One Wicked Winter

by Emma V. Leech

  Crecy was depending on her though, and the loathsome Aunt Grimble would see them on the streets before she lifted a finger. Besides which, she wasn’t giving Lord Nibley such a bad bargain, was she? She would be a good and kind wife, she would make sure his household ran smoothly, that he was well-fed, and she would not interfere with his work. She would be a good mother to any children and ... and ...

  She ground to a halt with such a well of emotion in her throat that she could barely swallow. Oh God, she didn’t want to do this. Not just because it was immoral and dreadful, but because she was about to commit herself to a man she knew she could never feel anything but mild affection for.

  Was this to be her life?

  Belle hauled in a breath to steady her nerves. She wasn’t a fool, she knew that a love match was a rare thing, and certainly not a hope she could possibly entertain, let alone hold out for, but still she had hoped ... had dreamed ... But there would be no more hoping, no more dreaming, not after this.

  She stared at the door, knowing Lord Nibley would come through it at any moment, and then, shortly after, her dreadful aunt would purposely bring witnesses to secure poor Lord Nibley’s fate.

  That was possibly the worst part of all of this, that she had been forced to go to her aunt and ask her help with this odious, wicked scheme.

  Nausea swirled in her stomach and a wave of panic so intense that she could hardly breath gripped her chest. She couldn’t do it. Oh God, she couldn’t do it!

  Forcing her horrified mind to make her body react, she took a step towards the door in the hope of escaping, only to see with alarm that the handle was turning. Well, she would warn him. She would waste no words, but tell the unfortunate Nibley to turn and run before it was too late.

  Except it wasn’t Nibley.

  Belle froze. Of all the misfortunes that could befall her in this ill-conceived scheme, and she’d thought of every one of them in great and horrifying detail, this one had escaped her.

  The Marquess of Winterbourne filled the doorway, his towering figure somehow bigger and more impressive than usual because he was quite obviously utterly furious.

  Belle gasped and took an unwilling step backwards.

  He knew!

  With great deliberation, the marquess closed the door behind him and turned to stare at her.

  “Lord Nibley will not be joining you, Miss Holbrook,” he said, his voice far too calm, too even.

  Belle swallowed hard. She didn’t know what to say as shame and humiliation burned. She wanted to tell him that she had changed her mind, that she wasn’t going to go through with it, but the words wouldn’t come. The idea that he should think her the kind of manipulative woman who would act in such an underhand fashion made a knot of misery form in her throat, and she could say nothing, do nothing. All she was capable of at this moment was staring at him in a kind of mute horror as she wondered what her punishment would be. Would he shame her before everyone, would he tell the world the dreadful plot she had hatched?

  Her cheeks were burning, her eyes prickling with unshed tears and still she could say nothing.

  The marquess was likewise silent, and she wished he would just get on with it. She wished he would shout at her, berate her, anything but this dreadful quiet, filling the room like a weight, pressing down upon her, smothering any remaining hopes for the future.

  “You have nothing to say?” he asked, moving towards her, his dark green eyes never leaving hers.

  Her breath hitched, but she determined to say something, anything.

  “I-I know what you must think of me,” she said, the words barely audible. “And I do not blame you, but ... but I was desperate. I am desperate.”

  Winterbourne nodded, and she wondered at the fact the room seemed to shrink in direct relation to his proximity. He was getting closer, a dark, glittering expression in his eyes now.

  What did he want her to say?

  “My aunt will throw us both on the streets at the end of this season, my lord,” she said, holding onto any remaining dignity by a thread as her voice trembled. “Surely, you can have some pity, some understanding? You know what kind of fate will await us both, then. My sister would never survive that.”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed with a nod, though she could detect no sympathy in either his voice nor his expression. “But I think you would, Miss Holbrook.”

  She gasped at that, hurt and appalled by the words, despite the fact that she deserved them. Oh, how she deserved them.

