Beauty Tempts the Beast

by Leslie Dicken

  Ashworth swallowed the bitter taste of bile surging up his throat. Had he truly killed her and not remembered? He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to recall what happened before he fell unconscious, but he could only recall screams and the distant sound of crying.

  Sweat collected on his forehead, dripped down his back. But he did not move. Instead, he breathed in the hot air, tasted soot and despair.

  Catherine had come to him in the grand hall tonight, just after he’d come down from telling Harry good night. He could tell from the twinkle in her eyes, the smug grin, that she was up to no good. And sure enough she wasted no time in making his life a worse hell. Rumors had reached her ears, she said, rumors of the manor’s secrets.

  Ashworth growled, wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. He yearned for a swift ride upon Demon’s back, one fast enough to burn through the agonizing frustration in his veins. But darkness had descended along the slopes of Briarfell and he’d not chance injury when Harry needed him.

  He clenched his fists. But more than Catherine, it was Vivian who tortured every fiber of his being. How he wanted her. At times the urgency swelled in his blood, crashed against his groin and drove him mad with desperation. He had to force himself to resist lifting her skirts and driving himself into her.

  He glanced back at the night table, to his escape. However, his gaze was drawn to the side door, where light glowed beneath the wood.

  He yearned to cross over that threshold but forced himself to remain by dropping in a nearby chair. He was riveted to the shadows passing by in her room.

  Was she in that thin nightdress, her pink nipples poking through the fabric? Was her hair unbraided and wild about her shoulders? Did she truly long for him the way he longed for her?

  Ashworth swallowed. His erection throbbed against the trouser buttons, begging for freedom. He brushed his fingertips across the rise, a tingle raced down his legs.

  He was mad. A beauty was in the next room, freely giving what he so desired and here he sat touching himself. If only he could believe she truly wanted him, that she did not offer herself to further her purpose. She knew how badly he needed release. Would she stoop to using that feminine power to bring him to ruin?

  Still, he licked his lips, thoughts of her hands on his staff. For so long he’d wanted. For so long, he yearned to free the power at his groin.

  He stared at Vivian’s door, his fingers brushing over his erection the way she had done it the other day. It was far more thrilling when it had been her hands on him.

  A shadow fell across the light and then a quiet knock.

  Ashworth stilled. He wiped his forehead, thrust a hand through his hair and sprawled across the chair. She would not see him weakened.

  He cleared his throat. “Enter.”

  The door squeaked open and Vivian slipped inside the room. She wore a pink robe, loosely hanging over her white nightdress. Her hair was undone, just as he hoped, and spread across her shoulders.

  The sight of her slightly dimpled chin and succulent lips dried his mouth. How he missed kissing them!

  “My lord.” She stepped forward. “I have something I feel the need to discuss…” Her voice died away as she spotted the swelling in his trousers. She swallowed. “Perhaps…perhaps I should come another time.”

  Ashworth raised a brow, curled his lips. “This is a perfect time.” Only in her loveliness would his anger and frustration dissipate.

  Vivian gently nibbled her lip, took another step forward. Her gaze raked over his legs then up to his bare chest. “I-I heard you moving about in here and wanted to discuss…I don’t like the idea of keeping certain things from you…”

  She lowered herself to the chair opposite him, her back straight, her jaw tense, but her eyes burned with a raw hunger. The robe slipped from her shoulder, allowing him to see her breasts more clearly. A nipple peeked through the soft cloth.

  A jolt ricocheted through his body. His tongue itched to taste her. He shook with need.

  He would wait. Tonight he would determine if this was a planned seduction or if she truly desired him, scar and all.

  She blinked. Her cheeks flushed to a most pleasant hue. Her fingers twisted the fabric at her lap.

  “Go on.” He smirked, actually enjoying seeing her discomfort. She so often presented herself in control, sure of herself and the situation, that this unease rather delighted him.

  She studied her hands. “I believe this would not be the best time to have this discussion.”

  Ashworth acted on impulse. He dropped to his knees before her. The scent of honeysuckle swirled into his bloodstream then cast him on a river of pleasure.

