Beast of Beswick

by Amalie Howard

  “So you’re pushing me away, is that it?”

  He shook his head, hands reaching for her and then falling away. “I’m protecting you, Astrid.”

  “From what?”

  “From me, damn it. Look at me! Who in their right mind would want to be saddled with this? I’m a beast on the inside, too. I lash out at people. Hurt them.”

  Gutted, he blew out his breath, his heart pounding like a hurricane against his rib cage. His throat ached, his brain ached, his fucking useless heart ached. Never had Thane wanted to hide so badly. He wanted to run back to Beswick Park and shut the world out. Shut her out. Forget how it felt to feel, how much it hurt to let anyone in. Because now he was paying the piper for not leaving well enough alone.

  For not staying in the darkness where he belonged.

  “I am looking,” she said gently. “I’m not blind, Thane. I see you very well. And you’d never hurt me.”

  “Not intentionally,” he murmured. Those eyes of hers were slaying him…stripping him bare until he couldn’t hide. He wanted to lash out. “Don’t pity me, Astrid.”

  “You think what I feel is pity?” Her voice rose, her eyes flashing blue fire as they narrowed on him. The look on her face could only be described as incredulous, and for the barest of seconds, Thane felt like he’d entered a minefield wearing a blindfold. “Do you think what happened in the garden was a joke? That it meant nothing to me? Do you think I gave myself to you on our wedding night because I was afraid of you or felt sorry for you?”

  He flinched, the sentiments hitting too close to home. He sealed his lips together from admitting those very truths, from baring his soul. “Then, why did you?”

  She held his gaze. “It was because I wanted you, you daft, oblivious man.”

  “What about the future?”

  “What of it?” She shrugged.

  “What if—?”

  His wife placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that what-ifs are dangerous, nasty little beasts.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing.” She pushed to her toes and kissed him softly, her voice dropping to a velvety whisper. “I’m here now. You’re here now. Thank you for your apology. I’m yours for the taking, my lord duke. So what are you going to do about it?”

  …

  Everything froze, her husband’s arrested gaze meeting hers.

  Astrid’s face was on fire. Never in her life had she been so bold, so shameless in her demands. He wasn’t unaffected from her nearness, she saw. His hands shook, fisted at his sides as they were, as if it took everything in his power to keep from touching her. She didn’t have to look down to see the prominent ridge in his trousers.

  “I want you,” she said simply. His eyes lit with desire, and she reached for boldness, knowing he liked it. She did, too. “If you wish me to be more explicit, Your Grace, I want coitus. Sexual congress.”

  “Astrid,” he warned, those gorgeous golden eyes dilating with lust. A muscle flexed in his scarred jaw.

  “Coupling. Tupping. Sex. Fucking,” she went on, face aflame and licking her lower lip with what she hoped was a sultry look.

  He scooped her up so fast that her breath caught. “You have a dirty mouth, Lady Beswick.”

  “Then give it something to do.”

  She bit at the tendon on his shoulder, making him growl. The carnal, lust-filled sound made her body hum with arousal. Astrid yanked up her night rail and hitched her legs around his waist, her wrapper falling open, the heart of her abrading deliciously against his clothing and rock-hard abdominal muscles. Desire pulsed through her as he squeezed her rear and hoisted her higher. She gasped at the scrape of his waistcoat.

  Groaning, he bit her lobe. “Your bed or mine?”

  “Yours. I want to be surrounded by you.”

  In his bedchamber, Fletcher had left one candle burning, which Thane extinguished on his way to the massive bed. It made her heart twinge, but Astrid didn’t mind the darkness. There was safety in it. She understood why Thane needed it with his scarring. And the truth was, she was too afraid of what would be written all over her, what he would be able to see in her eyes.

  He wanted to hide his body. She needed to hide her heart.

  Scooting to the middle of the enormous bed, Astrid heard the rustle as he shucked out of his clothing. Buckets of desire sluiced down her spine, her anticipation heightening with every sound. Without sight, her other senses were amplified a hundredfold. The mattress dipped as Thane joined her. Warm hands caressed her soles, sending shivery bolts of heat up her entire body.

