“Wherein our heroine is stubborn, headstrong, and rather bold.”

 

Edward dropped his fists, his muscles aching, his body taut and sweating. The pounding in his head had reduced to a steady thud and his guts felt tender, but after last night, that was the least of his concerns.

Yesterday in its entirety was vague, to say the least, and he wasn’t totally convinced he hadn’t dreamed the whole episode. He was, however, fairly certain that he remembered sitting on the freezing ground of the stables with Miss Holbrook – no, wait - with his wife sitting on the ground beside him. He had a hazy recollection of her threatening to freeze to death beside him, and looking down to see she was wearing that dreadfully shabby pelisse, and what looked like a cotton nightgown beneath. Good God, he’d have to instruct Violette to get her some new clothes before everyone believed he was tight-fisted as well as unhinged. He also remembered - and this was where things got really murky - but he felt sure he’d had the sense that she somehow understood his feelings about being at Longwold.

Like trying on a favourite coat and finding it suddenly three sizes too small.

Edward frowned and caught the towel that Charlie threw him, wiping the sweat from his face and neck as her words rang in his ears. Surely, he had imagined that? How could she possibly put into words something he himself had never been able to articulate to anyone?

“Bravo!”

Edward’s head snapped around, jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of clapping on the far side of the ballroom. His mouth fell open as he found Miss – no, dammit - his wife applauding him!

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, outraged that she should be here, watching him. Another, rather sly voice whispered in his ear that he rather liked the fact she watched him, but he silenced that one with haste.

To his chagrin, the wretched woman didn’t look terrified or stammer an apology but walked towards him, her eyes on him with such bold admiration that he was appalled to feel a resurgence of that knee-buckling desire that had overcome him in the library. And just look where that had gotten him!

“I wanted to see you spar,” she said, smiling at him and nodding a greeting to Charlie, who grinned back at her with obvious approval. The damned traitor. “That is correct, I think, spar?” she asked, and then carried on, as no answer appeared to be forthcoming. “Have you ever boxed in an actual match?” she asked, her expression genuinely curious. “I hear that Mr Jackson’s establishment on Bond Street is where all of the gentlemen of the ton go?”

“Ah, his lordship is a right favourite of Mr Jackson,” Charlie said, with obvious pride as he totally ignored Edward’s look of indignation. “Sparred with him many a time, ‘e ‘as. Ain’tcha, my lord?”

Edward narrowed his eyes at Charlie and wondered what the devil he was up to.

“Oh,” Miss ... no ... dammit, Belinda, her name was Belinda, exclaimed, looking at him with such admiration that he felt really quite unnerved. “How I should have liked to see that.”

Edward felt his mouth gape. “You cannot be serious?” he growled. “It is unheard of and unseemly that a woman should take an interest in such a thing! I believe I have mentioned this fact before,” he added with growing irritation.

He felt unsettled and aggravated by the fact she was here at all, intruding into his private space. He had intended to seek her out, at some point, later in the day, much later ... and ... and see if they could try and find an amicable way to go forward. He hoped that Longwold was big enough that there would be plenty to occupy her, and he could go about his day without too much interruption. The idea that they still hadn’t consummated the marriage was something that bothered him immensely, but he didn’t know quite what to do about it.

The idea that she might actually think him incapable rankled harder than he liked to admit, and the thought of taking her to bed was so heady that he was rather afraid he might actually disgrace himself and act like a green boy.

He gritted his teeth with annoyance, wondering what it was about this particular woman that wrong-footed him so badly. Looking up, Edward realised she was speaking to him and that Charlie, blast him, had gone.

“I don’t see that there can be any objection to me watching my husband spar, in private,” she said. Her voice was low, and though a slight blush stained her cheeks, her gaze was astonishingly direct. “I like to watch you,” she added, and the tone of her voice made his entire body give her his undivided attention. He lowered the cloth he had wiped his face on, holding it in front of him before she noticed the fact that her presence was having a profound effect on him. She took a step closer and Edward was torn between the desire to step back, away from this woman who threatened to upend his life and disturb the little equilibrium he had left to him, and to step closer. In the end, he did neither.

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words so surprising that he forgot he was angry with her.

He frowned, wondering at the remorse in her eyes.

“What for?”

