Bella and the Beast (23 page)

Bella complied. She needed to clean off the soot anyway, and she felt too heartsore to resist. As she dipped her fingers, the cool liquid soothed her skin. There was something calming about the simple act of washing up.

She reached for the cake of lavender soap, but the duke took hold of it first. He lathered his own hands, then caught one of hers and began to cleanse her fingers, one at a time, gently rubbing away the blackness. “Tell me if you feel any pain.”

Bella compressed her lips and averted her gaze to the dressing table where she pinned up her hair each morning in front of the oval mirror. She had no wish to speak to him any further. Let him play nursemaid if he liked. It would not soften her animosity toward him. She had learned tonight just how intractable he could be.

If she was pained by anything, it was the need to depart this house. He had made it intolerable to stay here even one more night. But there was the missing map to consider. The map that Papa had told her about on his deathbed.

Find Aylwin. Find the map. You have half the pharaoh's treasure.

For her father's sake, she must be steadfast in her efforts to claim the pharaoh's treasure. Hasani had mentioned the search for a lost tomb rumored to contain fabulous riches, gold, and jewels. Once she located the map, she and her siblings might have to travel to Egypt to unearth the treasure.

If so, she would find a way to do it without the Duke of Aylwin. She welcomed the prospect of never seeing him again.

He washed her other hand, and then used a linen towel to pat it dry. Turning her palm over, he examined the pads of her fingers. The sensation of his light touch on her skin lit an unwanted spark of pleasure deep within her womb. It was so profound, so startling that for a moment she couldn't breathe.

She wrested her hand free. “Stop fussing. It isn't necessary.”

With that, Bella stalked past him and left the dressing room. She wanted him gone. Gone so that she could snuggle in bed and hug the pillow in the hopes of banishing the empty ache inside herself. It was foolish to feel distraught over his ill opinion of her father. The Duke of Aylwin meant nothing to her. Nothing at all.

He followed her into the bedchamber, placed the candelabrum back on the bedside table, and then folded his arms across his chest. His solemn gaze bored into her. “I'm sorry, Bella,” he said in a gravelly tone. “What I did was wrong. I should never have tried to destroy your father's letters.”

“No, you shouldn't have. But it's over with and done. So you might as well depart.”

But he didn't depart. In a somewhat agitated fashion, he frowned and went on, “My conduct was childish. I behaved like an angry thirteen-year-old. Probably because my animosity toward your father is rooted in my childhood.”

Bella said nothing. How could she argue with that? It was true.

Casting a moody look at her, he planted his hands on his hips and began to pace back and forth. “As you gleaned from the letters, I didn't always despise Sir Seymour. For a time, he was more a father to me than my own sire. He gave me the attention, the guidance, and—and yes, the
love
that a boy needs from a father. He was always ready to listen, even to the most trivial questions, without the constant criticism that I received from Aylwin.”

His candid words tugged at Bella's heart. Miles was talking to her. Without her prodding him. She had not thought him capable of doing so.

But she wasn't ready to soften. She leaned against the bedpost, reaching behind to grip her fingers around the carved wood. “That's the way Papa was,” she said. “Always cheerful, always helpful. It's hurtful when you denigrate him.”

“Of course. Yet … do try to see it from my perspective. He departed when I needed him most, when I was grieving over the murder of my father. I was left to sort it all out with a near-stranger…”

“William Banbury-Davis?”

“Yes.” With a grimace, Miles glanced away. “The man was competent enough, but I scarcely knew him. It was a difficult time in my life.”

Bella reluctantly imagined him as an adolescent, younger than Cyrus, forced to face circumstances that would be strenuous even for an adult. It must have been a huge undertaking to decide which artifacts to purchase, and to make arrangements to ship them back to England. All the while, he'd had to cope with the loss of his father.

And hers.

