Bound To Bea

Chapter Thirty One

"What do you mean?" Noah gawked at Penelope, his face paling and brows knitting in the same manner Oliver's did every time he was hit with disconcerting news.

Even now, as she stared at Noah, she was reminded of the man she loved; the man her love had ruined, for it was her fault Oliver was dead, wasn't it? Her greed had killed him and she had let another woman suffer the blame for it.

Shame constricted her lungs as she rose to her feet and turned from Noah. She clasped her hands before her.

"A year ago, Oliver and I met at my aunt's funeral," she began, compelled by her guilt to speak the truth. What was the point of sitting on the truth, anyway? If she was to be banished to France, she supposed Noah deserved to know everything before she left.

"An odd place to find love, is it not? I should have known it was a bad sign—I should have walked away from him that evening when he followed me out to the garden. But I didn't. I sat there, laughing at his most ridiculous jokes while the rest of my family mourned the death of an aunt who had been so dear," she said, images of Oliver assaulting her. She remembered what it had felt like to be in his presence and to drown in the soothing sound of his voice, and a month later, when fate brought them together again in a ball, it was impossible to forget what it felt like to be in his arms.

"We formed the most unusual friendship in the most unusual circumstance, and we certainly fell in love in the most unusual way. I gave him everything; my heart, my love, and especially my chastity. And in return, he promised me the world. But it was all for nothing because several weeks later, I found out he was marrying another woman."

"Beatrice."

She nodded. "My entire world came crashing down with the news. It was an indescribable feeling of betrayal, anger, and bitterness. But not hatred; never hatred. I could never hate Oliver, even after what he did—even after his marriage to another woman. And when he returned one evening, on his knees, begging for my forgiveness, my love was there to accept him again... even if it meant I was always going to be the mistress."

Silence followed her words, and while she neither heard nor saw Noah, she felt his presence behind her, judging her for her actions.

"We kept it a secret for as long as we could, until—" she sighed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tightened her grip on her trembling fingers.

"—until the evening he died," Noah finished, his words laced with accusation. He blamed her, and she knew he was right to blame her.

She nodded once again, choking back a sob. "The butler had seen him sneak into my room through the window," she whispered, haunted by the memory of that fateful evening. "He must have thought Oliver was a burglar, for he barged into my room. Oliver tried to get away, but the butler wouldn't let him. The two got into a scuffle and... and..." She tore her lips apart, breathless.

Something touched her trembling shoulders, and certain her knees would give out beneath her, she followed Noah's lead to the chaise and perched on the edge.

He knelt before her. "What happened, Penelope?" he asked quietly, tipping her chin until she was staring into his eyes. Weary lines ran across his forehead, denting his handsome features.

"It was an accident." She forced the words out of her lips.

"What was?"

She swallowed, suddenly afraid to reveal the events of that evening.

"What accident, my lady?" Noah urged.

Letting out a nervous breath, she said, "Oliver would never willfully harm another human being. When he pushed the butler out the window, it was..." she whimpered, shaking her head.