A Gentleman's Guide to Save a Lady: Misadventures of the Heart

by Wilde, Tanya

  St. Aldwyn snorted. “The most dangerous tool in the world is the one women use to seduce men, my friend. Unfortunately for mankind, they are discovering how to wield that weapon to their advantage.”

  “I do not know if I can watch her be happy while I’m miserable.”

  “So make her miserable.”

  “That would hardly be gentlemanly.”

  “No, but it will make you feel better about being miserable.”

  “You are an evil man,” Simon muttered, but the notion did hold a measure of intrigue.

  “No more evil than women who knowingly wield their charms to their advantage.”

  Simon took a sip of his tea. He wished only for Belle to be happy. Even though the prospect of her being happy without him made his chest burn. “I daresay I could never be the cause of her unhappiness.”

  “You’re as soft as a baby’s hide,” St. Aldwyn mused. “Why not inform her brothers of your indiscretions?”

  Simon groaned. “The youngest already suspects. It’s Bradford I’m concerned about.”

  St. Aldwyn snorted. “Why? He might demand her to marry you when he learns the truth. You’d finally have her.”

  Yes, but not out of her free will.

  Dammit. From the beginning, he hadn’t been imagining her breath quicken whenever he was in her presence. The way she’d steal glances at him when she believed him unobservant had been real. Even before he made his terrible blunder in the gardens, he hadn’t imagined her response to his touch. Now, after this morning, he corrected her initial mundane impression of their physical capability. But how else beyond the bedchamber could he convince her of their match? Why did she so stubbornly refuse to marry him?

  “Blast it, perhaps I did drown and I’ve gone to hell.”

  “If you’re in hell, the devil is a woman—a terrifying prospect. A man can be reasoned with.”

  “I’ve never had trouble courting a woman before.”

  “You’ve never courted a woman before,” St. Aldwyn drawled. “You’ve seduced, there is a difference.”

  “Well aren’t you a bloody fountain of wisdom.”

  Perhaps, Simon reflected, the crux of the problem lay in that things had always come easy for him. He’d never had any trouble with finances, drinking or gambling, like some of his peers. Indeed, he’d lived a fairly simple life of leisure and now he felt hopelessly useless in obtaining the one thing he desired above all.

  Now he’d been stripped bare of any comfort and been deposited in an uncomfortable position. Hell, he even sipped on tea and ate cheese like some old goat, completely and utterly off his game.

  Perhaps this was his punishment for seducing an innocent.

  And then there was De Roux, lurking about.

  A thought occurred to him.

  “I should take Belle out of London and to the country. There, it’d be more remote. There is a larger terrain to disappear into.”

  St. Aldwyn brows drew together before his lips stretched into a thin smile. “Have we not been warned to leave the matter to the more capable and equipped?”

  “Screw them. They might be more equipped, but they’ve let her get hurt before with their handling of the matter.”

  His friend nodded. “I vote to lock the women in their rooms and let them out once the bastard is caught, but your idea does seem the more intriguing of the two.”

  Simon agreed. She sooner De Roux was taken care off, the sooner they could get on with their lives.

  Then all that would be left to do was plan on how to tie Belle and her lyrical laughter to him.

  Permanently.

  Chapter 16

  War. The term implied two or more parties being and odds with one another. In Belle’s case, the blackguard with putrid breath wished her dead and she, in return, desired him gone of this world. Simon wished to marry her, and in return, she desired the same, but circumstances forced her to stand her ground. Her brothers insisted they keep their distance from her, where Belle wished to close that distance.

  In times of war, one had to be smarter than the opposing party, or victory would be lost. But even in such times of turmoil, it was only right to take the time to reflect and maybe even enjoy a brief reprieve. It was why Belle and Jo sat gathered in her brother’s study sipping brandy.

  “Simon wants to marry me,” Belle confessed, noting the lack of surprise on her friend’s face.

  She sighed.

  “Oh?” Jo murmured. “I take it you declined his offer?”

