Beauty Tempts the Beast

by Lorraine Heath

  “She did. She chose Chadbourne.”

  “The scapegrace publicly turned his back on her. I should have done more than blacken his eye. I should have called him out.”

  “Not to disparage your skill with weaponry but if he’d somehow managed to kill you, he’d have been hailed a hero.”

  “There is that. Listen, you might see less of me. It’s becoming a bit more . . .”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Risky. If it should be discovered that I’ve been less than honest in my desire to replace Father . . . I don’t want anyone coming after you or Althea.”

  “I hate being a bloody nanny. I want to be in the thick of it. I want to help you.”

  “Then make certain you give me no cause to worry about Althea.”

  She was trembling by the time they went quiet, and she realized Marcus had left. She heard a distant door, the one that led into the garden, open and close, followed by the echo of footsteps. A pause in the hallway. Another door opening and closing.

  She was vaguely aware of tears trailing down her cheeks, gathering in pools in the corners of her mouth. She’d never considered herself particularly close to her brothers, and yet here they were doing all in their power to protect her. As though she hadn’t the means to protect herself, as though marriage was her only option. The thought of losing either of them created an acute pain in her chest.

  Marcus was placing himself in danger. He needed someone to watch his back, needed Griffith far more than she did.

  She certainly wasn’t a child in need of a nanny. Although tonight, damn it, had proven she needed a protector. Except she had one, and it hadn’t been Griffith. She could make do without him, and then perhaps Marcus wouldn’t be in as much danger. Or if the danger didn’t lessen, at least he wouldn’t be facing it alone.

  Benedict Trewlove had a proposition for her. Perhaps it would behoove her to at least discover the terms.

  Later that morning, after a restless sleep, Althea rapped on the servants’ door of a house in Mayfair. A young footman opened it.

  “Is Lady Kathryn about?”

  He furrowed his brow. “Should you not be coming in through the front entry?”

  Not any longer. “Will you please let her know Althea Stanwick has come to call?”

  With a nod, he closed the door. She’d have preferred not to give her name, because it might ensure her friend was not at home to her, but it was doubtful she’d come to the servants’ entrance without knowing who awaited her.

  Looking out over the winter gardens, Althea fought against remembering all the times she’d taken tea with her friend among the greenery. How often they’d laughed. The gossip they’d shared. Kat had been the first she’d told when she developed affections for Chadbourne. Kat had been the only one at the last ball she’d attended not to turn her back on her. Or not turn it entirely. She had lowered her gaze and looked as though she wished to be anywhere other than where she was. But then Althea had wished the same.

  When the door again opened, she swung around and forced a smile. “Hello, Kat.”

  “Althea, what a . . . surprise.”

  “I was wondering if I might have a word.”

  “Yes, of course. My parents aren’t about, so they won’t be objecting to your presence. Do come in.” Once they were inside, Kathryn glanced around nervously. “Would you mind if we met in the servants’ dining hall? No one is there presently, and if my parents should return—”

  “I can make a hasty and discreet exit.”

  “Oh, Althea.”

  “It’s all right.” She squeezed Kat’s hand. “I’m just relieved you’re willing to speak to me.”

  “Of course, dear friend.” Kat squeezed back. “I think it’s frightfully unfair that you have to suffer because of your father’s lack of judgment. Follow me.” As they made their way to the dining room, Kat called out to a maid to have tea brought.

  Once they were settled at the oak table with tea and cakes in front of them, Kat said, “So what did you want to talk about?”

  Best to get straight to the heart of the matter before her parents returned and she was forced to make a hasty—and undetected—exit. Oh, where to begin? She took a sip of her tea. “You’re friends with the Duchess of Lushing.”

  “Former Duchess of Lushing. Selena prefers to be called Mrs. Trewlove now. I can’t believe she married someone of illegitimate origins, but she’s madly in love with him.”

  “Have you come to know the Trewlove family well?”

  She knew they’d attended a few balls, when she still attended them, particularly earlier in the year when they were introducing their sister Fancy to Society. But Althea couldn’t recall seeing Benedict at any of the affairs, other than the weddings. Although she did know he was a man of his word. The coal had been delivered that morning. More than a month’s worth, longer if they didn’t have a fire every day. It seemed the man was generous to a fault, having replaced far more than he used.

  Kat shrugged. “Well enough to speak with them at balls.”

  “What of Benedict? Some people call him Beast. Have you had occasion to get to know him?”

  Kat studied her for all of a minute before saying, “The Heathcliff-ish one?”

  “Heathcliff-ish?”

  “Tall, dark, brooding.”

  “Is he really the brooding sort?” Quiet. Observant. Unobtrusive. Not one for seeking attention, perhaps. “I readily admit he weighs his words carefully, but brooding?”

  Planting her elbow on the table, Kat placed her chin in her palm and grinned like a cat that had lapped up all the cream. “You seem to know him better than I. How is that, I wonder?”

  With a sigh, Althea was beginning to realize her foolishness in coming here. Odd, since her entire purpose in speaking with Kat had been to ensure she wasn’t about to embark on something foolish. “I’ve taken employment at a tavern, and he comes in on occasion.” It had hurt to admit she was working, even more so when Kat’s eyes filled with pity. “I was just curious as to whether you had developed a sense of him during any encounters you might have had or if you’d heard anything untoward about him.”

