of surprise at her question concerning Lucrezia, it was lost to Belinda’s battle with herself. She looked up only in time to see him glance over his shoulder, brows drawn. She got a sense the young man wore that expression of concern and wariness far too often, and she pitied him.
“Not that I’m aware of,” he said as he faced Belinda again, his gaze narrowing on her. “You’re very perceptive, Miss Lambton.”
Ignoring the hint of question in his statement, Belinda said, “Please don’t be offended when I say I hope she isn’t. I don’t want her to be jealous, seeing us walking together like this.” With a teasing smile, she briefly lifted their linked arms. “A red cheek would clash with the dress I’m wearing today.”
He laughed. “I don’t think jealous would be the word for what she feels regarding me.” Amusement quickly turned to scorn, then dimmed as his eyes dulled in a far away look. His free hand rubbed something under his tunic, some manly version of a locket, Belinda suspected. Is there someone you wish would be jealous of you? Someone Lucrezia’s hold over you keeps you from? The poor man was in some ways as cursed as Beast. Belinda prayed he’d soon be freed too.
They walked aimlessly past several shops before Robert shook off his melancholy, a look of hope suddenly burning in his gaze—and it was directed at her.
Her heart sank. Did the clouds blotting out the sky on gray days feel as despicable as she did in that moment? His hope was misplaced, if it was in her. She wouldn’t be mailing the letter. She couldn’t break Beast’s curse. Not that way anyway.
Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Robert asked her of her errand in town and her father’s journey, then treated her to lunch at the local hotel, proving himself an agreeable companion all the while.
An hour later, he walked Belinda outside the village to her horse, wished her a good day, and saw her ride safely away.
Not far into the woods, Marigold gave a nicker of pleasure.
“Where the devil have you been?” Beast practically jumped out of the bushes. If Marigold hadn’t given her a warning, Belinda would have jumped too, and been tempted to throw something at Beast. The scoundrel fell into step beside them. Marigold nuzzled his shoulder.
Ordering her heart to calm, her guilty expression to hide itself, Belinda lifted her chin. “Out for a ride, as I told you. I mailed a letter to my home, to my father, in case he arrives early, and to some friends. I told them I was safe.”
Beast rubbed Marigold’s muzzle absently, saving his attention to glare at Belinda. “That’s all very well, but you didn’t bloody well say you were going off the castle grounds, all the way to the village.”
A grin forced its way past Belinda’s guard. “Am I a prisoner that I should stay inside them? I wasn’t looking for her, so I broke no command that I knew. And I hadn’t intended to stay gone so long.”
Beast looked ready to argue, then, as if thinking better of it, said sulkily, “No.” A limp disrupted his gait, and he said softly, “I was afraid you’d left for good, without saying goodbye.”
Belinda swallowed a lump in her throat. I wouldn’t leave you, not without saying goodbye. “You used the mirror to find me, didn’t you?”
“You know about that?” he asked in surprise. Then, sighing heavily, he added, “Of course, you know about that.”
“If you’d given me a proper tour of the castle, I wouldn’t have had to take myself on one. I find interesting things when I take myself on tours.”
Beast’s huff was strong enough to startle Marigold. She nickered and he patted her shoulder. “You’re practically a spy, Belinda Lambton.”
“You should talk.”
Beast made no response.
“I mean it,” she said. “You should talk. I’d love to listen.”
“No.”
“But—”
“I’m the strong and silent type, Miss Lambton. You should know that by now. Your pleas fall on deaf ears.”
Belinda’s retort died in a hiss of shock as another person jumped out of the bushes. This one with a cocked pistol and a face that left her wondering if the pistol was a scare tactic or something beyond that. Her gaze jumped from Gaspard to his gun to Beast, and her mind thundered a warning that left her trembling. Gaspard the
hunter. Beast, furry, mounted trophy.
Belinda jumped off Marigold, shouting, “Don’t hurt him, Gaspard! He’s just a man.” She darted in front of Beast and threw her arms out as if to shield him. Beast stumbled back in shock, barely keeping from running into Belinda.
Gaspard rolled his eyes, though he didn’t lower his gun. “Of course, he’s a man. I’m no idiot. It’s that guy from the village with some crazy cat-bear costume on.”
“Incompetent enchantress,” Beast muttered under his breath as he moved beside Belinda, who tried ineffectively to keep him behind her.
“People have been asking questions about you, Belinda,” Gaspard said, waving his pistol at Beast. “Now that this fellow’s bullies aren’t with him, you’re coming with me.”
Beast’s head snapped up. A growl rumbled his chest. “Miss Lambton—”
“Goes where she chooses.” Splaying her fingers against Beast’s chest to hold him back, Belinda stepped in front of him again. “I’m working with a traveling troupe of players while my father’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Once again, Belinda raised her chin in proud defiance only to find Gaspard not paying her any attention. He was sizing up Beast. Beast, looking as supercilious as only a cat can, stared back at him as if sizing up Gaspard had taken so little time he was now bored.
Men. She was about ready to use the scare tactic she’d brought along in case of meeting Lucrezia.
Gaspard focused on her again, narrowing his eyes as his gaze traced her hand to Beast’s chest. “Is there anything between you and this …” Gaspard jerked his chin at Beast, a sneer replacing any pronoun for her true friend.
Belinda jerked her hand away from Beast’s chest. “Of course I’m not in love with him!” she snapped. “He’s a—he insists on wearing this ridiculous costume all the time!”
Beast started and gave her a sideways glance, his eyes wide. Gaspard reddened.
Belinda bit her lip. She may have been a bit too adamant in her response. But she was only trying to avoid a very unfair fight!
Gaspard un-cocked his pistol and slid it into his belt. “Take off the suit, cat-beast. We can fight here.”
