Beauty Tempts the Beast

by Lorraine Heath

  Nothing had prepared her for this, for the sensations ricocheting through her, for that secretive, sensitive place between her legs begging to be touched next.

  And perhaps it would have been, if the carriage hadn’t begun to slow.

  He cursed harshly and began buttoning her bodice. “I instructed the driver to give us an hour before returning to the residence. You were right. I should have undone those fastenings more quickly.”

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed. His mouth slamming against hers stole her laughter and her breath.

  When the coach rumbled to a stop, he quickly but gently moved her off his lap and drew her cloak snuggly around her. “Just clutch it so it stays closed.”

  Before the footman could arrive, he was opening the door and disembarking. He reached back in for her, and she placed her hand in his. Once her feet hit the pavement, without waiting for him, she dashed up the steps, her unfastened corset bouncing against her back. She should have brought up the hood on her cloak. If anyone caught sight of her face, which was no doubt a fiery red, they’d know she’d been up to no good. She rushed into the foyer and headed for the stairs.

  Jewel was standing in the doorway that led into the front parlor. “How was your adventure to the gaming hell?”

  She didn’t even slow down. “Interesting.”

  “If you can believe it, I’ve never been to a gaming hell. I want to hear all about it.”

  “Tomorrow.” She darted up the flights, not stopping until she was safely ensconced in her room, her back flattened against the closed door. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. They were incredibly hot. Her breasts felt heavy as though they were straining for his touch, his mouth. She was also relatively certain they were slightly abraded from his whiskers moving over them. The prickling should not feel so welcome and delightful.

  It was one thing to lose herself in the throes of passion while in the dark, but how the devil was she going to meet Benedict’s eyes when they were engulfed in lamplight or worse—bright daylight? Her thoughts were absurd. She wanted him to teach her about seduction, passion, and pleasure. Had she thought their paths wouldn’t cross except during lessons?

  She couldn’t engage with him outside of lessons. She’d sought him out for a purpose, had plans, and becoming involved with him would derail them.

  The rap on her door nearly had her leaping out of her skin. Reaching into her still-unbuttoned frock, she grabbed hold of her corset, tugged, tugged, tugged it out, and tossed it toward the bed. It fell short and landed with a plunk on the floor.

  “It’s Beast.”

  “One moment.” It was ridiculous to require any modesty at this point. Still, she rapidly buttoned up her frock before opening the door a crack and peering out. Why couldn’t he look as though he, too, had been ravished? She should have untidied him a bit. How did the ladies here ever act normal around a man with whom they’d been intimate? She needed to make inquiries on the morrow.

  He seemed to be searching for evidence that he had indeed caressed her, tasted her, suckled various areas. “You left these in the coach.”

  She dropped her gaze to his hand, a hand terribly skilled at eliciting pleasure, that presently had a pair of cream-colored gloves draped over it. Very carefully, without touching him, she slid them from his grasp. “Thank you. And thank you for the lesson in the coach.”

  “It wasn’t a bloody lesson.”

  She licked her lips. “Then what happened in the carriage was a mistake. It would be best if our activities were limited to lessons only.”

  She didn’t know how it was possible to describe him as going any quieter, but it seemed that somehow he had.

  “I’m a firm believer in doing what’s best,” he finally said without a single trace of irony. Reaching into his pocket, he brought out a packet wrapped in brown paper secured with string. “Your winnings.”

  Good Lord, she’d almost forgotten about that. Because she hadn’t brought a reticule with her, he’d offered to carry it for her. She took it, clutched it, along with her gloves, to her breast. “As I now have this, I’ll purchase the frocks and other items Beth is sewing for me.”

  “You don’t think it would be wiser to save it for a rainy day?”

  “Today was a rainy day.” At her little quip, she’d hoped for a brief smile or a half smile or at least a quirk of his lips.

  With a nod, he reached out and trailed his forefinger along her jaw. She should have stepped back and closed the door. Instead, she fell into the depth of his gaze as he tracked the movement of his finger along her flesh. His thumb joined in to hold her chin as he lowered his mouth to hers. Unlike the others, this kiss was tender, sweet, slow like the first buds of spring unfurling. It communicated sorrow, regret, apology . . . desire, yearning, need.

  When he pulled away, he pressed his thumb to her dampened lips. “I’ve found I learn more from my mistakes than I do from my successes.”

  Leaving her there, battling not to call him back, he strode into his study at the far end of the hallway and closed the door with a bit more force than he normally did, and she wondered if he was going to spend his time in there murdering someone on foolscap.

  Chapter 18

  Once more he failed to show at breakfast. Another lie-in supposedly, although she didn’t accept that explanation. More likely he was avoiding her, or the temptation of her.

  To her astonishment, none of the ladies had ever been to a gaming hell. They plied her with questions, their eyes dancing with excitement as they gave her their rapt attention while she described the decor, the atmosphere, the customers.

  “We should all take a night off and go,” Lily announced, her voice brimming with enthusiasm at the potential for mischief.

  It was agreed they would do so during the evening of Boxing Day.

