“I’m hardly dead, now am I?”
Her attempt at humor did not remove the betrayal from his wounded eyes. Belle let out a ragged breath. “I feel trapped, Simon, like I’m imprisoned in my own home by the people I care about. I only wanted to some space, even if only for an hour.”
“I cannot believe you’d put your life in danger for a ride in the park. Damnation!”
“The park is public, I hadn’t foreseen any trouble,” Belle confessed.
He carefully began to put pressure on her wound. “You shall have all the freedom you desire once we’ve dealt with this madman.”
“I’m sorry, Simon.”
Simon’s heart sank to the bottom of his feet, her apology ringing hollow in his ears. She had hidden the truth from him, risked her life rather than inform him she had been hurt.
Did she not trust him? No, he did not believe that, but he did believe that she found him suffocating. The notion horrified him. But could he blame her? The woman had been through much more than anyone else her age.
Christ.
He’d become stifling. And to such an extent that she’d tried to break away. No wonder she found him such a bore. The thought settled heavy on his mind. How was he to win her if she’d rather bleed to death than confide in him? Where had things gone so wrong?
It appeared he’d failed at the two things men were supposed to revel at: courtship and guardianship. In his defense, most courtships did not have vengeful spies hovering in the shadows. But at least they were both still alive. That counted for something, did it not? He had done the best with what he’d been given. And he’d been given horse dung.
“I’m sorry that you feel imprisoned,” he murmured, defeated, but still managed to give her a small peck on the forehead.
Her fathomless eyes turned curious. “Why are you apologizing? I am the one in the wrong.”
He shook his head and covered her hand with his, most of his anger gone. “None of this would have happened if we’d given you more space to breathe.”
“That is kind of you, Simon, but I’m the one to blame. I’ve have been from the very beginning.”
The look that entered her eyes gave him pause. It was sad, haunted even. With sudden clarity, he realized he’d never hear the words he so desperately wanted from her.
Lady Belle Middleton was never going to marry him.
He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. Panic reared its ill-favoured head and he had to remind himself that it was not because of him, but because of something that happened in her past. Something deep and dark. Something painful.
His thoughts were interrupted by the announcement of the doctor and he rose, relinquishing the spot by Belle’s side for the doctor to examine her wound.
“Doctor,” he greeted with a stiff nod.
“My lord, I understand the lady has had an accident.”
He nodded. “It seems shallow enough, but I suspect she’s lost a lot of blood.” The reprimand was back in his tone.
The doctor began to inspect the wound, murmuring under his breath.
Her stubborn eyes locked with his equally stubborn ones.
“The wound is superficial, as you said, and would probably have closed if it had not been opened it during the night.”
Her eyes narrowed suddenly and her face swiveled to the doctor, her brows drawing together as if he seemed familiar to her. Now that Simon thought of it, his rough voice sounded unlike any cultured doctor he’d ever crossed paths with.
“You are no doctor,” she murmured, taken aback. “You are my brother’s right-hand man, the same man that saved my life.”
This was news to Simon. “I sent the footman for a real doctor,” he growled.
“I am a doctor and your footman came to me, as instructed by his employer.”
Simon cursed.