“Do you? You might be taking more care if you knew exactly what I was thinking.”
He would have grinned if he hadn’t been fighting so hard to stay awake. Clearly, she was annoyed with him. “Besides wanting to hit me over the head, you plan to run out the door as soon as I release you. Don’t do it. You can’t help your father by racing into danger. And when he returns and finds you gone, you’ll only cause him to worry. Stay, Belle.”
“Close your eyes now, Mr. Arundel,” she said. “I’ll get a cool compress.”
The suggestions sounded so good, he didn’t even try to resist. He closed his eyes, and his hand must have released her because a few moments later he felt a cool cloth on his forehead. He was so hot. It was as though he were on a spit, and a fire had been lit beneath him. Except the fire came from inside, originating from his wound, which insisted on pulsing with pain.
The compress was removed and replaced, the coolness barely penetrating the heat. Before he succumbed to the darkness, he heard the sound of the rain on the window, her footsteps as she walked out of the room, and then the silence of an empty flat.
Chapter Eight
Belle closed the bed chamber door and leaned on it, gulping for breath. She’d gathered the tea things before she’d left, and she could hear them clinking together as her hands shook. She told herself she was acting this way because she was afraid for her father, but if she was honest, Arundel’s murmured words had rattled her. He probably hadn’t even meant them for her. He had been barely conscious.
Or he had been thinking of another woman.
He must have been.
Except. He’d said her name.
Belle closed her eyes, and in her mind she saw his eyes open, blue velvet with pain and fever. His gaze fastened on her. “Belle,” he’d said. “So beautiful. That’s what makes you dangerous.”
Now that she thought about it, she didn’t suppose it had been a compliment to call her dangerous. But he’d also said she was beautiful. How could she take that in any way other than a compliment, especially since it was the first time anyone had ever called her beautiful without a qualifier, such as you’d be such a beauty if not for those scars?
Belle put the tea things in the pail they used for dirty dishes. It was almost full, and she should really draw some clean water, heat it, and wash the dishes. She should also go down and open up the shop, though with the rain coming down in waves again, it was unlikely anyone would come in.
More important than the dishes or the shop was her father. He should have been home by now. Something was wrong. He would never have left her for hours to tend the shop and the injured man alone.
Arundel had tried to keep her from going after her father, but she’d won in the end. She couldn’t sit in the warm, dry flat while her father needed her. She pulled on her cloak and went to the door, making it all the way to the shop window before she paused.
Though it was midday, the sky was dark and the rain meant the lamps hadn’t been lit. Rain was coming down quite heavily and had turned the streets into mud. She’d be soaked and up to her knees in mud as soon as she stepped outside. That didn’t matter to her. She’d do anything for her father.
As she stood at the door, her mind conjured all sorts of horrible scenarios. Her father had fallen and broken a leg. He had been swept away by high water in the streets. Arundel’s train-hating farmer had found him and stabbed him. Thieves had set upon him, stolen the rent money, and left him for dead.
None of these, except for the last, seemed plausible. But even if he had been set upon by thieves, how would she find him? She knew the path she took to the landlord’s home, but how would her father travel?
She might trudge about in the dark, pouring rain for hours to no avail. And what if her father came home while she was out and couldn’t find her? Belle leaned her head against the shop windowpane. Arundel was right. She should stay here and wait. It wouldn’t help her father if she went wandering about London, catching her death in the cold rain.
Or catching her death from the knife of a farmer who detested trains.
She’d give her father another hour, and if he wasn’t back by then and the rain had abated, she’d go out after him. There. She could be reasonable. Her plan made sense.
It also made sense to close the shop. She hated to do it, but she told herself she wasn’t turning away business. No one was coming in this weather. Besides, she couldn’t leave Arundel alone. She was an awful nurse, but his fever had spiked. Even a bad nurse knew he must be cooled down.
Belle closed the shop’s shades, made sure the door was still locked, then blew out the lamps and went upstairs. She peeked in on Arundel, changed his cool compress, and made herself a cup of Earl Grey. It was simple and fortifying, and that was what she needed. She brought it with her into her chamber, sipping it between changing the compress and staring out the window overlooking the empty street.
An hour passed, her father did not return, and the rain continued. Arundel was hot to the touch and hadn’t opened his eyes since she’d gotten him back into bed. Belle slumped down beside the bed, having placed a new compress on his hot forehead. She drew her knees up and placed her forehead on them, allowing silent tears to fall.
She knew she was jumping to conclusions, but how could she not assume the worst after her father had been gone so much longer than he ought? What would she do without her father? Would she have to give up the shop? Go live with her sister? She loved Maggie, but it would be humiliating to have to ask her younger sister to support her. John Dormer seemed a nice enough man, but he probably didn’t want to share his home with Maggie’s spinster sister.
The hot tears trailed down her cheeks, and she used her sleeve to swipe them away. There was no use crying, but she couldn’t hold it in any longer.
She felt something warm and heavy on her shoulder. For a moment, she stopped sniffling and enjoyed the comfort. Then Belle stiffened, realizing there was only one person who might be comforting her right now. She spun around, rising on her knees, and faced Arundel.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he croaked.
“I thought you were—” She sniffed, knowing her eyes were red and she disguised nothing.
“Dead?” he said, his voice raspy and dry.
“Asleep,” she said. “Here.” She offered the last of her tea, and he struggled to rise enough to sip it. She supported his head, and when he’d finished, he lay back and tried to catch his breath.
“Thank you. It’s rather humbling to be weak as a kitten.”
“I can imagine.”
“Your father?”
She shook her head, a lump rising in her throat so that she could not speak. He didn’t say a word, merely opened his arms in a gesture that was universal. Belle resisted for a moment and was proud of herself for that mere hesitation. But she wanted comfort. She was afraid and feeling so alone.
Belle expected to feel odd about falling into Arundel’s arms, but it felt natural to allow him to hold her. She didn’t usually enjoy physical affection, but now she rested her head on his warm shoulder and allowed the tears to fall as he patted and rubbed her back. He murmured things like, “Everything will be fine” and “It will all work out.”