Chapter 3: Memories II

An amused smirk crossed Rathbone's lips as he stepped out of the House of Lords. His eyes drifted across the square to where a familiar figure stepped into an unmarked coach, drawn by four matched chestnuts. His grin turned predatory, as he thought back to that kiss in the Parliamentary offices. He was quite certain that kiss had not been on Belinda's agenda when she sent him that note.

He would make Belinda Sinclair his Queen. There was no way he would let her escape him, not now, not since that kiss. Their collective hunger had only grown in the decade of separation. His mind turned from her to what she might possibly know.

It seemed Belinda didn't have any concrete notions of what he was planning; just that he was plotting against Victoria. She clearly knew nothing about the Imperial Seal, hadn't connected his recent return from the Forbidden City with its theft. But she would, soon. It was only a matter of time.

But how best to stop her?

Rathbone was still musing on the conundrum when his automobile was driven up, and the valet hopped out. Rathbone slid into it, instantly taking control as he drove smoothly out of the side entrance to the Houses of Parliament, and into the traffic of London.

Suddenly, he became aware of a presence in the car behind him, as he looked back and jumped.

"God! He snarled, finding himself face to face with Wu Chow, the exiled bastard brother of the Emperor of China. His partner in crime.

With a smug smirk, the Chinese exile folded his hands over the top of his intricately crafted cane.

Rathbone turned back to the road, gritting his teeth with a sneering frown. "Do you have any notion of what would happen if we were to be seen together? He snapped furiously, his tone low and dangerous. The ignorant dolt!

Wu Chow merely continued to smile, as he leaned forward slightly. "Since you have returned, I have yet to lay eyes on the seal," Wu Chow reminded him quietly, as Rathbone openly appraised the exiled nobleman from the corner of his eye.

He sighed impatiently. He wouldn't have to put up the odious little man for much longer, only until he ceased to be useful. Which would be soon.

"I'm hosting a Jubilee Ball at my country estate soon. Be in the stables at midnight, and you will see your seal," Rathbone told him coldly, as he reached into his coat pocket. When he'd awoken this morning, he'd had a feeling he would be seeing the Chinaman soon, and had kept his word.

He was, after all, a man of his word.

"As requested. A token of my esteem," he said, proffering the sheathed dagger he removed from his pockets. Wu Chow took it with a satisfied smile, and a sigh, removing the still bloody dagger from it silver sheath.

"I wonder…did the old man scream?" he breathed, his eyes glittering with malice. It made Rathbone want to roll his own with derision, but he did not. He understood the sweet taste of vengeance all too well.

Seizing his chance, Rathbone pulled over to the curb, ducking out of the traffic. "This is where you get out," he said sneeringly, just wanting the troublesome man out of his automobile before they were spotted. Wu Chow's eyes flicked up from the dagger, as he re-sheathed it and stepped out of the open car, turning back to Rathbone with an urbane smile.

"I hope there will be more trust between us, when I am Emperor, and you are the new king," he said, by way of goodbye, before he disappeared into the crowd. Rathbone stared after him disbelievingly, looking forward to the time when he would rid the world of that Chinese bastard personally. He had no intention of trusting the would-be Emperor, nor would he allow China the freedom it desired. That was where Victoria kept getting it wrong; it was time they took control. China quite clearly could not look after itself.

Freed from Wu Chow's presence, Rathbone sat back in his automobile for a few moments, his mind drifting once more.

His Jubilee Ball was tomorrow. He would be heading to his Salisbury Estate tonight, to oversee the final preparations for the soiree. That, plus his plans with Wu Chow, would leave him little time to deal with Belinda. The woman was a stubborn one, and she would not back down easily, but then maybe…

Rathbone's smile turned wolfish, as he considered his options.

Ten years ago, Belinda Sinclair had agreed to be his wife, and despite their long years of separation, he had no doubt she was still his. His wife in all but name and body. As far as he was concerned, she had better just get used to the idea, because he would never let her go.

Now he had her sights, she was his.

He wouldn't make the same mistake as ten years ago, of letting anyone come between them….

Ten years ago…

Rathbone sat atop his black stallion, awaiting Belinda's arrival. It was early afternoon, the sun streaming down into the secluded grove he'd found some days ago, which had become their meeting place. His gloved hands were tightly fisted over the reins, as he struggled to see through the red haze of anger that lay over his mind.

Edward Sinclair had refused to allow him Belinda's hand in marriage.

Why the old idiot refused his suit, he had no idea, but it seemed his lover's fears had become reality.

