Beauty Tempts the Beast

by Lorraine Heath

  “I’ll move out.”

  “No need. I’ll no longer be residing here.”

  “Where will you live?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t yet know. I just know it can’t be here.”

  He hated this stiffness between them, as though they’d never been intimate, as though he didn’t know how wonderful it felt to have her muscles throbbing around his cock.

  “If you’re ever in want of a mistress . . .”

  The words started out light in tone, growing quieter until they trailed off, no doubt because of the anger coursing through him that he couldn’t hold in check. It had to be visible in his eyes. “Is that what the other night was? An audition?”

  She blanched. He grimaced.

  “You know it wasn’t.”

  “I know. You didn’t deserve that. But I don’t want you to be my bloody mistress. I want you as my wife.”

  “I told you why I can’t marry you.”

  “Do you think I give a bloody damn if someone turns his back on me? Do you think we can’t teach our children how to handle the arses of the world? I began my life being bullied, Thea. It’s not pleasant, can be incredibly hurtful. I don’t know how many times I went off alone to a corner and wept. Then felt shame that I was crying. But I survived it, and I learned that I never wanted to do anything to make another person feel the despair I felt at that moment. It is survivable, and because of it, perhaps I’m a better person than I might have been otherwise.”

  “Proper Society is nothing like the streets of Whitechapel or the rookeries. You’ve not been a lord long enough to understand how very different it is. I think you’ll find your opinion on the matter will change in time.”

  What he felt for her, what he wanted with her, was not going to change, but he didn’t know how to convince her of that.

  He also understood it was very different to be betrayed and bullied by those you once loved and thought loved you. Those who had treated him poorly had never meant anything to him, so he’d been able to brush off the taunts like so much lint. She couldn’t claim the same. People who had mattered to her had been unkind.

  “Because I thought we were going to marry, I took no precautions to ensure I didn’t get you with child.”

  “I did.”

  Those two words crushed his chest because her being with child was his last hope to have her.

  Her cheeks flushed. “I assumed you had Jewel teach me how to avoid pregnancy for a reason.”

  He nodded. “Only abstinence is a hundred percent. If you find yourself with child, you’re to send word. Inside the packet, you’ll find my parents’ address in London and Scotland. You can always reach me through them.”

  “I know you don’t understand that my decision is truly for the best, but a time will come when you will.”

  “Perhaps you have the right of it. But what I can tell you at this very moment, with absolute certainty, is that I will never stop loving you.”

  Her face crumpled, and that he could not bear to watch. “Goodbye, Thea.”

  He strode out of the room, snatched up his bag, and headed off into the unknown.

  Chapter 29

  Scotland

  February 1874

  Beast stood at the large window in the front parlor and gazed out at the rain cascading from the heavens.

  He’d been at the Scottish estate a little over a month, and during that time, he’d met aunts, uncles, and cousins. He’d galloped over verdant hills of green. Acres and acres and acres of it. So much land. One day it would be his. His father had taken him to a loch, and they’d fished. An abundance of activities to catch up on. An entire youth’s worth.

  He’d gone for a walk in the forest and caught sight of a stag. He’d thought of Robin and the delight the sight would have brought the lad.

  Thank goodness he no longer got lost in this massive residence that was more castle than manor. Lamps and candles provided the light. When dusk arrived, he used a match from the match safe his mum had given him to light the lamp in his bedchamber to ward off the darkness. He didn’t fear the absence of light. It was the pain of Thea’s absence he was striving to ward off and having a devil of a time doing. In spite of all he was attaining, he’d lost what he most treasured, and when he thought of the future, it seemed bleak indeed.

  Especially after reading the missive from her that had arrived that morning. She had been succinct and to the point. She was not with child.

  Pulling his watch from his waistcoat pocket, he flipped open the cover and looked down at her portrait. He wondered if a time would come when the ache in his chest wouldn’t increase with the reminder of her. Not that he needed the reminder. She was never far from his thoughts. Everything he saw or experienced he wanted to show her, share with her. Even the rain.

  He wanted her opinions on matters. Was his cousin Angus as much of an arse as Beast thought he was? Did Beast look ridiculous in a kilt? He’d worn it only once. It was going to take some getting used to.

  Would she like living here? Would she marry him if he could promise her that they would never return to London, would avoid Society, wouldn’t need it? Although even as he had the thought, he knew she would argue that the children would need London and Society in order to be accepted. They couldn’t hide.

  With a sigh, he snapped his watch closed, tucked it away.

  “You seem to spend a good bit of time checking the hour,” a soft voice said, and he closed his eyes.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d been unaware of his mother watching him, that he’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t heard her arrive. The servant who saw to her needs, helped her navigate the residence, kept that contraption of hers well oiled so it seldom made a creak or a moan. Opening his eyes, he glanced back over his shoulder at her, gave her a small smile. It was an odd thing, but after such a short time, he felt as though she’d always been in his life. “It seems to rain often in Scotland.”

  “Often enough.” She moved herself closer. “Tell me about the watch.”

  “I stole it . . . when I was a lad of eight.”

