He shrugged. “You are as slippery as an eel, my dear. Just a precaution, nothing more.”
Precaution, her backside. It would be just like him to shoot her in the back once she reached the edge of the plank. She’d not give him the pleasure.
A glance into the black abyss showed a small, flickering light in the distance. A flicker of hope. As long as he did not shoot her in the back, or anywhere else on her person, and as long as she managed to stay afloat until her friends arrived, she may yet survive.
The cheers had grown boisterous by now and Belle took another step forward, bringing her to the middle of the plank. She may die yet, but Belle would be damned if she did not get the last say.
Glancing over her shoulder at De Roux, her lips stretched into a wide smile. “Until we meet again,” she said just before she threw herself off the plank, plunging into the ice-cold ocean.
On the ship, everyone fell silent as De Roux’s roar of fury echoed through the night.
It was hard not to surface the moment the coldness stung her skin but instead, Belle dove deeper, swimming away from the ship.
Popping noises, reached her ear, and Belle could only imagine them shooting into the ocean, but she did not plan to be shark bait tonight.
Belle finally started to push herself to the surface, her limbs exhausted and numb from the cold. When she broke through the water, the night air was not as chill as the sea.
Gasping for breath, she tread water. “Oh you’re in a bind now, Belle,” she muttered as she glanced up at the ship. She could hear that unoriginal and pathetic villain shouting obscenities over the side.
Good.
She noted with satisfaction she’d surface far enough for them not to spot her in the dark waters, not that it mattered. They’d have to make a quick escape if they wished to be gone by the time her friends arrived.
Their ship was still a small flickering light in the distance. Belle was no seafarer, so it was hard to tell how far away they were. There was nothing to do but float in their direction until they reached her. Floating would conserve her energy at least.
However, it proved easier said than done. All too soon the numbness receded, replaced by tiny prickles of cold, stabbing at her skin. Her teeth clattered together and the energy she spent to fight away the cold was almost painful. Already her legs were sinking, refusing to stay afloat.
Damn that pox-riddled man.
If she died tonight, she would haunt that slimy weasel. Yes, she’d command her soul to go straight to him or…Simon.
But no, she was still mad at him for his insufferable maleness. Wasn’t she?
She’d kept so many secrets from her friends, so many things left unsaid. It bothered her. She wasn’t prepared to die. Not yet.
Nonetheless, she occupied her mind by imagining all the ways she would haunt her cursed enemy. She’d haunt in right into Bedlam, and she would haunt him there still. She’d haunt him for all the ways in which he haunted her. He’d unrepentantly sliced into her womb, the cruel bastard. It was his doing that she would never bear children. That she’d always feel pain where her scar was carved into her skin. That she’d always be damaged. And that she’d always remember her mistake.
That was, perhaps, the biggest burden of them all.
Every time she saw a child playing in the park, she remembered the reason why she could never have a family. Every time she felt pain, she remembered the reason she hurt.
Ah yes, her death will be bittersweet indeed.
“I hope you are ready for me, you bastard, Iwillhaunt your vile hide straight into perdition.”
The dark, merciless ocean pulled at her.
But even after all she’d been through, she did not regret any of it. Not even her lackluster night with Simon.
Her clattering mouth attempted to smile as she recalled his shocked expression at taking her virtue. Sure, she’d been furious, but looking back now, it was rather comical.
She’d have to haunt him for that and for the hope he’d snuck into her chest, the hope that made it possible to dream of dreams she’d long since forgotten about—dreams of passion, and, perhaps, of love.
It seemed, however, that fate still favored irony above all. She had cheated death once, and fate, apparently, was not about to allow her to cheat it again.
Belle started to cough, swallowing water. Her eyes burned and it was becoming such a task to breathe. It was so cold. Every part of her hurt so much.
She’d done her best, saved all her strength for this. But she started to sink then; the ocean swallowing her into its dark depths. She felt one last thought bubble up before her face submerged under the water.
Hope was a damnable thing.
