Violette grinned at her. “Well, anyway,” she carried on. “Celeste gave me the most wonderful and ... intriguing advice. She’ll know just what to suggest.”
So, Belle trailed along in Violette’s wake as the poor earl was ejected from their suite of rooms so that his wife could have a private talk with Belle. If he had an inkling of the reason why, he said nothing, his grey eyes placid if rather intrigued, but Belle was never more mortified.
For most of the next couple of hours, Belle simply listened, feeling as though her cheeks were on fire. But Violette had been perfectly correct. Celeste was a mine of information on the subject, and not the least bit hesitant in sharing it.
“So, you see,” Celeste replied, reaching for what must have been her third slice of fruitcake as Belle topped up their tea cups. “It is really very simple, oui?”
Belle nodded, though her stomach had tied itself into a knot. It was certainly simple enough, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t rather daunting, though.
Celeste gave her a shrewd look. “Do you think that your ‘usband, ‘e cares for you?”
Belle smiled, enchanted as everyone seemed to be by the countess’ pretty French accent.
“I think he does, a little, at least. He ... he desires me.”
Celeste gave a little snort of laughter. “Of course ‘e desire you. You are perfectly lovely.” She popped a piece of cake into her mouth and chewed, her expression thoughtful. “Getting a man to desire you is the easy part,” she said with a sigh as she placed a hand over her heart. “The ‘eart, though, getting ‘is ‘eart is another matter. Alex was very difficult,” she said, shaking her head.
“Really?” Belle said in astonishment. For all she thought of the earl as a rather terrifying man, he had never hidden the fact that he was utterly besotted with his lovely wife.
Celeste laughed at the surprise in Belle’s eyes. “Alex, ‘e was worried that ‘e was too old for me, the foolish creature!” she said, rolling her eyes. “But it was also that ... Well, ‘e ‘as a rather forbidding reputation.”
Belle nodded, having heard a number of rather disturbing rumours about the man.
“Much of it is true,” Celeste carried on with a smile as Belle’s eyes opened a little wider. “And because of that, ‘e did not want to ... to taint me with ‘is past, I think.” Celeste reached over and covered Belle’s hand with her own. “You understand, I think, ma chère?”
“Yes,” Belle replied, as the comment made perfect sense in the light of her experience with Edward. “Yes, I do.”
Celeste nodded and laid a protective hand over the gentle swell of her stomach. “These men, they think we are the weaker sex, and perhaps if we speak of just physical strength, that may be. But there are other kinds of strength, Belle, and women, we are much stronger than they, in ‘ere.” She placed a finger by her temple and smiled. “You are a strong and resilient woman, I see this in you. I ‘ave been where you are, Belle. So now, now you must be brave, and go and take what it is you want. Lord Winterbourne is your ‘usband, and ‘e must act like one. Go and show ‘im what that means.”
Belle drew in a sharp breath and nodded. “I will,” she said, feeling hope flicker in her heart. “At least, I shall try everything I can.”
Celeste nodded and gave her a warm smile. “Bien!” she said, clapping her hands together in satisfaction as she looked back at the tea tray. “Alors, is there any more cake?”
***
Edward stared out of his bedroom window. He felt like his head was a seething mass of revulsion, images of the past warring with the present, and now Belle was there, too. When he had seen the blood, her blood, staining the bed sheets, something had snapped. He had done that. He had lashed out and Belle had suffered because of it. Sweet Belle, who was trying so hard to be everything he wanted her to be.
She just didn’t understand.
She was everything he wanted her to be. She was everything he had never realised he wanted or needed. He hadn’t given much thought to marrying before the war, but he’d always wanted someone warm and loving, someone who would give their children the kind of home that his own parents had never had the slightest concept of.
Except he couldn’t be a part of it. Not any longer. He had married the right woman, the perfect woman, but she had married entirely the wrong man.
When he had seen her blood, suddenly Belle had been there with him. He was on the battlefield again with the cannons roaring in his ears, looking down on what remained of his broken comrades, their bodies smashed and broken, and Belle had been there too.
He had seen her bloody and lifeless and ... and his heart had exploded into pieces.
That would not happen to Belle. He would not allow it.
In some rational part of his brain, he knew that was impossible. They were no longer at war, and even if they were, Belle would hardly be anywhere near a battlefield.
But he also knew of many other things that could take her from him in a heartbeat. From disease to childbirth, there were any number of scenarios in which she could die, and leave him alone.
He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t suffer that loss. If he were to let her in, if he cared for her in the way she so clearly wanted him to ... Panic rose in his chest. He was too damaged by the past; he had nothing to give her, nothing of worth; he would hurt her, emotionally, at the very least; and going on his actions to date, maybe something much worse; or perhaps something would take her from him, and any one of those things was too much to endure. He would die. He would far rather die than see her come to harm.
Not for the first time, he wished he had been one of the fallen, as it would have been so much simpler. But then Violette would have been left alone and unprotected, and his cousin Gabriel would have forced her into marrying him, and every generation of Greystons to come would have been damned.