  He snorted and shook his head. “It was not meant as an insult, merely an observation. You are not the kind of woman to take life lying down.” His mouth quirked at that, a rather sly smile settling upon his lips. “No pun intended,” he added, his voice low.

  Belle backed up, thoroughly unsettled now. There was a glittering look in his eyes that disturbed her. She realised with a jolt of shock that she knew what the price would be for his silence.

  She put up her chin.

  “I am no whore, my lord.”

  He chuckled at that and Belle found she had nowhere else to go: the wall was at her back, and suddenly Lord Winterbourne filled her vision. He was so close that she could feel his breath upon her skin, was sure her body could sense the heat of his burning her through the flimsy silk of her gown.

  “No, you are not,” he said, reaching out a hand and tracing the line of her jaw with one finger. “But you will find your way to my bed, nonetheless.”

  She gasped at him, shaking her head, wondering why the words had flooded her body with a scalding heat when she ought to have slapped his face.

  “I wasn’t going to go through with it. When you arrived, I was leaving,” she said, praying that he would believe her. “I swear it is the truth. I know it was low and despicable and ... oh, such a vile thing to do,” she said, her eyes filling with tears now. “Please, my lord. Let me go, and I promise you that I will never do such a thing again, no matter ... no matter how desperate we are.” Her voice trembled and she knew she would cry soon, but he said nothing. She stared into eyes that seemed too bright, almost febrile, and though she knew he wouldn’t listen, she had to try. “Please, Lord Winterbourne, have pity. I truly wasn’t going to go through with it, I swear to God.”

  “I believe you,” he said and then ducked his head to press his mouth to hers.

  For a moment, Belle was paralysed by the swiftness of it, by the surprising softness of his mouth, by the shocking intimacy of it. She gasped with what she hoped was outrage, but rather felt was something entirely different, and her shock was compounded as his tongue swept in, as though he would devour her.

  His arms went around her, pulling her body hard against his, and all the air seemed to rush from her lungs as her softer shape moulded to his much larger, far harder form. Though she knew she ought to protest, his actions too closely resembled the heated dreams that had followed the sight of him stripped down to the waist. She had wanted to know how this would feel with an intensity that had made her restless, a stranger in her own skin. So now she would discover it for herself.

  She reached up, putting her arms around his neck, one hand sliding into the warmth of his hair, and she was startled by how natural, how right it felt to be with him in this manner. She did not feel awkward or foolish or shy, or indeed anything of the things she had assumed she might feel during her first kiss. Though none of her imaginings had been quite so ... explicit.

  Instead, she felt bold and brave and ... just lovely.

  Cautiously she began to mimic his actions, the beguiling slide and tangle of tongue and lips, and was gratified when he groaned and pulled her closer still. One hand fell and cupped her behind, squeezing and forcing her against his hips. Belle wondered at the fact that she wasn’t horrified at being mauled in such a fashion, but rather she relished it. She pressed back against him with equal fervour, feeling the heat of him, the hardness of what she knew must be his arousal. At least she had her Aunt Grimble to thank for giving her the basic facts, though the woman h
ad intended Belle to use them to seduce herself a husband or wealthy lover. Well, then, perhaps that was what she was doing, she thought with a touch of hysteria. A lover, at least. Perhaps if she was his lover, he would keep Crecy safe until she married, for as long as Belle could please him.

  It was better than nothing, and certainly this experience was no hardship, so far. It wasn’t as if he would ever consider marrying her. At those words, Belle was paralysed with dread, as she realised that her aunt - and the world and his wife - were about to come through the library door.

  She pushed at his chest, trying to get free, tearing her lips from his with reluctance.

  “My lord,” she gasped. “You must leave, you must ...” But her mouth was taken in another searing kiss, and she could not speak again until he released her, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down her neck in a manner that made her knees weak. “Lord Winterbourne, you have to stop,” she said, almost too breathless to form the words, not helping matters with the fact that she simply couldn’t stop touching him.