  She seemed neither surprised nor horrified. “But it’s not the hour you’re checking.”

  So maybe she hadn’t been asking about the origins of the timepiece. Maybe he’d known that, had thought if he shocked her, she wouldn’t ask anything else about it.

  “May I see it?” she asked.

  Removing the watch from his pocket, he opened the lid and held it out to her, displaying it in the palm of his hand, not certain why he didn’t detach the fob, why he wouldn’t relinquish his hold on it.

  “She’s pretty,” his mother said. “What’s her name?”

  “Thea. Althea, but to me, she’s always been Thea.”

  “Have you known her long?”

  He glanced at the portrait before once again snapping the lid closed and slipping the timepiece into its place. “Sometimes it seems like forever. Sometimes not long enough.”

  “You’ve never mentioned her.”

  “I’d only declared my feelings for her a couple of days before the duke came to call.” For some reason he found it easier to view the duchess as his mother than the duke as his father. Perhaps because the duke was almost larger than life, and he knew at some point he’d be called upon to fill his boots.

  “Is she a commoner?”

  He nodded. “But she was born and raised in the aristocracy. Her fortunes changed when her father was found guilty of plotting to assassinate the Queen.”

  “Her father was the Duke of Wolfford?”

  “You know of him?”

  “Your father was called to London when the misdeed was thwarted. He serves in the House of Lords, you know.”

  “I’m still striving to get used to that. Do you go to London for the Season?”

  “Usually, although we don’t attend many balls. I’m not very skilled at the waltz.”

  There were times when she broke his heart. Not intentionally. She accepted her limitations, but he couldn
’t help feeling a bit responsible for them. If he hadn’t been born, if she hadn’t needed to hide him . . .

  “Are you going to marry the lass?”

  He turned his attention back to the rain, remembering how it had fallen the day he’d taken Thea to the dressmaker. He wondered if every aspect of his life would remind him of her. How could she have made such an impact in such a short time? “She thinks her father’s actions make her an unsuitable wife for a lord.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Bollocks.” With a grimace, he swung around to face her. “My apologies—”

  “Benedict Campbell, never apologize to your mother for being who you are. Besides, do you not think I’ve heard your father use worse language?”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the window ledge. “It’s a man’s way, I suppose.”

  She smiled at that. He liked making her smile but had quickly learned that no one could make her smile as the duke did. Her entire face lit up when he walked into the room.

  “Tell me about her.”

  He sighed. Where to even begin?

  “She’s strong. You remind me of her, with all the strength you’ve had to exhibit over the years.” He gave her a gentle smile. “People fear me because of my size. That fear can be useful at times. But she was never afraid of me. Not from the first moment our paths crossed. She fairly told me to bugger off.

  “I made her a proposition—it had to do with teaching some ladies I was striving to help find a better life. I laid out terms. She came back with a counter term. I agreed to it, even knowing I would never honor it. But I didn’t want her going elsewhere. I convinced myself I did it for the sake of the ladies, that they would benefit from her knowledge. But I did it for myself because I thought I’d benefit from her presence.”

  “And you did.”

  He nodded. “She’s clever, generous, and kind. She makes her decisions based on what she believes is better for someone else rather than herself.” She’d done it for her brothers, done it for him.

  “When she laughs, my world is brighter. When she smiles, it is more colorful.”

  “You miss her. You’re lonely here,” she said softly.

  “Not lonely.” Yes, lonely. Not only was Thea not here, but neither were his siblings, his mum. How many times had he felt an urge to speak with one of them? To have a pint at the Mermaid and Unicorn? To purchase a book from the Fancy Book Emporium? “I’m accustomed to the noise and the bustling crowds. Sometimes it’s so quiet.”

  Especially at night when he lay in his bed, without Thea in his arms, her breathing a soothing lullaby. He couldn’t sleep for the lack of noise.

  “I rather enjoy the quiet. I spent years listening to the screams of the tormented day and night.”

  “If my grandfather weren’t already dead, I’d kill him for his role in what happened to you.”

  “But not for his role in what your life was. That brings me comfort. The night we had dinner with your family, I so enjoyed watching the easy way you are with each other. I can’t imagine you without them.”

  Neither could he. What a strange journey he’d taken through life.

  “You don’t have to live here, you know. Even when you’re duke. You simply have to ensure the estate is properly maintained and see to your duties. You’re a lord. You can live wherever you like. But then I suppose you could do that anyway with the success you’ve had.” She studied him as thunder rumbled in the distance. “Do you wish we hadn’t found you?”

  With no hesitation, he shoved himself forward, knelt beside her, and took her hand. “No, of course not. It’s just taking me a bit of time to become accustomed to this change in my life.”

  With the hand he wasn’t holding, she brushed her fingers through his hair. “I hope you realize how very much we love you.”

  Bringing her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “I love you.”

  “When we return to London, we’re going to host a ball, ensure your place among the ton is understood and accepted. You should invite your lass.”

  London

  March 1874

  February was the shortest month of the year, yet had been the very longest of Althea’s life.

