The Black Beast of Belleterre
Page 7
"I'm old enough to be your wife," she retorted.
He edged toward the shadowed end of the room, trying desperately to keep his defenses from crumbling. "I never wanted a wife."
"But you have one.” she said softly. "Why do you run from me, James? I know I'm not clever, but I love you. Is it so unthinkable that we be truly married?"
"Love?" he said, unable to suppress his bitterness. "How could a beautiful girl like you possibly love a man like me?"
His words acted like a spark on tinder. "How dare you!" she said furiously, looking like a spun sugar angel on the verge of explosion. "Because men think me beautiful, do you think I have no heart? Do you think I am so superficial, so blinded by my own reflection in the mirror, that I cannot see your strength and kindness and wit? You insult me, my lord."
Helplessly he said, "I meant no insult, Ariel, but how can you love a man whose face you have never seen?"
Her blues eyes narrowed. “If I were blind and could see nothing, would you think me incapable of love?"
"Of course not, but this is different."
"It's not different!" Her voice softened. "I fell in love with you because of your words and deeds, James. Compared to them, appearance is of no great importance."
When the black folds of his robe quivered she knew that he was deeply affected, but not yet convinced. She knelt by the tree and pulled out the portfolio of drawings she’d brought for him. "If you want to know how I see you, look at these."
Hesitantly he took the portfolio and laid it on a table.
Ariel stood next to him as he paged through the loose drawings. If any of her work had magic, it was this, for the drawings came straight from her heart and soul, The images made up a modern Beauty and the Beast and showed exactly how she had seen her husband, from her first glimpse of him at Gardsley to the present. Under each picture she had written a few spare words to carry the story.
James was the focus of every picture, forceful, mysterious, larger than life. Though his face was never shown, he was so compelling that the eye could not look elsewhere. He was the enigmatic Black Beast of Belleterre, his dark robes billowing about him like thunderclouds. He was the compassionate, patient Lord Falconer, caring for everyone and everything around him. And he was James, surrounded by adoring birds and beasts, for every creature who knew him could not help but love him.
Then he sent Ariel away. The last drawing showed him lying in the Belleterre woods on the point of death, his powerful body drained of strength and his great heart broken. Ariel wept beside him, her pale hair falling about them like a mourning veil. The legend below read, "I heard your voice on the wind."
He turned to the last sheet and found a blank page. "How does the story end?" he asked, his voice shaking.
"I don't know," she whispered. ''The ending hasn't been written yet. The only thing I know is that I love you."
He spun away, his swift steps taking him into the shadows at the far end of the room. There he stood motionless for an endless interval, his rigid back to Ariel, before he turned to face her. "I was ugly even as a child. My mother used to say what a pity it was that I took after my maternal grandfather. But that was normal ugliness and would not have mattered greatly. What you will see now is a result of what happened when I was eight."
She heard his ragged inhalation, saw the tremor in his hands as he raised them to his hood, then slowly pulled the folds of fabric down to his shoulders. Her eyes widened when she saw that he was entirely bald. That explained why she’d had the fleeting impression of a skull when she'd glimpsed him in the library.
Yet the effect, though startling, was not unattractive, for his head was well shaped and he had dark, well-defined brows and lashes. He might have modeled for an Asiatic warlord in a painting by one of the great Romantic artists.
Voice taut, he continued, "My mother was taking me to Eton for my first term, and we spent the night at Falconer House in London. That night there was a gas explosion in her bedroom. I woke and tried to help her, but she was already dead."
He raised his damaged left hand so Ariel could see it clearly. "This happened when I pulled her body from the burning room. The smaller scars on my scalp and neck were made by hot embers that fell on me." He touched his bare head. "Afterward I was struck with brain fever and was delirious for weeks. They thought I would die. Obviously I didn't, but my hair fell out and never grew back. I was never sent to school, either. It was considered 'unsuitable.' Instead my father installed me at a minor estate in the Midlands so he wouldn't have to see or think about me."
James closed his eyes for a moment, his expression stark. "Can you be as accepting in the particular as you were in the abstract?"
Ariel walked toward him, and for the first time their gazes met. His eyes were a deep, haunted gray-green, capable of seeing things most men never dreamed of. Coming to a stop directly in front of him, she said honestly, "You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."