The sound of cantering hooves filled the air, as a familiar bay gelding came into the clearing. Rathbone caught his breath at the sight of its rider, beautiful and confident on horseback, her plum riding skirts swirling around her, her long mahogany curls freely draped down her back, restrained only by a small top hat perched atop her hair. Breathing shallowly from her canter, her eyes alight and her cheeks blushed with colour, she looked around for him, as he dismounted. The movement caught her eye, and she smiled gloriously as she dismounted also, and tied her reins to a branch.

Unable to let her see the anger on his face, he held his arms out and she rushed into them. He clasped her close, relieved to feel her soft body against his, her glossy curls playing over the back of his hand. Desperate for her lips, he tilted her chin and kissed her tenderly, his tongue slipping into her mouth. She moaned and pulled him closer, running her gloved hands through his hair. Leaving the warm cavern of her mouth, Rathbone pressed soft caresses to her jaw, following it down to her neck. Belinda shivered and instinctively arched her spine, her mind too fogged to think straight.

Abruptly, he left her skin, licking his dry lips, feeling dangerously overheated.

A few minutes more and he might have lost control.

Anger filled him once more, as he looked down on the young woman in his arms. If it weren't for her damned father, he wouldn't have to worry about losing control so much. He gritted his teeth, as Belinda's eyes opened, glinting like iridescent emeralds in the summer sun. She smiled slowly, like a cat stretching after a luxurious nap in the sun, and it took all his will not to set his lips back to hers.

"Well, were you successful? What did my father say?" she asked him breathlessly, hope setting her youthful face aflame. Rathbone tensed, and she must have noticed it because her face fell. "He didn't allow the match?"

Rathbone shook his head. "No, he did not. And I have just received news that my tour of duty has been brought forward another few weeks, so I leave for India next Monday," he told her sombrely. She exhaled shakily, leaving his arms and crossing them defensively. As if shielding herself from heartbreak.

"I knew this would happen. How could I have been so stupid?!" she muttered to herself, beginning to pace back and forth, as Rathbone stared at her.

"What are you saying?" he asked confusedly. Belinda turned to him with tear-rimmed eyes, and a dead expression in the once alive depths.

"I'm so sorry, Nelson. Father warned me off you the moment we laid eyes on one another. I should've known he would not accept your suit," she explained. "And now, we have no hope left."

She went to walk off, but Rathbone caught her around the waist, as the girl's composure slipped slightly.

"Not all is lost, my love. There is another option for us to follow, one that will put an end to all objection," he whispered into her ear, as she stood stiffly in his arms, clinging to the lapels of his riding coat.

"Why does he hate you so much?" she asked, still not looking at him. Holding her tighter, Rathbone shook his head.

"I don't know, my love. I don't know," he murmured against her hair. He had an inkling, a suspicion that Lord Sinclair knew, or at least suspected that he and his father were plotting against the Queen, plotting to remove her and place Rathbone back on the throne.

Clearly Belinda did not suspect him of anything, but raised her head and looked at him through tear-filled eyes. "I love you."

It had all the air of a goodbye to it. Rathbone hauled her body against his, his hands becoming like steel shackles around her arms. "Don't do this. Don't say goodbye," he said warningly, his voice a low growl. Belinda shook her proud head.

"What else can I do, Nelson? We cannot disobey my father and marry. What choice do we have left?" she asked him desperately, searching his eyes. He inhaled slowly, willing himself to be calm. The thought of her leaving him sent shivers of pain through his soul.

"We have one choice left, Belinda," he told her quietly. She watched him, her eyes narrowing.

"And what is that?" she asked, one brow rising incredulously.

"Elope with me. We can catch a train to Gretna Green and be man and wife in three days, long before your father can stop us. My family is unopposed to the match, they would shelter us," he explained enthusiastically. His father had congratulated him on finding such an excellent proposition for his future Queen, not that Rathbone saw her in those terms. He wanted Belinda for herself. He could care less about her aristocratic background or numerous connexions.

Belinda's eyes widened with shock. "But the scandal….it could destroy us. It'll destroy your career, any chance of a post as a foreign diplomat, Nelson. I won't let you ruin yourself for me!" she exploded wildly, struggling slightly in his grip. He held on tightly.

"It'll blow over. They always do. All society will see is your father's pig-headedness at refusing the match, and see us as forced into elopement, particularly when my father openly supports our marriage. It can work, Belinda!" he asserted forcefully. She winced at the pain of his hold, and he released her, looping his arms around her waist instead. "Forgive me, darling. Just don't talk about leaving me again. I can't bear the thought of it."

"I know. Neither can I," she whispered, leaning her forehead on his tenderly, and closing her eyes. "I love you so much."

