Chapter 3
West called on every vulgarity he knew during his private castigation as he thrust his leg into the creased hessians.
Why could he never resist the urge to needle her?
If he were honest, he knew the answer. He’d always known. Anger was the only reaction he could still provoke in her. Anger and an occasional spark of arousal—he was particularly fond of those moments. Often used them to connect with himself.
Bella was so damn beautiful when her eyes flashed, and her cheeks heated. It was an addiction, sewing such a response in her. Barely dressed, with her hair unbound the way she was that morning—he hadn’t the slightest hope of propriety.
Sparring with Bella was more demanding and satisfying than any fight in the ring.
He slipped his braces over his shoulders, ignoring the way the clasp pressed against his bruised pectoral. The water in the washstand was cool and fresh as he dipped his fingers in it before running them through his overgrown locks. His mam was going to have an opinion on those.
That had been wrong of him too—using his mam against Bella.
Effie Weston adopted children the way others adopted stray cats.
When they were young, Ben and Bella had been conveniently located and appropriately desperate for affection.
With Bella’s own mother gone, Effie was probably the closest she’d ever come.
And honestly, if his mam knew his presence was upsetting Lady Bella, she’d have him on the first coach back to London. After she’d scolded both ears off.
His fingers fumbled against the buttons of his falls, joints too stiff to cooperate. Eventually, he succeeded, much slower than he wished. His hands were always tighter after he woke; throughout the day they loosened up.
Finally, the navy cravat was all that remained to fuss with.
“You invited West?” Bella’s voice rang, clear and shrill, through the thin plaster wall. Another delightful discovery of the morning—his room was directly beside hers. But he hadn’t thought he might hear—
“Bella…” Ben grumbled.
“I cannot believe you!”
“He is my friend. And you got on well enough last year. I thought you ironed out your differences.”
“Our differences?”
West winced when she hit a heretofore undiscovered pitch.
“Last year was a temporary ceasefire. Are you arranging another life-or-death situation?”
“Absolutely not.” His voice was strangled.
“Then why would you invite him? And until Christmas?”
“His parents live here. You can hardly ban him from the county. It’s done now.”
Her only response was a wordless grunt before the door banged shut again.
West was a pillock—a selfish pillock. He’d known what kind of reception awaited him, and he’d come anyway.
Because when he was nettling Bella, he wasn’t numb.
Breathing the same air as her—his skin heated and his heart pounded.
In her presence, his fingers ached, not from the years in the ring, but to cup her cheek and waist. Her spicy scent left him weak-kneed and desperate.
A knock sounded on his door. He was unsurprised to find Benedict when he opened it. West gestured for them to leave the room. Bella wouldn’t be pleased to learn he was next door—and she’d certainly hear any conversation the same way he had.
“The food is ready. Mrs. Rowe made a proper feast.”
“You’ve a cook now?” West asked.
Benedict nodded, an excited grin on his face.
“I need a wealthy wife,” West mused.
“Find yourself an heiress, my friend.” Ben clapped a hand on West’s shoulder and guided him into the morning room.
The table was laden with food, sagging beneath the weight of sausage, eggs, sticky buns, porridge, and fruit.
“In all seriousness, the insurance and Wayland’s support more than covered the repairs.
And without Father gambling away every cent we’ve brought in, the estate nets a tidy profit—enough for a respectable staff at least.”
West nodded and took a seat beside Ben. Eliza swept into the room in a flurry of reddish-purple skirts and settled in beside her husband. She was a sweet girl and rather pretty. He’d never have chosen her for Ben, but she softened his friend—centered him.
“West! I trust you slept well?” she asked in a breezy tone.
“Yes, thank you.” He heaped a bountiful assortment of food onto his plate. “Though I intend to cut my trip a fair bit shorter.”
“Is this about my sister?” Ben asked.
“This is her home. I don’t mean to take it from her—”
“Do not adjust your plans on my account.” Bella’s cool voice washed over him from behind. West waited, breath caught, until she sat next to him before chancing a glance.
She’d done herself up, pretty as a picture—she usually did when she knew he’d be around. Bella suffered from no false modesty. She was breathtaking, and she knew it. Nor she wasn’t shy about wielding her beauty for her own ends.
But she refused to look at him. Instead, she studiously piled her plate high with a sticky bun and fresh berries. The sight had him biting back a smile; she’d always had a taste, too rarely indulged, for sweet things.
“Well, if you want me to stay…”
As expected, the comment drew her gaze. Her lips twisted into a fetching pout. He longed to taste it.
“I could not possibly care less what you do, Weston.”
“Then it’s settled. I’ll stay. Perhaps until Easter, if you’ll have me, Lady Blackwood?” West directed the last question to Benedict’s wife.
Her gaze darted between him and Bella, expression trapped somewhere between amused and terrified. “Eliza, please. And, of course, you’re welcome to—”
“Christmas,” Ben said. “We can renegotiate the terms of the ceasefire then.”
Bella glared at her brother. It was quick. West would’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to her every movement. But he was—always had been.
Her lips pursed, a lightning-fast flicker. He had only enough time to fix a teasing smirk on his face before she turned back to him.
Her eyes were the darkest of browns, rich and warm, and framed by inky-black lashes.
But it was her freckles he adored most, strewn along the bridge of her nose and cheeks.
Bella was all woman. Even as a girl she’d acted twice her age, but those freckles…
tiny, perfect imperfections she couldn’t erase no matter how hard she tried.
