Bound To Bea

Chapter Thirty Three

Horrified as his fingers tightened their grip on her neck, Beatrice stood still, afraid the slightest movement might cause him to snap her neck.

"Ya will marry Lord Curtis," he repeated, and she knew he meant to force her. She didn't put it past him to drag her to the altar and make her say her vows with a gun to her head. It didn't matter that she was already married to Noah and couldn't legally marry another man. She didn't have proof of her marriage and Noah wasn't present to bear witness.

Fear clouded her mind and tears blurred her vision, making it nearly impossible to see the face of her assailant. In truth, she didn't wish to see him. If she was to die today, she didn't wish for his face to be the last thing she saw.

But Beatrice could not afford to die; not now when her life was starting to make a little sense; not now that she was finally in love and loved in return. She had so much to live for—love and Noah, and in that second, she decided they were more than enough reason to fight.

Standing on tiptoes, she spat in his eyes with one swift movement.

"Whore!" he swore, his death-grip on her neck loosening and allowing for oxygen to flood her lungs freely.

Gasping, she fell blindly to her knees and clutched her bruised neck. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, making her head swirl as she made for the door, crawling on her knees.

"Where do ya fin' you're garn?!" Pain exploded in her skull as he took a fistful of her hair and yanked her to her feet with it. "Stop fightin', Beatrice, you're never gettin' away from me. You're garn ter do exactly wot I want. It's what's best."

His grip on her hair tightened, threatening to rip her head off her neck. She kept her eyes on the white ceiling as tears poured down her cheeks.

"Lord Curtis is wot is best for ya."

The image of Lord Curtis with his slimy hands running down the length of her body made her skin crawl with disgust. She could not marry him. Drowning in a river seemed more pleasurable in comparison with marriage to Lord Curtis. Leave it to her father to pick the scum of society as prospective husbands for the cash cow that was his daughter.

"No!" She gritted her teeth against the pain in her skull.

"Ya don't 'ave a choice."

Desperate, she slammed her elbow against his side, instantly finding relief as he released his grip on her hair. She hurried forward, nearing the door, when something shoved her entire form to the side. She landed in a ball of pain on the floor, the heat of the fire nearly searing her face.

Breathless, she crawled with both elbows away from the blazing hearth.

"I don't wanna to 'urt ya, Beatrice!" her father whispered menacingly as he made his way to where she sat, writhing in pain. He crouched down before her, his eyes mirroring the flames. "Please, don't make me hurt you."

She scoffed. "Make you?" She forced the words through lips that felt like lead. "Perhaps it is what you tell yourself each time you abuse me. Perhaps you wish to believe you were made to do it. But you need no provocation, Mr. Hobbs. You're not a gentleman trying to tame your foul temper, you're a beast, an untameable monster—"

Pain stole the words from her lips, momentarily blinding her as she fell back.

"I'm your father!" he roared, grabbing her arm.

Weak still, she struggled against his hold on her, groping in the darkness for a weapon, anything to free herself. Her fingers brushed something cool on the floor, and as he yanked her arm, peeling her off the floor, she grabbed the cool object and plunged it into the air, until it struck a hard surface, burying itself into it.

When she tore her eyelids apart, she watched him crash to the floor.

*

Noah wasted no time. Anger and frustration propelled him forward until he was settling in his carriage and driving to the home of his lawyer immediately after his visit with Penelope. He didn't leave his lawyer's home until two things had been settled.

The first was the fact that there were no repercussions for ending his engagement to Lady Penelope, breaching the marriage contract he signed. With the help of his lawyer, a letter was drafted and sent to Lord Hawkins formally notifying him of Noah's intention to end his engagement to his daughter, then he was informed that in exchange for Noah's silence in the matter of the role he played in covering up the murder of his butler, the marriage contract would be put aside amicably with no repercussions.

It was the only reasonable way to go, for while Noah hated having to keep the truth hidden, he knew the truth would do more damage than good. The truth would not only expose Lord Hawkins, it would expose Penelope, and a curse be upon his damned cousin, Oliver, but it would expose him as well. Then there was the matter of proof. He couldn't prove that Lord Hawkins staged his butler's death, nor did he think Penelope would be willing to testify against her dead lover and living father. It would be Noah's word against Lord Hawkins. The only thing Lord Hawkins stood to lose in the mess was his reputation—a small price compared to the thousands of pounds Noah would need to pay for breaching the marriage contract.

The second thing to be settled was the lawyer's assurance that the news of Noah's broken engagement to Penelope would be in the papers by the next morning. Indeed, Noah had no interest in protecting Penelope after what she did—after what she hid.

It was Penelope's fault Beatrice had such a poor reputation amongst the ton. Perhaps it wasn't entirely Penelope's fault, for Oliver played a bigger role in the whole mess, but Penelope could have done something. She could have spared Beatrice so much pain, shame and disgrace.

Even now, as Noah laid in bed, he ached for Beatrice. What he wouldn't do to hold her in his arms, to kiss her, to publicly declare his love for her before all of society. He hated that propriety demanded that he keep his marriage a secret for a while, and he wasn't certain for how much longer he could stay away from Beatrice. Indeed, he feared he might be unable to restrain himself from going to the duke's house in search of her.

Sighing, he closed his eyes. Perhaps it would be better to return to Camden until the heat died down. That way, the distance would restrain him from visiting Bea.

Bea's lovely image filled the darkness. He could still feel the warmth of her skin searing his fingers; he felt her breath against his neck as her body merged with his, a slight shudder passing through her form as they became one. He heard her soft whispers, proclaiming her love for him as her fingers tangled themselves in his hair.

He ached for her, and it was this ache that kept him awake through the night until a loud sound on his door forced his eyelids apart.

He sat upright, his eyes shifting to the door. He heard it again, the desperate knock that had pulled him out of his reverie.

"Who is it?!" he called, placing one foot after the other on the wooden floor.

"My lord!"

Roger! He immediately recognized his valet's voice, but what was worse than his valet showing up to disturb his rest in the middle of the night was the horror that laced his voice.

Rising to his feet, he hurried to the door and pulled it open. "What is it?" He glanced out into the hallway.

"Lady Atkins, my lord! She is downstairs in the drawing room, injured—"

His heart dropping to the pit of his stomach, Noah shoved the valet from his path. He hurried down the stairs, his feet barely touching the floor as he made his way to the drawing room.

He reached the drawing room, his eyes immediately settling on the form that was half strewn on a chaise, her hair draping her shoulders, blood dripping from her agape lips and staining her white nightdress.

It was confusion that paralyzed him, keeping him captive where he stood by the door, staring at her bloodied form. Realization finally settled in, but with it came a crippling pain that stabbed at his heart, filling him with guilt. He should have been there! He should have been by her side! She was hurt because he wasn't there to help her.

Bea raised her teary gaze to him, staggering to her feet and crossing the room to where he stood. He shot out his arms instantly, receiving her trembling form in his arms.

"I killed him," she whimpered. "Oh, Noah, I killed my father!"