Beauty Tempts the Beast

by Leslie Dicken

  She gathered her wits and held the tray up. “You called for a drink?”

  His silver eyes stared at her, penetrating her. The spot between her legs ached, dampened.

  He took the tray. “Thank you. Good night.”

  She refused to yield that easily. “You have avoided me.”

  “For good reason, I am certain.”

  “I tire of these games. Do what makes the most sense.”

  He set the tray down up his night table. “Yes, I plan to.”

  Her heart pattered. She untied the string of her robe, letting it fall open to reveal her thin chemise. “Take me tonight, Charles.”

  His lips curled as he crossed his arms. “I thought I revolted you.”

  “I-I have overcome that.” She ran her fingertips over the hard muscles of his arm. “I want you. I want to marry you.”

  He remained motionless. “You want me to return with you to London? Host balls at our home? Father your children?”

  Catherine struggled to keep the smile upon her lips. She could deal with those issues later. Right now she needed to hear that he would take her, that he would clear her of her late husband’s debts. “Kiss me and I will do whatever you like.”

  “Whatever I like? Tell me I have your word on that.”

  He glanced her over. A tingle raced through her bloodstream, weakening her knees.

  Right now her need was so great she would agree to anything. Perhaps she would even want him in her bed each night, bringing her pleasure such as she experienced right now.

  He yanked her close, knotted his hand in her hair. She gasped, pressed her breasts against his chest. “Your word, Catherine.”

  She angled her face, lowered her lashes. “Yes. Anything you wish. Just kiss me.”

  His warm mouth touched hers. Catherine opened her lips to him, welcoming his tongue with a fervor of need. She melted against him, rubbed her aching spot on his leg. His tongue stroked hers, reminding her of a man’s arousal deep within her.

  She grasped his hair, pulling him in further. The need for release rose up, causing pain at her nipples, hunger at her flesh.

  Charles kissed her hard, almost violently. His large hands rested on her shoulders as if he were ready to shove her away at any moment. She wouldn’t let him.

  Catherine thrust her hips against him, captured his jaw in her hands, and suckled his tongue as if it were plunging within her feminine center. The crest of her passion rose to a pitch.

  She yanked on his fingers and placed them over her breast. With his slightest touch, she climaxed.

  Waves of release shuddered through her. She was so dazed, Catherine didn’t realize Charles had thrust her away until she nearly fell against his bed.

  Catching her breath, she watched as he stood motionless before the fireplace. He forced a hand through his hair. His face betrayed nothing as he turned to face it. He must have felt passion for her. That episode must have brought out some desire.

  She gathered her composure and walked over to where he stood. “When will you tell Miss Suttley to go?”

  He did not make a move that he heard her.

  “Have her pack her things at daybreak.”

  “Miss Suttley is not going anywhere.”

  Heat from the fire crept up Catherine’s legs. Her elation of a few moments ago dimmed. “You have no reason for her to remain here if we are to wed.”

  “We are not to wed, Catherine.”

  Her pulse charged. “Look at me, damn you!”

  He swung around, his lips twisted into a snarl. “You gave me your word you would do anything if I kissed you.”

  “I did. You mentioned living with me in London. Having your children. How can that not mean you will marry me?”

  “You said you would do ‘anything’. It is you who interpreted it to mean that.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What are you telling me, Charles?”

  “You are to leave Silverstone at dawn.”

  Rage choked her. “Y-you are sending me away?”

  “Yes. Go back to the wretched hole you crawled out of.”

  “But what about our kiss?” Her lips still tingled.

  Charles crossed his arms and shrugged. “It meant nothing. I felt nothing.”

  “You can’t send me away.” She stomped her foot. “I will not go without a marriage contract.”

  “I can have you forcibly removed.”

  Catherine stifled her scream, her gut burning with the agonizing rejection. Damn him. Damn that Miss Suttley. She’d find a way to force his hand, she’d find…

  Ah, how could she have forgotten?

