Page 29 of Bella Darcy is on the Run

They seemed to fit together perfectly, and for a few glorious seconds there was nothing but the feel of him. No filthy little room or locked door. No terrifying situation waiting on the other side of it. Only the warmth of his body moulded to hers, the steady pressure of his hands at her waist and his mouth moving over her own.

Without warning, George pushed her away almost as forcefully as he had pulled her to him. "What am I doing?"

He held both arms out in front of himself as though to prevent her coming any closer. Bella lifted her fingertips to lips that felt pleasantly swollen and stared at him. His eyes were wide and almost wild, and he looked nothing like the composed Captain Harwood who had danced with her only a few hours earlier. "I beg your pardon, Miss Darcy. I should not have..." He dragged a hand through his hair. "I must not. I will leave you in peace." With that, he stalked away. It was a somewhat ineffective stalk, as the room could only have been five paces wide at the most, but he moved as far from her as he was physically able, dropped to the floor and rested his head upon his knees.

Bella was quite certain there was no established etiquette for the proper way to behave in such a situation. With one last unsteady breath, she retreated to the opposite corner of the room, sat down, leaned her head back against the wall and allowed the oppressive silence to settle heavily around them.

✽✽✽

It was difficult to know how many hours had passed, but the sky beyond the narrow window had already begun to turn pink when the door to the small room burst open. Captain Harwood sprang to his feet at once, rushing across the room to stand before Bella and shield her from whatever might come through.

"Keep your knickers on," said a gruff voice.

Bella blinked sleep from her eyes and peered around the captain. A large man stood silhouetted in the doorway, holding a tray, and as her eyes adjusted to the light now entering the room from the hallway, she realised that he was one of the men who had accosted them in the alley. There was further movement behind him in the hall, but she could not make out who, if anyone, stood beyond him. Bella felt a small stab of satisfaction when she noticed that he too sported several bruises across his face. George's handiwork, she supposed.

Any trace of good humour disappeared when the man looked around George and grinned at her. "Don't worry, Captain. We shan't be touchin' the pretty little thing. She's our meal ticket now, ain't you, darling?"

George moved more squarely in front of her. The man gave a coarse laugh before dropping the tray to the floor with enough force to send thin grey gruel splashing from two chipped bowls. He set down a jug beside it, gave them an exaggerated bow and left, pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

"Princess," Captain Harwood said with a hollow laugh as he sank to the floor beside their meagre meal. "Come now. We should keep your strength up if we are to leave this awful place. I have no doubt your fiery Clara has raised the alarm by now, and hopefully your aunt has had enough sense to speak to the Customs officers and the magistrate."

He patted the ground beside him. "Come and sit. I am sure this is not the splendour to which you are accustomed, but it will fill your belly."

At the word belly, Bella's stomach gave a loud growl and she felt her cheeks heat.

"Your stomach knows what is good for you, at least," George said.

Bella sank beside him with as much dignity as she could muster and took a small spoonful of gruel. It was vile. There was neither salt nor sugar in it, and it tasted like thin, chalky paste in her mouth. Nevertheless, she finished it without complaint before taking a hearty swig from the jug of water and passing it to him.

"May I call you George?" she asked. The thought escaped her mouth before she had time to apply any reason to it. And she put her fingers to her lips as if to force the words back in.

He gave a real, warm laugh this time. "As you wish, Princess. I suppose we have gone somewhat beyond the bounds of the drawing room. If you thought your aunt Lydia stretched the boundaries of propriety, I fear this surpasses even her efforts."

"I suppose it seems suitable. And I have already come to think of you as George in my own mind, so it will make things much easier."

He gave her a quizzical look but apparently thought better of commenting. Instead he took a long drink from the jug, pulling a face as he placed it back on the ground.

"Where did they get that from?" he said with a grimace. "We shall be fortunate at this rate if we do not die of dysentery before anyone has the opportunity to ransom us."

Bella clutched a hand to her stomach in horror, but he grasped her hand and began to speak urgently. "Now, listen to me. Please listen to me, Princess. I know you do not wish to hear it, but our best chance of escape is to watch and listen carefully. If an opportunity presents itself, I will give you a signal and you must follow my orders."

Bella frowned at the word orders.

George looked at her, his gaze still and assessing, before continuing. "Yes, orders. And you must follow them. Besides which, escape may not even be necessary. Clara knows we have been taken. The Customs men know something of this gang's operation, and I have no doubt that the kidnapping of the Princess of Pemberley will hasten the response of the authorities."

"Could you not simply call me Bella?" she said. "Everyone else does."

"As you wish, Princess," he said with a smirk, tipping an imaginary hat.

Bella glared at him before tracing one finger idly through the dust on the floor. "There is another matter I believe we should discuss."

"Yes. Well..."

His halting reply ended abruptly when the door swung open once more. George was on his feet almost before Bella had registered the sound. He gathered her roughly behind him with such force that she fell backwards and, for one undignified moment, found herself like a beetle on its back, skirts tangled around her legs as she struggled to right herself.

"What exactly is going on in here, Captain Harwood? I cannot have you manhandling the merchandise."

The voice was more cultured than any Bella had heard since their capture. When she finally managed to sit upright, she saw a small, square man standing in the doorway, and astonishingly she recognised him. He had the same neat white beard she remembered from outside the tearoom and this time wore a finely cut suit of dark brown wool. He looked every inch the prosperous merchant, and his smile was so warm and open that he might have been chatting with friends over dinner rather than discussing a ransom plot.