His mouth twisted. "And the rest of me? My father refused to look at me, my tutor often told me how lucky I was to have my hideousness visible rather than concealing it as most men do."
She smiled and shook her head. "You're a fraud, my love. I'm almost disappointed. I'd expected much worse."
His expression shuttered. "Surely you're not going to lie and call me handsome."
"No, you're not handsome." She raised her hands and skimmed her artist's fingers over the planes of his face, feeling the subtle irregularity of long-healed scars, the masculine prickle of end-of-the day whiskers.
"You have strong, craggy bones. Too strong for the face of a child. Even without the effects of fire and fever, it would have taken years to grow into these features. Did you ever see a picture of Mr. Lincoln, the American president who was shot a few years ago? He had a similar sort of face. No one would ever call it handsome, but he was greatly loved and deeply mourned."
"As I recall, the gentleman did have a good head of hair," James said wryly.
Ariel shrugged. "A bald child would be startling, almost shocking. Yet now that you are a man, the effect is not unpleasant. Rather dramatic and interesting, actually."
She stood on her tiptoes and slid her arms around his neck, then pressed her cheek to his. As tension sizzled between them, she murmured, "Now that you have nothing to hide, will you promise not to send me away again? For I love you so much that I don't think I could survive another separation."
His arms came around her with crushing force. She was slim but strong, and so beautiful that he could scarcely bear it. "Unlike the Beast in your story, I can't turn into a handsome prince," he said intensely, "but I loved you from the first moment I saw you, wife of my heart, and I swear I will never stop loving you."
Her laughter rang like silver bells. ''To be honest, in both the books Mr. Howard sent me, the handsome prince at the end was quite insipid. Your face has character. It has been molded by suffering and compassion and will never be boring." She tilted her head back, her shining gilt hair spilling over his wrists. Suddenly shy, she said, "Did you notice what's above your head?"
He glanced up and saw mistletoe affixed to the chandelier, then looked back at her yearning face. Curbing his fierce hunger so that he wouldn't overwhelm her, he bent his head and touched his lips to hers. It was a kiss of sweetness and wonder, a promise of things to come. His heart beat with such force that he wondered if he could survive such happiness.
Instinct made him end the kiss, for they risked being consumed by the flames of their own emotions. Far better to go slowly, to savor every moment of the miracle they had been granted.
Understanding without words, Ariel said breathlessly, "It's time we changed for dinner, for it's going to take some time to decorate the tree. I brought some lovely ornaments from London. I hope you'll like them."
He kissed her hands, then released her. "I'll adore them."
Christmas Eve became a magical courtship. He discarded his robe. Then they dined close enough to touch knees and finger
s rather than being separated by a dozen feet of polished mahogany. Laughing and talking, they turned the tree into a shining, candlelit fantasy. And the whole time, they were spinning a web of pure enchantment between them. Every brush of their fingertips, every shy glance, every shared laugh at the antics of Cerberus and Tripod, intensified their mutual desire.
When they went upstairs, he hesitated at her door, still not quite able to believe. Wordlessly she drew him into her room and went into his arms. As they kissed, he discovered an unexpected aptitude for freeing her from her complicated evening gown.
Her slim, curving body was perfect, as he had known it would be. With lips and tongue and hands, he worshiped her, as enraptured by her response as by the feel of her silken skin under his mouth. She was light and sweetness, the essence of woman that all men craved, yet at the same time uniquely Ariel.
She gave herself to him with absolute trust, and the gift healed the dark places inside of him. He could actually feel blackness crumbling until his heart was free of a lifetime of hurt and loneliness. Such vulnerability should have terrified him, but her trust called forth equal trust from him. Already he could scarcely remember the haunted man who had been unable to believe in love.
In return for her trust, he gave her passion, using all of his skill, all of his sensitivity, all of his tenderness. Their bodies came together as if they were two halves of the same whole that had finally been joined, and when she cried out in joyous wonder, it was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.
After passion had been satisfied for the first time, they lay tranquil in each other's arms. He had never known such rapture, or such humility.
In the distance, church bells began to toll. "Midnight," he murmured. ''The parish church rings the changes to celebrate the beginning of Christmas Day."
Ariel stretched luxuriously, then settled against him again. "Christmas. A time of miracles and new beginnings. What could be more appropriate?"