  She lifted her chin. “You have no alternative but to choose me.”

  He did not blink.

  “I know your little secret.”

  His lips tightened, but he said nothing.

  She smirked with glee. “He goes by the name of Harry.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The struggle to keep his face impassive required more strength than he could have imagined. Ashworth fought the dread welling up his throat. She knew about Harry. But how she found out or what exactly she discovered he must ascertain. He must not let fear or rage take control.

  “Tell me, Catherine. What is it that you know about Harry?”

  She moved closer to him, stood within an arm’s reach. But he wouldn’t touch her again. “I know that he is a child who lives here under your roof. You have hired your friend, John Hughes, to tutor him.”

  Was that all she knew? She was not aware of the connection between Harry and himself? Or that the boy was taken from Mary Yeardley’s flat?

  Ashworth nodded. “Yes, you have found out that truth.”

  “Who is he? Is he your son?”

  “Did you not learn these answers on your own?”

  Her nostrils flared. “John would not tell me more.”

  “So then you know nothing other than I have a boy living here.”

  “You keep him a secret. There must be a reason for it.”

  “But that would be none of your business.”

  “Damn you!” She slapped his cheek.

  The sharp sting spread across his jaw. Fury blazed through his veins, wild and reckless. He grabbed her arm and shoved it down by her side. “You’ll not control me, Catherine.”

  She twisted but could not free herself. “Go to hell, where you belong.”

  He narrowed his eyes, bared his teeth. “That I may. But your actions are not much holier than my own. Vanity. Lies. Deception. Manipulation. What won’t you do to get your way?”

  Her porcelain skin mottled with red. “You’ll regret refusing me. I’ll see to it that you meet your ultimate downfall.”

  He raised an eyebrow and released his hold. “Now, did I seek revenge on you when you refused me?”

  She shrugged. “That was your mistake.”

  Ashworth didn’t answer as Catherine made her way to his door. She grasped the handle then looked back at him. “Your nightmares are only beginning, I promise you that.”

  “Be gone at daybreak.”

  But as she slammed the door, his gut knotted. He could not shake the feeling he had just chosen Vivian over his son.

  No, he must believe that Catherine would find nothing about Harry, no one to connect him to the murder in St. Giles.

  And now that one woman was leaving, he must turn his attention to the one remaining. Could he finally convince Vivian to leave him to his seclusion or did he long for her to remain here forever?

  ***

  Vivian stared at the calm surface of Briarwater. She could not believe she was here. Nor could she actually believe that Lady Wainscott was gone. She and her maid had taken their things and left before breakfast a week before.

  Charles had not spoken much to her in the days that followed and now he was again in one of his silent moods. It was surprising that he’d offered to take her and Harry out on a boat if the weather held.

  A quick glance at the sky told her they would not have mo
re than a few hours to enjoy the shifting sunlight and warm breeze.

  Harry, squeezing her hand tightly, bounced up and down as his father pulled the rowboat closer to the dock. The boy’s red hair gleamed brilliantly against the blue waters. His eyes were alive and bright as the swaying trees.

  With the boat secure, Charles helped her in, his hand warm and familiar. Her heart sped at the contact. She took a seat, the boat rocking as Harry clambered on board and settled beside her. Finally, they were all seated and set out upon a brief journey.

  Of course, this was not what she had in mind exactly when she told Charles of her desires. No, she wanted to be here under a starry, midnight sky. She wanted his hands upon her, his mouth tasting her.

  “Look!”

  She smiled at Harry’s exuberance. Perhaps this was better. The boy had not been permitted here before. He told her on the walk that he had not gone farther than Silverstone’s borders.

  “I see a turtle!”

  Vivian followed his pointing finger to a clump of branches and leaves floating on the water. Sure enough, a large turtle sunned himself upon the oasis.

