Page 46 of Break Me: Smith and Belle

I wrapped him in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. We’ll figure this out together.”

“If you don’t go confessing to murder,” he whispered.

“Edward, if I—”

“You didn’t do it.” He pulled back and smiled through his tears. “Murderers don’t give good hugs.”

“Is that right?” I asked, smiling despite the way my heart constricted at that word.

“It’s a fact.”

21

Smith

I tossed my umbrella in the stand by the door and headed for the stairs, just as the lift door dinged. I paused on the first step as it opened. Mrs. Winters hobbled up, pausing when she saw me. Her hand rubbed her hip, which must be partially responsible for the scowl on her face.

“Have you seen my wife?” I asked, knowing that asking after the housekeeper’s well-being would only elicit a stern rebuke. She was made of stern British parts and didn’t like to be reminded otherwise.

“I expect that they’re planning the party,” she said wearily. “Although, I’m the one left to make a cake all day.”

“Party?” I repeated. Belle hadn’t seemed in a particularly festive mood when I’d left for Brighton, and there didn’t seem to be anything worth celebrating, at the moment. Not with Nora missing and no clue who was responsible for her disappearance.

“Miss Kincaid’s birthday,” she responded, narrowing her eyes like she didn’t have the time to explain this. “I better get back to the kitchen and check the oven.”

I puzzled over it the entire way up the stairs. I needed to find the others. When I met Georgia in the hall outside my study, I still hadn’t figured it out. “Why does Mrs. Winters think it’s your birthday?”

She rolled her eyes so far back in her head, they looked nearly white. “Because your lovely wife needed to distract her from going into Nora’s room, and that’s the genius lie that came to mind.”

“Oh, okay.” I didn’t see the harm in the lie, especially because Georgia’s reaction was the first funny thing I’d seen all day. I had to take levity where I could find it.

“I cleared out the room,” she told me as I went to the nursery. I stepped inside and looked around before she added, “They aren’t here. They went to the village.”

“You let them go to the village alone?” I exploded.

“Did you want me to babysit or clean up her mess, Price?” Georgia crossed her slender arms over her stomach and glared at me.

Normally, I’d know better than to pick a fight, but today I was on edge. “Don’t you work for the royal family? How is it okay to let a prince walk around with no protection?”

“That’s not what this is about.” She strode out of the room, leaving me to follow her. Unexpectedly, she went toward my study. As soon as we were inside, she closed the door.

“What’s it about then?” I asked.

“Her. You want to believe she’s okay—that she didn’t do it.” Georgia paused and took a steadying breath. “We can cover this up—whatever this is—and you know that. It’s not the first time we’ve had to deal with something like this. But you need to accept that your wife might have killed that woman.”

“Belle wouldn’t…“ I trailed away, emotion choking my words.

“It doesn’t change who she is,” Georgia said softly.

I lifted my eyes to hers and admitted the last thing I wanted. “Doesn’t it?”

I’d turned it over and over in my head on the way back from Brighton. I couldn’t get Miranda Thorne’s hollow eyes out of my head, or her grim warnings. She was batshit mental. That was clear. But it wasn’t so much what she said but how she looked. Belle had worn the same vacant expression that day on the pond. I didn’t believe in ghosts, but I couldn’t look at this as coincidence. The last mother to live on this property had gone mad. She’d likely killed her family and buried them in the cellar. Was that what was happening to Belle now?

She felt like water slipping through my fingers. I kept trying to collect her, but I was beginning to see that was impossible. Was she doomed to share the same fate as Mrs. Thorne?

“We need to find the missing Thorne baby,” I said, determined to refocus my energy on something I could actually control. “There has to be some sort of record. The baby was born in an asylum, for fuck’s sake. What if she found out she was a Thorne and was upset that we bought her family home?”

Georgia stood across the desk, her eyes filling with pity. “Smith—”