Page 69 of Bluebell’s Fate

Godmother’s face drained of color. “Good heavens, child. If Ian is out there, I can’t allow you to put yourself in danger by walking right up to him.”

“Where is Nathaniel?”

Godmother swallowed hard, and her gaze flitted to the window.

Nathaniel was out there with Ian. Bell wouldn’t leave him alone, and defenseless with his cousin…who, it appeared, was quite desperate. She looked her godmother straight in her sparkling eyes. “I have done more dangerous things than this in my past. Wish me luck.”

Her godmother’s hand wrapped around Bell’s upper arm when she tried to brush past her. “Bell, all the dangerous things you’ve done in your past were pretend. It was all in your mind, child. This is a real danger.”

Bell knew the difference, but she had to do something. “I’ve practiced being brave and fighting for love my entire life. I am not a child any longer. The fact that this threat to Nathaniel is real makes it so much more important. I’ll be careful, but I have to go before it is too late.” She pulled out of her godmother’s grip and made her way through the kitchen and out the back door.

The day was sunny and still as she walked toward the clearing that was being prepared for the conservatory. She’d never cared that the copse of trees was so far from the cottage because she enjoyed walking, but now it seemed like it took an eternity to get there. “Nathaniel,” she called.

She heard a scuffle taking place just beyond the trees.

“I’m…I’m not ready to talk yet, Bell. Please, go back to the house.” Nathaniel’s voice sounded strained; however, she felt he meant his words. Could she have been too hasty in her conclusions?

No. Of course, Nathaniel wouldn’t want her to walk into danger.

What he didn’t understand was the fluttering inside Bell’s chest—the hum of fairy wings helping her to move forward. The weight of the cold gun in her hand made her shiver. “No, I need to see you.”

She continued moving toward the sound of his voice when she heard a thud, followed by a moan. Panic clawed at her chest like a lion tearing apart its prey. Bell fought the sensation. Knowing that Ian had a pistol, a thud was a far better sound than a shot. Bell pushed herself to walk faster, not wanting to startle the men when she got there. She imagined herself in the garb of a medieval knight, protected with chainmail and a helmet. If she was going to save her husband, she was going to have to rely on every bit of her imagined bravery and fierceness.

Ian emerged from the tree line with a stumbling gait and put one hand on his hip. The other hand held an almost empty bottle of brandy. A glint of metal stuck out from his waistcoat. “Lady Bluebell, I must insist you leave us be. We’re having a private conversation.”

Bell inched her chin up and pointed the dueling pistol at Ian’s leg, her traitorous hand shaking. “I said, I want to see my husband.” She could see when Ian’s wild, drunk eyes processed what he was seeing.

“What do you plan on doing with that?” He motioned to the gun held shakily in Bell’s hands.

She raised the barrel a little. “Take me to him.” She jerked her head toward the trees where Nathaniel must lay.

Ian smirked and looked around. He must have felt there were no other witnesses to their meeting, so he gestured her forward. “After you, my lady.”

“Do you take me for an imbecile? No. You go first.” She felt like she was a daring princess on the verge of slaying a dragon. The only problem was, in all her adventures, someone else was saving her. She had been the damsel in distress, and there was always a handsome prince that rode in on a stallion that knew what he was doing. She, with her ridiculous shaking hand, made it quite obvious she had no idea how to act. And in her inexperience, she’d forgotten the stallion. Bother. Stallion or no, all that mattered was getting to Nathaniel.

Following Ian felt like a trap, but she had no other plan. Did princes really have a plan when they came to slay a dragon? Likely not, unless the prince was Nathaniel. His plan would be so complete, the dragon wouldn’t stand a chance. Her plan was to save her husband. And she would, somehow. She followed Ian closely in a winding path through the tree line to the clearing where the conservatory was going to be built. Nathaniel was there, tied to a tree on the edge of the clearing, his head hung unconscious and bleeding on his chest. Bell assumed the wound was the result of the thud she’d heard. Anger bubbled up inside her. “I can’t believe you! What are you doing, Ian? Untie him. Now.” She shoved the barrel of her pistol into the middle of his back. Her fingers trembled—she didn’t even know if the pistol was loaded, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to find out. Thank goodness Henry had taught her how the terrifying contraption worked all those years ago.

Ian went rigid before he began to walk toward Nathaniel. “No need to get all worked up. We just had some difficulties we needed to sort out. It wasn’t fit for a lady’s ears.” Bell could smell the brandy on his breath as he slurred his short speech. Ian stumbled behind Nathaniel, Bell right on his heels. Ian loosened the ropes that bound Nathaniel’s hands around the trunk of the tree.

Nathaniel slumped to the ground and ended in a heap on his side. He coughed, and Bell thought it the most incredible sound. If he was coughing, he was at least alive, and now he was free from his ropes. It was all she could do not to run to his side and take his wounded head in her lap.

The moment of distraction cost her.

Ian spun around and grabbed Bell’s wrist holding the pistol, but she refused to let it go. Ian twisted her wrist until the gun pointed away from himself with a smug smile. “Now, now, I’ve wanted to get you alone for weeks, and here we are.”

Bell’s insides turned to ice as he pulled her closer to him. This was not what was supposed to happen; she was supposed to be rescuing Nathaniel, not dooming them both. Ian flung his head back and drained the rest of the brandy bottle while Bell tried in vain to twist from his grasp. Escape would be easier if she dropped the gun, but she couldn’t do that. It was her only hope to reason with him. Ian threw the brandy bottle down hard on the ground, making broken glass scatter around their feet. He pushed her up against the tree Nathaniel had just been tied to, a piece of glass cutting her foot through her delicate slippers. She sucked in a breath and cried out.

Everything in Bell’s body revolted. The pain of her wound, the press of his body, the alcohol on his breath, and the look of the devil himself in his eyes. Yet deep down, there was that flutter of hope in her chest. She could fight this beast—it was easy enough to imagine him as inhuman. This creature before her was no gentleman. She opened her mouth to scream, only to feel his gruesome hand over her mouth. She bit his finger as hard as she could, the taste of dirt and sweat mixed with metallic blood assaulted her senses.

“Gah!” Ian cried out and took a step back. “You’ll regret that.” He lunged at her, and she ducked out of his reach, although he still had hold of her gun hand.

“Help!” she yelled into the clear day.

“Shut your mouth,” he sneered back at her. He twisted her hand back so fast, she heard the snap of a bone, and pain like she’d never known shot through her arm. She dropped her father’s pistol. “Now lie there, next to your husband,” he sneered.

Tears stinging her eyes, she cradled her wrist close to her stomach and did as he said. She pressed her body as close to Nathaniel’s as possible. If only he would wake up. But a trickle of blood ran down the side of his face and pooled in the dirt beside her, next to his partially open mouth. He wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon, and if he did, he’d be useless in the fight.

“You’re not worth your ten thousand pounds! It doesn’t matter how pretty you are, you’re too much work. But if you were both to disappear, that money would go to my uncle.”