  She lifted her gaze to the boy’s father. He wasn’t looking at them, but staring out at some unseen point, lost to his thoughts and troubles. “I think he is enjoying this.”

  Charles did not answer. He continued rowing, unaware of what lay behind him or the direction they headed.

  Harry clutched her hand. “Did you see it?”

  “Yes. He was magnificent.”

  “Why isn’t Papa looking?”

  “I don’t know. He must have much on his mind.”

  Harry bounced in his seat and finally turned to her with questioning eyes. “Maybe he is thinking of that lady in the fancy dresses.”

  “Lady Wainscott?” Had Harry met her too? Had he gone through the endless secret passageways and spied on her?

  “She’s gone now. Maybe he misses her.”

  A vice gripped her lungs, stole her breath. Vivian never considered that the Countess could have left on her own accord. Maybe Charles had not dismissed her from the manor, maybe she departed and he now grieved for her loss.

  Vivian swallowed. “Did you ever talk to her, Harry? Tell me the truth.”

  The child shook his head. “No. She scared me a little.”

  She squeezed the boy against her but watched his father. He’d removed his jacket and now rowed in only his white shirt. It billowed in the wind then pressed against the solid angles of his chest.

  She wanted to touch that chest, allow her fingers to smooth the dark curls on his stomach. The last two times they’d been together, they had not been given the time for exploration. Suddenly, she missed that. Suddenly, she wanted it more than anything.

  Vivian reached forward and tapped his knee. He focused on her, startled. “We’ve nearly gone to the other side.”

  Charles glanced behind him then dropped the oars. “I suppose I had not been paying attention.”

  “We saw a turtle, Papa. You missed him.”

  “Well, then, we shall turn around and find him again.”

  Relief tugged at the corner of her lips. Finally he had come around and joined them in their adventure. And yet his eyes still held his secrets. Ones she feared she would never learn.

  After finding the turtle and spotting several species of birds and curious fish, they headed back to the dock.

  “Papa,” Harry said, as they neared the shore. “May I come down and have dinner with you and Miss Suttley?”

  “Will you be joining me for dinner, Miss Suttley?”

  She lifted her gaze to his predatory stare. She was unable to determine if he wanted her there or not, if he longed to have the Countess return or was glad she had gone.

  His hooded, unreadable eyes breached her sheltered soul and plunged her under his spell.

  Vivian could do nothing but nod.

  “It is settled then.” He offered his son a smile. “We will ask John to join us tonight and all dine together.”

  John must be the man she heard speaking several times, the one she assumed to be Harry’s tutor.

  After they’d gotten off the boat, Harry scampered up ahead, pulling flowers and chasing after squirrels.

  Charles took her arm. Warmth spread into her heart then flooded the remainder of her body. “Wear one of your new dresses tonight.”

  His request surprised her. With Lady Wainscott gone, who was left to impress?

  They climbed the slope of Briarfell, the breeze much cooler than earlier. Up ahead, Harry crouched to inspect something on a moss covered rock.

  A weight seemed to press on Ashworth’s shoulders. “I slept very little last night.”

  “You did seem rather distracted on the boat.”

  Charles stopped her with his arm, but his eyes revealed nothing. “I have decisions to make. Ones that affect you.”

  Her pulse trembled, ice trickled into her bloodstream. Was she the next to go? Would a pouch of coins rest on her pillow when she returned from dinner?

  “Come see!” Harry waved to them from his position.

  Charles left her and lowered himself beside his son. Vivian stared at the two of them. One with hair the color of fire, the other a warm brown. The love between them was obvious, deep, unbreakable.

  An ache burrowed beneath her breast. Who was she to come into their lives and disrupt it all? She’d arrived at Silverstone an unwelcome outsider. Had she become any less foreign to them?

  Vivian had been a desperate fool when she burst into this manor demanding to marry its lord. Now she knew better, knew more what she wanted for her future.

  She didn’t want to be wedded to a stranger for the mere sake of his protection. She wanted affection, tenderness, devotion, trust. Damn it, she wanted love.