In response, Nelson leaned forward and kissed her gently, slowly. She sank further into his arms, sliding her hands up his arms and into his hair once more. He angled his head over hers, deepening their kiss, laying claim to her mouth, if he could not yet lay claim to her body. He already held her heart.

Eventually their lips parted, breathing raggedly against each other's lips.

Belinda cleared her throat, looking down as she slipped his pocket watch from his pocket and checked the time.

"I must go soon. I shall be missed," she said regretfully, almost leaving his arms. He snatched her back again.

"Not yet," he murmured, taking her lips again. Sighing contentedly, she returned his passion for a few precious moments, before drawing back once more.

"I must go," she breathed, but his grip only tightened.

"You will think about the elopement?" he asked her, searching her beautiful, glittering eyes. She paused briefly.

"I shall speak to Father, first. But yes, I will think on it. I'll send a note to you, tomorrow morning," she promised him, nodding once, determinedly.

"Don't tell him we plan to elope if he refuses his consent once more," he replied warningly. She shook her head.

"I shan't. Now I really need to go," she said, trying to ease from his hold. He let her go, following her to her horse. He helped her mount, registering the hitch in her breathing when his hands closed around her waist with a slight grin. He mounted his own horse and led the way out of the grove.

The park was full with walking couples and governesses with their charges, and matrons of society's elite gossiping in barouches at the side of the paved avenues. Rathbone stopped his horse at the end of the trees, as Belinda reined in also, sending him a questioning look.

"If we leave together, we'll be signalling to society that I am going to offer for you. Rathbones do not ride with ladies in the park, on horseback or in carriages, except with their wives. It's an old tradition," he explained shortly. Belinda's eyes twinkled with amusement and exasperation.

"Men are such possessive Neanderthals at heart," she muttered, at which he chuckled. She shook her head ruefully, but inclined her head determinedly. "Lead on, my Lord."

He stared at her, stunned that she had agreed to publicly declare herself as his future wife, under the watchful eyes of society's elite. But then again, he'd expect nothing less.

They rode at a slow trot down the avenue, not stopping to talk or to register the shocked and speculative looks they received from onlookers. They smiled occasionally, inclined their heads, but did not get bogged down in social conversation.

Rathbone breathed a sigh of relief when they cleared the Park and began to trot down the road that led to Grosvenor Square.

All too soon, their ride came to an end, and Rathbone had to watch as Belinda rode away from him. He kissed her hand boldly, planting kisses on her knuckles and her palm.

There was worry and hope in Belinda's entrancing eyes, and he felt a shiver of foreboding fill his heart. Why did this feel like goodbye?

"I'll write to you tomorrow," she whispered, with a weak smile, before she turned aside. Rathbone stopped by the pavement and watched after her as she trotted into the mews. Before she disappeared around a corner, she looked back and said quietly, so he could barely hear her. "I love you, Nelson Rathbone."

Those were the last words she ever said to him, for ten long years. He arose the next day to hear that the Sinclairs had left England early, and were already on a ship back to Japan. A week later, he was shipped off to India, for a year long tour, before he resigned his post and took on another as a foreign diplomat. He stayed in India for four long years, before being re-posted to China. He had not been in England when his father had died, nor had he been there when Belinda Sinclair returned permanently to England. He didn't know until he returned to England eight years after he had last seen her, that Edward Sinclair had died of consumption and Belinda Sinclair was an orphan.

He didn't set eyes on her or hear from her for another two years, when one day he received a note after a session in the House of Lords.

It had been a long decade…

Rathbone smiled darkly as he dragged his mind back from the past, and pulled into the driveway for his London home. A servant hurried from the front doors, as the young Lord surely halted and hopped out of the automobile, and took it to be parked in the stables.

Another footman took his case of papers and cane as he strode into the house, empty and echoing despite the veritable army of servants that resided there.

Sighing, Rathbone gave a curt nod to his butler before escaping to his study, to read and recuperate from the sheer boredom of a Lords' session with a glass of brandy.

Outside the private haven of his study, the servants prepared for their Master's departure to his country house; whilst inside, Rathbone's mind once again lingered on Belinda Sinclair. After a moment's thinking, he laid aside his book and reviewed the guest list. His secretary should've included her on the list, as per the usual practices, and sure enough her name was there on the guest list for the Jubilee Ball. With a satisfied smirk, he sat back, crossing his legs contentedly. He had a feeling this was one event she would not refuse to attend.

His Belinda would come to him, and he would ensure she could not leave.

This time there was no Edward Sinclair to protect her from him.