  If she was going to accept his proposition, she wanted to ensure she wasn’t stepping into a far worse situation than she was presently in. But if he was to become her protector then Griffith could join Marcus in the quest to reclaim the family honor. And Marcus had spoken true. Under their present circumstance no one would marry her. She was already four and twenty. By the time this matter was sorted—should it ever be sorted—she’d be so high on the shelf no gentleman would ever reach for her. She had no reason whatsoever to save herself for marriage. She might as well do what she could now to relieve her brothers of their worry over her so they could focus their efforts on ensuring no harm came to either of them as they pursued what she feared was a reckless venture.

  Shoving her cup aside, Kat took Althea’s hands as though to impart strength because she knew her dear friend was considering doing something rather scandalous. “I don’t know anything about him specifically, but what I do know about the Trewloves is that, in spite of being born on the wrong side of the blanket, they possess a decency that is to be admired. It may be foolish of me, but I have often thought that if I needed to place my life in someone’s hands, it would be theirs.”

  Althea found the words extremely comforting because since last night, she’d begun to believe the same thing regarding Benedict. Unintentionally, she had placed her life in his hands—and he had cared for her as though she was precious, even if she’d been somewhat of a termagant toward him.

  How well might he treat her if she was more welcoming?

  Chapter 5

  Within his study, sitting at his desk, Beast repeatedly dipped his pen in the inkwell and scribbled frantically over the parchment, striving not to envision Althea peering at him through the narrow opening in her doorway, looking so delectable, so vulnerable, so beautiful with her blond hair cascading around her.

 
I haven’t taken a dislike to you.

  Better if she had.

  Setting aside his pen, he read what he’d written, key phrases jumping out at him. Moon-kissed tresses. Sapphire eyes. Heart-shaped face. He realized he’d described Althea, made her the protagonist in this tale of murder and revenge that he’d only recently begun penning.

  Bloody hell. He spread his palm, splayed his fingers over the foolscap, gathered it up, balled it tightly between his hands, and tossed it into the wicker bin that he’d been filling with the rubbish he’d written ever since he’d awoken at dawn.

  He couldn’t get her off his mind, how she’d been as light as a feather cradled within his arms, how right it had felt to have her pressed against his chest as he’d carried her from that filthy alleyway, terror at the thought of her dying in his embrace gripping him. Later in the parlor, he’d kept his arms crossed and his shoulder against the wall because he’d desperately wanted to curl himself around her and offer whatever comfort she’d required, even as he’d believed at the time that she wouldn’t welcome his nearness, that she’d viewed him as beneath her. That she’d taken a dislike to him.

  Only she hadn’t. Or if she had, she’d changed her mind before seeing him to the door.

  He was accustomed to people looking at him disparagingly. A bastard born and raised, he knew what it was to reside in darkness, searching for a sliver of light. When he’d finally found the courage to ask Ettie Trewlove about how he’d come to be on her doorstep, he’d learned how the sadness of being forsaken could eat at one’s soul, how sometimes it could drag one under like being caught beneath a wave and unable to find the way back to the surface.

  But he’d also learned from Ettie Trewlove and his siblings that love tempered the hurt. He understood the power of touch, of feeling a connection, of knowing someone was there for him, would always be there for him.

  Still, he’d never fallen in love, had never trusted anyone outside his family to love him completely, flaws and all.

  So he couldn’t explain the ferocity with which he was drawn to Althea Stanwick, this irrational need he had to protect her. Lust was a big part of it, a physical attraction unlike any he’d ever experienced. When he’d finally gone to sleep, he’d dreamed of licking every inch of her, of her licking every blessed inch of him. He’d awoken aching with need and hard as granite, had been forced to take himself in hand.

  That hadn’t happened in a good long while.

  As he seemed unable to forget about her, he would avoid her in the future. No more trips to the Mermaid. He would begin frequenting a nearby pub.

  The rap sounded on his door. As usual, without waiting for him to bid entrance, Jewel opened it. “You have a visitor in the parlor.”

  He knew it wasn’t any member of his family. They would have just come up and barged in without even bothering to knock.

  Probably his publisher come to give him an update on the book that had been released two months earlier—his first. Although generally they just sent a message that they needed to see him, and he went to their office. They weren’t particularly comfortable with his current living accommodations and were keen that no one found out about them. Bad publicity to own a building used as a brothel, apparently.

  “I’ll be down straightaway.”

  She disappeared from sight. Shoving back his chair, he stood, grabbed his jacket, and shrugged into it, buttoned his waistcoat, straightened his neck cloth. He headed into the hallway. Most of the women were abed. Although like him, Jewel seemed to require little sleep, enjoyed basking in the early-morning quiet.

  Descending the stairs, he welcomed the distraction of having someone to take his mind off Althea. But when he strode into the parlor, he was bombarded with thoughts of her, because she was the one standing by the window with the rare winter sunlight streaming over her. She wore an emerald-green frock more suited to a ballroom than a parlor, the low neckline revealing the slender column of her throat and gentle swells of her breasts, the short sleeves displaying the delicate bones and creaminess of her arms.

