Beast of Beswick

by Amalie Howard

  The rest of them stared unabashedly at her.

  “Someone fetch me a glass of Madeira before I expire,” Mabel said with a quick slash of her fan. “And then I will humor you lot with introductions.”

  Once the Madeira was procured—one for Astrid as well—Mabel tugged her forward to their small but rapt audience. Astrid felt a queasiness low in her stomach. No one would know who she was unless they remembered the scandal from a decade ago, and now she was married to a notorious recluse.

  “Allow me to present, informally of course, the new Duchess of Beswick, Lady Astrid Harte.”

  The gasps were intermingled with congratulatory wishes amid remarks about her beauty and rumors over the duke’s savaged appearance, and then the questions began in earnest. Astrid shrank back, but not before she saw one woman whisper to another and then another. The word “beast” filtered through, making Astrid bristle. In a few minutes, everyone at the theater would know that the wife of the Beast of Beswick was in attendance. Thanks to the newssheets, the unfortunate moniker had reached London as well.

  The noise rose, a man’s voice announcing the start of the third act of the play, but Astrid stood rooted to the spot, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes upon her. She held her chin high, staring down anyone who dared meet her eyes. She was a duchess, wife to a peer of the realm. Let them stare.

  “Tell us, my lady,” a man’s voice drawled, “was it a marriage of convenience?”

  The voice was nauseatingly familiar. Beaumont appeared with Isobel on his arm. Astrid held her calm, though she wanted to claw him away from her sister with her bare hands.

  “The proper address for someone of my rank, Lord Beaumont, is Your Grace,” she corrected coolly. “And aren’t most marriages of the ton ones of convenience or, more importantly, alliance?”

  The emphasis on “alliance” was not lost. Not on the earl or on her aunt and uncle who rode his coattails. Beaumont’s face darkened, but his lips curled with disdain. “It would take a lot more than that for most women to marry the Beast of Beswick.”

  Astrid laughed, knowing she was under the scrutiny of many, though she took comfort from Mabel standing at her side. “You are correct, Lord Beaumont. Those things are called honor and respect, two principles you will never possess. Good day, sir.” She sent a soft smile to her sister. “Isobel, don’t you look lovely. Enjoy the rest of the performance.”

  Astrid forced herself to walk away, despite Isobel. Her battle was with Beaumont, not with her sister. And she needed to prove to Isobel that she wasn’t the overbearing, jealous older sister her aunt and uncle were painting her as. It was, by far, the hardest thing she’d ever done—abandoning her sister to the wolves.

  “Bravissimo,” Mabel murmured, eyes flashing with pride when they returned to the privacy of their box.

  “She’s so young.”

  “Darling, if she’s anything like you, I’d say you have nothing to worry about.”

  Astrid searched the duchess’s eyes, finding nothing there but admiration. “Surely you must have heard of my connection with that odious man. If Isobel is anything like I was then, meaning starry-eyed and stupid, then I do have cause to worry. I’ve left her with the wolves.”

  She attempted to compose herself, not unmindful of the attention flocking toward their box from the rest of the theater. Gossip traveled fast. Titillating gossip, even faster. After the altercation with Beaumont, people would be putting the connections together.

  Astrid Everleigh—ruined heiress.

  Astrid Harte—Duchess of Beswick.

  Both impostors.

  “You’re forgetting one thing, dear,” Mabel said.

  “What is that?”

  The duchess smiled gleefully. “Lady Isobel grew up with you as a role model…as a self-reliant female for the past ten years. You don’t think any of that has rubbed off? She may be consorting with the wolves, that is true, but have a little faith.”

  “I wish it were that easy.”

  She patted Astrid’s arm. “Then, focus on something else. Like the auction you have planned. Last I heard, everyone’s coming.”

  Like that was better?

  Astrid’s stomach fluttered at the thought of the auction that was scheduled for the next day, but her nerves crackled with excitement. She had no idea how it would go or whether it would be the rousing success she hoped for, but Astrid knew her antiquities, and she was confident in her proficiency. She might be worried about Isobel and her own new status as a duchess, but there were two things that never failed her…knowledge and preparation.

