Breathe Me: Smith and Belle (Royals Saga Book 11) Read online

  The answer gasp and the voice that followed wasn’t Belle’s.

  “Shit! I’m sorry!” Nora said.

  I dropped the towel from my face, wrapping it around my waist in one motion, as I looked over to discover the nanny, standing frozen to the spot. She was gawking at me. Another time and in another life, I might have appreciated her obvious interest, but every part of me belonged to Belle now.

  “What are you doing in here?” I roared, a primal rage taking over me.

  That was enough to snap her out of her daze. She looked away quickly, beginning to back-up. “Belle was looking for… Sorry!”

  Whatever it was must not have been important, or I must have scared her badly, because she turned and ran from the bathroom.

  That was just what I needed. I stalked out of the shower, already canceling my plans to go into the village. There was no way, given the current state of things between my wife and I, that I was going to chance her hearing about this little encounter from anyone else, especially Nora. It had been innocent. A mistake. But I was a man walking on eggshells at the best of times. I might have no interest in Nora, but Belle had pointed out she found the nanny beautiful. I could only imagine how twisted this could become in her head, especially after the photograph of Margot.

  I threw on a pair of trousers and a thick sweater ribbed with marled brown wool. I didn’t even bother running a brush through my hair or finding shoes. Hopefully, Belle hadn’t gone on another one of her sodding walks. I tore out of the closet, stopping dead in my tracks when I found her waiting for me by the bed.

  “In a hurry?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “I was looking for you,” I told her.

  “In the closet?”

  “Listen, beautiful,” I said hurriedly, in no mood to have this turned into another argument. "I was grabbing a quick shower when you sent Nora in for whatever it was you needed. I don’t want you to think anything happened.”

  “Did something happen?”

  "No,” I repeated. “I just wanted you to know that it happened.”

  “But you just said nothing happened,” she said.

  She was fucking infuriating. It was making me hard. “Yes. I mean, no. Jesus Christ, Belle, what do you want?”

  “Some lotion, actually.” She abandoned her interrogation, strolling into the bathroom to dig in a vanity drawer. As she came out, she waved the bottle. “This is what I sent Nora in for.”

  "Maybe advise her to knock next time,” I said dryly, stretching an arm toward her. Belle was in a surprisingly good mood—playful even.

  She stepped backward, dashing my illusions about the situation. “She told me what happened. It sounded like an accident.”

  “It was an accident.” I frowned, wondering if she was going to ever let me touch her again. I wasn’t being punished for the thing with Nora. This was about something else. The other night? Or had I fucked up worse than that?

  “In that case…” Belle started toward the door.

  “Are you going to keep punishing me?” I called after her before I could stop myself.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, remember?”

  The dismissiveness of her tone needled me. No, I hadn’t done anything wrong, but that wasn’t going to stop her from continuing to give me the cold shoulder. Until I could get her to admit what was bothering her, I had no hope of actually doing anything to change it. But if she was going to persist in believing that I was keeping pictures of my dead wife in my desk or that I enjoyed having a young, beautiful nanny around the house, I didn’t know what I could do about it. I’d gotten rid of Margot’s picture. I had no interest in Nora. Did I need to fire her and hire some old woman from the village? I would do anything if it meant Belle would be happy again.

  “If you think—” the chime of the front door cut her off mid sentence. She groaned, throwing back her head. “We’ve been getting deliveries all day. Jane sent something. Clara and Alexander sent gifts.”

  "Your friends miss you,” I said carefully. “We never talked about going back to London for Christmas.”

  "Everyone has plans by now,” she snapped, turning on her heel to walk out of the room. I was two steps behind her when a familiar, and very welcome, voice floated up the staircase from the landing below.

  “Is this the welcome I receive? Usually I expect a parade.”

  Belle’s head whipped around to me, surprise on her face and one name on her lips. “Edward?”

  "I thought you needed your best friend,” I said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. I swallowed against the sourness I felt, reminding myself that I would do anything for her, even if I wasn’t the one she really wanted. I stepped past her, brushing one hand across her forearm. “I wish I could give you everything you need.”

  We stared at one another for a moment, me searching her eyes hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman who felt so far from me now. She looked at me, her expression unreadable, before her eyelids shuddered close, and she whispered. “You have. Thank you.”

  Something broke inside me. I’d given her what she needed, delivered her best friend—someone she might actually talk to—but the victory felt hollow. I wanted to be that person for her. Until the last few weeks, I thought I was that person. We lingered there for a moment, hearing the faint welcomes of Humphrey and Mrs. Winters, acknowledging Edward’s arrival below us. Finally, Belle turned and started toward the stairs. Without thinking, my hand lashed out, grabbing hers. “Find your way back to me, beautiful.”

  She opened her mouth, but then her teeth descended into her lower lip, and she continued down the stairs without a word.

  22

  Belle

  "Warning, Mrs. Winters can be a little testy,” I said under my breath.

  Edward gave me a crooked smile. “You forget I was the peacekeeper in my family growing up. No one can resist my charms.”

