Neal was born to be in the city. He certainly enjoyed visiting his father for a few weeks at a time, and he was very aware that the ultimate goal of most men in his position was a house in the country with land and tenants, but London called to him. He loved everything about it: the shows and the theatres and the crush of people in the streets. He loved the house he lived in (even if it was technically his father's; the other man never came to it), he loved the parks, he just loved the sheer activity of it all. The smell, perhaps, left something to be desired, but he wouldn't have traded London for the world.

Well, perhaps there were parts of it he would do away with entirely if he had the ability. When his father remarried - rather publicly throwing his lot in with the French family against Nottingham - certain things in London had become less pleasant than before. He didn't go to his social club as much anymore, for one thing. Nottingham was a member, and while he didn't spend much time there, he had friends who did. Most people didn't particular care that Neal's father had married the woman that Nottingham had ruined and apparently planned to marry, but a few took a dimmer view of the whole thing. His father had 'stolen' Belle (despite the fact that as far as Neal could tell she hadn't ever wanted anything to do with Nottingham) and that was a massive upheaval in their worlds and Neal had to be cautious not to become caught up with them or else possibly risk a confrontation.

It was a little strange sometimes, still seeing articles about his father in the gossip pages - though thankfully those had mostly died down. As long as Belle and his father stayed out of London, there wasn't much to talk about - just a lot of letters to the editor. Something about Belle's situation seemed to encourage these people to voice their opinions on the matter. Perhaps it was just the situation itself and any young fallen woman would receive similar treatment, or perhaps it was just that she'd had the audacity to remain in her family home and therefore in view afterward. If she had been cast out and fallen to a life of dissolution then it probably would have been largely forgotten now, something only whispered about in hushed tones as a cautionary tale. Instead, though, she'd survived and for that crime she must be punished.

He'd never had much of a reason to consider fallen women before, but the rather public pillorying of Belle by polite society as a whole struck him as somehow unfair. She wasn't some monster lurking in the shadows, nor was she a succubus luring men to their damnation; she was a woman who had been so scared of him at her wedding that she could barely speak and who seemed to dote on his father with an affection he'd rarely seen in his life. He liked her, and he felt a strange discomfort at the way she (and, by association, he) was being judged.

As a result, Neal had spent more and more time in business and less in social outings since his father's marriage. This wasn't entirely a bad thing, as the business had certainly benefitted from the attention, but he missed his social circle. He missed dinners at the club and being a carefree bachelor.

Still, he wasn't a pariah, by any means, and his friends had drawn him out one evening for a night of cards. They were pretty far into the game (and the night) when Nottingham and a handful of his friends arrived at the gambling hall. Neal cursed his luck silently; he hadn't realized the other man was in town and would have insisted on a less fashionable establishment had he known. So far, there had been no confrontations between the two, and Neal preferred to keep it that way. A careful public position of neutrality had served him well, and despite his liking for Belle, it was for the best not to draw any real attention to her situation. The less attention anyone paid to her, the better.

He tried to make himself more inconspicuous in the hopes of going unnoticed. There were plenty of tables and plenty of rooms, and it was entirely likely that the new arrivals would move on to one of the other places if left to their own devices.

"What's going on?" Neal's friend August said with a fake smile on his face to cover the words. "You look like someone just killed your father."

"Nottingham just walked in," Neal said with an equally fake smile.

"So?" August replied. "He's gone this long without causing a scene, he has no reason to start something now."

"I've managed to avoid him this long," Neal replied. "I don't know what he thinks he has a reason to do."

"Just ignore him," August said, tossing his bet into the pot. "Look, they're sitting at another table."

Neal nodded, secretly breathing a sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to face more than the awkwardness of being in the room together. He cast his bet and the hand continued uneventfully. August took the pot, and soon the next hand began. Eventually, Neal lost track of Nottingham's group. He assumed they'd moved on to another room, but when a handful of seats opened up at his table he was surprised to look up and see the chairs suddenly being filled by the three other men.

They were clearly a few hours into their evening already, and fresh from at least one pub. They were loud and boisterous, and Neal was on edge at the sight of them. Even August seemed to have realized the situation had the potential to become very bad and was sitting up just a hair straighter than usual.

"Neal," Nottingham said with a joviality that was, frankly, unearned given their non-existent acquaintanceship. "It's been too long, my good man."

"Right," Neal replied. "How have you been?"

