The Solemn Bell (11 page)

She’d been utterly ruined.
 

Now, his life had been ruined—by her.
 

Even if he could find a way to forgive her, Brody couldn’t watch Angelica’s body swell with another man’s child. Someone would have to keep the brat in nappies and formula, and eventually, short trousers and school tuitions. Someone would have to see it settled in the world. Who, when the mother did not even know the father’s name?

Brody knew who. If he—fool that he was—took Angelica back, he would be responsible for her baby. He did not want to be a father, but knew Angelica, with her fear of the asylum, would never willingly give her child to an institution. Truly, the idea of sending it to an orphanage did not sit right with him, either.

He had the rough outline of a plan, but hadn’t given it much thought beyond seeing Angelica safe, clothed, and fed. When he showed up with her tomorrow, his parents would have questions. Brody would not have answers. At least not any truthful ones. But he could pretend for the next few days that she was his sweetheart, and, when the two of them parted ways afterward, he’d simply tell his family that he’d called it off.
 

It would be a sad, yet tidy end for a relationship that had began with so much promise. He’d loved her. Put her on a pedestal and worshipped her. When the withdrawal symptoms had wracked his body, Brody called for her—the way other men in his ward cried for their mothers. Through the electric shocks, ice baths, and experimental treatments, he conjured her face for comfort. For one hundred and twenty days, she had been everything to him. How would he ever find the strength to make her nothing to him now?

CHAPTER TWENTY

Angelica Grey was no longer the innocent shadow-angel he’d come to love. Dressed in a straight, black coat with a band of grey fur at the collar, she stepped out of the salon a new woman.

Her hair, cut shoulder length, had bounce and a slight curl. It framed her face, accentuating her high brow and impossibly blue eyes. She looked somehow younger, and yet, more mature. As if she’d blossomed from child to woman in a matter of hours.

Save those eyes, Brody would not have recognized her.

He walked at her elbow, stealing glances at her as they strolled toward their hotel. She was so damned beautiful that
he
was the one bumping into pedestrians on the pavement. He could not tear his gaze away.

“I…er…bought you a toothbrush and shampoo at the chemist’s,” he said, clumsily trying to string words into a sentence. “You can use my toothpowder, if you like.”

She stared straight ahead. “Thank you.”

He’d also bought a tin of condoms, though he kept that to himself. Angelica would find out soon enough—he was going to leave her at the hotel tonight, and engage the first street-corner girl he found. When he used one up, he would fill another, and another, until he didn’t care about Angelica Grey anymore.

Afterward, he’d tumble into their room, reeking of gin and strange women, and tell her every filthy thing he’d done. She’d be shocked. Hopefully, she’d be a little bit jealous. Angelica deserved a taste of her own medicine. It was the only way to proceed.

Staring at her now, Brody was glad he’d bought the sheaths. If he had sketched a woman from his dreams, he could not have created a more perfect mate. She was unique, wondrous. Monstrous. Her beauty was a weapon, aimed at his chest. Her touch was a needle, poised over his vein. One smile from her would wreck him. A kiss would surely kill him.

This new Angelica Grey could bring an entire army of men to their knees—knowing her, she’d like to try.

“I want you,” Brody sputtered.
 

She nearly stumbled. “What?”

“I want you
to wait here
,” he corrected himself, “while I get us some dinner. Do you like fidget pie?”

 
She shook her head, confused. “What’s that?”

“Ham, apples, cheese, onion—it’s good. I can get us a bottle of cider and take it back to the room.” He steered Angelica away from the pavements, pressing her back against the timbered wall of a pie shop that, thankfully, existed on nearly every street in Britain. Otherwise, he would have looked like an ass. “Do not move from this spot. Do not speak to anyone. I will be right back.”

He pushed into the pie shop, anxiously queued, and ordered two slices of fidget pie and a bottle of Bulmer’s to take away. Only when he finally reached the pavement where Angelica stood, was Brody able to breathe easy. She seemed all right, though, and only moderately terrified to be left alone.

“You’re getting frightfully good at that,” he said, frowning.

She turned her blank gaze in his direction. “At what?”

“Independence.”