  At some point during the morning, he slipped out of the residence without her noticing. In order to “see to some business,” Jewel told her.

  Perhaps he needed to meet with merchants who were waiting on cargo or one of his ships had returned from its voyage. She would like to be at the docks to watch one of his ships arrive, stroll along its deck, stand at the helm with him at her side. It was a dangerous thing to imagine him beside her, regardless of what she did or where she went. He was not to be involved in so much of her life. He was not to make it difficult for her to walk away from this residence without looking back, without misgivings.

  He didn’t join them for dinner.

  Nor was he in the library when she arrived at ten. She poured her own sherry and a glass of scotch for him. But his remained untouched.

  Why had he not told her he wouldn’t be available that evening? Where the devil was he? What was he doing?

  Perhaps he’d gotten lost in his writing. She certainly never liked to leave a letter unfinished. Maybe he felt the same about a scene or a chapter.

  When the clock struck eleven, she went to his study and knocked. No answer. She opened the door. No Benedict.

  Some urgent matter must have arisen that required his undivided attention. Surely, he would explain himself on the morrow.

  Only he was as noticeably absent, not joining them for any of the meals. Jewel assured her that he’d slept in the residence but had left that morning to attend to some matters.

  But that evening, once again, he didn’t join her in the library. She was beginning to suspect he was never going to join her, that he was making himself scarce for a reason, and the reason was her.

  The following morning, she was in the library when she heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs and the closing of the door to his study. But he failed to join them for the midday meal. If his behavior of the past couple of days wasn’t avoidance, she didn’t know what was. And she wasn’t having it.

  She didn’t bother knocking. She simply opened the door to his study and strode in.

  Wearing only shirtsleeves and trousers, he was standing at the window, arms raised, hands braced on either side of the window casing,
reminding her of the stance of a prisoner chained to a wall in a dungeon that she’d seen depicted somewhere.

  Lowering one arm, he glanced back at her without fully turning. “I’m not to be disturbed when I’m working unless fire or blood is involved. Which is it?”

  Well, he was in a right mood, which suited her just fine because so was she.

  “What work are you engaged in? Holding up a wall?”

  With a huge sigh, he faced her and flung his hand toward his desk. “I’m trying to write.”

  “I would think you’d have more success if you were dipping your pen into the inkwell.”

  His eyes darkened with heat. He squeezed them shut, opened them. “You don’t understand the process. What do you want?”

  She marched over until she was halfway between him and the door. “The lessons we agreed to, the ones you promised.”

  He couldn’t have looked more stunned or irritated if she’d smacked him. “Speaking of lessons, aren’t you supposed to be teaching the ladies at this moment?”

  “I’ve given them the afternoon off.”

  “Why the bloody hell would you do that?”

  “Because I think you’re avoiding me. You’re not joining us for meals and for two nights now, you failed to join me in the library at our agreed-upon time for a lesson.”

  “I have work to do.”

  “I think it’s more than that.” Was afraid it was more than that. “When you kissed me, you said it wasn’t a bloody lesson. The other night in the carriage, what happened, you said it wasn’t a bloody lesson. I don’t think you ever intended to give me any lessons. I think that’s the reason you had the agreement state that you’d pay a thousand pounds if I determined you hadn’t upheld your end of the bargain. You planned to take only what you needed from me without giving me what I needed from you.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Then when are you going to give me a proper lesson?”

  His hands fisted at his sides, and she didn’t want to think about the power he could unleash. A muscle ticked in his jaw. His eyes were fairly smoldering. “You want a bloody lesson?”

  “It’s what we agreed to.”

  “Close and lock the door.”

  Those words effectively doused her irritation with him. “Pardon?”

  “Like you, Jewel is wont to barge in. The last thing you’re going to want is to be interrupted. Lock the door.”

  She licked her lips. “You’re going to give me a proper lesson now?”

  He didn’t respond with words, but the answer was evident in his intense focus, and she wondered if he’d looked at her like that in the carriage after they’d left Aiden’s club. She might have burst into flames if she’d seen him more clearly, had known the fire those eyes were capable of igniting.

  A tremor of anticipation coursed through her. Swallowing hard, she spun on her heel, fought to calm her steps as she made her way to the door, closed it, and turned the lock.

  When she swung around, it was to find him already there. How could a man of his size and sturdy muscle move so silently? But then from the beginning his elegance had been incomparable, like a large ship gracefully slicing through water.

  Taking her slender wrists, he clamped one large hand around both of them, lifted them over her head, and held them securely, yet tenderly against the door. She felt no discomfort, knew he would leave behind no bruising.

  “Do you remember the day you first came to me that I told you not to give anything too easily?”

  He’d lowered himself slightly, so she didn’t have to tip her head back too far in order to meet his gaze. She nodded.

  “Never give anything too quickly. Make him want. Make him beg. Make him believe if he can’t have you, he will die.”

  “How do I do that?” She sounded breathless, could barely hear herself for the blood rushing through her ears.