  And in this, she had both.

  …

  The teeming auction at Christie’s had gone off without a hitch, thanks to Thane’s very clever, very competent duchess. Thane had never felt prouder, standing in the shadows and watching from the private balcony, when the Duchess of Beswick was publicly and profusely thanked by the owner of the auction house. The total monies the collection had fetched was astronomical…and every extra cent of it was going toward a gift for his wife. He grinned, not that she knew about it yet.

  “I’ll miss cricket,” he told Fletcher, who stood beside him.

  The valet shot him a dry stare. “I’ll buy you a ball like the normal children.”

  “Where’s the fun in that? Doesn’t quite give the same satisfaction to not hear that crashing sound or imagine my father’s reaction,” Thane grumbled, but he clapped an arm over the man’s shoulder. “You did a good thing, Fletch. With the collection and with her.”

  “Do I get an increase in my wages?”

  “I already pay you a king’s ransom, you ingrate.” Thane rolled his eyes. “That reminds me, I haven’t dismissed you yet this week, so tread lightly. I’ll be waiting in the coach, if you could be so kind as to retrieve my duchess.” He took the private staircase to the waiting conveyance at the side of the building.

  In the confines of the carriage, Thane removed the heavy metal key from his pocket and felt a shiver of apprehension at the sight of it in his fingers. He was nervous. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d given anyone a gift, and here he was, about to embarrass himself with the largest gift ever given. She wouldn’t accept, and he’d look a fool.

  The coach door opened, and the footman assisted his wife inside. Astrid was glowing as she took the seat opposite him. “Did you see?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you for coming,” she said, her lovely face earnest. “I know these public events can be taxing.”

  Thane grinned at her and rapped on the roof for them to be away. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

  “Well, thank you.” A satisfied smile on her face, she stared out the window at the evening crowds, most of them leaving the auction house. “All of those pieces have found good homes. Your father would be happy.”

  “My father can rot in hell,” he said and then bit his lip. He didn’t want to ruin her good humor with unpleasant feelings about the former duke. His father deserved to have every single one of those antiques smashed and destroyed without a qualm, just as he’d destroyed Astrid’s hopes for her future. Thane cleared his throat. “Speaking of good homes,” he began. “I have a present for you.”

  “A present? For me?” Her sparkling eyes went wide with childlike delight. “What is it?”

  His chest feeling oddly tight, Thane handed her the key. “This is part of it.”

  “A key.” She laughed, her eyes brightening. “To your heart?”

  Said organ squeezed painfully in his chest, but from the smile on her lips, she was teasing.

  “Good God, if I’m ever that sentimental, put me out of my misery.” He drew a breath, feeling self-conscious. “I’ve bought some property with the proceeds from the auction, three connected buildings in Northern London. I was thinking you could use it for a school to educate young
girls or a place for young women who have limited prospects to find new ones. A safe space.”

  Astrid went still, her eyes boring into his, mouth falling open in surprise. “You bought me a building.”

  “Several buildings, but yes.”

  “With the proceeds,” she said faintly.

  “The rest of the money is placed in an account for you to use at your discretion, but yes, all of it is yours to allocate as you see fit.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Thane.”

  His smile swayed at the expression in them. “Print some pamphlets. Start an unorthodox revolution. Hire female assassins to hunt Beaumont to the ends of the earth. I don’t care as long as you’re happy.”

  His wife launched herself across the carriage into his arms, and then her mouth was on his, hot and sweet and divine. “You dreadful, underhanded man,” she said between kisses that she peppered on his face. “Why do you do these things?”

  “To make you happy?”

  Astrid pulled back, her hands cupping his cheeks, scars and all. He wanted to nuzzle into them like a cat begging to be stroked. Her hands on him felt like a balm, like a benediction. “This is the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me. Oh, Thane, it’s perfect.” She burst into tears. “It’s not fair.”