She shrugged and gave him the barest glimpse of a smile. “For trapping you,” she replied, the rather endearing flush to her cheeks growing brighter. “I truly didn’t mean to,” she added in a rush. Somehow, that only irritated him all over again. No. She hadn’t even considered him. Bloody Nibley had been a better bet. Well, she’d gotten more than she bargained for, he thought with a sour smile. “And I know that I’m probably a very long way from the kind of woman you would have liked to marry.” She looked away then, the boldness falling away from her gaze to be replaced with a flicker of vulnerability. She took a breath, raising her chin, and the fleeting glimpse was gone, but he’d seen it and felt remorse for having treated her so harshly. “I will try and make you comfortable, Edward,” she said, and hearing her speak his name was strange and unsettling.

He nodded, unsure of what to say, how to go on. He rolled his eyes inwardly. Good God, what had he become? He’d had no shortage of lovers before ... well, before. He could talk pretty much any woman he chose into bed with minimal effort, and by God, he’d chosen plenty. She was his wife, for heaven’s sake. He should just take her to bed and get on with his life.

Why did it not feel that simple?

She was staring at him and Edward racked his brain for a single intelligent thing to say to her, but his mind was a blank.

She took another step closer, so close that his skin ached. Perhaps she would touch him?

Her cheeks were blazing now and that vulnerability was shining in her eyes again, making his heart feel uneasy.

She could make him care for her.

The thought was unnerving and panic began to grow in his chest. He’d lost too many people to want to care for anymore. Violette was bad enough. His desperate need to keep her safe had almost driven a wedge between them. The idea of his sister alone in London, looking for him, had almost torn him apart.

“W-will you ... will you come to me ... t-tonight, Edward ... please?”

He stared at her as her words slid beneath his skin like a caress, stoking his desires to a flame that blazed beneath his skin, a forest fire, out of control. She reached out a hand and panic gripped him as she went to lay her fingers upon his chest.

He snatched her wrist, holding her away from him, too afraid that he might actually take her to the ground right there in the ballroom if she dared to touch him.

The look in her eyes was horrifying, though, a mixture of devastation and desperate embarrassment, and he felt like the worst kind of monster for treating her so.

He softened his hold on her wrist and tried to keep his voice gentle as he replied.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll come to you. Tonight.” He swallowed and let go of her hand, stepping a little away from her. “Not ... not like this,” he said, hoping that served as some kind of explanation. Perhaps it had, as her face cleared a little, the slightest glimmer of hope in her eyes as she smiled at him. It was hesitant, that smile, unsure of itself, but somehow it hit him square in the chest.

“Tonight, then ... Edward,” she said, her voice soft and so damn inviting he didn’t know how he stood still. Afraid that he might not be able to do so for very much longer, he simply gave her a curt nod, and fled.

***

Belle ran from the ballroom once Edward had turned on his heel and stalked away, and wondered what on earth she had done. Well, it was as it should be, she reasoned. They were married, and married people, they ... they ... Her already blazing cheeks seemed to heat further as she hurried up the stairs to the sanctuary of her room.

Closing the door and leaning against it with a sigh of relief, Belle closed her eyes. She wasn’t entirely sure if she was eager for tonight or if the idea was too terrifying to contemplate. Possibly a very real mixture of the two.

Standing in that ballroom, alone with her husband, her thoughts had been very clear, indeed. Perhaps she really was the wickedly wanton creature he’d described after all? She had wanted to touch him so badly that even her own embarrassment couldn’t deter her. He had been right there, as beautiful and perfect as Michelangelo’s David, and he seemed just as untouchable.

The idea that her touch was repulsive to him was a hard one to ignore. The very thought that he would come to her room and do his duty as her husband when the idea was abhorrent to him made hot tears of shame prickle behind her eyelids.

And yet it made no sense!

Her thoughts drifted back, as they had with startling regularity, to the moments they’d shared in the library. His actions then had not been that of a man repulsed by her, but quite the reverse, in fact. In point of fact, he’d been so consumed that he’d found himself married to her!

Reality reasserted itself and good sense prevailed.

No. He was certainly not repulsed by her.

Belle exhaled and felt a little less unsure of herself. But then, if he desired her, what was the problem? He had been so quick to stop her touching him, had it really just been because he was sweaty and dishevelled? Belle bit her lip and wondered what the man would say if she admitted that sweaty and dishevelled was rather a devastating look for him, and one she’d be quite prepared to get used to.

She thought back and remembered the hunted, almost panicked look in his eyes as she had moved closer to him and wondered suddenly if anyone had touched him since the horrors he’d experienced?

Belle lay back on the huge bed with its bright scarlet drapes and considered Charlie’s words about the war, and about Edward. That he’d tried so hard to save his men, his friends, and how, when he couldn’t, he’d tried even harder to die, too, at their side. What must that do to a man?

It would make him loath to care for anyone ever again.