Angelica quirked up a smile, but said nothing.
 

Together, they walked to their hotel. Brody carried their dinner, while she hung close to his side. In another life, he would have held her hand, but every time she bumped his shoulder scorched him. He couldn’t touch her. The more distance they put between their bodies, the better off they’d be in the end.

Brody held the door open for her, and helped her inside. He had spent many fevered nights wondering what it would be like to take Angelica out in public. To be seen with her on the street or in the shops. To meet friends, and introduce them all to the woman he loved.
 

Part of him expected to see pity in their eyes when her blindness registered—it was natural to feel sorry for her—yet Brody never expected to find derision on the faces of the men in the lobby, or to catch the sneer on a woman’s lips as he passed her on the landing.
 

Sneers and derision, all directed at him.

By the time they reached their room, Brody understood the problem. People thought she was too beautiful for a chap like him. That, because she couldn’t see to know better, he had somehow duped her into choosing him over millions of deserving suitors.

Brody knew better—she was not his, even if he had wanted her to be. Once he found her another, more permanent arrangement, Angelica Grey was free to be with whomever she pleased. She would have no problem finding another protector. Hopefully, one who loved her for the woman she was, and not despised her for the angel she used to be.
 

The room was warm, and she fussed with the buttons of her coat.

“Here, allow me.” He slipped it off her shoulders.

Angelica perched on the edge of the bed. He hung their coats in the wardrobe, which had been filled with boxes from their shopping trip, delivered while they were away. He’d trusted Magda implicitly, and she’d come through for him. What could have been an embarrassing experience for Angelica had actually been rather pleasant. She’d enjoyed herself that afternoon. Honestly, he had, too.

Brody closed the wardrobe, and flopped down onto the bed beside her. He opened their cider and guided her hand to the bottle. She put it to her lips, tipping it awkwardly. The slightest bit leaked from the corner of her mouth. Angelica caught the drop of cider before it fell, laughing at her own inelegance.

“I like your hair,” he confessed. “I didn’t think I would, but it suits you.”
 

She wiped her dampened palm on her skirt. “I like it, too. Thank you for…for everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Feeding and clothing you was the easy part. Our struggle has only just begun.”
 

He carefully placed the fidget pie into her open hand. She cupped the slice, brought it to her mouth, and took a bite. Brody was too intrigued, watching her teeth sink into the each delicious layer, to remember his own process of moving food from mouth to stomach. He watched her eat the whole thing before touching his own.

“What do you think of fidget pie?” he asked, mouth full.

Angelica took another swig from the cider bottle. “It was good, though I think I’ve eaten enough apples for one lifetime.”

She smiled, and he laughed, remembering that she’d mostly lived off foraged fruit for years. “Yes, I imagine you have.”

When he finished eating, she turned to him. “I’d like to bathe. But, I’m afraid I don’t know my way around. I’m not asking you to help me wash, just…if you could…”

She was embarrassed. They’d once been so easy in each other’s company. He was sorry he’d made her feel like she couldn’t ask for help. “Of course, Angelica. Tell me what you need.”

“A flannel, and some soap, and a towel. Oh, and if you could please turn your back while I dig for my nightdress. I don’t want you to see my lingerie.”

She had lingerie. Whose idea was it to buy her lacy little nothings—and
why?
Angelica should have sturdy, boilable underclothes that could last her for years, not diaphanous negligees that practically melted away with a touch.

Brody was glad for a task. He pushed the thought of nightdresses out of his mind, and went to fetch the items for Angelica’s bath. He arranged them all along the rim of the tub, and began filling it with steaming water.

He was so intent on watching the bathtub fill, that he almost didn’t hear her come in behind him. She’d removed her stockings and shoes, standing barefoot on the linoleum clutching her folded nightdress to her chest. A quick glance told him the thing was silky, and cream in color.

He tore his gaze away. “Uh, you’ve got your flannel and soap to your left, and the towel is on the floor. Anything else?”

“No, thank you. I think I can manage now.”