She released the remnants of her anger in a sigh. There was no denying her father's culpability in the matter. “I don't know why Papa did what he did. We'll likely never know.” She softened her tone. “But Miles, you really must forgive him. Otherwise, the ghosts of the past will continue to haunt you.”

He stared at her, his eyes opaque, hiding his thoughts. “If only it were so simple,” he muttered. “It's myself I can't forgive.”

“What do you mean?”

Miles didn't enlighten her. He strode to the wall of windows and pushed aside the draperies. Flattening his palms on the sill, he stood there in silence, staring out into the blackness of night.

As if he had forgotten her presence.

 

Chapter 18

Bella told herself to leave him be. Let him keep his secrets. They were none of her concern. Yet the turmoil she sensed in him called to her heart. She crossed the bedchamber and stopped a short distance from him. Then she folded her arms and waited to see if he would speak.

His face in shadow, he cast a slight glance her way. “It's not just your father's disappearance that has weighed on me all these years,” he said roughly. “There's something else, too. Something I've never told anyone.”

“Oh?” she murmured.

She warned herself not to expect any confidences. There was no reason why he should share his secrets with her. She'd read his private letters without permission. She'd been caught twice poking through his papers. Worst of all, she was the daughter of the man he despised.

And if she'd learned anything tonight, it was that the Duke of Aylwin was not a man to be forced, persuaded, or cajoled. By his own admission, he'd never spoken of the secret to which he referred. That meant he trusted no one at all.

Not Hasani. Not Banbury-Davis. Not his cousin, Oscar Grayson.

Miles kept his thoughts and emotions tightly locked inside the surly façade of a beast. And like a caged beast, he snarled at anyone who dared to venture close to him.

Why? What could be so terrible as to make him withdraw from life? She wanted to know, but wouldn't ask. He would either tell her—or not.

He hissed out a breath. “You asked me earlier if I'd ever quarreled with my father. I did, just once. After I'd been in Egypt for nearly a year, he decided it was time for me to return to England to attend Eton College. I objected quite vigorously.”

“Of course. You were studying real history on-site instead of reading it from a textbook.”

The ghost of a chuckle came from the darkness that shrouded him. “That was precisely my argument, too. I was vehement in my protests. For the first time in my life, I'd found the courage to stand up to Aylwin. I wanted to stay in Egypt, I told him, I
intended
to stay. I'd never seen my father so furious as he was that evening.”

Miles stopped abruptly as if he'd been sucked into the vortex of memory. A minute ticked by as Bella waited for him to finish. The rigidity in his stance gave testament to his inner tension.

She couldn't stop herself from asking, “What happened?”

He stood in the gloom, his face averted from her. “Aylwin said…” The words surfaced from him slowly, as if dredged from a deep, dark place. “He said he was angry enough to throttle me. Then he stormed out of the tent. It was dark already, but he took a lamp and … he went alone to the excavation site.” Miles paused before adding in a heavy tone, “That was the last time I ever saw him alive.”

Bella put her hand to her mouth to stop a gasp. The source of his torment was now clear to her. The quarrel had transpired on the night of the attack. And Miles blamed himself for the death of his father.

She could see exactly how he'd arrived at that conclusion. If not for that quarrel, his father would never have left the camp. He would never have died at the hands of grave robbers.

Hardly conscious of moving, she went straight to Miles. She slid her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder, aware of only the need to give him comfort. No wonder he'd come back from Egypt inexorably changed from the sunny boy he'd once been. All these years, he had borne an awful weight of guilt. Alone. Without ever confiding in anyone. Remorse over his father's death had eaten away at him, making him irascible and hostile toward others.

And perhaps as a form of reparation, he had devoted himself to the preservation of his father's legacy. He had buried himself in this great mausoleum of a house and spent all of his time studying the artifacts that his father had excavated from the tombs of ancient pharaohs.

His warm breath stirred her hair. Miles had wrapped his arms around her, too, and held tightly so that the heat of his body intermingled with hers. Nothing had ever felt more right than this embrace. Bella felt stunned and grateful that he'd let down his guard with her. Perhaps the confession might ease his long-held pain.