"Indeed." He brushed his fingers through her hair, marveling at the spun-silk texture. "I'm sorry, my love. I didn't get you a present."
She laughed softly. "You gave me yourself, James. What greater gift could I possibly want?"
Author’s Note
Thank you for taking the time to read The Black Beast of Bellterre. I hope you’ve enjoyed it—and if so, please consider helping other readers find it by leaving a review of the book at your favorite online bookstore or reader website.
If you’d like to read more holiday tales, look for my Christmas Candles, which contains two more Christmas novellas, and Christmas Revels which contains four other Christmas novellas, as well as the one you’ve just read.
I also have stories in three holiday anthologies: Christmas Roses, along with Patricia Rice and Susan King, and two Kensington anthologies done with all eight Word Wenches: The Last Chance Christmas Ball and Mischief and Mistletoe.
Finally, if you would like me to let you know when my upcoming books are published, you can join my newsletter here.
Happy reading!
Mary Jo Putney
Also by Mary Jo Putney
The Bride Trilogy
The Wild Child, #1
The China Bride, #2
The Bartered Bride, #3
* * *
The Fallen Angels Series
Thunder & Roses, #1
Dancing on the Wind, #2
Petals in the Storm, #3
Angel Rogue, #4
Shattered Rainbows, #5
River of Fire, #6
One Perfect Rose, #7
* * *
The Silk Trilogy
Silk and Shadows, #1
Silk and Secrets, #2
Veils of Silk, #3
* * *
Other Historicals
Dearly Beloved
Uncommon Vows
The Rake
The Bargain
The Marriage Spell (paranormal)
* * *
Regencies
Carousel of Hearts
The Diabolical Baron
Lady of Fortune
* * *
The Dark Mirror Trilogy
(Young Adult fiction, written as M. J. Putney)
Dark Mirror, #1
Dark Passage, #2
Dark Destiny, #3
Fallen From Grace (A Dark Mirror Short Story)
* * *
The Guardian Trilogy
A Kiss of Fate, #1
Stolen Magic, #2
A Distant Magic, #3
* * *
The Lost Lords Series
Loving A Lost Lord, #1
Never Less Than A Lady, #2
Nowhere Near Respectable, #3
No Longer A Gentleman, #4
Sometimes A Rogue, #5
Not Quite A Wife, #6
Not Always a Saint, #7
* * *
Rogues Redeemed Series (A Spin-Off of the Lost Lords)
Once A Soldier, #1
Once a Rebel, #2
Once A Scoundrel, #3
Once A Spy, #4
* * *
The Circle of Friends Trilogy
The Burning Point, #1
The Spiral Path, #2
An Imperfect Process, #3
A Holiday Fling (novella, also published in Christmas Revels)
* * *
Shorter Works
Weddings of the Century: A Pair of Novellas
The Christmas Cuckoo (novella, also published in Christmas Revels)
* * *
Christmas Collections
Christmas Revels
Christmas Candles
Mischief and Mistletoe (contributor)
The Last Chance Christmas Ball (contributor)
Christmas Roses (contributor)
About the Author
A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USAToday bestselling author, Mary Jo Putney is also a recipient of RWA’s Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement Award. She was born in Upstate New York with a reading addiction, a condition for which there is no known cure. Her entire romance writing career is an accidental byproduct of buying a computer for other purposes.
Her novels are known for psychological depth and intensity and include historical and contemporary romance, fantasy, and young adult fantasy. Winner of numerous writing awards, including two RITAs and two Romantic Times Career Achievement awards, she’s had a number of her books listed as top romances of the year by Library Journal and Booklist, the magazine of the American Library Association.
Her favorite reading is great stories, but in a pinch she’ll settle for the backs of cereal boxes. She’s delighted that e-publishing can now make available books that have been out of print.
Visit MJP online:
MaryJoPutney.com/
Copyright
The Black Beast of Belleterre
Copyright © 1992 & 2019 by Mary Jo Putney.
All rights reserved.
Published by Pandamax Press, a division of Mary Jo Putney, Inc.
* * *
Cover by Kimberly Killion of The Killion Group.
Pandamax logo by Elizabeth Person.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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The copying, reproduction, and distribution of this ebook via any means without permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and refuse to participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s intellectual property rights is greatly appreciated.
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