Wordlessly, Brody brushed past her, closing the door behind him. The only thing more dangerous than Angelica Grey in lingerie was Angelica Grey stripping for her bath.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

He paced from the bed to the chair, and then back again. She’d been in the bath for far too long. The water had gone quiet. He couldn’t hear her moving anymore. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied from the other side of the door. “Just luxuriating.”

Brody sat on the foot of the bed. He’d been tormented by visions of wet, naked women and lace dressing gowns for nearly half an hour. He fiddled with the condom tin in his jacket pocket, knowing he couldn’t leave until Angelica was safely out of the tub.

“Hurry up, damn you.” His voice was sharp with need.

Water splashed as she pulled the plug. He could hear it sucking down the drain. Not long now. She would brush her teeth and crawl under the covers, and then Brody would tell her that he needed to leave. He’d be back—late. Don’t wait up.

She would, of course, wait up all night. Angelica would wonder where he had gone.
Why
he had gone. After a few tense hours, he’d come back, drunk and sated, and lay it all bare.
 

Angelica wasn’t the only one who craved sexual companionship. Just thinking about having a whore made him hard. For years, his senses had been so dulled from the morphine that Brody completely forgot what a real orgasm felt like. His numb body could go for hours, as long as his stamina held up—he’d pleasured many women through an opioid haze, yet rarely found his own release.

Brody was excited to
feel
again.

“Angelica!” he shouted toward the bathroom door.

“Alright. I’m com— Oh!” There was a crash, and then a shout. Then…silence.

Brody leapt to his feet, crossing the room in an instant. He beat on the door.

When she didn’t answer, he tried the knob. Thankfully, it wasn’t locked. He burst in to find her sprawled on her back, all tangled up in cream-colored silk.

Brody dropped to his knees on the slick linoleum. “Oh, dear God. Angelica, can you hear me?”
 

She blinked her blue eyes, dazed. “I slipped.”

“You should have called for help, rather than risk falling,” he scolded, cupping the back of her skull with his palm. “Did you hit your head?”

“No, no. No.”

He gathered her into his arms and carried her out of the bathroom. Their room was warm enough that he laid her on top of the bedcovers. She sat up instantly, drawing her knees, and hugging them against her chest. She’d had a fright.
 

Brody placed a comforting hand on her back. “It’s all right, Angelica. You’re safe.”

“I just wanted to have a bath…”

He kissed the top of her head. “I rushed you. I’m sorry.”

“Why were you in such a hurry?”

Brody couldn’t remember now. All he knew was the pounding in his heart, and the sheer terror he’d felt when he thought Angelica had been injured. So he told her the first true thing he could think of, “I get nervous when you’re not around.”

She laughed. “I was only in the bathroom.”

“Too far,” he confessed. Anywhere out of arm’s reach was too far. He needed her near him always—not for her safety, but for his.
 

Brody traced the ridge of her spine, feeling her breath shudder beneath his touch. He’d been too preoccupied to notice her nightdress, which clung to her damp skin. She was still pink from her bath. Warm and clean, and smelling like his borrowed bar of soap. He leaned into her, breathing deep, and pressed his lips to her neck.

“Brody…” She twisted away.

He’d lost his head for a moment. She did not want his pathetic attentions. For once, Angelica was the rational one, and he the lonely fool. Brody pushed off the bed. “I—I have to go.”

Her dark brow furrowed. “Go where?”

He dug through the wardrobe for his greatcoat. “Out. I need a drink. I need…”

“A woman,” she said, sadly. “You need a woman.”

“Yes! I cannot share a room with you, or a meal, or even a damned bar of soap and not want you.” Brody jammed his arms into the sleeves and pulled the collar up over his ears. “I hate myself for it, because I don’t
want
to want you. Not now, not like this.”

She frowned. “Because I’m not a virgin?”

“I don’t know, Angelica. I don’t know anything anymore.”

“You’re the worst kind of man—you only wanted me when I was yours to take. Well, too late. I have already given it up! So go and find a whore. Put her on her knees and pretend that she hasn’t already sucked a dozen men. While she’s choking you down, remember me, cast aside because I’ve had the audacity to know one man. One!” She nearly spat at him. “Go on, get it out of your system. Then, come back here and start acting like a man, rather than a spoiled little boy whose favorite toy has broken.”