  He licked at her breasts, drawing one nipple into his mouth and sucking. Her entire body shuddered with arousal as he paid patient, decadent homage to the other. “As are you, Your Grace.” She smiled in the darkness. “I’m constantly confounded by the fact that your mouth is so…gifted.”

  She felt his answering grin. “This is only the beginning, darling.”

  “Confident, too.”

  “I am a duke,” he rumbled. “We are an impressive bunch; ask any one of us.”

  Astrid wanted to laugh but gasped instead as he pressed that very impressive male part against her sensitive sex in response and circled his lean hips in a slow, teasing motion. Her hands, which hadn’t been able to explore before, grasped his shoulders, dragging him down to her for a hot, open-mouthed kiss. She gloried in the feel of his body as he draped himself over her. His chest hair abraded her breasts with delightful friction, and she arched her spine, rubbing her hard nipples against him.

  “You feel so good,” he groaned.

  “As do you.”

  Curious, her fingers wandered over his ruined back and side, and though she felt every rise and bump of his tortured skin, Astrid was careful not to pause. Sorrow and pity surged through her. She wished she could kiss every scar and heal him from the inside out, but she settled for palming every bare inch of him. She marveled at the expanse of his shoulders, savored the long channel of his spine, and delighted in the two wicked indents above his taut buttocks.

  Grinning to herself, she grasped his rear at the same time that she brought her knees up to grip his hips. They both gasped at the intimate position.

  “Fill me,” she ordered in a hoarse voice.

  And he did.

  …

  His darling wife was going to kill him.

  The smart, beautiful, hot-mouthed little harpy who had upended his world and boldly challenged him on every level. Astrid’s natural passion astounded him. Humbled him. And she held nothing back, giving herself wholly and unconditionally, a gift in itself.

  The velvet cling of her was exquisite torture, the scent and taste of her combining to make him nonsensical. He’d been in a constant state of arousal from the moment he’d seen her fresh and rosy from her bath. Thankfully, she had wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  And now, the feel of her warm, luscious, willing form conspired against years of discipline and experience. Lodged deep, his cock throbbed. Slowly, he inched backward, feeling the soft hug of her passage as she unwillingly relinquished him. Thane swallowed hard, every muscle coiled with tension as he eased back in with a groan.

  “I love how you feel inside me,” she whispered. “You’re my missing piece.”

  He almost came then. Her words had the power to do that to him, he was discovering. “And you’re mine.”

  His frenzied heart echoed his thoughts: Mine. Mine. Mine.

  Thane withdrew and plunged forward again, his rhythm gathering speed. He could feel her knees gripping his hips, her hands digging into his shoulders as she met him thrust for thrust. She sought his lips, and he gave them to her, delighting in the hot plunge of her tongue and the assertive way it twined about his. Her movements grew jerkier as she neared her peak.

  “Yes, sweetheart, come for me.”


  “Thane,” she cried out, her head falling back as she was gripped in orgasm.

  Driving deep, he was quick to follow as her inner muscles clamped down and pulsed around his cock. His ballocks tightened, and pleasure spiked through him as he yanked backward, pulling himself from her sheath at the last minute before his brain went blank. His seed spurted against her belly, and with a guttural shout, he collapsed against her, breathing hard.

  Not wanting to crush her, Thane shifted them both to the side, holding her damp body close. His replete senses slowly came back to reality. Thane gave his wife a gentle kiss on the lips, his mouth unerringly finding hers in the darkness. Astrid didn’t say anything, but he could feel her mind turning at his withdrawal. He didn’t want to spoil what they’d just shared.

  After a moment, he rose naked and walked to the bathing chamber to retrieve a pitcher of lukewarm water and a cloth. Thane didn’t need a candle to light his way—he was accustomed to moving around in the darkness. His eyes had adjusted enough to make out Astrid’s lean shape on the bed. Gently, he washed the stickiness from her belly and her thighs.