  Belle shot her a look. It was quite obvious that she had, or she would not be sulking, and draining her brother’s prized brandy.

  “Would marriage to him be so bad?” Jo asked.

  Absolutely.

  The hearth’s fire illuminated the room in a warm glow. Outside the wind howled and the rain clattered heavily against the window, adding to Belle’s brooding mood. At least in such weather, one did not have to worry about dark-cloaked figures roaming about.

  “I will not marry for some misguided sense of duty.”

  Or any other reason.

  But Belle did not delve into true reason with her friend. There were some scars one felt obliged to keep close to heart. To bare it open seemed unbearable.

  “Of course not!” Jo agreed. “One should always marry for love.”

  Ah yes, love.

  The reason that crushed all reasons.

  Belle had to give the word credit. Death and destruction had been committed in its name, assuming the history accounts were correctly interpreted. A bit maudlin in the way of thinking, even for her, but Belle wasn’t inclined to feel any happiness at the moment.

  “Has he seduced you?”

  The question caused Belle’s wide-as-saucers eyes to whip to Jo’s innocent ones. “What would give you that idea?”

  A knowing smile coated her face. “His insistence on the matter.”

  “His instance is nothing but his deeply-rooted male honor, demanding he marry the chit he may or may not have ruined with his presence in her home.”

  “Oh come now, no man’s honor is rooted that deeply, not even Westfield’s. So how was it? Spectacular, I presume. A man as controlled as he must be wicked indeed.”

  “Jo!” Her cheeks flushed bright red, but after a moment she admitted with a sigh, “Well for one, his shock to discover my virtue still intact rather put an abrupt ending to things the first time.”

  “What?” Jo sputtered on a laugh. “How utterly rude of him!”

  “I nearly took his ears off.”

  “And quite rightly so!” Jo agreed. “I would have gelded him if it were my husband. Men are so ill-informed sometimes.”

  Jo paused. “Well, you’re no virtuous woman now.”

  “No, I’m not,” Belle confirmed, her face transforming from a frown to a wicked smile.

  “Has he made it right?”

  “Made what right?” Belle asked, innocently taking another sip.

  “You know.”

  Belle’s cheeks turned a fiery red, which was the only response her friend apparently required.

  “Aha! I knew it! I was it spectacular!” Jo exclaimed, nearly sloshing brandy out of her glass in her exuberance.

  Belle rolled her eyes at her friend. Just as well that Jo made her assumptions. She would rather not delve into the details of just how much Simon had rocked her world to the core.

  “That is beside the point, Jo,” Belle interrupted before her friend could comment any further. “I doubt any husband of mine would be pleased if they were to discover my hobby. Just imagine the shock and horror!”

  Jo chuckled. “I daresay he would think it rather scandalous.”

  “I do not imagine there exists a man in England that would allow his wife such a scandalous past time.”

  Her friend seemed to consider that. “I do not know, Belle. My husband tolerates my projects.”

  “Barely, and even then he follows you about like some love sick pup.”

  “You must admit, it is kind o
f endearing.”

  That it was.

  They sat in silence for a moment, curled up, sipping their golden liquid.

  “My brothers will be annoyed at the depletion of their brandy supply once they return,” Belle murmured.

  Jo chuckled. “They would never believe their sweet sister to be responsible.”

  “Quinn knows that Simon is staying here.”

  “I didn’t even know. Why would you keep it a secret?”

  Belle shrugged. “He’s as stubborn as a mule. Once he decides his course of action, I couldn’t stop him. He moved in without even me knowing.”

  Jo nodded as if she accepted some truth Belle had yet to welcome. “I believe he is deeply smitten with you. I daresay the man is in love. Perhaps that is the reason for his fierce protectiveness.”

  With a scowl, Belle blurted, “He is not!”

  “He did dive into a raging ocean to save you.”

  True.

  But that did not mean he was in love. Did it?

  “He will make a fine husband.”

