Wicked Surrender (Regency Sinners)(35)
Having offered to go through and pack up or dispose of Agatha St. Just’s personal belongings—her clothes and personal letters and such—Bella had spent most of the day doing exactly that rather than wandering about the house with nothing to do. Dante was busy taking care of everything else, so it seemed only logical that Bella should offer to do this unpleasant task for him. She seriously doubted he would have enjoyed having to paw through the elderly lady’s personal things, or even to say yay or nay in regard to keeping any of them after a maid had gone through them.
Bella and Dante had not met again yesterday evening, Bella having requested dinner on a tray in her bedchamber. She had been tired in both body and mind and needed a few hours to herself in which to consider all that had taken place between herself and Dante since they met again only days ago.
All she had gained from all that thinking was a headache.
The two of them had been…extremely polite to each other since their conversation the previous day when Dante had declared his belief in her innocence of all guilt in regard to the accusation of treason.
Whilst Bella was relieved to hear that, because it meant she did not have to constantly be on the defensive or look for hidden meanings in Dante’s comments, she nevertheless found his excessive politeness uncharacteristic as well as unnerving. They had even had that belated conversation during the soup course of their dinner this evening concerning her childhood spent in France.
A dinner which Dante had instructed they would eat together in the intimacy of the small family dining room. It was much smaller than the formal dining room, and far more suited to two people eating dinner together. Unfortunately, they were also surrounded by portraits on the walls of several preceding generations of censorious St. Justs.
Although, none of them could have found fault with Dante’s impeccable appearance this evening in his black evening clothes. Merely looking at him was enough to cause Bella’s heart to beat faster.
“She kept journals?” Dante answered her statement lightly. “What am I supposed to do with them?”
Bella grimaced. “I suppose they could contain some family history, which you might find interesting.”
“More likely dry lists of laundry and housekeeper,” he dismissed.
She gave a shake of her head. “The dowager kept separate account books for such lists. I will glance through the personal journals, if you wish, and if there is nothing of import in them…”
“I shall burn them,” Dante stated flatly.
“As you wish.” Bella nodded.
Dante had arranged the funeral for tomorrow, and he had every intention of obliterating all vestiges of the dowager’s presence from Huntley Park before he left to return to London. It was the only way in which he might one day be able to return to this mausoleum as its duke and master.
He studied Bella. She looked so beautiful this evening, she had totally robbed him of breath when she joined him in the dining room earlier. Her gown of cream silk and lace perfectly complemented the golden hue of her complexion and the darkness of her eyes and upswept hair.
The only mar on her appearance was the evidence of the fading bruises on the bareness of her arms between the capped sleeves of her gown and the long lace gloves she wore to her elbows.
Bruises which Dante had given her.
There was evidence of another bruise beneath the lace she had arranged about her throat and the tops of her shoulders. In the shape of Dante’s own teeth, if he was not mistaken, from where he had bitten into her flesh at the height of his pleasure two nights ago.
Stark reminders to him—if he had needed any—that Bella had fared far worse during the depth of passion the two of them had shared, both at the inn and then again at his hunting lodge.
He was a demanding and exacting lover, but he was not a violent one. Seeing those marks on Bella’s flesh made him feel nauseated.
Bella cleared her throat uncomfortably as she sensed rather than saw Dante’s gaze on her. “I do not believe the décor in this house to have changed in the slightest since I first visited here eleven years ago.”
Dante raised his brows. “Is that an offer to help me in redecorating and refurbishing it?”
“Certainly not.” She drew back. “That is for you and your future duchess to decide.”
His mouth twisted. “I am not sure any woman of character would ever have me.”
Bella smiled slightly. “There must be some ladies in Society you have not yet seduced.”
“I have not—” He drew in several controlling breaths before continuing. “The name, The Sinners, which comprises of myself and seven of my friends is not a reference to the moral character of those eight gentlemen.”
“I was not thinking of that when I made the comment.”
Dante’s mouth thinned. “The ladies of Society are apt to exaggerate when they gossip together as to a gentleman’s…prowess in the bedchamber.”
She eyed him mockingly. “Then when I return to London, I must make sure to assure them that there has been no exaggeration in regard to yourself.”
“Bella…”
“Dante.” She looked at him challengingly, aware the air had suddenly become charged.
Bella had not meant to take their conversation into the realms of intimacy, but this false politeness between the two of them was starting to grate on her nerves. Dante was never falsely polite. He was never polite at all! Nor did she welcome having him treat her as if she were made of glass. Or worse, as his maiden aunt rather than the woman he had ravished so thoroughly two nights ago.