Chapter 29 #2
“He was never a rake,” Isabella snorted.
“He had a few flirtations, yes, but it was nothing unusual for a young man, just a few debutantes whom he danced with several times and called on a few times. I am the one who spread the rumors about him being a rake.” Her eyes glinted as a soporific smile spread across her lips.
“I am the one who made sure that no lady of quality would come near him. I thought that if ladies thought he was a rake, that he would never be able to find anyone, and then he would at last see that I am the one who was loyal. I am the one who loved him.”
“Loyal?” Beatrice stared at Isabella in horror.
“How can you call yourself loyal when that is what you did to him? You spread vicious rumors about him! You hurt him and made him ashamed of himself! Those are not the actions of someone who loves and is loyal to Rupert! No wonder he spurned you,” she added, unable to keep her anger in check any longer.
“He must have sensed the cruelty and malice in your heart!”
Isabella glared at her for a long moment, but then at last, she smiled.
“Yes, I suppose he did,” she said at last. “But I have come to realize that it is for the best. An honorable man like the duke was never the right husband for me.
I am much better suited for the next duke, Sir Reginald.
And you… I see now that you are suited for the duke.
Both of you have bleeding hearts. Noble to a fault.
Superior and arrogant. Yes. I can see why you are the only woman that I have ever seen the duke show real affection for.
Beatrice felt something warm flare in her chest, and suddenly she was hit with such a deep well of love for Rupert that the tears began to flow harder.
She loved him with all her heart. And he was in danger. Mortal danger. All she wanted to do was protect him, save him, somehow alert him of the danger. But he was walking into a trap.
And did he love her enough to turn down the title?
She did not know. She loved him enough to die for him, but he… he had been willing to walk away from their engagement. He was the one who kept his heart guarded. Maybe Sir Reginald was right, and no man would give up wealth and power for love.
That would break her heart.
What would break it even more was if he died.
“I am going to gag you now,” Isabella said. “I have had enough of this conversation.” She then pulled a piece of cloth from inside her reticule and, despite Beatrice trying to turn her head away, shoved it in her mouth. It was uncomfortable and disgusting, but Beatrice could do nothing about it.
Instead, she focused on the binding around her hand. They were starting to loosen a little bit, and she wormed her finger in between the knots, trying to get them to open, while Isabella continued to pace and mutter.
“Sir Reginald will marry me, and then I will be the duchess,” she said.
“He has promised me, and I will have everything. That is why I helped him, why I delivered his forged letter for him, and why I spread the rumors about you and the duke. I did try to save him, you know. I tried to help Sir Reginald get the title through questioning the duke’s parentage.
I did not want him to kill the duke. But that was not working fast enough.
The Lord Chancellor was suspicious. And death… death may be the only way.”
Beatrice listened as she worked at the knot around her wrist, her heart in her throat.
The knot was almost all the way loose. Just a few more seconds, and she would have it undone, then she could slip it from her wrist. Once that wrist was free, she would be able to get the rest of the bindings off without any problem.
And then, from inside the warehouse, she heard a noise.
Another man’s voice, raised and sharp.
She recognized that voice.
It was Rupert!
He was here already! To save her!
She could not hear exactly what he was saying, and neither could Isabella, apparently, because she crept over to the door and placed her ear to it.
This was her moment. Isabella was distracted, listening in on whatever was happening in the warehouse.
Just another second, and her wrist would be free.
She pulled as hard as she could against the rope, and finally, finally, it came loose, falling from her wrist.
She pulled the rope from around her, unwound it as fast as she could, and then sprang to her feet.
Isabella turned at that moment, but it was too late.
Beatrice was on her. She hit her as hard as she could across the face, and she fell back, crying out as she clutched at her face.
Beatrice didn’t wait to see what happened.
She seized the door handle, wrenched it open, and ran out into the warehouse.
Rupert was standing near the entrance, right in front of Sir Reginald. He was holding a piece of paper, a piece of charcoal in his hand suspended above it, as if he were about to sign it.
But as she hurtled into the warehouse, he looked up, and their eyes met from across the room. She barely even registered Sir Reginald’s shock. All she could see was Rupert’s face, the relief and fear upon seeing her, the determination.
“Do not sign that!” she screamed. “Do not give up everything for me!”
She didn’t know what made her say it. Only that she knew, in that moment, that she could not let him give up everything for her. She loved him enough to know that she would never forgive herself if his life was ruined because of her.
There had to be another way.
The next second, people began to stream into the warehouse. Theodore was at the head of the group, charging inside with a revolver raised in one hand. Nathaniel was right behind him, followed by around a dozen Bow Street Runners.
It all happened so fast she barely even registered it.
Sir Reginald let out a scream like a drowning animal. He reached inside of his jacket pocket, and she knew he was trying to pull out his gun. But he was too late. Before he could reach it, Theodore stepped forward and punched him so hard across the face that he fell to his knees.
The next second, the Bow Street Runners were on him, grabbing him and securing him in place as they put handcuffs on him.
Everyone was shouting. Theodore was yelling.
Nathaniel was running toward the back room, where she could still hear Isabella crying out in pain.
The Bow Street Runners’ boots were echoing off of the cement, ringing in her ears.
And then strong hands were grabbing her, holding her upright, pulling her into a chest that was warm and broad and smelled like bergamot, tobacco, and cinnamon.
“You are safe now, Beatrice,” Rupert whispered, as he clutched her to his chest, his hand cupping the back of her head, his voice soft and low right in her ear. “I have got you. You are safe now.”
And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that at last, she really was safe.