Belle felt a lump in her throat as she realised that was it. He would keep her at a distance and never let her in, because he could not risk losing anyone else.

“Well, my Lord Edward Greyston,” she whispered to the walls of Longwold. “We’ll just see about that.”

***

If Crecy or Violette guessed the reason for Belle’s agitation at dinner, they were wise enough to say nothing. Belle admitted herself grateful indeed for her husband’s continued absence from the dining room, and wondered if she’d be able to face anyone at breakfast.

By the time she’d returned to her room and her maid left her alone, she was a twittering mass of nervous energy. She prayed he wouldn’t back down a second time, as she didn’t think her nerves could take the strain.

Once again Belle sat perched on the edge of the bed, all pure white cotton and trembling limbs, surrounded by the opulence of her red, silk-lined boudoir.

An hour later and with growing despair, she had begun to believe that the man really wasn’t going to keep his word, when there was a soft knock at the door and her husband walked in the room.

Getting to her feet so suddenly her head began to spin, Belle grasped at one of the lavish red drapes that hung from the four-poster bed to steady herself, and barely restrained the urge to curtsey.

There was something about him tonight that made her very aware of his title. He seemed to dominate the room, his stance rigid, his expression tightly controlled and rather aloof. For a moment, Belle quailed, and wondered what on earth she’d been thinking in inviting this intimidating ... stranger into her bedroom!

But this stranger was her husband now, and if she didn’t want him to remain a stranger, she was going to have to be bold, and stubborn, and headstrong, and actually rather brave.

Belle swallowed.

And then it occurred to her, as she forced herself to look up into a pair of moss green eyes, that he was just as nervous as she was.

That intimidating, cold expression was a façade, like so many things about this man, it would appear. She let out a breath and smiled at him.

“Hello.”

At first, he didn’t say anything, and then he looked around the vast room with an expression of chagrin. “I can’t remember when I was last in this room,” he said, his voice soft. “I had forgotten what ... extravagant taste my mother had.”

Belle bit back a smile but knew her eyes were dancing with laughter as he looked back at her.

“I hope you will feel free to decorate it to your own preferences,” he added, and she thought perhaps she saw the slightest glimmer of a smile. “I’m afraid you might find this a little ... overpowering.”

Belle did smile this time. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, hearing the relief in her voice at finding this gentler version of her husband this evening. “It was shocking at first sight, I admit, but ... I find I grow accustomed to it, as to many things.”

He made an amused sound, obviously taking her meaning. He glanced over at her, and she wished he would move closer; she felt rather foolish standing alone in her pristine nightgown. “You called me Edward earlier,” he observed.

Smiling at him, and deciding that she would move as he obviously wouldn’t, she took a step closer. “I did, yes,” she replied, stepping closer still. “Apparently sometimes I feel courageous enough to use your name, even when you look so furious at the very sight of me, and other times ... I don’t.”

His face shuttered up a little and he frowned. “I married you because I would not see you ruined, Miss ...” He stopped and gave her a rueful smile. “Belinda.”

“Belle,” she corrected, her voice barely a whisper as she wondered what he would say next.

“Belle,” he repeated, and she felt a frisson of excitement at hearing her name, spoken so softly. “But ...” he carried on, as Belle held her breath. “I never expected ... I wasn’t prepared ...” He gave a frustrated huff of annoyance and ran a hand through his carefully styled hair, leaving it messy and disordered and far more appealing to Belle’s eye. “I don’t know how to be a husband to you.”

He snorted at the look of surprise in her eyes.

“Not this!” he exclaimed with pure masculine pride, gesturing at the bed. “I assure you, you’ll have no complaints there,” he added, and Belle had to remind herself of what she was trying to achieve, in order to keep her tongue between her teeth and a pithy remark to herself. “I ...” he began again, and then stalked away from her to stand beside the fireplace, staring down at the flames. “I don’t want you to be miserable, Belle, but I don’t know that it is in my power to make you happy.”

The words were raw and honest, and Belle knew that Violette and Charlie, and her own instincts about the kind of man her husband was, were correct. He was a good man, he’d just forgotten how to behave like one.

Suddenly it seemed rather easier to be brave.

Belle walked forwards and slipped her hand into his, looking up into eyes that were dark and wary.

“I don’t know how to be a wife, either, Edward,” she said, and then gave him a rueful smile of her own. “Not even there,” she said, her cheeks heating as she waved at the daunting four-poster herself. She ploughed on, emboldened at seeing the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “But I know that happiness is in our own hands, and that I will do everything I can to make you happy, too.”

And then, taking her courage in her hands, she reached up and pressed her lips to his.