“If you need suggestions for what to gift me, I’m happy to provide a list,” he offered.
“A singular intelligent thought in your head is near the top, presumably,” she shot back.
“I’ve more than a few thoughts, Belle, but none appropriate for the breakfast table.”
Her teeth ground together as a familiar flush, the color of ripe plums, washed over her cheeks. Whether her reaction was to the endearment or the implication, West neither knew nor cared. He was a greedy man.
“I’m certain your thoughts are entirely inadequate. It really is for the best that you keep them to your—”
“Alright!” Ben tossed the word out, thrusting it between the bickering pair. Then he paused, no doubt ransacking his mind for some topic they wouldn’t squabble over. “I’ve nothing. Eliza, please, any subject at all.”
The woman in question straightened and cast her gaze toward the window he’d found Bella beside that morning. Sometime in the hour since, clouds had blanketed the sky.
“I need to plant my chrysanthemums over the next few days. Do you suppose the weather will cooperate? There is so much left to do!”
Ben caught her hand and pressed a grateful kiss to the palm. “How could it not?”
Because God had a sense of irony, he chose that precise moment to release a strike of thunder that rattled the window frame.
The quartet froze for a too-long moment, then burst into bright laughter. West’s heart clenched before his head found the reason.
Bella was laughing.
West couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard anything more than a derisive huff from her. This genuine peal of merriment warmed his chest and stole his breath.
Bella smiled rarely. When she did, it was usually studied—carefully considered in order to further some end. But a genuinely smiling, delighted Bella? There was nothing more glorious, more lovely. West hadn’t been on the receiving end of such a grin since that night.
His chuckles faded. Because he knew where her smiles and giggles had gone.
He’d stolen them—stolen that bell-sweet giggle that put a wedding carillon to shame.
“Did you attempt to consider two topics at once?” Bella asked, with none of the usual derision in her voice.
West cleared his throat. “Just remembered I promised Pa I’d split logs for him today. Seems a damp prospect now.”
“We only arrived last night. When did you have time to meet with your parents?” Ben asked.
The reproachful look West delivered proved to be ineffective.
Fortunately, Ben’s wife had sense enough for them both. “Oh, I promise myself things all the time and forget I’ve not told anyone. I’m certain your parents would rather enjoy your company. There’s always tomorrow for the firewood.”
“I’ll pitch in. We can finish tomorrow in half the time,” Ben offered cheerfully.
“Thank you,” West muttered, spearing a sausage link with more force than the task required.
“Pass the eggs?” Benedict asked, oblivious.
West did so with little more than a grunt of acknowledgment.
“Were you raised in a barn?” Bella asked, an incredulous note in her voice.
“Yes, in point of fact,” he retorted with a raised brow. She’d spent a fair bit of her youth in that very same barn.
Her dark eyes widened before those soft, rose-pink lips snapped together in a tight, tantalizing line.
Eliza sprang up, the chair teetering behind her before settling. Hand pressed to her mouth, she rushed from the room.
Utterly baffled, Ben stared stupidly after her.
“Go after her, you nitwit,” Bella ordered as she dragged an exhausted hand over her forehead.
“Yes—excellent. I’ll just… do that.” Ben stumbled from the room after Eliza. Leaving West and Bella entirely alone again. For a long moment, the only sound was the staccato pat of raindrops, steadily increasing in tempo and punctuated by an occasional dull clap of thunder.
“How long do you suppose it will be before he catches up?” she asked conversationally.
West was unused to the convivial tone, and it left him off-kilter. “Catches up to what?”
Bella’s gaze caught his. This time her expression was a familiar one—disbelief and irritation rolled into one. At least they were back on familiar footing.
“Never mind.”
“Tell me.”
“I’ve no interest in educating the male species.”
“We’re an entirely different species now?”
“You are, certainly.”
Again, the little twitch at the corner of her lip drew his notice. West may have stolen the brilliant, amiable smiles, but Bella still took great delight in sparring with him.
“A more evolved being—yes, that fits.” West couldn’t help himself.
“Tell me, as a lesser, primitive being, what is it like to sit beside greatness?” Of the two of them, Bella was without question the more intelligent and more civilized.
But her eyes flashed at the insult—they always did—leaving him breathless.
“You have taken too many blows to the head.”
“How is your head?” The question shocked West when it slipped loose—though he’d been fretting over her injury for more than a year. He never actually intended to ask her—merely continue to interrogate Ben at every available moment.
But all those months ago, when he’d found Bella collapsed and unconscious, bleeding across the stone balcony— that image of her would haunt him the rest of his days.
Her breathtaking phoenix feathers crumpled and flapped in a devastating surrender to the breeze, trapped in the syrupy, crimson puddle of her blood.
West had lived a hellish eternity in every one of the minutes between when he’d stumbled to her side and when her lashes had at last flickered open.
Her eyes narrowed at him now. “My head is fine.”
“No megrims or eye changes?”
“Any vulnerabilities for you to exploit, you mean?”
West reared back as if she’d slapped him. “What? Of course not!” How could she believe he would ever use that night, those horrific events, against her in one of their petty spats?
“Because you’ve never taken advantage of my vulnerability before,” she spat and tossed her napkin onto the table. The chair screamed across the wooden floor as she shoved it back.
“Bella, I—” His heart cracked in two as she swept from the room in a furious flurry of russet skirts. He was entirely unable to defend himself.
He deserved every bit of her suspicion and ire. And would until the day he died.