“Then they must be stopped. We can work together to turn their ambush around on them. I just want my father back safely.”
Will looked down. “As do we all, but Miss Howard”—Will met her gaze—“these men do not have finesse. They are brutes who only know how to do one thing. They weren’t hired to negotiate prisoner swaps.”
“You think he’s dead,” Belle said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You think they killed him and sent a message to meet in Hyde Park so they can capture Arundel.”
“I think they intend to kill Arundel. They’re killers. That’s what they know. It takes planning and intelligence to carry out a prisoner exchange. They don’t need Arundel alive. Easier just to lure him into the open and kill him.”
“No,” Belle said.
Will looked at Hew. “Baron wants you back at the Farm immediately. He’ll have his doctors take over there, and I’m to take over here and in Carlisle with Pennywhistle.”
“Hew.” Belle looked at him with pleading eyes. “No!”
Will cleared his throat. “I’ll meet Pennywhistle’s men at the park and take them, if I can, kill them if I can’t. I promise you, Miss Howard, the men who took your father will not walk free.”
Belle wrenched her hand out of Hew’s and jumped to her feet. “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe he’s dead. How can you just give up on him based on an assumption?”
“I know it’s not an option you want to consider. I don’t either,” Hew said softly. “But Will’s reasoning makes sense. I’ve considered it privately. I think you have as well. Sweetheart—”
“Don’t sweetheart me. You can run away if you like, but you can’t force me to give up.” She pointed to Will. “I will be at the park at midnight tomorrow, and I will get my father back or die trying.”
BELLE COULD NOT REMAIN in the room any longer. She didn’t know where she was going, but she would not stay here. Her father might already be dead, but the least she could do was to make every effort to rescue him if he were alive. He wouldn’t have given up on her. And she hadn’t thought Arundel would give up so easily on him—or her, for that matter.
“Belle, where are you going?” Arundel called.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she flung open the door, startling Jenny, who was standing just outside. “Beg your pardon,” Belle told the maid before starting down the corridor.
“Belle!” Hew’s voice was closer. “Miss Howard!”
Belle shook her head and began to run. If she let him catch her, he would hold her and comfort her. She needed his comfort, badly, but now was not the time to feel comfortable. Her father wasn’t comfortable. What had she been thinking? She’d been luxuriating at Mivart’s while he’d been suffering. Logically, she knew that nothing she did or didn’t do at this moment could help her father. He’d probably rather her be comfortable than hungry and cold...if he was still able to have any sort of preference.
No! She lifted her skirts and ran faster, pushing open a door and starting down what must be the servant’s stairs as they were narrow and wooden. Arundel’s voice faded behind her, but she continued to run. When she finally reached the first floor, she pushed through the groups of servants in the kitchens and work rooms until she emerged into the yard behind the hotel. Leaning against the building, she tried to catch her breath.
She would not allow herself to believe, even for a moment, that her father was gone. She would not give up on him.
She’d forgotten her hat in the room, so she pulled a soggy cap off a clothesline as she exited the yard. She pulled it over her head, arranging some of the hair so it covered the scarred side of her face. Then keeping her head down, she began to walk.
For a long time, she didn’t know where she was headed. She couldn’t go back to the shop on Fenchurch Street. Pennywhistle’s men might be waiting for her there. Tears sprang to her eyes when she realized the place that had always been her refuge—the tea shop—was now dangerous for her. She thought she’d found another refuge in Hew Arundel, but she’d been a fool to depend on him. When would she learn that she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself? Even a man who seemed to look past her physical defects couldn’t be trusted with her heart. Her father was her heart. Her tea shop was her heart. Fenchurch Street was her heart.
Gradually, she realized where her feet were leading her. It was a long way to St. Katharine Docks, but once she understood that was where her body was taking her, she knew that was where she needed to go. She’d be anonymous there and surrounded by tea. That would be a comfort. She found a wagon heading in that direction and begged a seat in the back. The driver gave her a curious look, probably because she was dressed in ill-fitting but expensive clothing, then shrugged and nodded his approval.
Belle sat on the back of the wagon, watching all of London pass her by. It was late afternoon now, and men and women were hurrying to make purchases for supper before shops closed. The girls selling flowers and the boys selling fruit and vegetables were packing up. The flowers had wilted, and the produce would have to wait another day.
Belle was not very religious and rarely prayed. She went to church often enough to keep the others in the parish from knocking on their door and making accusations. But she prayed now. She prayed her father would be safe one more night and day and that she would see him the next night in Hyde Park. She would trade herself, if that was what it took, to ensure his freedom.
Finally, she and the wagon parted ways and she walked the remainder of the way to the docks. The ships had been unloaded earlier in the day, and the crates of tea, spices, and silks from the Far East were being moved into warehouses. The dockworkers looked at her a little longer than usual, a few calling out to her or whistling, but she ignored them. She ducked into one of the tea warehouses and strolled up the aisles, stacked seven and eight feet high with crates and bundles of tea. The scent was delicious and intoxicating.
She found a corner where she would not be easily spotted and sat, leaning against a sack of what smelled like Earl Grey. She could hide here. She knew the warehouse manager. If she were discovered, she would speak with him. No doubt he wouldn’t like the idea of her sleeping in his warehouse, but he already thought her rather eccentric, considering that she insisted on seeing, smelling, and touching any tea before she purchased it.
Leaning her head back, Belle closed her eyes. The sounds of the warehouse and the dock were familiar to her, and they faded away after a few minutes. She’d occupied her mind with worries for her father for the last hour or two, but now her mind turned to the subject she’d been trying to avoid—Hew Arundel.
She really was a fool when it came to the agent for the Royal Saboteurs. She’d spent days trying to keep him alive, worrying that he’d die and she’d be blamed. She’d never thought that all that time, she should have worried that he was worming his way into her heart. Belle couldn’t point to the exact moment she had begun to care for Arundel. Well, she knew the exact moment she had realized she wanted him. It had been when he’d stood up without his shirt and she’d caught a glimpse of his powerful chest. She hadn’t known men could look like that. She’d wanted to touch him.