  I seriously doubted that, but I couldn’t help noticing how much more relaxed Edward seemed since his return home from Italy. He’d filled me in on his time away. Most of it he’d spent on the Riviera or bouncing about Tuscany in search of the best wine. Somehow, he’d even managed to stay incognito enough that no one recognized him. I still had a hard time believing that. Maybe people there were just less interested in the scandals surrounding his family.

  As we sat down around the new dining table, it was clear that he intended to make good on his promise to win Mrs. Winters’s affection over dinner. When she sat the large shepherd’s pie in the center of the table, he whistled appreciatively.

  “I missed real food,” he told her. “I think I’ve had enough noodles for a lifetime.”

  "Well, it doesn’t show,” she said, eyeing him with a mixture of suspicion and pride. “But I’ll be glad to cook any of your favorites while you’re here.”

  She bustled back towards the kitchen, humming happily to herself. She was still determined her place was there and ours was here in the formal dining room, but I’d never seen her look so self-satisfied. Edward tossed a wink in my direction as if to say see?

  "She’s always asking me what I want to eat,” I said with a shrug, feeling my own lips tugging up.

  “That’s because you’re the lady of the house,” he said, unfolding a napkin and placing it in his lap. “You’re supposed to dictate the menu.”

  "As though I care what we eat. Who would? I’m just happy to be fed.”

  "Clara made the same complaint when they moved to Buckingham.” The statement was out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. A gloomy silence descended instantly over the table, and I found myself shooting Smith a look, hoping he could think of something—anything—to say that would change the topic.

  “Will you stay for Christmas?” Smith asked.

  I was a little surprised they hadn’t hashed out more of the details before he arrived. I’d assumed this was part of Smith’s gift to me, convincing Edward to finally visit for the holidays.

  “I don’t want to impose, bu
t I was well past due to meet little Penny.” He dug his fork into the potatoes on his plate, moving them around a bit without taking a bite. “I’m here as long as you want.”

  "Careful,” Smith warned him, “she’ll never let you leave.”

  Even though he smiled as he spoke, I didn’t miss the sharp edge biting through his words. Edward, however, seemed blissfully ignorant to the double meaning hiding under Smith’s statement.

  “The place is big enough,” he said. “I’d love to stay for Christmas if you’ll have me.”

  It was the best news I’d received in weeks. “You can help me shop for Christmas. With everything going on, I haven’t even started.”

  "Of course you haven’t,” he said with a laugh, as though this was perfectly natural. “You just had a baby. You have a new house. Honestly, if you know what day of the week it is, you’re killing it.”

  A flash of gratitude crossed Smith’s face, but he turned his attention to his plate as soon as he realized I saw.

  “I think this is the best thing she’s made,” he said conversationally.

  “I’ll have to ask her to teach me how to cook it,” Edward said.

  My fork froze midway to my mouth. “Excuse me?”

  “How to cook it,” he repeated. “The recipe?” he added when I continued to stare at him.

  “I was fairly certain you didn’t know how to boil an egg,” I told him.

  “I’m not that helpless.”

  I placed my fork on the table and leveled my face to his in challenge. “So you know how to boil an egg?”

  “I could learn,” he said with a wave of his hand. “It didn’t come up in my cooking class.”

  “Cooking class?” I repeated, even more shocked.

  “What do you think I was doing in Italy?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. Not learning to cook. “Staring at beautiful Italian men and sipping spritzes?”

  “It turns out you can only do that for so many hours in a day,” he said dryly. “I figured if I’m going to strike out on my own, I’m going to need to know how to do things like cook.”

  There was a brief moment of tense silence as I realized what he was implying. I glanced at Smith, seeing the same understanding written across his face.

  “That makes sense,” I said swiftly, worried the conversation would veer into dangerous territory. This was the first Edward had talked about plans that lasted more than a holiday trip to whatever part of the globe caught his fancy. I didn’t want to press him too far too fast, but it was nice to see him thinking about the future, even if I wasn’t sure I liked the implication of him striking out on his own. “So, Christmas shopping? I have no idea if Briarshead has decent shops.”

  “I’m sure it’s not Harrods,” he said, "but we can find something. Smith must need hunting gear or golf equipment or whatever manly hobby he’s taking up in the countryside.”

  "I’m quite busy enough,” my husband said in a clipped tone. “I’d rather you two just enjoyed yourself and not worry about me.”

  I couldn’t help wondering if Smith had even bothered getting me a Christmas present. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want me to shop for him. It was not as though there’d been time, and neither of us had been to London since Penny was born. He was always here, always working, always overseeing some new project on the grounds. I made up my mind not to stress about a present for him. If something caught my eye, I’d pick it up. Otherwise a new baby and a new house seemed like more than enough for one year.

  In the meantime, Edward had drawn out his mobile to check the Internet for the shops available to us in the village. As he began to fill me in, ranking his interest and making slightly snide remarks about a few of them, I found myself laughing. After a few minutes, I felt Smith’s eyes on me. Looking up, I found a stony mask in place of a smile. He’d worn it often when we first met, guarding himself from me. Now it was back. He’d been the one to call Edward here, so why was he acting so coldly? Before I could hunt for more clues, he laid his napkin on the table and rose.