He put his head in his hands and found he was shaking, it was too much, everyone’s expectations weighted him down until he couldn’t breathe. He wanted nothing more than to run for the woods and curl up in that bloody hole until enough time passed that he was buried good and deep. But when he’d gone after that dreadful scene with Belle, all he could hear was frantic voices calling his name, echoing across the landscape until he wanted to howl at them to leave him be, for the love of God. Yet he knew he was hurting them, knew that they were afraid for him, and so he had returned.
He found himself unwilling, and angry at the need, to be anything they wanted him to be, and yet unable to inflict the hurt it required to tear himself away for good.
“Drink this.” Edward felt Charlie take his hands and press a cup of something warm into them. “Come on now, Eddie, drink it up.”
Charlie forced him to lift the cup, pressing it to his lips. Edward swallowed and grimaced.
“Too much sugar,” he grumbled and heard Charlie chuckle, though it sounded a long way off.
“Good for ye,” Charlie shot back. “Buck ye up.”
Edward snorted. “Didn’t need to dump the whole bloody pot in it.”
“You know what ye can do if you don’t like it, my lord,” Charlie said in his most dignified voice, though Edward knew well enough that Charlie would never leave. Charlie had suffered, too, he knew that. Charlie had the same nightmares, but maybe the man was stronger than Edward, for Charlie kept on, always smiling. Cheerful Charlie, they’d all called him - that daft bugger from the Dials. But Edward knew better. Charlie was tough and wily and brave, braver than he was, brave enough to keep living.
Edward looked up, thankful that Charlie had made it home, at least. That he had stuck around when Edward had given him blessed little reason to do so.
“Thank you, Charlie,” he said, and they both knew it wasn’t for the tea.
Chapter 26
“Wherein Christmas eve is explosive.”
Belle waited until well past midnight. It was amazing what a lot of noise the old castle made at night, with creaking and strange unsettling sounds. She had never really noticed it be
fore, until tonight, when she was straining her ears, listening out to hear if the servants were still around.
Finally, she decided it was late enough, and Edward ought to be asleep. He hadn’t come down to dinner, of course, but Charlie had been by to tell her that he’d left the marquess in his rooms at half-eleven, and as far as he knew, Edward was retiring for the night.
Charlie had been a dear, in fact, keeping her informed of how Edward was doing. Mostly, he said, he just sat staring out of the window and would not be drawn into conversation. He had eaten little and was drinking too much. His thoughts were clearly stuck in the past and the horrors of everything he’d seen.
If only he’d something else to occupy his mind, Charlie had said the night before, which had got Belle thinking. In fact, she’d thought of nothing else ever since he’d said it, and now, on Christmas Eve, she had what she believed was the perfect answer. She had already spoken to Charlie about it, and her hopes had risen at the smile that had dawned over the valet’s rough features.
“Blimey, my lady, ye are a bleedin’ genius, pardon my French.”
Belle had grinned back at him, thrilled that he thought it a good idea. “You don’t think he’ll be cross?” she asked, feeling more than a little nervous.
Charlie shrugged. “Maybe, but once it’s all done, ‘e’ll be honour-bound, won’t ‘e? Reckon it’s just the ticket, get ‘im thinkin’ about sommat different and new.”
Belle sighed and hoped that Charlie had been right. Either way, that wasn’t until tomorrow, and she had to get through tonight yet.
Picking up her candle, she opened her bedroom door and crept along the corridor. Her heart leapt to her throat as something creaked behind her, but when she turned, there was nothing there. Silently, she cursed her husband and his stories of murdered housekeepers. Hurrying along, lest she should see something she’d rather not, she found herself outside Edward’s door and held her breath as she turned the handle.
It opened silently and she padded into the room on bare feet.
It was still warm, at least, the fire in the hearth still blazing and casting a warm glow. Belle extinguished her candle and placed it down as quietly as she could manage, noticing the large, huddled shape under the bed covers with relief. A fine thing it would have been if he weren’t even here.
Remembering Celeste’s words of encouragement, regarding men’s libido and desires, she let her gown drop to the floor so that she was quite naked, and tiptoed over to the bed.
Edward stirred a little as she slipped under the covers, and Belle’s heart beat so fast that she wondered if it were trying to escape her ribcage. But then, all was silent, and Edward was breathing deeply with Belle lying beside him.
Tentatively, Belle slid a hand out and rested it on his chest, feeling his heart beating steady and firm beneath her palm. Slowly, her hand travelled lower, following the trail of dark hair that led to that intriguingly silky skin. Finding her own breathing rather harsher now, Belle began to caress him, encouraged as he began to grow harder and his breathing quickened too.
Edward sighed, and she was not entirely sure if he was awake or asleep, but her touch became firmer and a little faster.
“Belle?” He sounded sleepy and a little dazed as Belle moved over him, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him.
“Yes, my love, I’m here.”
She moved against him, finding her own body aching for him now as she moved against the hard length of him. Her breath caught as he groaned and his hands went to her waist, his hips arching up to her.
Reaching between them, Belle moved, awkwardly, at first, as she tried to slide him into place, but then, everything seemed to be just as it ought as she moved down on him, feeling pleasure bloom inside of her.