  “Good morning,” she said softly, her smile uneasy, and he didn’t want to consider how he would like to greet each day with her speaking those words to him, tucked beneath him as he slid into her.

  “Did the coal not arrive?” He despised how gruff and rough his voice sounded.

  Her smile seemed a bit more steady. “It did, yes, thank you.”

  Then why was she here? To thank him once more for his assistance last night? He didn’t require her thanks. And why was she wearing something so alluring that it seemed a sin to take his eyes off her?

  “Would you care for something to drink? Sherry, brandy—” He cut off the list. It wasn’t yet noon. “Tea?”

  “You don’t strike me as someone who serves tea.”

  “I never serve tea. That was Jewel’s doing last night. But I can have someone fetch some if you fancy a cup.”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine as I am.”

  He didn’t want to contemplate the truth of those words, the smooth flawlessness of her skin. Her tiny waist. Surely, he could find some fault with her that would calm his body’s need to be pressed up against her. “Then how may I be of service?”

  “I’ve come to discuss your proposition.”

  He felt as though he’d been bludgeoned. It was the very last thing he’d expected after her lack of interest in even hearing him out the night before. Especially after deciding he wanted nothing further to do with her.

  He should tell her the proposition was no longer available, but the reason behind it still existed. And he wasn’t fool enough to cast aside the possibility of gaining what he wanted without at least having an earnest conversation on the matter.

  Based on the personal nature of what she assumed the request involved, he strode across the room, leaned against the window casing, and crossed his arms over his chest so he wasn’t tempted to touch her. The fragrance of gardenias welcomed him, and he imagined her bathing before coming to him. He’d never seen her in such bright light before. She had three freckles lining the curve of her left cheek. Only those three, no others. They fascinated him. Had she had more as a child, and these had been too stubborn to fade away? Or were they the only three daring enough to appear?

  “I thought you had no interest in my proposition,” he said, curious as to what had changed her mind.

  “As you saw last night, my circumstances are quite dire. It occurred to me that I was being rather foolish to not at least hear you out.”

  “How did your circumstances become dire? You were not born into poverty. That much is clear by your clothing, your diction, the way you hold yourself as though you are above all others.”

  She looked out at the street, the passing carriages, rumbling wagons, people walking by. The children chasing each other. The occasional dog bounding after them. Taking a deep breath, she met and held his gaze. “My father was involved in a plot to assassinate the Queen.”

  Then she was once again studying the traffic, and he cursed himself, wishing he hadn’t pushed, had been content to let her hold close her secrets. He should have guessed what had caused her fall from grace. He’d read about the arrest in the newspaper, but that had been months ago. The man had been a duke, but he couldn’t recall his title. He did remember that the duchess had succumbed to illness shortly after his arrest and passed.

  “Aren’t you going to ask for the details?” Her voice sounded as though it came from far away.

  “No.” He wanted to take her in his arms, glide his large hands up and down her narrow back, and comfort her. But his insistence was the cause of her current pain.

  “I don’t know the particulars anyway. The plot was discovered before it could be carried out. They arrested him at someplace where he was meeting with the other conspirators. His partners, or whatever words are used to refer to treacherous comrades, escaped. He wasn’t so fortunate. He was tried, found guilty, and hanged. The Crown confiscated his titles and properties. We were
left with nothing, absolutely nothing. The heir, the spare, and I. You met the spare last night.”

  Everything was spoken as though it was rote, memorized, not a part of her. When she looked back at him, a vacantness had glazed over her eyes as if she’d returned to the moment when her world had crumbled around her. “So now that you know the truth of me, do you still have a desire for me to be your mistress?”

  He didn’t know the truth of her. He knew only the truth of her father. And while she may no longer be considered nobility by law, she was still nobility by birth.

  “I don’t want you as my mistress.”

  “I can’t say as I blame you.”

  She started to walk past him. Reaching out, he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. Her skin was so bloody soft, like silk, velvet, and satin all woven together to uniquely create her. She was incredibly warm, comprised of secret places that would be warmer, hotter.

  Her unusual blue-gray eyes were no longer vacant. They held heat, and he thought if a tankard were nearby that she’d be dumping its contents over his head. He almost laughed at that.

  “My proposition never involved asking you to be my mistress.” More’s the pity.

  Her delicate brow furrowed. Her eyes ignited with fury. “You want me to be one of your whores?”

  “No, I want you to be a tutor.”

  Althea could say with complete honesty that his words flummoxed her. “A tutor?”

  He gave a brisk nod. “Allow me to call for some tea and I’ll explain.”

  “Actually, I’d rather have the sherry you mentioned earlier.”

  He grinned fully, completely, and she realized all the little hints of his grin she’d seen before had failed to prepare her for the devastating reality of how it would transform him from handsome into achingly beautiful. He stole her breath, as stealthily as a pickpocket slipping a silk handkerchief from a pocket, a bracelet from around a wrist, a ring off a finger. So the object was gone before the wearer realized it was taken. One moment she was breathing, and the next she’d quite simply forgotten how.