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"It isn't much of a life, though, is it?"
It was no life, the brief unguarded look in her eyes said.
"How old are you, Bella?" he asked.
"Thirty–three. Why?" she demanded, putting some much–needed space between them. "Is that significant?"
"And you've been married to Harold for how long?"
"Since I was eighteen," she told him defensively. "Not that it's any of your business."
Maybe not, but this was one mixed–up situation, and he was right in the middle of it. He had a bad feeling about leaving her. It didn't feel right. This was a unique situation for him. He'd only known Bella five minutes, and yet he cared about her. "Fifteen years is a long time to live with someone like Harold."
"And you've known us how long?" she challenged.
Fair enough. Her loyalty to Harold was commendable, though misplaced in his opinion.
He was taking far too much for granted. He didn't know a thing about Bella's home life beyond what he'd seen here tonight. It was a male jealousy thing, he concluded. She'd had an adventure and he had kissed her and felt her soften in his arms. It was no more than that.
He glanced behind them through the kitchen door to Harold snuffling at the table in the room opposite. He couldn't reconcile Bella's concern for a man who belittled her at every possible opportunity, and who would happily sell the house they lived in over her head, with the woman standing in front of him. "Is Harold loyal to you?"
The way her cheeks fired red suggested not. So, the charming Harold was unfaithful, and an all–around good–for–nothing piece of crap.
"I really think you should come back to the hotel with me." His sense of unease was growing.
"I think you'd better go." Firming her jaw, Bella stared at him defiantly. She wanted him gone. She wanted him gone before Harold woke up. "Leave the gates," she instructed. "I'll close them."
He ground his jaw with frustration. He was used to his word being law, but he was powerless in this instance. Bella was a strong woman in an impossible situation, and she was stubbornly determined to make the best of it.
"I won't leave it here," he promised grimly.
"I didn't think you would," she said, but there was no reprieve in her eyes.
He was driving like a bat out of hell, and halfway to his destination, when he remembered the contract sitting on the table. He'd have to go back and get it. Hell, he wanted to go back and get it. For one thing, he didn't want Bella pouring over it and worrying herself sick. She had looked exhausted before Harold pushed her, and goodness knows what else she had to put up with.
He knew he shouldn't care. He knew he should know better than to get involved w
ith a woman he hardly knew, but that didn't stop him from testing the Lamborghini to its limits as he drove back the way he'd come. Bella had made this more than business, a lot more. He could build a house somewhere else on the estate, but the Old Hall was all she had.
He slowed at the gates. They were still open. Bella had said she would close them. It was such a small thing that he knew he should put it out of his mind, but for some reason, he couldn't do that.
Chapter Five
She took a bath when Jack left, reasoning that she could close the gates later. It was just such a luxury to fill the bath full, knowing Harold was snoring downstairs, that she had to take the chance and do it now. The bruise on her side was worse than she'd thought, and the warm water seemed to help.
She had just leaned back in the sudsy water when the door flew open.
"Harold!" She swished foam urgently over her pink, exposed flesh. Harold had sobered up, and he was mad.
"You fat, ugly cow," he spat out, standing braced against the door. "What the fuck were you doing downstairs?"
"I was doing everything you asked," she placated, in no position to fight him while she was lying naked in the bath.
"Everything?" Harold queried in a tone that made a shiver of apprehension run down her spine. "You were doing nothing for me. What you did was all for yourself. Coming on to the billionaire like that, you should be ashamed of yourself!"
Harold made billionaire sound like some sort of disease, she thought as she sank deeper beneath the concealing foam.
Her action drew Harold's attention to the bath. "You use more water than anyone I know! Far more than me," he sneered as he stared down at her.