  “Why?” he asked, bewildered.

  “You’re making me like you, and I hate it.”

  “You don’t want to like me?” He brushed at her tears.

  She sniffed and buried her face in his neck. “No. I want you to go back to being the intractable Beast of Beswick.”

  “I’m still a beast; look at me.”

  “I am looking.” She lifted glimmering ice-blue eyes to his, the melting desire in them making his body come to instant attention. “Thane,” she whispered, “take me home.”

  He set his mouth to hers, filling his palms with her body…the long muscles of her slender back beneath her cloak, the soft tendrils of hair escaping her coiffure at her nape, the rounded curve of her hip. He squeezed her rump, and she moaned into his mouth.

  “God, how I want you,” he said thickly.

  And he did. Thane wanted to bury himself into her sweet welcoming depths, make her cry out in the heat of passion, lick the sweat from her skin in the aftermath. Kiss her softly. Watch her fall asleep. Hold her. Never let go.

  Astrid reached one hand down between them, stroking his hard length boldly and making him so hard, it hurt. “Don’t, darling. I can’t seem to control myself around you.”

  “I like when you lose yourself,” the minx whispered to him, biting at his lobe and swirling her hot tongue over the shell of his ear. Her mouth found his again, and for a moment he lost himself completely in the feel of her…her taste, her texture, her provocative little noises.

  By the time the carriage rolled to a stop at Harte House, they were both panting intensely. They stared at each other and burst out laughing at the same time. Astrid smoothed his disheveled hair, while he ran his palms along hers. They exchanged another kiss when he arranged the folds of her cloak and she adjusted his cravat, only breaking apart when the footman opened the door.

  Astrid bit her lip, looking chagrined, but Thane just laughed and escorted his duchess down the steps. “Trust me, love, if you could look desirable when you’re shockingly in your cups, a disarranged coiffure won’t detract from your beauty.”

  “The things you say, Lord Beswick.” Blushing, she squeezed his arm and rose up on tiptoe as they ascended the steps to the house. “Won’t you take me to bed, Your Grace?”

  His bold wife shrieked as Thane scooped her up into his arms. “With pleasure.”

  “Don’t drop me!”

  “Never.”

  He’d castrate himself before she came to any hurt at his hands.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Thane had hoped his epiphany of folly would disappear—that what he started feeling for Astrid had been some emotional consequence of lust—but it only became more fully realized the more time he spent with her. Watching the blushing smile on her lips at the breakfast table the next morning made him feel like a conquering king. Though he usually slept in the nude when he was alone, he’d risen early to don a never-used silk nightshirt and tailored loose trousers before climbing back into bed. He hadn’t wanted to be caught unawares in the bright light of day.

  Feeling his scars at night and seeing them in daylight were two different things.

  Given how he felt about them, it terrified him to think of what her reaction would be. His back and legs were much worse than his face. The bayonets had done the most damage to his back, and several of the deeper gouges had gone septic. It’d been a miracle that he’d even survived the weeks of unrelenting fever and madness, followed by excruciating cautery, and what was left of his body was proof of the horror he’d endured. The only answer would be to never let his wife see him.

  Which meant that he could not continue to tempt fate.

  Not without severe risk.

  “Today looks like it will be raining again…a pity, as I’d hoped to go shopping for a new spencer,” his aunt declared, daintily lathering a piece of buttered toast with jam, her eyes cutting between them. “What are your plans?”

  Thane cleared his throat. “I am meeting with Sir Thornton as well as the steward from my northern estates.”

  “Oh yes,” she said, frowning. “I also heard from Culbert that you received some unwelcome news.”

  Astrid looked up, the instant inquiry in her eyes. Thane hadn’t had a chance to speak to her about the missive that had been delivered that morning with his usual correspondence. “Beaumont has formally declared his intention to court Isobel.”

  “What does that mean?” Astrid asked.

  “That an offer is forthcoming, one that I will be tasked to consider.”