Edward made a sound of deep approval as she began to move again, slowly, then finding the rhythm she needed to satisfy both of them. His big hands clutched at her waist as though she was keeping him anchored to the ground and he dare not let go.
“Belle,” he groaned, the sound half anguish, half delight as she leaned down again to find his mouth.
“I love you, Edward,” she whispered against his lips as the pleasure grew and her breath came faster. “I love you and I won’t let you run from me,” she said, clutching at his shoulders. “Where ever you go, I will find you, and I will make you safe again. I won’t let you frighten me off.”
The breath seemed to leave him in a rush and he clung on tighter.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, meaning it and hoping he knew it was the truth. “Not anymore. I never could be again.”
Edward made a strangled sound, and then the pleasure was too intense, too much, and they came together, tangled in Belle’s desire and love and hopes for future as she did everything she could to chase the past away.
***
“I’m so sorry, Belle.”
Belle turned on her side to face her husband, seeing Edward’s eyes glinting in what remained of the firelight. He reached out a hand and touched the tiny mark where she had struck the bedside cabinet when she’d tumbled from their bed.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, and heard his grunt of disagreement. “It wasn’t,” she insisted. “I know better than to try and force you awake again,” she added. “I was just so frightened for you, Edward. You were so obviously caught in something vile and ... and so awful. I just wanted to bring you back.”
He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them, but his voice, when it came, was serious and so full of fear that her heart ached.
“I don’t know if you can, Belle, if I can.” He was silent, but she waited, feeling there was more. “Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m really here at all. Like ... like I’m a fake, a ... a fraud, and the real me is still there, still fighting. I ... I can’t explain it,” he said, sounding frustrated and disgusted. “God, you must think you married a bloody madman,” he snarled, his temper rising out of nowhere. “I bet you do.” The words were accusing and harsh, and Belle’s own temper sparked to life.
“I think nothing of the sort!” she said, her voice remarkably angry. “And don’t you dare put words in my mouth, Edward Greyston.”
“Well, it’s true!” he snapped, moving away from her and sitting up in bed now.
Belle moved to the cabinet and fumbled about muttering until she had lit enough candles that she could see her husband’s face. She got out of bed and pulled on her robe, taking the candles around to his side of the bed and sitting beside him. The candles threw a flickering light, and his handsome face was severe and full of shadows, which seemed apt. There was a deal of darkness in her husband, but none of it was his doing, none of it there because he had done wrong. He had served his country and bled and suffered because of it.
He was staring ahead of him, with that stiff-jawed expression that meant nothing she said was going to get through to him. With annoyance, she reached out and grabbed hold of his chin.
“You listen to me, you stubborn, infuriating man,” she said, staring into the troubled waters that seemed to rage in his eyes. “You are not mad!” His eyes flicked over to look at her, but he couldn’t seem to hold her gaze. “You survived something that would break the toughest of men, Edward. Do not berate yourself because you find that life is hard. You are a wonderful man. I can see this after such a short time with you, and we have years and years ahead of us. Don’t push me out of your life just because it’s easier than letting me in!”
He moved suddenly, getting out of the bed on the opposite side from her and pulling on his clothes as fast as he could.
“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice savage now. “You don’t know what is in my head, the ... the horrors, the obscenities!” he raged. “If you knew, you would not want to touch me.”
“Edward, stop this!” she cried, running around the bed to him. “You are wrong, more wrong than you can possibly realise. You didn’t put those images in your head! You were sent to war! Good God, it’s not as if
you can unsee all of the things that visit you in your nightmares.”
Edward was silent, his face a mask, every line of his body rigid with tension. He began to walk to the door, and Belle became very afraid that if he left the room tonight, left this row unfinished, that he might not ever return.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” she shouted, but his face was set and he didn’t stop. “Edward!”
Driven by panic and frustration, Belle did the only thing she could think of and picked up one of a pair of porcelain candlesticks from the mantle. Rather a pity, she thought with chagrin, as she’d rather admired them, but desperate times called for desperate measures. With rather surprising accuracy, she lanced the candlestick in Edward’s general direction, and it smashed against the wall just inches from his head, showering him with sharp little shards.
“The devil!” he exploded in shock, spinning around to stare at her, but Belle had already picked up the second candlestick and was holding it aloft.
“If you leave this room, I will make such a scene that it will take your breath away,” she warned him, knowing he must see the determination in her eyes. “The servants will talk of it for years. Word will be bound to get out, and everyone will say I’m the mad one. Anything you do after will seem perfectly innocuous, I assure you.” Her voice was sure and steady, which was reassuring, as she felt like she really was on the edge of madness herself. Her apparent calm seemed to make Edward believe she truly meant what she said, however, and he made no move to take another step.
“Belle,” he said, his voice a little cautious now. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I thought to help you when I offered marriage, but ... but all I have done is trapped you in ... in an untenable position.”
“Untenable?” she repeated, her voice dangerously low. “Are you really such a fool?” she demanded, really wanting to throw the damned candlestick now. “Are you so blind as to not see what is in front of you, Edward?”
“What?” he yelled, his fists clenched and his face so full of pain that her rage evaporated as fast as it had sparked to life. “What are you saying?”
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