  “If you’ll excuse me. I need to return a few phone calls,” he said “I’ll check on Penny.”

  “We can do that,” Edward said quickly. “I want to spend more time with my godchild. I assume I’m her godfather?”

  “I’ll put it in the will,” Smith said dryly. “Good night.” He disappeared into the hall, off to do whatever he did in his study in the evenings. The memory of opening his desk drawer to find Margot’s photograph drifted into my mind, and I shooed it away.

  Tonight, I was determined to be happy. That was the first step in finding my way back to him.

  Edward’s good mood had continued into the following day. When I brought up Christmas shopping, he’d insisted we go, and that we bring Penny along. Just the two of us. I’d battled my own anxiety over it and agreed. For the last hour we’d been strolling through Briarshead, popping in and out of the small shops in the village. Most of them required we leave the pram at the door, given the age of the buildings and their layouts, so Edward took to carrying Penny. He was a natural at it, and it was clear Penny adored her Uncle Edward.

  “Spill,” I demanded. “What’s your secret?”

  He turned, Penny cradled in one arm asleep, and a book in his other hand. “I’m sorry?”

  “You’re clean-shaven, well-dressed, and in a good mood,” I said, crossing my own arms and studying him like I might be able to unlock what was going on with or without his assistance.

  “And that’s a problem?” he asked

  I hesitated, worried that bringing David up might ruin the festive atmosphere. The truth was I was desperate to know how he was doing it. The last time, I’d seen Edward, he’d been in a dark place. Had Italy been that amazing? Part of me had thought when he arrived that there would be someone to share my misery with. Instead, I’d gotten my best friend delivered to me in one cleaned up, cheerful package. “The last time I saw you…”

  “Some things have changed since then,” he said quietly, placing the book back on the shelf. “Some things haven’t.”

  “What changed?” I asked, not trying to hide the plea in my voice. Edward hadn’t simply come for Christmas. He’d been summoned by Smith, which meant he’d been filled in on what was going on in my life. He knew about the postpartum depression. I was sure of it. If he had some secret cure that could fix me, I wanted to know.

  “I started taking pills,” he said, hurriedly adding, “prescription ones, I mean. I spoke to a doctor. I just decided I didn’t want to feel that way.”

  A lump formed in my throat. That was his secret? I blinked against a sudden blur of tears. I’d already tried that.

  “Hey, talk to me. I get the sense that’s not what you wanted to hear.” Edward stepped closer, giving us a little bit of privacy. Now that he had cleaned up his act, eyes followed him all over the village. He was no longer flying under the radar. Briarshead knew Prince Edward was in town.

  “I went to the doctor,” I whispered, “and I started the medication, but it just makes me sleepy and fuzzy.”

  He pushed the bridge of his horn rimmed glasses higher up on his nose, nodding thoughtfully. “When did you start taking it?”

  “A few days ago,” I said.

  “It takes a fortnight at least,” he said soothingly. “You just have to give them time to work.”

  “Are they going to make me feel this terrible forever?” I asked.

  “I didn’t have side effects, but I read the pamphlet the pharmacist gave me,” he said with a grin. “I think you’ll be okay. If you’re not feeling better by the time two weeks is passed, maybe you should talk to your doctor about something else.”

  I had the oddest sensation that I’d found myself in some type of advertisement: Talk to your doctor about this medication or that medication or anything that might take your hot mess and turn it into the polished, poised woman you’d once been. I forced a smile.

  “Don’t do that with me,” he said firmly. “
I know when you’re over-thinking.”

  “Would you rather I just cried?” I asked as we stepped out of the bookshop, and Edward carefully deposited Penny in her pram, wrapping several layers of blanket around her. She stirred, momentarily opening sleepy eyes to find him smiling back at her. It was enough to reassure her, and she fell back asleep.

  “I’d rather you be happy,” he admitted. “I think that’s what Smith wants, too. The first step is going to have to be admitted that you aren’t. You can’t fake it until you make it when you’re depressed.”

  He put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close.

  “I want to be happy,” I said softly.

  “That’s the first step, love.” He pressed a kiss to the side of my head.

  “What’s the next one?”

  “Take it one day at a time,” he advised, “and when it’s all too much, chocolate never fails.”

  “I know just the place to take you,” I said.

  We continue down the main street, shifting to lighthearted banter about the items for sale in shop windows. The truth was that having him here had done more good for my soul than I thought possible. But I couldn’t hang all the responsibility of feeling better on him. Not when he had his own life to get back to.

  “What about Smith?” Edward asked.

  “I didn’t get him anything this year, except a baby,” I said absently.

  “No, not that. How is Smith feeling about things? He seemed worried when he called me.” Apparently, Edward wasn’t going to avoid difficult conversations. He’d really meant that he wanted to help me. I suspected, he felt he learned his lesson the hard way in regards to things like that.

  “He’s fine. He adores the baby. She adores him.”

  “And?” Edward pressed.

  I shrugged. “What else matters?”

  “You two usually can’t keep your hands off each other,” he said meaning "Last night you barely looked at each other.”

  “What did you say? Some things have changed?” My words were hollow, but coated with the bitterness I felt towards the situation.