  Vivian’s eyes widened, her lip trembled.

  He ran his hands up her thighs. “I’m willing to listen, Miss Suttley. Unless you would rather do something else at this moment.”

  Her breath caught. Her muscles tensed beneath his hands. Slowly, her eyelashes lowered.

  How he hungered to kiss her. If he went there, all control would be lost. Instead, he lifted the hem of her clothes, then trailed his fingers up her calves.

  She whimpered.

  He continued along her silken skin, over her knees and up the tops of her thighs. Vivian arched her back, her nipples straining against the nightdress.

  Ashworth swallowed, clenched his teeth. Fire scorched his blood.

  He reached the flare of her hips and rubbed his thumbs around her waist. Vivian threw her head back, her mouth parted.

  Lowering his hands to the soft fluff of hair, Ashworth bit back a growl. She wiggled, tightened the muscles in her bottom, lifted her hips up toward him.

  He wanted these clothes off of her. He wanted to see her naked, spread before him. As in his study, intense lust rose up and choked him, compelled him to slide her toward his waiting desire.

  Her words from his study echoed in his brain: I prayed throughout that intimacy would draw out his tenderness. Instead I saw the true character of his savagery.

  Was he a savage, like the monster who took her?

  Ashworth sat back on his heels, his hands slipped out from beneath the fabric.

  Vivian opened her eyes, stared at him. Passion made her gaze bright, but could he trust her intentions?

  “Why are you here?” his voice was raw, husky with desire.

  “I told you. I wanted to discuss a matter with you.”

  He lifted himself to the other chair again. “No. Why did you stay when you knew my intentions?”

  She blinked. “Your intentions?”

  Ashworth raised an eyebrow and glimpsed down at the outline of his erection.

  “Ah.” This time she grinned. “As I have told you before, you torture me.”

  “How do I know you are not truly seducing me, hoping that by finding your way into my bed, I will grant you the marriage you seek?”

  Amazingly, she laughed. “I will admit to you that was my intention at the start. But now…”

  He drew in a ragged breath. “Now?”

  “Now I find myself having the most alluring dreams. I find myself melting in your embrace, aching for your kisses, desperate for your touch.”

  “What of your experience before?”

  Vivian lowered her eyelashes. “I have told you that I am not a virgin. My maidenhood was lost to a young man who wanted to marry me. I’m not sure I truly experienced pleasure with him, but neither was it an unpleasant encounter.”

  “And what of the other man, the one who hurt you?”

  “’Tis true that he assaulted me in a variety of painful ways, but he did not ever penetrate me. His true possession, he claimed, would come after we were officially wed.”

  She lifted her gaze again, searched his face. “Since the moment you first kissed me, my body has not been the same. My blood flows hot, my skin yearns for your touch, wicked thoughts plague every waking moment.”

  His entire body trembled. Could it be true? Could she actually desire him?

  His chest tightened as he recalled the l
ast few times he’d enjoyed her treasures. Would he ever be able to have her or would his gruesome visions destroy everything?

  Chapter Twenty

  Ashworth watched, breath trapped within his lungs, as Vivian stood from her chair. Her eyelashes lowered as she slipped the robe off her shoulders, letting it drop to a pink puddle at her feet. She stepped closer.

  The scent of honeysuckle eddied from her skin. He breathed in deeply, filled his blood with her feminine aroma.

  His fleshed pulsed in a dangerous rhythm.

  The corners of her mouth turned upward as she untied the ribbon at her neck. Was she was stripping herself naked?

  Ashworth clenched the armrests of the chair. “Miss Suttley…Vivian…”

  She raised a finger to her mouth, shushing him. Her nightdress slipped down one of her arms, exposing a pink-tipped breast. He licked his lips.

  Vivian came up before him and stopped like a Greek goddess at his command. His eardrums whooshed with a frantic heartbeat, his veins scalded with heat. The urge to snatch at her hips jolted through him. But if he stroked her now…

  Her fingertips touched his legs, sending a shiver up to his groin. He gasped as she lowered to her knees on the floor.

