Lady Hathaway's House Party by Joan Smith Page B

behind her. “Belle, talk to me. Look at me,” he said, turning her around bodily to face him, and to force her to look at his face, hovering eight inches above her, with a hurt look of incomprehension in his eyes. And certainly he was no physical monster, but a handsome young man, one she had loved very much, and still couldn’t hate, much as she wanted to. In fact, one she found herself loving again, or still, with all his renewed attentions. He really seemed to have changed in some ways. He was no longer cool, distant. In fact, he had changed too much. He was too violent, too impatient and urgent in his demands. “No," she answered in a confused, small voice.
    “Come back to me then,” he said, and crushed her against him so hard she thought her ribs would break. She knew he was going to kiss her. Maybe she had known from the start of the ride he would try to, but Oliver had never been pressing in his physical demands on her, and she had thought she could put him off. She pushed him away now, or tried to, but every effort caused him to tighten his hold. There was a strength she couldn’t hope to match in his arms, holding her, and he was soon kissing her, angrily at first, as if he meant to show her he was the stronger, but when she stopped struggling he subsided into a more tender embrace.
    After a prolonged interval he let her go. “I don’t understand,” he said, staring at her face, still only inches from his. “Why do you not come home when you love me? You do, Belle, and you know I love you.”
    “No, I don’t know it!”
    “I’m telling you I do. What is it you want from me? I’ve married you. My motives cannot be in doubt. Marriage may not be the best institution in the world, but it’s the best a man can do. Give it another try, darling. We’ll go to Belwood—be alone there,” he urged eagerly.
    “I don’t know. I can’t think here. I’ll—I’ll think about it, Oliver.” But her thoughts were tending to think she would go back to him. Between all his pleas and urgings, her guilt over the mount he had bought while she had run away, and the fact that she really did love him still, she thought she would go back.
    “Is it Henderson? Is that it? Did he get after you when you went home? There must be another man.”
    “No, of course not,” she said quickly, fearing a duel or at the very least a good beating from this newly violent husband.
    "Is there someone else, someone I don’t know about?”
    “No, it has nothing to do with anyone else. It’s you. Us,” she modified.
    “If that’s true, if you’re telling me the truth—”
    “I’m not a liar!”
    “Well then,” he said firmly, “we can work it out. Come on, we’d better get back.” Already in his mind he was working it out. Into the empty room beside Belle’s. She loved him. She did. She might not like him, but she loved him. And to think, only last night she had looked at him with unveiled hatred, but he had turned her around, as he always knew he could if he only could get to her.
    They rode back to Ashbourne at a slower pace, side by side at a canter through the forest on the bridle path. Oliver felt he had taken a giant step, and spoke temptingly of Guinevere and the course at Belwood, of the saloon waiting for a woman’s touch. He omitted any mention of London, sensing that danger lurked in that quarter. Belle asked a few questions, enough to signify some interest at least, and when they entered Ashbourne, Lady Dempster saw through her lorgnette what looked very much like a happy couple.
    Belle went abovestairs immediately to bathe and change, but Oliver first went after Kay.
    “How did it go?” she asked.
    His smiled encouraged her. “We’re getting there,” he replied. “Kay, I think it’s time you let me change rooms.”
    “Did she say so?” Kay checked.
    “I didn’t mention it, but I don’t think she’ll mind.”
    “Oh no, you don’t pull that trick on me, Master Jackanapes.”
    “I tell you