Drat.
Belle sank lower, hoping their curiosity would end soon and not draw Simon’s attention. She should have insisted that they take her home the moment she entered the coach.
Curiosity got the better of her and she peeked up just in time to see Simon pause at finding their carriage empty. He stood unmoving for a moment before he sent a murderous glance to where the driver should have been perched. Of course, Belle had been the one to insist that their driver take the opportunity to relieve himself and grab refreshments. And even though Belle could not quite see his eyes she sensed his fury. And fear.
She had not even considered that he might imagine something truly dangerous had happened to her, rather than assuming she ran from him.
Guilt stabbed at her.
Perhaps she’d made a mistake, but it was too late to back out of her decision now.
Then Lady Lucinda lifted her hand and waved at a now very panic-stricken Simon. Belle nearly punched the woman.
Simon glanced their way and Belle plastered herself against the seat, out of his line of sight.
“Stop waving at him!” Belle hissed.
Lucinda frowned at her. “Why ever? Oh…” Her mouth formed a round “O” as realization dawned. “You are eloping with Westfield!”
Belle was just about to bolt out from the other side of the coach when the door swung open, revealing an anxious Simon. His relief upon discovering her was quickly shadowed by his anger, but he kept his voice charming when he said, “There you are, my dear. I see you’ve made new friends.”
Belle’s eyes narrowed on his easy smile. He knew very well she’d tried to escape her fate and failed.
His hand reached into the carriage and he held it palm up and out to her, expecting her to take it. She shot him a glare before finally placing her hand in his.
Without so much as a farewell, Belle climbed out from the coach. Simon never let go of her hand, walking her back to their own carriage.
“We need to talk.”
Oh,nowhe wanted to talk when before had refused to listen to reason. She turned toward him, hands on hips, just outside their carriage.
“There is nothing to talk about. You are forcing me to marry against my will. Not only do I find it barbaric, but I will also never forgive you for it.”
“Damnation, would it be so bad to be married to me?” he snapped and Belle felt the familiar ache in her heart flicker to life.
She looked up from the ground and wished she hadn’t.
Misery stared back at her.
How was she to explain to him in a mere moment what had taken her four years to accept?
“You do not understand.”
“Enlighten me.”
Belle considered him. He deserved the truth. But to crack open her deepest, darkest pit of misery and regret, one she’d fought hard to close, was difficult. It highlighted both her greatest mistake and greatest flaw. But, if it served to finally wipe the hurt from his eyes, she’d do it.
Her hands instinctively moved to rest over her wound, his eyes following the motion.
“When…when I nearly died, I cannot recall how I dragged myself from the docks or how my brother found me. I only remember waking up on a ship in unbearable pain, crying as someone tended to my wound.”
His eyes softened and she turned away, staring at the inn’s sign above the establishment. He said nothing, giving her space to speak.
“To this day I don’t know why I was the one Edgar singled out. But the next time I woke, I was in my bed, recovering from my wound.”
She turned to look at him then, her eyes bright with tears. “The doctor said I would live, but that I would never bear any children. I can never give any man an heir, a tragedy I accepted a long time ago, but one that you must now understand. Do you see now why I cannot marry you?”
“I’m so sorry, Belle. No woman should ever have to endure what was done to you.” He took a single step closer to her, bringing her into his arms. “But I do not care that you cannot bear me a child. I love you.”