  “Never,” he growled, one large hand reaching down and grasping hold of her thigh and lifting it, hooking her leg and pulling her against him in such an intimate manner that she could do nothing but moan. His lordship wasted no time in swallowing any further protest. Belle was helpless, her mind clouded by desire, by the taste of him, by the sheer overwhelming power of him. But the witnesses were coming and, oh God, it would be the most dreadful scandal. She pulled away from his kiss once again, facing the confusion in his eyes as she clearly didn’t want to stop any more than he did.

  “They’re coming!” she said, begging him to understand, but it was too late. They froze as her aunt’s strident voice pierced the haze of their passion, and suddenly their intimate embrace was on view.

  “Miss Holbrook!” exclaimed Lady Scranford, and Belle couldn’t tell if she was delighted by the scandal or furiously jealous that she hadn’t been able to arrange such a thing herself.

  Belle jerked away from the embrace and could not bring herself to meet Lord Winterbourne’s eyes. He seemed frozen in place, too shocked to even move, one hand still resting at her waist in what she’d have liked to believe a protective gesture, if she hadn’t known that he was simply too stunned and horrified to move.

  Unwillingly her eyes went to Violette, his sister, who had been so very kind. She could only imagine what she thought of her now. Oh God, and Lady Russell! Belle felt herself burn with shame.

  “Oh, Edward!” Violette exclaimed, breaking the silence and suddenly rushing forwards with such an expression of happiness on her face that Belle was utterly bewildered. “Does this mean I may wish you happy? That Miss Holbrook has accepted your suit after all? I told you she would! Oh, Miss Holbrook, do tell me that you have accepted Edward’s offer and that we shall be sisters?” There was a look of fierce determination in Violette’s eyes as she stared at her and Belle realised that she was being offered a lifeline. His own sister would help her trap him into marriage. Only she couldn’t do it. If she couldn’t do it to Nibley, she certainly couldn’t do it to Lord Winterbourne. Not when ... when ...

  “Edward?” Violette demanded, her voice holding a slightly hysterical edge, and looked like she would stamp her foot if someone didn’t answer her.

  There was a silence that was so encompassing that Belle thought she might do something quite out of character and faint, and then the marquess said something so utterly extraordinary that it was a wonder that she didn’t.

  “Yes.”

  Belle’s eyes snapped to his, but the man was looking at his sister with an expression she simply couldn’t read.

  “Oh, Edward!” Violette cried, throwing her arms around first him and then Belle.

  “Well done!” she whispered in Belle’s ear, grinning so broadly that Belle was shocked to discover that his sister truly was pleased.

  What on earth was going on?

  Chapter 14

  “Wherein the world keeps spinning ... faster, and faster.”

  By mid-morning, Belle had been informed by Crecy that nearly all of the guests had departed. Thankfully, Violette and her husband were staying; Belle didn’t think she would survive the coming ordeal without her reassuring presence. Lord Falmouth and the Countess would also remain with Lady Russell and Lady Sinclair for the wedding ceremony, which would take place the day after tomorrow, by special licence. Belle’s head was whirling with the speed with which everything had been accomplished.

  After Lord Winterbourne’s tight-lipped acceptance of his fate, everything had been something of a blur.

  Belle only knew she would owe Violette her everlasting gratitude for steering her away from the crowd and prying eyes and back to her room. There, she was brought a tray with a glass of brandy - for her nerves - and a tea and biscuits - because tea and biscuits makes everything better.

  Then Violette had given another of those reassuring smiles that promised everything would be fine, no matter how unlikely, and dashed off to do what she said was ‘damage limitation’. She said that by the end of the evening, she would have everyone believing that Edward had been trying to summon the nerve to ask her to be his wife for days, and Belle could only believe her.

  There was something about Violette Russell that made Belle convinced that she wasn’t a woman easily thwarted.

  So now she was hiding out in her room, still in bed, with a breakfast tray on her lap and her life as the Marchioness Winterbourne looming ahead of her.