  Belle choked on her brandy. “I beg your pardon! I’ve no intention of marrying him!”

  Jo lifted a brow. “Because he is such a bore?”

  She shot Jo a glare. “I am not inclined to marry any man.”

  Jo rested her hand on her middle. “I would like to have children. I think the rewards are worth it, dear.”

  “I cannot bear children, Jo.” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

  The weight of her revelation hung in the air between them.

  Jo’s eyes rounded in her delicate face. “You are certain?”

  Belle sighed, swirling her brandy in her hand, watching the gold liquid move smoothly. It was too late to retract her statement now, so she continued in a soft voice, “An unfortunate consequence of my surviving my first assault. I assure you, I am very much certain of the fact.”

  “I’m so sorry. I cannot imagine how that must feel.”

  Belle waved her friends worry away. “I’ve accepted it a long time ago. But I cannot give an earl, or any lord for that matter, an heir. Maybe it might not matter at the beginning, but it will matter in the end.”

  The truth of her words hovered in the air, reflected in Jo’s eyes. Yet to Belle’s relief she saw no pity, only regret.

  “Why have you never told us?”

  Belle shrugged. “It’s not a conversation you brooch over tea. In truth, if only I knew the truth, then I could pretend that the fact of it did not exist.”

  “Now that’s just silly,” Jo interjected.

  “Perhaps.”

  “You can always steal a baby from some horrible French spy family.”

  Uncontrollable laughter spilled from Belle’s lips. “French! I would have rather thought to steal a German babe. Saints! Would that not be something?”

  “If you do ever decide to snatch a babe from its poor mother’s arms, at least let me know. I would hate for you to get caught,” Jo teased.

  They both laughed.

  It was a ridiculous really, but the idea of it, laughable though it was, took shape in Belle’s mind. She’d have to leave for five months or there about. It will take the ton only so long before a fake pregnant ruse will become obvious. Not that she’d ever steal a baby, but there were other ways in obtaining infants, such as orphans. Perhaps she could have a family if she could find a husband that didn’t require his children to share his own blood.

  “I know that look in your eyes.”

  “What look?”

  “That look that does not bode well for the rest of us.”

  Belle’s lips curled.

  The crushing weight of the past lifted and for the first time in a long while, she felt liberated. And with that liberation, something deep in the regions of her heart urged her not to lose hope, to not lose sight of having a family someday. He urged her to allow passion to burn brightly in her soul and right now, that passion was centered on one particular individual.

  “I suppose now is as good time as any to appease any curiosity I may have.”

  “You are planning on seducing Westfield again, aren’t you?”

  Belle gaped at Jo.

  “Oh, do not give me that look, I would have done the same, the air of danger and all that.”

  Belle harrumphed. “It’s his insistence to marry that has me tiptoeing around any desirable urges.”

  And that it was impossible to forget his touch, his kisses.

  “Oh, posh! You have managed to hold him at bay thus far, so if that is your only reservation I suggest you throw it to the wolves,” Jo exclaimed. “Albeit, your reluctance to marry does make sense now, but not all men require an heir. You can always marry some old dodger already equipped with an heir and spare.”

  “Your eyes are sparkling with matchmaking intent again. I’m positively quivering with fear.”

  “My eyes do not sparkle with matchmaking intent,” Josephine denied.

  Belle gave her a look that bespoke her disbelief. “Ever since you and Evelyn married you have been lurking in the trenches of matchmaking. And Simon happens to be Evelyn’s brother. She’ll be sounding church bells the moment she learns of our indiscretion.”

  “I would hardly call what you shared an indiscretion for it would imply a display of poor judgment, which I believe it was not. But I do advise that you give his proposal due consideration.”

  “I have considered his proposal and I see no other way than to decline it. All I wished for was one night of magic. And all that has changed is that instead of one night, perhaps I’d like a few.”

  Her friend regarded her a moment, tilting her head to the side. “But would you rather not prefer a lifetime of magic?”

