She didn’t answer. Instead, she flung open the door, startling Jenny, who was standing just outside. “Beg your pardon,” Belle told the maid before starting down the corridor.
“Belle!” Hew’s voice was closer. “Miss Howard!”
Belle shook her head and began to run. If she let him catch her, he would hold her and comfort her. She needed his comfort, badly, but now was not the time to feel comfortable. Her father wasn’t comfortable. What had she been thinking? She’d been luxuriating at Mivart’s while he’d been suffering. Logically, she knew that nothing she did or didn’t do at this moment could help her father. He’d probably rather her be comfortable than hungry and cold...if he was still able to have any sort of preference.
No! She lifted her skirts and ran faster, pushing open a door and starting down what must be the servant’s stairs as they were narrow and wooden. Arundel’s voice faded behind her, but she continued to run. When she finally reached the first floor, she pushed through the groups of servants in the kitchens and work rooms until she emerged into the yard behind the hotel. Leaning against the building, she tried to catch her breath.
She would not allow herself to believe, even for a moment, that her father was gone. She would not give up on him.
She’d forgotten her hat in the room, so she pulled a soggy cap off a clothesline as she exited the yard. She pulled it over her head, arranging some of the hair so it covered the scarred side of her face. Then keeping her head down, she began to walk.
For a long time, she didn’t know where she was headed. She couldn’t go back to the shop on Fenchurch Street. Pennywhistle’s men might be waiting for her there. Tears sprang to her eyes when she realized the place that had always been her refuge—the tea shop—was now dangerous for her. She thought she’d found another refuge in Hew Arundel, but she’d been a fool to depend on him. When would she learn that she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself? Even a man who seemed to look past her physical defects couldn’t be trusted with her heart. Her father was her heart. Her tea shop was her heart. Fenchurch Street was her heart.
Gradually, she realized where her feet were leading her. It was a long way to St. Katharine Docks, but once she understood that was where her body was taking her, she knew that was where she needed to go. She’d be anonymous there and surrounded by tea. That would be a comfort. She found a wagon heading in that direction and begged a seat in the back. The driver gave her a curious look, probably because she was dressed in ill-fitting but expensive clothing, then shrugged and nodded his approval.
Belle sat on the back of the wagon, watching all of London pass her by. It was late afternoon now, and men and women were hurrying to make purchases for supper before shops closed. The girls selling flowers and the boys selling fruit and vegetables were packing up. The flowers had wilted, and the produce would have to wait another day.
Belle was not very religious and rarely prayed. She went to church often enough to keep the others in the parish from knocking on their door and making accusations. But she prayed now. She prayed her father would be safe one more night and day and that she would see him the next night in Hyde Park. She would trade herself, if that was what it took, to ensure his freedom.
Finally, she and the wagon parted ways and she walked the remainder of the way to the docks. The ships had been unloaded earlier in the day, and the crates of tea, spices, and silks from the Far East were being moved into warehouses. The dockworkers looked at her a little longer than usual, a few calling out to her or whistling, but she ignored them. She ducked into one of the tea warehouses and strolled up the aisles, stacked seven and eight feet high with crates and bundles of tea. The scent was delicious and intoxicating.
She found a corner where she would not be easily spotted and sat, leaning against a sack of what smelled like Earl Grey. She could hide here. She knew the warehouse manager. If she were discovered, she would speak with him. No doubt he wouldn’t like the idea of her sleeping in his warehouse, but he already thought her rather eccentric, considering that she insisted on seeing, smelling, and touching any tea before she purchased it.
Leaning her head back, Belle closed her eyes. The sounds of the warehouse and the dock were familiar to her, and they faded away after a few minutes. She’d occupied her mind with worries for her father for the last hour or two, but now her mind turned to the subject she’d been trying to avoid—Hew Arundel.
She really was a fool when it came to the agent for the Royal Saboteurs. She’d spent days trying to keep him alive, worrying that he’d die and she’d be blamed. She’d never thought that all that time, she should have worried that he was worming his way into her heart. Belle couldn’t point to the exact moment she had begun to care for Arundel. Well, she knew the exact moment she had realized she wanted him. It had been when he’d stood up without his shirt and she’d caught a glimpse of his powerful chest. She hadn’t known men could look like that. She’d wanted to touch him.
She’d wanted him to touch her.
And then he had touched her. She realized now that he had been delirious and probably thought he was touching his dead wife, but it had been enough to rouse a heat and desire in Belle that she hadn’t known was buried within her. Once it had been ignited, the heat had simmered and burned until she couldn’t resist its warmth.
She wished Arundel’s hold on her was only physical attraction. Then she could have enjoyed what they’d done together in his hotel suite and moved on. Instead, every kiss they’d shared, every press of his fingertip, every caress of his hands or lips or—God help her—tongue seemed infused with meaning. When he touched her there, did that mean he cared about her? When he’d kissed her there, did that mean he loved her? When he’d given her pleasure—so much pleasure, more than she’d known she could ever feel—did that mean he wanted her for his wife?
No. It definitely did not mean that. He’d been clear that he never wanted to marry again and would not marry her. Belle had said she didn’t want to marry him, but it was difficult to fall in love with a man and not want to spend the rest of your nights in his arms. And she had fallen in love with him. She’d fallen for his bravery, his strength, his determination. No to mention his intelligence, loyalty to country, and his vulnerability. If his former wife hadn’t already been dead, Belle would have sought the woman out and killed her with her own hands. How dare she hurt Arundel like that? Belle never again wanted to see the pain he’d shown her when he’d spoken of his marriage. She would give anything to take that pain away.
And yet, here she was—not with Arundel but hiding in a tea warehouse. She peeked around the stacks surrounding her and out the open doors of the building. The docks were quieting, and the sky had darkened. Most work was done during the day, and most of the dock workers had gone home. But she knew from many visits over the years that the docks were never completely quiet. If the occasion called for it, men worked at all hours to move cargo from ship to shore and dock to warehouse, even though it could be dangerous to operate the cranes and move cargo in the dark.
Now was the time to close her eyes and sleep. Tomorrow she would figure out what to do about Arundel. She’d find some way to mute her feelings. She’d find some way to let him go. He’d never be hers, and she should simply take what they’d shared and be satisfied.
Tomorrow, she hoped, she would have her father back—or at least safe and away from his abductors. Or tomorrow she might be the prisoner.
Or perhaps she’d be dead.
Chapter Twenty
“She’s gone,” Hew said after bursting into the hotel room. Will still sat where Hew had left him, his head resting on the back of the chair, his eyes closed.
“I assumed that was the idea when she stormed out of the room.” He lifted his head and gave Hew a sardonic look. “Some women run because they want to be chased. She doesn’t strike me as that sort.”
“I have to find her.”
“No, you don’t. You need to get on a train and return to the Farm. Baron has ordered me to take over.”
“Baron can go to hell. I need to find Belle.”
Will crossed his legs and gave Hew a long look. “What has happened to you? I thought you were wounded in the side, but perhaps you hit your head as well.”
“I know I’m not acting like myself.”
