“I’ll go with you.” Princess Regina fell into step beside her.
Five minutes passed. And then another five. Mikhail was becoming concerned when his sisters-in-law reappeared without his wife.
That sent him into full panic. He did not know where she’d gone, but when he found her, he’d give her a blistering lecture for making him worry.
“Someone has been trying to cause trouble,” the Duke of Inverary said, drawing him aside. “When I danced with her, Belle asked if you had married her because of her scar. You should ask the staff at the front door if she left.”
Mikhail hurried to the foyer. “Have you been standing here all evening?” he asked the footman, who nodded. “Have you seen my wife, Princess Belle?”
“Her Highness asked me to tell you she’d gone home if you asked for her,” the footman answered.
“How long ago was this?”
The footman thought for a moment. “Fifteen minutes or so.”
Mikhail bolted out the door. His coach parked across the street surprised him. “Did you drive my wife home?” he asked his man.
“No, Your Highness,” the man answered. “I thought I saw a woman who resembled her walking down the street, but she had disappeared by the time I got there.”
She had walked home?
Mikhail could not quite grasp the concept of his pregnant princess walking home. If anything happened—He banished that horrifying thought.
“Meet me at the house.”
His driver looked confused. “Don’t you want to ride, Your Highness?”
“Running is faster.” Whirling away, Mikhail dashed down Audley Street. He passed Adam’s Row and Upper Grosvenor Street, reaching home in five short minutes.
Panting from his exertions, Mikhail burst into the foyer and then stopped short. His wife was walking down the stairs, a bag in hand.
This was bad. Worse than he’d imagined. Much worse.
Belle paused, her heart sinking at the sight of her husband, and then crossed the foyer to stand in front of him. Leaving would have been easier if he hadn’t returned home.
“Why are you panting?”
“I ran home.”
That surprised Belle. High society did not attend social events on lowly feet.
Belle studied his beloved face, his sharp angular features, eyes blacker than a fathomless pool, chiseled lips she yearned to kiss. And then Belle steeled herself against him, gathering her anger around herself like a cloak.
“Did my butterfly necklace belong to your first wife?” Belle demanded.
Mikhail gave her a blank stare. “What?”
Lavinia had lied about the necklace.
“Did you make a death-bed promise to marry Lavinia?”
Mikhail seemed bewildered. “What are you saying?”
Lavinia had lied about that too.
“Did you marry me because of my scar?” Her violet gaze captured his. Willing him to tell the truth. Willing him to prove the other woman had lied. Willing him to say the words she wanted to hear.
Mikhail paled, his black gaze skittering away from hers. Then his face flushed and darkened as the seconds ticked by.
Lavinia had spoken the truth.
Mikhail held his hands out in supplication. “Listen…”
“You listen to me,” Belle snapped, pointing her finger at him. “You used subterfuge and lies to trick me into marriage. I wonder what other lies have slipped from those lips.”
Those lips tightened in anger. “I do not lie.”
“Do not insult my intelligence.”
“Walking home alone was not the smartest choice you have ever made.”
“Neither was marrying you.” Belle gave him a look filled with contempt. “You appreciated my sister’s theater cosmetics, I bet. Then you could enjoy a scarred wife who preferred to hide her face at home, and the cosmetic concealer would mask the mark for an evening out.”
“That is absurd,” Mikhail said, his voice rising in anger. “You are using those cosmetics like a crutch. With or without the scar, I love you.”
“With all these pretenses and lies, I cannot believe you,” Belle countered, “and proving your love is impossible.”
“Only a man in love would eat a spider sandwich,” Mikhail shouted. “Is that proof enough?”
In spite of her anger and pain, the thought of him eating the spider sandwich tickled something inside Belle. She burst into giggles, recalling his revolted expression when he’d realized spiders laced the butter.
Mikhail gave her a lopsided smile and reached for her hand. “Please do not leave me.”
“I need a couple of days to sort myself,” Belle told him. “I won’t be gone long.”
“Why can you not sort yourself here?”