"Very well," Nottingham said. "And how's your family? I heard you have a new mother, but then I've had her, too."

This last was delivered with a licentious lift of his eyebrows and a raucous laughter that had the entire table shocked into silence - except for Nottingham's friends, who began chuckling. Even with Belle's sullied reputation, that was shockingly crude. Neal hadn't in his life heard a woman who wasn't a prostitute spoken of in any similar terms. His options to react were limited; he could call for a duel, he could punch Nottingham, he could let it go, or he could leave. Dueling wasn't legal, fighting likewise would only end with his arrest, and it wasn't something he could just ignore. He stood from the table, tossing his cards into the center and prepared to walk away with his dignity and honor intact, but that of course just egged the bastard on.

"Don't go!" Nottingham continued. "It was just a joke, after all."

"There's really only one joke here," Neal replied as he scooped his remaining chips into his pocket. "And I don't feel like playing with him."

That shut the other group up, and the entire table settled into an eerie silence.

"If I were a lesser man I'd call you out," Nottingham replied sharply, with his voice carrying the edge of a man who wasn't used to being questioned.

"Go ahead," Neal replied. "From what I've heard, I'd be the only one standing on the field when the time came."

It was dangerous to taunt him with a duel on the table. It was largely out of fashion, but still a valid threat and with the jokes that had been made at Nottingham's expense after he had dodged the challenge Belle's cousin had levelled at him there wasn't really any way Nottingham could have backed down from another duel and saved face - there was nobody to offer to marry this time.

The silence continued with all the men glancing back and forth between Neal and Nottingham as the two stared at each other.

"You're not worth it," Nottingham finally said at last. "Killing you would mean going to the continent and that just seems tedious. Besides, I wasn't ever very good at languages."

"I bet," Neal replied, turning on his heel and exiting as calmly as he could with his heart beating hard and the sound of blood in his ears.

"What the hell?" he heard August from behind him, jogging to catch up. "Remind me not to go out alone with you again."

"Sorry," Neal said instantly. "I just cannot deal with that man."

"You don't have to apologize to me," August said, glancing back over his shoulder. "I never liked Nottingham anyway. I was just pretty sure that I was about a minute away from being stuck as your second."

"It wasn't going to come to that," Neal replied. "He's a coward - the kind who doesn't want anyone to know it so he just lashes out at anyone weaker than himself. If I hadn't called his bluff then we were going to have a problem."

"He's not a great enemy to have, you know," August said. "He's too rich and too titled."

"He's not that rich," Neal muttered. He'd seen the evidence himself in his father's office. "Anyway, he's not one of my investors and his friends' fathers hate him. You realize everyone in there with him was a younger son."

"I didn't," August replied. "But then I don't spend nearly as much time with the gentry as you do."

"It's part of my job," Neal said. "I have to know what my investors like. And they hate Nottingham. For every one I lost after my father married Belle, I probably gained another just because they wanted to annoy him. That, of course, doesn't mean that they'd actually invite my father to their homes now, but I doubt he'd go anyway."

"At least nobody takes it out on you," August said. "Could be worse."

"Everybody takes it out on me," Neal replied. "Just because they hate Nottingham as a person doesn't mean they want me around. Reputation is everything in this town."

August didn't seem to have a reply, but Neal hadn't expected one. He didn't blame Belle or his father for the invitations he'd stopped receiving and the friends who had begun avoiding him - he didn't. His father had been right, Belle wasn't to blame and Neal was glad for her sake that things had ended well. He just hoped that this all blew over at some point. There had to be another scandal to take everyone's minds off of it at some point or another; he just had to wait it out.

Rhys wasn't sure if he was more bored or frustrated, but he was certainly both in varying measures. He'd never thought of a broken wrist rendering him completely helpless and yet here he was. If it weren't for Belle hovering over him constantly and insisting he at least go sit on the balcony he'd probably have been screaming obscenities at anyone who entered by the second week. He was still fairly short tempered, but she did help take the edge off of things.

He'd moved his office upstairs for the most part. Belle had volunteered her writing desk for his use as long as he couldn't take the stairs easily, and while it felt very strange to be seated at her small desk, he did like that she was comfortable while he worked there. She would be seated with the puppy curled around her ankles and reading through a book of poetry while he replied to letters and double checked ledgers and there was something incredibly indulgent about being able to look up from his work at any time and see her there. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why having your wife around while you worked had never caught on, although perhaps it was because it took him quite a bit longer to get anything done when the alternative was staring at her like a lovesick schoolboy.

