Page 82 of Once Upon an Enchanted Castle

He was startled by her heated words and took a step back. “Bella, I—”

“Do not use my given name,” she spat. “You are not worthy of that. Or of Emmaline. I tire of your meddling, my lord. I tire of you coming here demanding answers from me—me!—when I owe you nothing.Nothing. I finished your translation. I gave you back the book. You paid me handsomely for it. That was nothing more than a business transaction.Weare nothing more than a business transaction. Coming here pretending to be interested in Emmaline is disgraceful.”

She regretted the words the instant she heard Emmaline choke out a sob. Lord Vincent’s face drained of color. Gerald stepped toward her, placing a hand on her elbow again.

“Miss Bella—” the butler started.

“Enough.” She jerked away and rounded on him. “Find someone in town who can repair the door, Gerald. If no one will come, find someone in Port Leclare. Perhaps one of my father’s old contacts. I don’t care who. Just get someone here today to fix the door. As for you.” She turned back to Lord Vincent, who had stumbled back toward the open door. “Leave this place and never return. If you do, I shall call the constable and have you arrested for trespassing. Is that clear?”

He stiffened then, unaccustomed to being accused of any sort of crime, and straightened his cravat even though it wasn’t askew.

“You have made your wishesperfectlyclear, my lady.” He started to go, then turned back, a spiteful look on his face. “I do hope your father is released form the port jail soon, though I daresay the magistrate won’t take kindly to him being a smuggler.”

It was a parting shot as he stepped through the open casement. Bella clenched her jaw tight as she stared daggers at his retreating back. The only sound was the man’s retreating footsteps on the gravel drive, then the rattling of the carriage as he rode away.

Silence descended between the three of them. She took a deep, cleansing breath to get her emotions under control.

“Miss Bella…is Mr. Rinaldi a smuggler?” Gerald asked, his voice low. Confusion and concern etched his brow.

“No,” she snapped. “He is no smuggler. Lord Vincent knows that. He just wanted to insult me. You’ve known my father longer than me. You know he is no criminal.”

He seemed to take her words as truth and nodded. “I will find someone to repair the door.”

“Thank you, Gerald.”

She turned to Emmaline, then, who still stood at the foot of the stairs. Her eyes were wide and watery with tears, her fingers pressed to her lips. Guilt immediately swamped Bella. Her words were cruel, she knew, but she was certain they were truth. After all, the nobleman did not deny them.

“I’m sorry, Emmaline.”

She shook her head, spun, and hurried up the stairs. Moments later, a door slammed.

Bella sighed. The damage was done. She would find a way to make peace with the girl later. Now, though, she had to find Leopold.

The moment she stepped out the door and into the morning, she smelled the blood and death that seemed to permeate the air. Her stomach twisted into a knot as a sick feeling crept over her. She glanced around the area and saw more drops of blood dotting the front of the manor. A trail led away toward the gardens to the side of the house.

She followed it down the footpath. But it disappeared under one of the rosebushes. Crouching low, she saw the ground stained with a wide pool of blood. There was nothing more. No indication he had dragged himself out of the bushes. Thankfully, his body—in beast or human form—was not there either.

“I hope you’re all right.”

There was only one way to find out.

Chapter 34

Bella’slegsburnedwithexertion, a jolt of fire through her calves, as she hurried to get to the village. As it crested into view, familiar roofs rose against the gleaming morning sun. Her gaze snapped to the usual spot where the carriage waited. No thorn and vine and rose encrusted carriage. No lacquered door. No Dickens waiting for her arrival.

Her heart sank. Her breath caught in her throat as she gulped in air. Despite the warmth of the morning, a chill swept through her, sending a shiver to the depths of her soul.

Leopold.

Lord Vincent alluded to “taking care of” the beast, which terrified her. What had he done to Leopold? If Dickens wasn’t there to pick her up, then something dreadful happened to him. The man she loved.

Panic rose through her breast as she glanced around the bustling village. No one took notice of her. They were all far too busy with their own lives, their own drama. The rattle of carriages heading down the main thoroughfare blended in with the cacophony of the everyday noises. The hum of voices. Laughter. Merchants hawking their wares. In the distance, the jingle of the bookshop bell as a patron entered or exited.

A painful throb took up residence in the center of her chest as she clutched the books in her arms, trying to decide what to do next. Although she had traveled to the mysterious castle every day, she wasn’t sure of the direction. But she had to try. She turned toward the road that disappeared through the thick trees that loomed like phantom sentries guarding a secret. Sucking in a breath, she started down the side of the road. Alone. With nothing but hope to guide her.

It was late in the day when she arrived at the gate of Thornhurst Castle. The imposing fortress never failed to exude its eerie appearance. Though the afternoon light was behind her, splashing across the road not far away, the dark-blue façade still appeared as though it belonged to shadows, its outer walls glistening with starlight. Tilting her head back, she looked up at the spires and towers that reached for the indigo sky that was in perpetual gloom.

The curse made it imposing and threatening. She knew that now. But she had never been afraid of the castle.

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