  She was glad March had finally arrived. Not that it would make any difference. It wouldn’t return Benedict to her.

  She missed him with a physical ache so painful that sometimes she wondered if her heart had stopped, only for a second or two, because stopping briefly was better than shattering altogether. She’d hurt him with her refusal to marry him. She understood that, but also knew he didn’t have a clear understanding of how things worked among the aristocracy. Reputation did not begin and end with a person. It came with tentacles that wrapped around those closest to you, linking you to their disgraces, linking them to yours.

  As she sat at what had once been his desk in what had once been his study, organizing the lessons she would begin teaching the first set of women who had arrived, she wondered if a time would come when so much stopped reminding her of him. When she lay in bed at night wearing his shirt, the one he’d tossed to her, that carried his sandalwood and cinnamon scent, she thought of him. When she was out shopping and saw a gentleman glance at his pocket watch, she thought of Benedict. When the winds blew cold, she thought of him. When it rained, when it didn’t, she thought of him.

  When she sat in the library in the evening, memories of the hours she’d spent with him tormented her. No sherry glass now waited for her. When he’d asked her to marry him, she’d envisioned a lifetime of sitting in a library, sharing moments with him.

  When she’d had Benedict in her arms, she’d not needed a protector or Society. She’d felt fully capable of taking care of herself. All she’d needed was him. She’d given up what she needed in order for him to have an easier time adjusting to life among the aristocracy. He didn’t understand now, but in time he would. He would have hurts. It was the way of those she’d once walked among to be unkind, not as accepting as they might be. Perhaps he’d receive a cut direct, or a lady would refuse to dance with him, or a gentleman would not invite him to sit with him at the club. But the hurts would be pinpricks instead of the knife wounds being with her would have caused him. Pins didn’t leave scars. Knives did.

  Pulling on the chain around her neck, she pulled out the locket tucked behind her bodice, opened it, and looked at the portrait of Benedict. She did this at least half a dozen time every hour. Oh, she missed him so much. There were times when she could barely move for how much she missed him.

  When Jewel walked in, Althea barely stirred. She never closed the door. Jewel wouldn’t have knocked anyway. Jewel handled the books, Althea the education of those who came here, preparing them for a different life.

  “You have a visitor,” Jewel said, “in the parlor.”

  A parlor that now displayed not a single breast, buttock, or cock.

  Other than her brothers, no one from Althea’s past knew she was here, would visit her. Only one person would, and her stomach felt as though a thousand butterflies had suddenly escaped their cocoons to flutter around it. “Is it him?”

  That was all that was needed. Jewel had been quite blunt one night in telling Althea she’d been a fool to turn him away.

  “In a way.”

  What the deuce did that mean?

  She rose, patting her hair, seeking loose strands, tucking them back into place. Her frock was a mauve that gave a bit of color to her when of late, she’d been far too pale. Lack of sleep did that. Staring at the ceiling instead, reliving every touch, caress, and kiss.

  She swept out of the study and down the stairs, forcing her steps to slow so she didn’t rush into the parlor with such haste that he would know she’d missed him dreadfully, was grateful he’d come, that to see him one more time was the wish she made upon the first star that appeared each night. In the foyer, she stopped, took two ragged breaths—that failed to calm her racing heart—pulled back her shoulders, li
fted her chin, and glided in gracefully as though she’d placed a book on top of her head and didn’t want it to topple off.

  The sight of him stole her breath. It required stillness to take in all of him, to take note of all the subtle changes, and Jewel’s words made sense now. In a way.

  His clothing had always been well tailored, but the black trousers, gray shirt, dark gray waistcoat, black knotted neck cloth, black jacket he wore now was more so. It looked as though he’d been melted down and poured into the attire. His hair, still long, had been styled in such a way that it provided a frame for his face. In one hand, he held a walking stick and beaver top hat. But it was more than the outer trimmings.

  Confidence, power, and strength had always shimmered around him, but now they seemed sleeker, yet more potent. She remembered Danny saying the Trewloves were royalty within Whitechapel. Now Benedict gave the impression of being royalty anywhere he appeared, even among the aristocracy. People would sense his presence when he walked into a room. Ladies would desire and men would envy. He’d never looked more gorgeous . . . or more alone.

  “How was Scotland?” she finally managed to ask.

  “I didnae expect it to be so beautiful.”

  She couldn’t stop her smile from forming at the slightest hint of a brogue.

  “But I have difficulty understanding half of what they say. I’m not familiar with some of the words they use and most Scots have such a thick brogue . . . you ken?”

  She gave a quick laugh. “I do understand. But in time you’ll become accustomed to it, and you’ll sound as though you grew up there.”

  “I doubt that.” She heard no Scot at all now, just the English accent that had marked his words before he left. “How have you been?”

  Awful, terrible. “Busy. We have several ladies living here now.”

  “That doesn’t tell me how you are.”

  She wanted to look away from him, afraid he was seeing into her too deeply, but didn’t want to lose a second of having him in her sight, because she might never see him again. It would be a mistake to say it, but she said it anyway. “I miss you. More than I thought it possible to miss a person.”