  She swallowed a bubble of hysteria which seemed to sit in a hard, little lump, somewhere in the pit of her stomach.

  “Are you going to eat that or simply stare at it?”

  Belle blinked and looked up in surprise to find Crecy watching her, anxiety in her grey eyes.

  “What?”

  Crecy sighed and shook her head, her blonde curls dancing. “You’ve been starring at that slice of bread and butter for the best part of twenty minutes, and your tea is stone cold.”

  Belle frowned and looked down at her hands, which were indeed holding a slice of bread and butter. She hadn’t realised it was there. Placing it carefully down on the plate, she wiped her hands on her napkin.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Crecy leaned over her, removed the tray, and then clambered onto the bed to sit in an ungainly heap of skirts. Really, it was remarkable how such a lovely girl could have so little grace. She grasped Belle’s hands, squeezing them tightly.

  “Oh, Belle, dearest, please talk to me. Did you do this for me, love?” Crecy’s beautiful eyes welled with tears. “Oh, what a fool I am, of course you did it for me. But you do like him, don’t you, Belle? At least a little? You’re not truly marrying a man you hate to keep me from having to be some man’s mistress or something, because if you are ...”

  “Crecy!” Belle exclaimed, shaken from her befuddlement all at once. “Don’t speak of such things! Firstly, I am doing this for both of us. Aunt Grimble would have thrown me onto the streets and ... and the least said about her plans for you, the better,” she replied, the anger in her voice only too audible.

  Crecy frowned, staring at the pretty embroidered coverlet on the bed and tracing the pattern with one elegant finger. “But ... but do you like him?”

  “I ...” Belle began, only to stop as she realised she didn’t have the slightest idea how to answer that question. She remembered the searing heat, the passion, the desperate, overwhelming need she had experienced in his arms last night, and bit her lip. That had to mean something, didn’t it? But she didn’t know if she liked him, she didn’t know him at all. She simply couldn’t deny that when the marquess was around, no one else was even visible; they ceased to exist. “I’m sure we’ll deal famously together,” she said in the end, trying her best to sound convincing and not utterly terrified.

  “But I thought you meant to have Nibley?” Crecy continued, looking just as bewildered as Belle felt.

  Belle nodded. “I did.”

  “Then what ...”

&
nbsp; Belle held out a hand. She couldn’t answer any more questions now. Possibly not ever. Not about this. The idea of explaining to Crecy just how she had behaved last night was too ghastly to contemplate.

  “Do you mind if I go back to sleep, Crecy, dear?” she said, giving her sister a wan smile. “I have the most dreadful headache.”

  “Oh, Belle, and here’s me prattling on. Of course not, love. Can I get you anything?”

  Belle shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine after a little nap, I’m sure.”

  “Very well, then, I’ll leave you be.” Crecy slid off the bed and went to look out of the window. “It’s such a lovely day, I thought I ... I’d go for a ride.” Her sister turned then, looking just a little too innocent perhaps, but Belle was too preoccupied to read anything into it. “Everyone is gone now, so I’m in no risk of being waylaid,” she added with a bright smile.

  It was only now that Belle realised that she was wearing her riding habit. She felt glad of that. The outfit had cost a pretty penny that they could ill afford, but as yet her sister had only been out in it once. She supposed she needn’t worry about such things now. How strange, not to have to count every farthing and turn collars and mend.

  She looked at Crecy again. The riding habit was a deep velvet brown with green velvet trimmings and a plume of green feathers that curled around Crecy’s lovely face in a charming manner. She looked positively ravishing.

  “Oh, yes, do,” Belle replied, feeling that this, at least, she could be certain of, no matter what the future held. Crecy was safe. Crecy would have fine clothes and jewels and a proper come-out, and she would never have to worry or be forced to marry a man she didn’t love. Belle thought she could face the future with far more bravery, knowing that this was true. “Have a lovely time, but take care, won’t you? Don’t go too far or get lost, and take a groom or someone with you.”