At least his gift to Belle was progressing nicely. It was supposed to be a surprise, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep it secret from her. A few more days, perhaps, and he'd be ready to show her. Not yet, though.

"Are you tired?" she asked as he bent his head over one last letter.

"A little," he admitted, turning to look at her - she was watching him the same way he sometimes watched her, and for some reason that soothed him. "I just have one more letter to write, though."

"Take your time," she replied, standing up and coming to stand behind him. "I'm going to get prepared for bed. Will you be all right without me?"

He'd miss her like hell, but it didn't seem worth mentioning when she leaned over and and kissed his cheek gently from behind. He put his letter on the desk, praying she wouldn't look at the words on the page.

"I think I'll survive a half hour on my own," he said lightly. "And I'm sure you wouldn't mind a little time on your own."

"I've had plenty of time on my own," she said. "I'm not trying to get away from you."

He smiled and she brushed her fingertips across the nape of his neck before walking out into the hallway, presumably towards her own rooms. Rhys wasn't quite sure what he'd done to deserve Belle for some reason deciding she wanted to spend time with him. This hadn't been part of his plan for the marriage at all, but he was completely thrilled with the idea of it. She was still having bad days, though since he'd been hurt she seemed to have blossomed a bit. Perhaps it was just that he was completely nonthreatening now, or that she was spending all her available time nearby - or maybe it was unrelated entirely. No matter the cause, Belle was smiling more than she had been before, maybe not as much as she had when he'd first met her but definitely more than she had in ages. He would stop short of saying she was prettier when she smiled, although he would readily admit that there was a lightness about her that made him want to spend the rest of his life looking at her.

There wasn't going to be anymore getting work done that evening, not with Belle deciding she was ready for bed. He set his papers aside for the night, careful to place the ones he didn't want her to see under the others. He should feel guilty for hiding things from his wife, but he knew Belle wouldn't approve of his current plan. More accurately, she wouldn't like that he was involved in it. While what he was doing wasn't illegal, it did involve a bit of dealing with some people who she wouldn't necessarily want him dealing with.

It felt like far too long before she came back in one of her floor length nightgowns and an elaborately embroidered purple silk dressing gown. He could see a flash of pale pink around the collar and he recognized the nightgown as one of his favorites. It wasn't quite as frilly as her others, though it had lace panels at the chest, and it fastened with a little bow at the throat that he found fascinating. She'd also spent some significant time embroidering it with a dusting of little roses here and there on the skirt. He suspected this one had been intended for her honeymoon, and although he hadn't been the intended groom he enjoyed the idea that this particular one had been intended for her to be seen in.

"Are you ready to retire?" she asked him from the doorway.

"I am," he replied, standing up as she came to his side to support him while he walked. As soon as this was all over and he was healed, he'd never take his cane and the somewhat limited freedom it offered for granted again.

Still, though, it was nice to have Belle's hand in his so he could lean against her as he moved, even if it took twice as long to walk to his chamber than it otherwise would have. He changed in his dressing room while Belle settled into the bed. By the time he was ready, she was a pretty picture waiting for him to join her under the blankets. In spite of his rather solitary personality, he rather enjoyed Belle being in his bed. She was soft and warm, and when it was dark she would press herself into his side and spend the next half hour or more with her fingers moving across his skin. Occasionally, she would become bolder and kiss his shoulder or the side of his neck. Once or twice she had even guided his hand to her neck or her waist and then she would lay back and trust him to touch her and learn the feel of her. Rhys would try to mind her boundaries, but on those nights it was easy to forget that she was scared and that he wasn't supposed to love her.

This was going to be one of the nights she encouraged his touch, tracing her fingertips up and down his arms as he tried to delicately touch her collarbone as best he could with his arm in the splint. He dared to drag his thumb across her jawbone, and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and a soft moan of pleasure. He'd never thought to hear those sorts of noises from his wife and now here he was, eliciting them with a brush of his fingertips.

Rhys wasn't sure if he trusted himself if things went any further between them. He knew that he wouldn't hurt her intentionally, but he also knew how terribly she had already been hurt. Was there any real guarantee that he wouldn't accidentally cause her any pain? So he would continue his gentle ministrations and not press her for more, even as her hair called for him to touch and her lips demanded kisses.