But first he had to realize that the burden he'd shouldered all these years was wrong. So very wrong.

She drew back slightly to tilt her head up at him, and the faint candlelight played upon a certain wariness in his expression. Did he fear she might denounce him for his self-imposed sin?

She kept her arms firmly around his waist, her hands tracing patterns over his broad back. “Oh, Miles. It wasn't your fault. You couldn't possibly have known that brigands would attack that night.”

He gave an impatient shake of his head. “That doesn't matter. I'm still responsible for his death.”

“Bah! You were only thirteen. Your father was the adult. One could just as easily claim that he chose his own fate.”

“The devil you say—”

He made as if to draw away, but she took hold of his upper arms to stop him, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Listen to me. Aylwin didn't
have
to quarrel with you. He could have heeded your objections and spoken rationally. He didn't have to storm out, either. He could have stayed and discussed the matter. But instead, he
chose
to go to the work site at night. He alone was accountable for his actions.”

Miles stared at her, his face fierce with resistance. “You don't understand. I provoked him. I should have been a dutiful son as I'd always been.”

Bella understood more than he could imagine. She had struggled with Cyrus asserting himself. Her brother was impatient to procure a job and provide for the family instead of tending to his schoolwork.

“By standing up for yourself, you were learning how to be a man,” she said, willing Miles to see the truth in that. “It's a natural step for a boy of thirteen. Your father should have realized that and reasoned with you, instead of attempting to impose his iron will.”

Miles glanced away before returning his moody gaze to her. “My behavior was unconscionable. I don't see how you can excuse it.”

She reached up and stroked his cheek, and his skin felt as bristly as his temperament. “I see a man who has suffered from guilt for so long that he's become a hermit, shunning all others from his life. Yes, your father's death was a terrible event. But you can't punish yourself forever. It's time to banish this incident to the past, where it belongs.”

His eyes narrowed slightly as if he were looking inward, grappling with the hardened beliefs of a lifetime. She didn't expect he could change his way of thinking with the snap of a finger. But perhaps she'd given him a fresh perspective to ponder. Perhaps if he could overcome his stubborn view of that long-ago event, he could eventually make his peace with it. He could cease insulating himself against the outside world. He could find happiness with other people again. He might even fall in love and marry …

The notion caused a wrench in Bella's breast. She didn't like to think of him with another woman. A woman suitable to his high rank. A young, biddable debutante who would bear him children and stay out of his way and who would never draw a knife on him when he kissed her.

She let her hand drop to his broad shoulder. Of course, she herself would be long gone from his life by then. Soon they would go their separate ways, and he would never know of the wildly improper passion that burned inside of her …

She noticed Miles was gazing down at her with a gleam in his dark eyes. One corner of his mouth lifted in an almost-smile. “So I'm a hermit, am I? I never realized that hermits were allowed to hold a beautiful woman in their arms.”

Bella knew herself to be merely ordinary in appearance. But his compliment caused a rush of pleasure nonetheless. They were still locked in a close embrace, her hips pressed to his, her breasts joined to his solid chest. His open palm rested at the small of her back as if prepared to stop her from any attempt at escape.

Little did he realize, she had no wish to leave. It felt perfectly right and natural to be held by him. As if somehow he was her other half.

Yet she wasn't foolish enough to succumb to flattery. Despite his often surly manner, Miles knew well how to employ flirtatiousness to his advantage. At the moment, he was merely using her as a distraction to forget that he'd just bared his soul to her.

She busied herself with straightening his collar. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she countered. “I'm perfectly mindful that the bloom of my youth has faded.”

A slight frown furrowed his brow, and he brought his hand up to caress her cheek. “You truly don't see yourself as beautiful?”

“Of course not,” she said on a feigned laugh. “I'm hardly a girl anymore. At nine-and-twenty, I'm a well-established spinster.”