  Belle snorted. “A lifetime of magic does not exist, at least not for Simon and me.”

  “The decision is yours to make Belle, but be certain it is the right one. Magic, love, life, it is what we choose to make of it and you are choosing to make nothing.”

  In other words, Belle should not pass up a brilliant opportunity to create magic for concerns that ultimately may not matter.

  How simple it appeared!

  How simple it was not.

  “You are too wise,” Belle muttered against the rim of her glass.

  “Do not tell my husband that, he believes he’s the smartest of us.”

  Belle chuckled, staring into the golden liquid swirling beneath her fingers.

  She supposed life consisted of a series of risks taken and not taken. One could no more measure the outcome than one could predict the consequences. Marrying Simon certainly counted as a risk, but then so did remaining unmarried and continuing on her path of lonely existence. The question was which consequence could she live with.

  And that, Belle truly did not know.

  Chapter 17

  Rebellion: where one party chose to go against the wishes of another, with or without their knowledge. And perhaps, if Belle had thought it through, she’d have come to a different conclusion that following morning.

  Perhaps, if she had not woken up that very day to Simon pressed up tightly against her back, she may have felt differently on the matter. But the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing in her ear and his right arm anchoring her to his chest while the other cradled her in his embrace had, well, suffocated her.

  Unaccustomed to such an invasion of her space or a restriction on her freedom, this new necessity of being cloistered inside made her itch for the outdoors. And that itch had boomed into the desire for a simple, enjoyable ride in the park. Alone. With only a footman as an escort.

  Perhaps, if Simon had not left a note saying he’d be stepping out for an hour to retrieve more of his belongings, Belle would never have considered it.

  Perhaps, she would not have believed it safe.

  Because it wasn’t.

  If it had been, Belle would not currently be sprawled on the ground, gasping for breath, while blood seeped through her fingers from the fresh wound
on her arm.

  Still.

  It had been such a marvelous day, full of clear skies and people buzzing about with laughter and dainty giggles. Belle had reveled in the brisk breeze caressing her face. For one precious fleeting moment, she had not felt confined or imprisoned by her circumstance, but free.

  That was until two shots were fired in quick succession, their ear-shattering thunder echoing through the park. In their wake, pandemonium broke loose. Horses reared, shouts replaced laughter, and the once-boisterous park filled with cries of fear.

  Every person in the park was in an uproar. Men scoured after their horses, women wailed on the ground, and others just sat in shock. No one even noticed that Belle had fallen from her horse, one of the shots hitting her arm.

  Her footman, bless his heart, fell to his knees beside her, his face draining of all color when he spotted the blood.

  “My Lady-y-y, you’ve been shot.”

  Had she not been in pain, she would have rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Charles, for pointing that out. Now help me up, quickly,” she gritted her teeth. “We must leave before anyone sees me bleeding all over the ground.”

  Because if anyone did, that would certainly mean that Simon and Jo would learn of her short-lived rebellion and be out for blood. And she would probably never see the light of day again as a result.

  Charles helped her to her feet, keeping a gentle hand on her back in case she lost her balance.

  “You cannot ride my lady, but I shall carry you if you cannot walk.”

  A bubble of laughter escaped Belle. The image of her being carried home by her heroic footman, bleeding all over him, seemed quite comical.

  Remarkably, her horse had not bolted after she’d been tossed from the saddle.

  “Thank you Charles, but I shall ride.” When he only stared at her wide eyed, she pressed, “Come, you must help me mount.”

  With a reluctant nod, her footman lifted her onto her colt. She flinched in pain but managed to hold the reigns steady in one hand.

  “Thank you, Charles, now hurry, we must return home post haste.” And hope the man behind the gun did not follow to finish the job.

  Belle did not voice that particular concern aloud, as her footman already looked ready to expire. Her main concern now was to bandage her wound and get rid of the blood-stained clothes, before word of the shooting made its way to Simon and he came barging through her chamber door.