At last, when she was satisfied (or too tired to stay awake) he heard her breath begin to even out and felt her muscles relax in sleep. He stayed awake a few minutes longer perhaps, just tracing the length of her fingers before finally sleep claimed him as well.

He became aware of Belle hovering over him after a little while. It couldn't have been overlong, because it was still dark, but she seemed to glow from some internal light.

"Belle?" he said her name, hoping she would explain what she was doing but instead a finger came across his lips shushing him.

The finger was soon replaced by her lips, which were soft and warm. Her tongue was soon against the seam of his lips and he returned her kiss, savoring the sweetness of her that he'd only barely had time to taste before. She was so light he could barely feel her on top of him and he needed more, but his arms wouldn't move so he was forced to lay there as she touched him all over and he felt himself responding. She broke the kiss and sat up just a little bit and he was desperate for more of her. He leant forward, desperate for just another taste of his wife when he jerked himself awake.

Belle was still next to him, though when he had jerked himself awake he seemed to have startled her into consciousness as well.

"Rhys?" she muttered, her voice heavy with sleep. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," he replied instantly. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Go back to sleep."

"Are you sure?"

"I am," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Did you have a bad dream?" she asked, laying limply against the pillow with half-lidded eyes.

Well, he'd had a dream but it certainly wasn't bad.

"No," he said, laying back down on his own pillow. "It wasn't a bad dream."

"Then what's wrong?" she asked curling into him again and for the first time he realized he was still hard.

Rhys had hoped that Belle wouldn't notice, but it seemed he was destined for disappointment. He felt the moment she realized, and she recoiled slightly - pulling her hand off of where it rested on his chest and rolling half away so her body wasn't touching his as much as it had been. He was on the verge of apologizing when he felt her suddenly lean back into him. She wasn't as relaxed as she had been, her muscles were tighter and she practically vibrated with nervous energy, but she was there and her head was on his shoulder and her hand was on his chest. He wanted to comfort her, but wasn't sure what to do besides letting her do what she wanted. Finally, he felt her hand begin to dip lower onto his belly and he gasped at the sensation of fingers on sensitive flesh. She usually focused her attention on his chest, face, and arms when she was exploring. He didn't mind (and hadn't realized how much he could enjoy his face being touched or how sensitive his throat was), but as a result, this caress of fingers on his belly was uncharted territory in their relationship so far and he had no idea at all how to respond.

"Belle?" he whispered, deja vu overcoming him - and for a second he wondered if he were still in the dream. He tightened the arm she was sleeping against around her back just a bit, the sensation of the nightgown sliding across her skin reassuring him that this was real.

She replied by shushing him and relaxing further into his gentle embrace.

"Let me?" she replied, the gentleness in her voice reassuring him that she knew what she was doing this time (or at least had a better idea).

He nodded, and only knew she had seen him in the dim light when her hand moved yet lower again until it was resting on his groin just above his flagging erection, which had seemed to remember itself as her hand crept closer to it and reversed course. It took all of Rhys' self control not to arch his back at the sensation of fabric brushing against him in the darkness as her fingers caressed his flesh - so close, yet not quite close enough.

"I've never touched one," she whispered, and he wasn't sure if she was asking permission or trying to explain her hesitation, but either way her words grounded him just a little bit in the reality of the situation. He couldn't afford to lose control - she was counting on him to have some restraint.

"It's all right," he replied. "Whatever you want to do."

She nodded, barely, just enough to show him she'd heard him and that she wasn't distressed.

Finally, brutally slowly, her hand came to rest on top of his cock and he saw stars for a split second at the sensation of pressure at last. She was careful in her touches, but he didn't think she was fearful. There was a curiosity definitely, but her gentleness didn't feel like fear - there was something else there, certainly, but he couldn't quite place it. Belle squeezed his cock just a little bit and he let out a groan before he could stop himself.

"Does that hurt?" she asked quickly, her hand stilling.

"No," he bit out. "It feels good."

"Oh," she replied, doing it again. "That's good."

It was maddening the way she worked, alternating too soft with just right, but he didn't dare correct her. This was for her, to try to make her comfortable with him and to conquer her fears and not to satisfy his lust. He had to remember that; it was the most important thing.

"Do you like this?" she said after a few more minutes of touching him.

"I do," he replied instantly. "But you can stop if you want."