  “Do you wish to stay here or return to your chamber?” he asked when he was finished seeing to himself.

  “Here,” she said after several heartbeats.

  Inside, Thane was strangely glad. Strange, because in the past after sex, he never wanted to linger. Either he or the women left, depending on location. It was a physical release at best. But with Astrid, everything was different. He climbed back into bed and pulled the sheets over them. Thane gathered her close, pulling the back of her body into the front of his. She fit him perfectly, her rounded bottom nestling sweetly into the cradle of his hips.

  After a beat, Astrid turned in his arms to face him. Though they could only see silhouettes in the shadows, Thane still tensed. As if she could sense his discomfort, she soothed him with a few caresses of her palm along the roughened skin of his right shoulder blade, and Thane was astounded at her discernment and care. After what she’d been through, she was comforting him. His chest tightened painfully.

  This rare, clever, passionate, brave woman.

  She was everything.

  Thane stilled, his heart stuttering and then resuming its steady cadence with startling clarity. The realization was a lightning shock to his system, as if he’d been dead and was suddenly, brilliantly brought back to life. He curved himself around her, enfolding her with all his strength, telling her with his body what he could not say with his mouth.

  What he could never say.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Astrid. Gracious, Astrid, are you well?”

  At the sharp poke in her ribs, she blinked and startled, Aunt Mabel’s concerned face coming into focus. “Yes, yes, of course. I was lost in thought.”

  Mabel shot her a shrewd look. “Daydreaming about a certain duke, perhaps?”

  She felt her cheeks heat. “Thinking about Isobel, actually.”

  It wasn’t exactly an untruth. She had been thinking about her sister, at least until thoughts of Beswick had crowded her brain. The wicked man had made her more than fashionably late after he’d removed every stitch of clothing that poor Alice had painstakingly laced and fastened for her outing to the theater. Buttons had been ripped and fabric torn in their haste to devour each other’s bodies, but Astrid hadn’t regretted a minute of it. Nor had he, clearly.

  It was the reason she had missed most the first act of the play.

  And it was probably the reason behind Mabel’s thoroughly gleeful smile.

  Astrid shook her head. The only reason she’d come to the theater was because Isobel was in attendance. She was still struggling with her sister’s newfound independence and the fact that Isobel seemed to be thriving. Despite being in the earl’s private box with their aunt and uncle, Isobel had continued to seem cheerful and at ease, giving no indication that anything foul was underfoot.

  She had met her uncle’s glance once, but he had inclined his head politely with no hint of rancor on his face, which made her even more convinced that he was up to no good. Her uncle had always viewed her as an obstacle when it came to Isobel, and offering his sheltered niece some independence had been a brilliant move. If the unthinkable happened, where Isobel somehow chose Beaumont of her own free will and wanted to marry the man, there would be little Astrid could do. Short of losing her sister forever.

  “Shall we take a turn about the foyer, dear?” Mabel suggested as intermission began. “Lord, but I haven’t been to the theater in an age. It makes one work up quite a thirst!”

  Astrid would wager that the duchess’s thirst was a result of the scandalously dressed actors carousing onstage. She’d been surprised that her uncle had allowed Isobel to attend this particular play, given its bawdy reputation, but with the man, everything was calculated. Perhaps a play like this would make Isobel feel more worldly. In other circumstances, Astrid would have appreciated the over-the-top humor, but she was too preoccupied by her uncle’s motives.

  “Beswick should be here,” Mabel commented.

  Astrid sent the duchess a dry look. “You know he would choose torture over appearing at any of these affairs.”

  “He attended that masquerade,” the duchess said with a sly smile. “And don’t think I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, even for your supposed marriage in name only. He should be here at your side.”

  Astrid’s cheeks were on fire. Dear God. Did everyone in the house know?

  “That will never happen,” she said. “The truth is, I am grateful for your company, Aunt Mabel, especially in the duke’s absence. It’s good to feel not so alone, so…exposed.”