  Again, he used no words, but within his dark eyes, she saw the answer. He was going to make her want, make her beg, make her believe she’d die if she couldn’t have him.

  It was so dangerous to trail his fingers along the soft skin beneath her chin. Each stroke made him want. Made it harder not to beg. Convinced him that he’d die if he couldn’t have her.

  But he couldn’t have her.

  Since Sally Greene had asked for his protection, two maybe three dozen women had been under his care. An assortment that would rival a sweetshop when it came to choices. Strikingly beautiful. Plain. Voluptuous. Slender. Stocky. Tall. Short. Funny. Kind. Sweet. Coarse.

  Not once had he ever been tempted by any of them. He’d easily adhered to his personal code of conduct. They lived under his roof. They were not available to him. He effectively built a wall between himself and them that lust couldn’t climb or shatter. He enjoyed engaging them in conversations, spending time in their company. But every action, activity, and moment had been platonic. He’d been able to hug them in celebration, embrace them in sorrow.

  He couldn’t even look at Althea without his cock wanting, and that was becoming a problem. Therefore, this lesson was for him as much as it was for her. A reminder, a reaffirmation of his vow.

  But if she touched him, he’d be lost. Just as he’d been in the carriage when he’d had more than a taste of her, just as he’d been the night in the library when he’d kissed her.

  Therefore, he held her wrists, cushioned against his palm so the wood of the door bit into his knuckles rather than her sensitive skin. He took his time caressing only the flesh that was naturally exposed by the cut of her frock. Another lesson. Yearning did not require nudity.

  She was a fast learner. Her lips parted, her breaths shuddered as they sawed in and out of her lungs. The blue in her eyes darkened, the gray turned silver. Her long, golden eyelashes fluttered, and then she opened her eyes wide as though determined to hold his gaze, to be defiant, to not beg.

  But eventually she would.

  He turned his hand so now his knuckles, rougher than his fingertips, skimmed along the silken expanse. How could she be so damned soft?

  How was it that she smelled of freshly cut gardenias? Surely, she hadn’t bathed after finishing her luncheon. He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t need the image of her soaking in a tub filling his head. Water sluicing over those lovely breasts he’d caressed, kissed, suckled. Ah, to see them in light now. To know if those nipples were dusky or pink. To know all the various shades of her.

  But that was not where this lesson needed to go. Not where it could go if he was to maintain control.

  He opened his eyes, grateful to see that hers were still open so he could fall into the depths of them. It was a dangerous surrender, but he could limit the length of his captivity. He lowered his mouth to her cheek. “Are you aware you have three freckles?”

  “I hate them.”

  “Don’t. They have the ability to mesmerize. Did you have more when you were a child?”

  “Yes.”

  He would have liked to have seen her then. Probably would have teased her unmercifully and hated himself later for doing it. Young lads could be such idiots, not appreciating what would eventually lead a girl to becoming a beautiful woman.

  He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She turned her head to take possession of his. He pulled back. “No. We’re not going to kiss.”

  “Why not?”

  Because he would be lost, would lose control. “Because seduction doesn’t require it.”

  He trailed his lips along her throat, and she released a sigh mingled with a moan. His trousers became far too tight. The temptation to press up against her was strong, but he tethered it, kept his lower body away from her, even as it nearly killed him to do so.

  He felt the pressure on his hand as she sought to break free of his grip, as though she needed to touch him as much as he did her. It was wrong to feel such a surge of satisfaction, but he kept her shackled, knowing her physical strength was no match for his. Yet, she was not weak. A weak woman couldn’t have brought him t
o his knees, and she’d held that power from the moment she’d brought him his first scotch.

  With a smile, she could bring him low. With a laugh, undo him. With a glance through half-lowered eyelashes, steal his ability to think or reason. With the stroke of a finger, conquer him.

  Her body writhed and strained as he licked, nipped, and grazed his teeth along her throat, as his broad hand skimmed the length of her narrow torso, over a breast, dipping at her waist, flaring at her hips. Curving over one rounded butt cheek, sliding down her thigh until he could hook her knee over his forearm, lift her leg to circle his waist, opening her to him.

  If she didn’t touch him, she would die. But he seemed intent upon her death.

  How was it possible for such desperation to ensue with so little of him touching so little of her?

  When he’d begun trailing his fingers over her skin, she’d expected a repeat of last night with buttons undone, flesh exposed to air, his questing tongue, and his exploring hands. But he was leaving her clothing intact and in doing so was forcing her to become frantic with need.

  With her leg resting at his waist, draped over his hip, she rose up on her toes, striving to create enough slack in her body that she could press an aching and needy secretive spot against him, but he held himself just beyond her reach. Her groan was nearly a whimper of despair.

  While still touching her, he somehow managed to fluff out her skirt, his hand slipping beneath the fabric until his agile fingers closed around her ankle.

  She was aware of him going still, like a deer caught in the sight of the hunter. Perhaps he’d not expected to encounter the bare flesh that skirts always kept hidden. Because she’d had no plans to go outdoors, she’d not bothered with stockings or shoes but wore only her slippers.