  “Vivian, what are you—?”

  His words died away at the sight of the smooth curve of her shoulder gleaming with the fire’s blaze. Dancing flames reflected in her dark eyes. His mouth grew parched.

  Weightless hands smoothed up his thigh.

  Ashworth caught his breath, held it tight. If he but let it go…

  Strong fingers enclosed around his erection.

  “Faith, Vivian!”

  His head fell back, eyes closed. Her motivation for seducing him was lost to the whirling sensations, lost to the pulsing ache in his chest. He needed her touch. Needed it in so many ways.

  The restrictive pressure against his arousal was suddenly gone and then her fingertips brushed his bare flesh.

  Ashworth clenched his teeth, gripped the armrests until he thought they would break with his strength. Her soft, feathery strokes sent tremors to his toes. His hips lifted from the chair.

  Moist heat.

  He snapped his head up. Looking down he saw the top of Vivian’s hair. Oh God! His flesh jerked, his head buzzed.

  And his stomach twisted, anticipating the visions. He tried to push her off but she only sank deeper. Ashworth groaned.

  “Vivian, no…”

  But then her tongue swirled up and around, flicking the tip. He could not stop her now. No, not yet.

  Sinking his hands into her mass of dark hair, he clenched his muscles, watching her take him in fully then pull back. She licked, suckled, kissed. He’d not…not since that one time…he would lose himself in her luscious mouth.

  Her tongue darted and tasted, dampened and pressed.

  The tell-tale shiver burst from the base of his spine. His sac tightened.

  Ashworth pulled her head up and away, then grabbed his staff. He moaned, shuddered, as hot fluid spurted and landed on her nightdress.

  She lifted her gaze to him, smiling. The sight of her hungry eyes sent him plunging forth.

  He cupped her jaw with both hands and yanked her face to his. Capturing her warm mouth, he thrust his tongue between her lips the way he ached to thrust his shaft between her legs. He tasted himself on her, stirring the passion brewing once again at his groin.

  Ashworth pushed at the fabric still on her shoulders and the gown slid down to the floor. He cupped her breasts, weighed them, massaged them, flicked the point with his thumb.

  She sighed, still on her knees.

  He pulled back, bracing himself for haunting vision of dripping blood. But there was nothing but the beautiful sight of this naked beauty. No marks, nothing to mar the perfection of her skin.

  Relieved, Ashworth flicked his tongue over the pink nubs. Her whimper mingled with the frantic beat of his heart.

  How he wanted her. How he wanted to do things to her, make her cry out in ecstasy, make her burn for his fulfillment.

  Again, he moved back, waiting for horrible noises and images to destroy the moment.

  “What is it?” her quiet, husky voice sent tingles down his spine.

  “I…” He could not tell her of the visions. Not yet. She would think him mad.

  She touched his knee. “Do not believe I feel horror or shame. Yes, I’d questioned my reactions to you, wondering how I could yearn for your touch when I was repulsed by another man’s.”

  “I do not repulse you?”

  “No, you do not. I have known true monsters, my lord.”

  How was she so certain he wasn’t one?

  Ashworth pulled her up and gathered her into his arms. He didn’t know what compelled him to offer her such comfort, but nothing had ever felt more right.

  She curled up into a ball, her warm body pressing up against his hips and chest. Eddies of contentment swirled through his bloodstream.

  Other than cuddling Harry, Ashworth had never held anyone like this. He’d never enjoyed a woman’s silky hair spread across his shoulders, the curve of her hip against his waist, the gentle swell of her breast upon his chest. Her honeysuckle scent soothed him more than any nightly potion, her warm breaths heated him more than any fire.

  Almost without thought, he kissed the top of her head.

  She sighed and angled her face up to him. Eyes, lost like a moonless night, beckoned to him. Desire still burned within their depths, but something else struck a knife through his heart.

  Something resembling love.