  “He is a scapegrace,” Aunt Mabel said. “He’s a poor candidate indeed, not for someone as lovely as that child. I hope you plan to reject the bounder.”

  “Yes,” he and Astrid replied at the same time.

  He sent her a small smile, one he knew was not missed by his eagle-eyed aunt. “I fear that it won’t discourage him, however. The Everleighs have some underhanded agreement with the man, and the earl has somehow curried the favor of the Prince Regent to attempt to overturn the terms of Astrid’s father’s will.”

  “With Prinny?” Mabel asked. “And what kind of agreement?”

  “They keep Isobel’s portion,” Astrid said. “The earl isn’t lacking in fortune. He only wants her. It’s nothing more than a sale, a transaction.”

  Thane nodded. “And Beaumont’s uncle, the previous earl, was favored at court. I can only assume he hopes to use his late uncle’s reputation to shore up his own.”

  The duchess shook her head. “Appalling. Though such tactics seem extreme even for Beaumont.”

  “I suspect it’s related to his feelings about Astrid,” Thane said, feeling the rage burn inside him. “She humiliated him, and he’s nurtured that feeling for years. Of course, it’s no small consolation that Isobel is as beautiful as her sister.”

  His wife blushed, though a fierce expression remained on her face. “He’s a snake.”

  “That we can agree on, dear,” Mabel said. “Though Beaumont is not to be underestimated. We need a strategy to find Isobel another acceptable suitor. Are there any she might deem an appropriate match? We do want her to be happy, after all.”

  Astrid drummed her fingers on the table. “Agatha writes that she will be at the opera four days hence. Perhaps we can ask her then.”

  “Then I suggest we marshal our forces.” The duchess turned to him. “Beswick, I assume your box is still available?”

  Thane nodded. He never used any of his various boxes but retained them nonetheless. It wouldn’t do for the Duke of Beswick not to have one, even if he abhorred the societ
y that had shunned him. “I will be there as well.”

  Two gazes converged on him with shock.

  “Are you feeling well, Beswick?” his aunt asked.

  “Quite,” he responded dryly. “You needn’t look so aghast at the prospect. I have been to an opera or two, and my box is quite secluded.”

  “I was certainly not aghast,” she said with an equally dry look in his direction. “Perhaps I will situate my efforts elsewhere. I shall ask Lady Featheringstoke to accompany her, since her box is situated besides the Earl of Beaumont’s where I suspect our little diamond and your unfortunate relatives will be.” Her mouth curled into a delighted smirk as she addressed Astrid. “There, I shall make an absolute cake of myself and give you the chance to speak with your sister.”

  “You have thought this through, Aunt,” Thane said.

  “When one is my age, dear, it pays to be prepared.”

  …

  The night of the opera came swiftly. For the evening, Astrid selected a lavender silk gown, with a square bodice embroidered with pale-green lace, with sleeves that came to her elbows. It was one of the bolts of fabric her husband had selected when Madame Pinot had fitted her. The fabric molded to her figure, and the color brought out the violet hints in her eyes.

  Astrid had to admit that Thane had exceptional taste.

  When she thought of his kindness after the auction and the extravagant gift he’d given her, she’d been overwhelmed. No one—certainly no man—had ever understood her so well. The gift had meant more to her than the crown jewels. And then that same night, he’d made love to her so tenderly that she’d nearly wept. Her own vulnerability where he was concerned made her terrified, and a part of her warned constantly for her to protect her heart.

  She had a feeling it was already much too late.

  As Alice put the last few touches on Astrid’s coiffure, she descended the staircase to where the duke was waiting. Mabel had left earlier to meet with the Featheringstokes, as arranged. Astrid found him in his study, poring over an open ledger book. She was glad for the chance to study him unobserved. Dressed head to toe in midnight blue, with a similar toned waistcoat and snowy white cravat, he made her breath catch. The candlelight flickered on his sable hair, glinting gold in the lock that curled into his brow and limning his profile in gold. He seemed almost fantastical, a man half made of shadow, half made of flesh.