  What she meant was facing the wolves as the new Duchess of Beswick. After the masquerade, the ton had been afire with the gossip that the reclusive duke had married. And Astrid came with her own fair share of scandal as well. Suffice it to say that the gossip was not exactly kind, not that it ever was.

  Some of Astrid’s despair must have bled through, because the duchess cocked her head, a sliver of worry skating across her face. “How is he?”

  It was a simply worded, if loaded, question. The truth was, Astrid didn’t know. Her husband had laughed at the drawings in the gossip rags, depicting him as a monstrous creature devouring his grasping, greedy opportunist of a bride with a fistful of money in her hand. The overt malice had horrified Astrid. The accompanying editorials weren’t any more flattering. Apparently, a beast of a duke and a shrew of a spinster were too good to pass up.

  “How do you deal with this?” she’d asked Thane when yet another awful parody had hit newsstands.

  “Ignore it,” he’d said. “They’ll move on to something else soon.”

  But Astrid hadn’t missed the flicker of contempt that had couched his words.

  Notwithstanding the gossip, the physical side of things was pleasant—more than pleasant—but Astrid couldn’t help feeling that Thane still kept a large part of himself locked away. He kept people at arm’s length on purpose, never letting anyone in. Her glance slid to the duchess. Well, except Mabel, it seemed. Thane had built himself a dungeon that didn’t have room for anyone else.

  Astrid decided to confide in Mabel. “He thinks I’ll leave him.”

  The duchess nodded. “Not surprising. That boy has been through hell. So many have left, others he’s pushed away.”

  “But not you?”

  Mabel smiled. “Oh, he tried. He can be excessively cruel, but it comes from a place of hurt. He wears the scars we see, but it’s the invisible ones that cause the most damage.” She drew a breath, her expression somber. “Deep down, he doesn’t feel he deserves happiness. So he pushes everyone away. He’s twisted himself so much that he can’t recognize when something good is right in front of him.”

  Astrid remained silent, though she’d suspected the same…that the duke would never allow hims
elf to get close to anyone. Not even her.

  “I’ve had many loves and lovers in my lifetime,” Mabel went on. “And I see you two together. You fight, you flirt, you—” She broke off with a soft puff of laughter. “Well, we both know what else you’re doing. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

  Astrid’s breath left her in an erratic burst, a thousand denials rising to her lips. What she felt was complicated, and she didn’t think it was love. “I…I care for him, I do. But I can’t afford to lose my heart, not when there’s a chance he won’t risk his.”

  “He will, given the opportunity.” Her voice went whisper soft. “I think Thane is in deep, otherwise he wouldn’t be fighting you so hard. He’s lost, and he needs you more than he knows. Don’t give up on him, Astrid. Please.”

  Her throat was clogged. “You can’t force someone to care, no matter how much you wish them to.”

  “Try for my sake.” The duchess smiled brightly, as if she hadn’t just begged Astrid to do the impossible, as if she hadn’t just laid her own soul bare. “Why don’t we find ourselves some refreshment?”

  Mabel rose, tucking Astrid’s hand in her arm, and went to exit the box. Once the curtains parted, however, they were instantly bombarded by curious acquaintances who, no doubt, wanted to see Beswick’s new duchess for themselves. Astrid balked. Oh God, she couldn’t do this, not now…but there was no escape.

  “Courage, dear,” Mabel whispered, giving her hand a squeeze. “Show no fear or they’ll sense it like the sharks they are.”

  Astrid fortified herself, taking her cue from Mabel and smiling like her life depended on it. For better or for worse, she was the Duchess of Beswick.

  “Your Grace, you sneaky minx, why don’t you introduce us to your beautiful companion?” one tall gentleman drawled.

  “Goodness, Lady Verne, where have you been hiding?” another voice asked, a woman whom Astrid did not recognize.

  A handsome older man reached for Astrid’s knuckles, bowing over them. “Who, pray tell, Duchess, is this charming creature?”