  Vivian sighed. She could stay here all night, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart. Lord Ashworth—no, after all this, he was now Charles to her—held her with such power, such tenderness, that all unpleasant thoughts were erased from her mind. He was her cocoon. She was sheltered, protected.

  He glanced away from her, breaking the connection which had lifted her heart.

  She stared at the scar which had marked him a monster. It ran from his eyebrow to the top of his lip. He was lucky his eye had not been damaged in the attack.

  But what was the attack? What happened to cause such mark on his face? Would he ever trust her enough to tell her?

  Vivian reached her fingers to it. Touching his marked cheek reminded her of caressing her mother’s, the bumpy skin of healed burns. Both her mother and Lord Ashworth carried the horror of another’s soul, lived each day with the reminder of anguish and confusion.

  He slackened as her finger stroked the line. This mark had a connection to his soul, something that gave him life, yet kept him hidden in his self-made prison.

  On impulse, Vivian straightened her back and pressed her lips to his face. Her tongue traced the groove down his cheekbone, slowly, as if she wanted to taste each nuance of his skin.

  Charles shivered, groaned. Instantly his flesh hardened against her thigh.

  When she reached his lip, he opened his mouth, devouring her. Vivian closed her eyes, surrendered to the swirling sensations in her veins. Heat pooled between her legs, nipples tightened then sprang to life.

  Uncomfortable, she lifted her leg and straddled him on the chair. His arousal pressed insistently on the swollen nub of her desire. Instinctively, she rubbed against it.

  Charles tore his lips away from her. “Vivian, do you know what you are doing to me?”

  Fire blazed through her blood, edging her onward. She pressed, lifted, stroked. Tingles shot from her groin down to her toes.

  “Please…” Her eyes drifted half closed. Flames danced behind him, creating a demonic halo about his head. It didn’t frighten her. No. No man from hell could create such an intoxicating rush at her core.

  Gasping, she leaned forward, her nipples scraping across his chest. A surge of wetness flooded between her legs, dampened his hard flesh.

  Charles groaned, his lungs rumbled with the primal sound. He gripped her hips, pulled her harder against him. He rose up to meet her thrusts, massaged her in just the right spot. A
band constricted across her lower belly. Any moment she would burst.

  Her breath caught as his tongue lapped the curve of her neck, swirled upward to her ear. “I want…I have to be in you. Now, Vivian. Do you understand?”

  But she couldn’t stop.

  Gripping his powerful shoulders, she slid herself up and down the edge of his erection, nearing the peak of intense pleasure. She moved herself over him, ready to find completion with his fulfillment.

  Then strong hands grabbed her bottom, lifted her, and pulled her away from the sweetness of release.

  “No!” Her cry rang out in the room.

  Charles held her shoulders, forcing her to stare at him. She saw stark hunger in his eyes, the barest thread of restraint. And something else. Fear.

  “You—you don’t want it to be this way.” His breathing was labored, erratic.

  Vivian shook her head. “How it happens matters not. I just want you inside me.”

  For the briefest moment, he closed his eyes. Trembling, she stared at his hard jaw, sensual lips, his scar. “You are afraid.” The whispered words escaped her lips.

  Instead of denying it, Charles nodded. His silver eyes opened, anguish burning in their center. “You do not know what I see each time I touch you. Whenever you make my blood burn.”

  She brushed the damp hair from his forehead. “Tell me, my lord, so that I can help to heal you.”

  He sighed. “I don’t know that you can.”

  “I can but try. But you must let me in first.”

  His lips thinned but he did not answer. He kept his secrets so close to his heart, so dark within the depths of his soul that it was no wonder he could not break free of them.

  He must learn to trust someone, to break his silence.

  Despite the rampant heat coiling in her blood, Vivian slid off of him.

  “Where are you going?”

  The vulnerability in his voice made her pause. But then she continued over to his bed, where she pulled off the blankets and dragged them over to the fire.

  Vivian could feel him watching her as she bent and spread the blankets out, clearing away stools and books to give them enough room. When it was ready, she laid upon it and tapped the space next to her.