Chapter Fourteen
Bella scuffed her slipper against the dirt floor of the small room. The silk was utterly ruined. She had the faint thought that she ought to have put on her sturdier half-boots before leaving the house, before wondering why on earth she had followed George at all.
It had seemed so important in that moment to discover what he was about.
She had still been breathless from dancing, her emotions all over the place simply from being near him, and then he had retreated so coldly.
Now, as she sat huddled in the miserable corner of the room, with its bare stone walls, dirt floor and the only light coming from a narrow window high above them, she began to wish not only that she had listened to Clara's warnings and protestations, but that she had never left Pemberley.
What had she been running from, after all?
A comfortable life? People who loved her?
A future that was secure in a way most people could only dream of?
Yes, she had felt contained and stifled at times, but she had been safe, and now she had landed herself in a situation from which she could see no obvious escape.
She had a horrid image of her family dressed in black, her sisters crying, her father stern and silent and her mother looking utterly broken. She had already caused them so much trouble, and just when they believed her safe, she had let them down again.
A small hiccup escaped her at the thought, and Captain George Harwood turned to look at her with an assessing gaze.
His beautiful blue coat was torn and dusty, and there was a purple bruise forming along his cheekbone and around the hollow of his right eye.
He had not spoken a word to her in almost twenty minutes and had instead stalked around the little room, for that was what it was rather than a true cell, muttering to himself and testing every inch of the walls and door for some means of escape.
Oh, how he must hate her. The thought brought another wave of tears, and Bella began to sob in earnest.
George walked over to her, shoved a handkerchief into her hand and took off his coat before roughly placing it around her shoulders. "All will be well," he said, but his voice was flat and emotionless, which only made her cry harder.
He sank to the ground beside her with a sigh. "Now, we cannot have the Princess of Bloody Pemberley carrying on so."
The phrase dragged her from her miserable thoughts, and she snapped her head around to peer at him through the gloom. "Do not call me that."
"Your Majesty, then? Duchess? What is the preferred term for one of the Pemberley Darcys?"
"I am sorry," she mumbled for what felt like the twentieth time. She had repeated the apology over and over as they were shuffled through a nondescript corridor and placed in this ugly room, whose stout door had then been firmly locked and bolted from the other side.
"For God's sake, woman, stop saying you are sorry. It will do us no good." He dragged a hand over his face. "Princess, I will do my very best to see you safe, but only if, for the love of all things holy, you stop spouting nonsense and making an already bad situation even worse."
"But I am not a princess," she said. "I suppose technically I am an heiress, but princess makes me sound like a spoiled child."
"If the cap fits."
He earned himself another glare.
"I admit," she said carefully, "that I have perhaps not always made the wisest of choices over the last days and weeks."
"How very insightful of you."
"However," she continued, ignoring him, "I truly thought that if those horrible rough men knew of my connections, they would not dare take me."
"I am afraid all you achieved, Princess, was to make yourself a fine target for ransom."
"Ransom?" she squeaked. "Oh. I had not even thought of that." Bella's stomach seemed to drop away. "My father. My papa will be so upset, and my mother and my sisters, and Aunt Lydia who has been so kind to me, and I have repaid them all with this."
A fresh wave of tears overtook her, and this time she felt the solid weight of George's arm come around her. "Princess," he said softly, his lips brushing her hair.
Despite everything, despite the miserable little room and the truly horrific circumstances, warmth spread through her.
Her body unconsciously burrowed closer to his.
She thought she heard him mutter something beneath his breath, but she paid it little mind.
There was only the warmth of him and the nearness of him and the strange feeling that, as long as his arm remained around her, nothing terrible could happen.
All of a sudden he pulled away from her and jumped to his feet, running both hands through his golden hair, which was now utterly undone and streaked with dust and a little blood from a cut at his temple.
"What are you about?" Bella demanded. "I was comfortable."
"I cannot have you..." He gestured helplessly towards her. "I cannot have you wriggling about against me. It is very distracting."
"I have never wriggled against anyone in my life," she said indignantly. "I was simply trying to ensure that we were both more comfortable."
"Has anyone ever told you that you may be the most vexing woman ever to have lived?"
Bella came to her feet, straightening her spine and drawing herself up to her full height. "If I am vexing, then you, sir, are a..." She paused, searching for the right word. She had once had a nursemaid from Yorkshire who had enjoyed the term, and now it seemed perfectly apt. "A flibbertigibbet."
George stared at her. "A flibbertigibbet?"
"Yes. That is quite right. A flibbertigibbet is just the term.
I never know which Captain Harwood I shall encounter.
You are all gentlemanly and helpful to Clara and me when we are lost in the streets, then you sit through tea looking as though you are awaiting the gallows, then you dance with me like…
well, like a gentleman who enjoys dancing…
and then disappear without so much as a by your leave. "
"It is you!" he said, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "It is you who makes me lose all of my senses. I behave in ways I have never behaved before because of you, Princess, you bewitching woman."
Bella took a step backwards. "I do not know what you mean."
"I mean that you have bewitched me, body and soul, and even though you drag chaos behind you wherever you go, I cannot stop thinking about you.
" He looked at her, his eyes appearing almost navy blue in the dim light.
"Do you know what torture it was to sit across that table from you and watch you lick crumbs from those lips?
To dance with you and feel the curve of your waist beneath my hand? It is enough to drive a man to Bedlam."
Bella stared at him, her heart pounding. "I..."
Before she could finish, he took her by the arms, his fingers tightening roughly against her, and dragged her against him, crushing his lips to hers with such force that it stole her breath.
For one startled moment, Bella froze. She could feel the hard rise and fall of his chest against her and the faint scrape of his unshaven jaw against her cheek.
Then the heat of his mouth, soft but demanding, broke something loose within her, and she melted against him with a small whimper as his tongue traced her lower lip before he gently caught it between his own.
"These lips," he murmured against her mouth. "Do you have any notion what these lips do to a man?"
Bella could only make another small sound against him.
He released her arms and slid his hands around her waist, beneath his own coat, his palms warm through the layers of her gown, softening the kiss as he explored her mouth.
Her own hands rose to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, the strands surprisingly soft beneath her fingers, before she pressed herself against the firm lines of his body.
They seemed to fit together perfectly, and for a few glorious seconds there was nothing but the feel of him.
No filthy little room or locked door. No terrifying situation waiting on the other side of it.
Only the warmth of his body moulded to hers, the steady pressure of his hands at her waist and his mouth moving over her own.
Without warning, George pushed her away almost as forcefully as he had pulled her to him. "What am I doing?"
He held both arms out in front of himself as though to prevent her coming any closer.
Bella lifted her fingertips to lips that felt pleasantly swollen and stared at him.
His eyes were wide and almost wild, and he looked nothing like the composed Captain Harwood who had danced with her only a few hours earlier.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Darcy. I should not have...
" He dragged a hand through his hair. "I must not.
I will leave you in peace." With that, he stalked away.
It was a somewhat ineffective stalk, as the room could only have been five paces wide at the most, but he moved as far from her as he was physically able, dropped to the floor and rested his head upon his knees.
Bella was quite certain there was no established etiquette for the proper way to behave in such a situation.
With one last unsteady breath, she retreated to the opposite corner of the room, sat down, leaned her head back against the wall and allowed the oppressive silence to settle heavily around them.
???
It was difficult to know how many hours had passed, but the sky beyond the narrow window had already begun to turn pink when the door to the small room burst open.
Captain Harwood sprang to his feet at once, rushing across the room to stand before Bella and shield her from whatever might come through.
"Keep your knickers on," said a gruff voice.