"Is this how you do it when you're alone?"

His breath hitched. He had no idea how Belle had come upon that particular idea, because ladies were never told of such things, but now that it was in his mind he couldn't get it out. It had been a long, long time since he'd first discovered his own body and he was proud of the mastery over his urges that he'd learned in his adulthood and it had been a long time since he had last indulged in that particular activity. But his thoughts were racing so fast, now that the prospect had been planted in his mind, that all he could do was groan.

"No," he said at last, deciding honesty was the only way to survive this with his sanity intact. "Not exactly."

He had half expected her to draw her hand away and return to sleep, but she surprised him yet again.

"Show me," she said.

He whimpered, taking his good arm from around her and moving it down to where hers rested. Once he had himself in hand, she took her fingers off and sat up, drawing the sheets back so she could see what he was doing. The prospect of doing this with an audience wasn't a particularly enjoyable one, but then no woman had ever seemed quite as interested in it as Belle did. He could see the spark of something in her eye even in the low light given off by the embers still smouldering in the fireplace.

Rhys closed his eyes, trying hard to forget the awkwardness of the situation and to let himself be caught up in the moment. Belle was beautiful, and she was right here and for some reason she desperately wanted to know how he gave himself pleasure and those were the thoughts to focus on - the way her hands had felt on his skin and the warmth in her eyes that could have been lust. He imagined his hand was hers in the darkness, and that her breath (heavy as it was with that unexpected something that he would never have dreamt of) came in his ear and not from a distance of a few feet. He felt his bollocks begin to tighten and he adjusted his grip just enough to stave off his climax for a few seconds more, suddenly needing to draw this out and savor this tentative permission to fantasize about her. To fantasize about his wife who he did love, regardless of what he had intended and whether or not it was even reciprocated. There was no sense in denying it anymore, not in the darkness, not while her eyes were focused on him and she was asking for his lust.

He came with a strangled groan, only barely able to cover his cock with the hem of his nightshirt before he spilled himself into the sheets. He was panting and shaking with the after-effects of the orgasm, and Belle was suddenly there with her head back on his shoulder and her fingers resting on the sensitive skin of his belly.

"Thank you," she whispered shyly into his ear.

He felt her press a kiss to his cheek and he just wanted to bury his face in her hair and sob for the relief he felt. He hadn't even realized how tense he'd been until it was gone and all he wanted was more of her and for her to want more of him. Belle's hand moved up to his face again, and her fingers tangled into his hair as though she wanted to hold onto him just that little bit more.

"What does it feel like?" she asked, and he was dragged suddenly back down into the reality that he was lying next to his wife who had never voluntarily been with a man and who in all likelihood had never felt that kind of pleasure.

"It's nearly impossible to describe," he replied honestly. "But I could show you, if you like."

She paused for a second and he felt her fingers still in his hair for a second. This was an exercise in a level of trusted they'd only attempted once before, and he still cursed himself for agreeing to try the last time she had offered. He'd known she wasn't ready, but she had seemed so certain of himself and he had wanted to believe her so desperately and the results had been devastating and not unexpected.

"I don't know," she said at last. "I want to, but I'm afraid."

"I won't do anything you're uncomfortable with," he promised. "I only have to touch you."

She whimpered just a little bit and he turned towards her, gathered her into his arms and held her tightly.

"Tell me if you're ready," he whispered into her hair. "Just say the word and I'm yours, but not a moment before."

"Thank you," she replied, relaxing into his chest. "You're a good husband."

He smiled and kissed the top of her head, and he felt when she began to doze. This was more than he knew how to handle. She was never supposed to want him. It hadn't really occurred to him that she would ever recover to this extent when he'd offered for her. He was beginning to realize that his experience with women like Belle wasn't as thorough as he had thought. His mother had died without ever escaping her husband, and the other ones he had known in his youth had all been prostitutes whose life stories he wasn't privy to. Since then, he hadn't exactly sought out that many fallen women - instead, he supported foundling hospitals and orphanages, hoping that if he could give them a place to leave their children, he might offer them a way to escape. His factories were staffed with women, but opening those jobs up to fallen women would have removed his ability to help anyone at all. Nobody would have invested in the company, and it would have failed miserably.

This marriage was the first time he had done much about his past besides run from it, and he was starting to wonder if perhaps it was finally going to catch up with him now that she had opened the doors.