“Tie him up and hand him over to the authorities?” Lord Beaverstoke suggested.
Simon shook his head, his arms tightening around Belle. “We cannot take the chance that he might escape.”
Belle stared at De Roux. He had nearly succeeded in killing her three times, not including this attempt. She should have enlisted Lord Beaverstoke’s aid from the start, she mused.
“Please tell me we are not traveling with him back to London?” The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.
She did not wish to be near the man. He could be dragged there, tied to the end of a rope attached to a moving carriage for all she cared.
Simon’s face skewed up in disgust. “No, sweet, we will leave him here for your…” he cleared his throat, “the others to find. They are not even an hour behind us if my estimations are correct.”
Belle raised her brows at how Simon knew that fact, though she trusted the information. She was surprised at how close he had been cutting his kidnapping of her, though—Bradford would befurious—but nodded, pleased with the idea that they could leave De Roux here for her brothers to handle. Anything was better than journeying with the man who had caused her countless of pain.
Lord Beaverstoke glanced around. “I suppose we can tie him to a tree just off the path and gag him.”
“But what if he gets away?”
“Trust me, Lady Lucinda,” Simon murmured, the edge of his voice laced with menace. “He will not get away. I will make sure of it…assuming I can find some rope.”
“Got some rope ’ere, milord,” the carriage-driver supplied.
“Hold for a moment,” Belle murmured as she hopped from the carriage and crossed the distance over to the unconscious Frenchman. She stared down at his still form, narrowed her eyes and kicked him hard in the side. “May you rot in hell, Edgar De Roux.”
Simon came up beside her, resting his hand on the small of her back. “It’s over. He’ll never harm you again.”
She nodded, unable to form a reply. Now that he lay on the ground helpless, she felt nothing but pity for him—pity he did not even deserve. It occurred to her that now that he was finally taken care of, her brothers would return home.
Happiness sprouted up inside of her, like a little seed that had been long dormant.
Simon, Lord Beaverstoke and the driver all set to work trussing up De Roux like a Christmas chicken and securing him to the tree. She and Lady Lucinda watched in relative silence—relative, as there was only so much quiet the bubbly Lady Lucinda could tolerate. Rope wound around the French spy from the neck to the ankles and a gag was secured around his mouth. Then Simon punched him in the jaw a few extra times for good measure.
He made his way over to her.
“So,” Simon murmured in her ear, his warm breath caressing her skin. “What happens now?”
Belle tilted her head to reward him with a small smile. His hair was disheveled and the worry she’d come to expect in those beautiful eyes was replaced by serenity. He stood calmly before her. Gone was the man who had shadowed her every step out of concern. In his place, a man patiently awaited her judgment—his fate—with nothing but love in his gaze. He was leaving the decision up to her.
Belle envisioned her life with him, which wasn’t hard since she’d done it countless of times in the past, but this time instead of envisioning the resentment and hatred that may grow at her inability to bearing him an heir, she envisioned more love and happiness growing with each passing moment.
Her smile widened. “I do not know, I suppose it’s past time to return home and welcome my brothers back.”
His face fell. Shoulders drooped.
A slow, teasing chuckled escaped her and she winked at him.
With a growl, he snatched her by the waist and pulled her tightly against his chest. “It’s considered rude to tease your future husband.”
“What? Aren’t we going to have an unbearably long engagement first? How utterly disappointing, I rather enjoy the sound of calling you, my fiancé.”
He groaned. “An hour, that is all you get.” Then his eyes turned pleading. “Please do not make me wait. I don’t think I can survive it.”
“My brothers will come back now that the despicable creature is taken care of. And I have missed them so.”
Belle could tell Simon was about to retort with some snappy comment when Lady Lucinda interrupted, “If I can make a suggestion?” They both turned their heads to look at her. “Lord Westfield can always take up residence with you instead of the other way around. That is what Lord Beaverstoke will be doing because he has eight sisters! And there is just so much room at…”
Belle frowned at Lady Lucinda, already muting the lady’s incessant babbling in her mind. What an odd creature. Yet, not a terrible plan. Though she could tell Simon thought differently.
“They are more than welcome to come live with us,” he muttered, quickly adding, “for a few weeks.”