  And no matter how intensely she may arouse Charles’s passions, it was clear he did not love her.

  Vivian chose a dress of emerald green, with lace piping around the neckline and little bows at her waist. It had been so long since she wore something so fancy she actually felt foolish. Especially being in this dark house where the only things that shined brightly were spider webs catching the occasional sunrays.

  Charles turned from speaking with another man when she entered the dining hall. His silver eyes widened, the corners of his mouth curled.

  He nudged the man, John she assumed, and raised his eyebrows. Her cheeks flushed, a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. She was not one to enjoy being put on display. Her father could never understand why she’d rather be out in the fields or tromping through mud instead of going to balls.

  Martin had made it clear that she would not appear any less than a lady at all times as his wife. He’d literally ripped off the plain linen dress she wore that one night, telling her the others would meet a similar fate.

  Her throat tightened, eyes burned. What if she had not run? What if she had not heard of Viscount Ashworth and his supposed need for a wife? Would her belly already be growing with Martin’s baby?

  A small hand tugged on her fingers. “You look very pretty, Miss Suttley.”

  Vivian smiled. Leave it to Harry to shake her from her fears. “Thank you. And you are quite handsome yourself.”

  Charles came around, Harry’s tutor in tow. “Mr. John Hughes, may I present Miss Suttley, daughter of Lord Whistlebury.”

  His formality surprised her, but not nearly as much as the icy gleam in John’s eyes.

  He took her hand and kissed it. “Miss Suttley.”

  She nodded, searching for that coldness again but it was gone. Perhaps she had imagined it completely. “Mr. Hughes.”

  Charles clapped John on the shoulder. “This man has been a friend of mine since school days. I couldn’t have been luckier to have him move out to Silverstone with me.”

  John’s cheeks brightened, suddenly making him appear the most pleasant man in the world.

  Dinner progressed well enough, making Vivian almost sorry she had avoided it for so long. It cert
ainly wasn’t the same to dine alone in her room. Then again, this company was infinitely better than what she had to face before.

  They talked about Harry’s schoolwork, his love of animals and nature. Harry gave everyone an update on the baby duck’s growth and how well she was eating her meals. There was mention of the weather, the snows arriving in a few months, and the cold, dark nights. All topics were light, frivolous.

  No one asked her where she’d come from, who she’d left behind, or if she ever planned on returning.

  None of them seemed to care of her past, of who she was and what made her the person she’d become. Life in this manor transformed its inhabitants. They had become lost, hollow. Each of them avoided a pain in their past, an aching memory which bound them to these stone walls and kept them from the rest of the world.

  None of them were truly living.

  Charles stood, gulped his wine, then called everyone’s attention. “Before we partake of dessert, I have something to say.”

  Vivian held her breath, her nerves tingling. She knew not why she waited with such anticipation on his words. Perhaps it was that a final decision was being made. She would no longer exist in limbo, caught between his secret need to send her away and his burning desire to have her stay.

  “Yes, Papa?” Harry squealed.

  He smiled at his son, the scar curving like a bird’s feather. “Miss Suttley has been here with us for a few weeks now. She has created a garden and created havoc. She’s withstood the disrepair of this house and a bully’s taunting. She’s made friends with spiders and ducklings alike.”

  Charles turned his attention back to her. He stared across the table, his hooded gaze drawing her in. Suddenly, there was no one else but the two of them, no dishes or candles between them, no sounds, nothing but his lips close to hers.

  “Miss Suttley…” He cleared his throat. “I want you to be my wife.”

  In an instant she was back in her seat, at the far end of the room, Harry and his tutor on either side of her. The sounds of dishes clanged in her ears. The smells from the last course assaulted her nose.

  She clutched the arms of her chair, unable to think, unable to speak.

  Harry leapt from his seat and jumped up and down. “I’m going to have a mama, I’m going to have a mama.”