“He could have sent for someone else,” Callum interrupted, his voice taking on a low growl. “Or Mrs. Powell could have kept watch and spooned me broth at every interval. I need to know, Beatrix, and I need to hear you say it… tell me why you stayed.”
Beatrix was at a loss. What could she say that Lord Bellton would want to hear? Worse, what could she say to a man who’d risked his very life to keep her father from harm, only to have it come to naught?
“I don’t know what you expect from me,” she whispered sadly, dropping her gaze to her hands as she sank into the chair beside his bed. “What is it you want to hear?”
“I want to hear that my words weren’t lost on you,” he said urgently, wincing at the pain of breathing too deeply. “I want… I want you to tell me that it’s not only some morbid sense of obligation that keeps you here, but rather… rather that you could not bear to leave me.”
“Is that truly what you want to hear?” Beatrix asked, looking up sharply. “Pray, tell me what you would do with that news?”
“I would rise up from this bed and dance about the room, the happiest man in England!” Lord Bellton replied, but there was no hint of humor in his words. “That news alone would be sufficient to heal me entirely, I’m sure of it. I could take to the docks and wrestle a bear with the strength that your confession would give me.”
“Now I’m certain you’re only having fun, and it’s not polite,” Beatrix argued. “Toying with a woman’s emotions is the cruelest sort of sport!”
“This is no game, Lady Beatrix,” Lord Bellton said, staring at her intently. “I meant every word of my death bed confession, and now I want to know what it means to you.”
“Then you shall have your way,” Beatrix replied icily, betrayed by the tears that proved how his words affected her. “I have the same feeling for you, as much as I wish it weren’t so!”
“Why? Why would you not wish to return my affection when I have declared that I would abandon everything for you?” he asked, smiling in spite of himself at her confession.
“Because what good would it do us? Are you so naïve to think that love or affection are sufficient?” Beatrix wiped at her tears in frustration.
“Of course I am,” Callum answered, still smiling. “I have professed my love for you, and you have confessed to feel that same way for me… albeit it rather grudgingly and not at all in a romantic way.”
“I warned you not to make sport,” she snapped, but Callum caught one of her hands in his and held it close.
“I wasn’t—all right, yes. I was teasing just now. But it’s only because I am so elated to hear that you love me!” He smiled and pressed her fingertips gently to his lips.
“But you arenothearing me. You’ve heard only that which you wanted to hear. I’ve said it rather plainly,” she tried to explain again, “our emotions or feelings for one another are simply not enough.”
“Enough for what? To convince me that you’re perfect and I will never on this Earth find your equal?”
“No!” Beatrix stammered, her heart racing at such declarations all the same. “That when all is said and done, you and I are not equal. You have obligations that do not include me. And have you once considered what my father or his men would have to say about this? Or did you just assume my father would be so overjoyed at your lowering yourself to marry me that he would overlook our terrifying differences?”
“Lady Beatrix! I’d forgotten all about your father!” Callum cried, looking alarmed. “That is why I had tried to fetch the tea pot!”
“I’m sorry? What?”
“I intended to throw it with all my feeble might so that Barclay might hear me and come to my aid. I have to go to your father!” Callum explained, already moving his legs towards the edge of the bed. “If you do not wish to see me in a state of undress, perhaps you can go call for him?”
“You mustn’t do this,” Beatrix said, though her tone was one of defeat. She knew he would do it whether she attempted to prevent him or not. “Sir Williams and I wrote letters on his behalf, and there is no way of knowing what the outcome of his trial may be. You’re putting yourself in harm’s way needlessly.”
“It matters not to me. This is my doing, and I will see to it that it is made right,” he replied. Gesturing to a pair of chairs from the nearby table, he said, “Now, if you would bring those chairs close to the bedside, I can lean on them as I stand.”
Beatrix sighed, fixing Callum with a look of extreme displeasure. He nodded but then smiled wickedly.
“All right then, you’ve made your choice,” he said, reaching to fling back the rest of the bedclothes. “I warned you I am not fully dressed.”
“Ack! No!” she cried, turning away and covering her face with her hands. “Stay as you are, I’ll get Mr. Barclay!”
Beatrix hurried from the room, the sound of Callum’s laughter still ringing in her ears. She was torn with the worst of two possible sentiments: she was livid that he would even attempt to be out of bed, let alone taking a journey of any distance, but Beatrix was also grateful beyond measure and moved to tears that he would risk his own life—again—for her father.
Outside Callum’s chambers, Beatrix turned and collided with Lloyd. Astonished, she looked up and felt her cheeks burn instantly.
“Mr. Lloyd! I am so sorry!” she began, but the butler held up his hand to stop her.
“It’s quite all right, Miss Beatrix, were you harmed?” he asked kindly, his hand poised in the space now between them to steady her should she need it.
“Oh no, thank you. But it’s Callum. He’s in need of some assistance… though I do not think anyone should render such aid! He intends to go after the constables and find my father!” She fumed indignantly and was much chagrined when Lloyd stifled a light laugh.
