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Bellamy grunted in frustration as he remembered similar words from his mother. Neither trusting him enough to make his own decisions.
Not like he was able to do at Moon Flower. He’d always be grateful for that.
“You betrayed me; it’s plain as day.” It still cut so deep, what Ashwood had done to him. His hurt and anger were only underscored by that strange draw he felt toward Ashwood, and he hated himself for it. He wished he could banish the feel of Ashwood’s lips and arms from his memory forever.
But if he truly was dying, if he could truly trust Ashwood’s words about the state of his illness-riddled body—and he certainly felt as if it might be true—then soon enough, he would be in peace.
“I…I…bloody hell,” Ashwood stuttered, placing his head in his hands, his distress evident. “I know I hurt you, and I will regret it for the rest of my life. Just let me make it up to you. And afterward, you don’t ever have to speak to me again.”
“No!” The brief adrenaline boost gave him just enough strength to lift his head. “You stay away from me.”
“You will die unless…” There was actual pain in his expression. “I’d hoped to save you. It’s the only way now.”
“That’s for me and only me to decide. You’ve taken everything else away from me, and I will not allow you to take this too.”
Ashwood’s shoulders deflated, and he sank down in the chair, looking defeated. Good. Bellamy wished he could make him hurt even worse. But the flickers of anger soon fizzled out from lack of strength and conviction.
“I didn’t mean…God help me, I want to make you understand…” Ashwood sighed heavily, stood, then brought over the tray, placing it at the end of his bed. “I will leave you to rest. For now.”
To die, more like it, Bellamy thought absently as he watched Ashwood retreat from the room. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Yes, it would be better to drift off into the night. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to see Ashwood’s face again or feel his electrifying presence.
Why did the idea of it pain him so? He’d been away from him for a solid period of time and had begun to heal his heart. Getting lost in the goings-on at Moon Flower and the gentlemen who sought him for pleasure had helped. He’d come to enjoy the routine, the encounters, and had convinced himself he’d make a fine bachelor once he reentered society. Once he felt safe enough.
But Ashwood had gone and ruined it for him again.
He yawned. To be fair, the sickness had ruined it too. And Oscar. Fucking hell, he should’ve guessed that Oscar would stick his nose where it didn’t belong.
Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, he drifted into sleep, his memories tumbling over themselves in his dreams.
Bellamy stared out the window from the second floor of the Smythe family estate as his mother cleaned the hearth in the library, then made a crackling fire. He loved this room, where he spent many of his days reading from the seemingly endless supply of books—with the mistress’s permission, of course. Other days, he was put to work, helping dust the rooms or in the kitchens chopping vegetables for family meals. Anywhere he was needed. But in the library, it was quiet, almost solemn, and when he wasn’t reading, he enjoyed seeing the countryside laid out before him and the forest beyond. Something about it always soothed him, especially at dusk, when a blush of pinks and oranges streaked the sky, resembling one of the watercolors gracing the library walls.
Movement near a row of trees caught his eye, making his heart drum in his chest. Unless he imagined it, he saw four, perhaps five sets of glowing eyes appear along the perimeter as if they were the forest’s watchmen. He let out a soft gasp, pushed his nose to the glass, and stared harder, his breath catching because it seemed like the creatures were watching him too.
“Don’t stare too hard,” his mother warned. “They’ll cast a spell on you.”
Fear lanced through him. That was his mother’s constant warning: to be careful of practically everything involving the outdoors.
“Is that what happened to you?”
She nodded, finally admitting something and only intriguing him further.
“I liked the nighttime too, and the forest.” She placed her hand on his head and brushed her fingers through his fine locks, and he leaned against her, enjoying the contact. “You favor me…your hair, your eyes. And that’s why I’m afraid for you. That you will take after me. We won’t know yet, not for a few more years.”
“But I want to be like you.” He threw himself into her arms. He didn’t want her to be sad or frightened.
“I love you so.” She kissed the top of his head. “Enough for now, Bell. Someday, when you’re old enough, I’ll explain more. It’s too much for now.”
