With Mabel’s animated company, the ride passed more quickly than she’d expected. More pleasantly, too, thanks to the whiskey. Astrid blinked as they came to a stop. Perhaps she’d had one too many sips. When they arrived in the gargantuan courtyard, Astrid goggled. Flickering lights were strung everywhere as they walked up the path to the doors, making it all look quite magical.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
Mabel grinned. “This isn’t the half of it. There’ll be entertainments and fireworks—just you wait. Apparently, the Regent himself might put in an appearance.”
Inside, the decor in the massive ballroom rivaled the outside, adorned in billowing panels of white and gold. And it was packed to bursting with every conceivable color. Mabel ushered her down another set of stairs, away from where the majordomo was making announcements of arriving guests, and they entered the ballroom from another entrance.
“We do not need to be announced,” she told Astrid and shepherded her over to where a turbaned woman was surrounded by men vying for her attention. Lady Hammerton, Astrid presumed.
“Eloise, darling,” Mabel said, kissing her old friend, who proceeded to shoo away her admirers and shriek with delight.
“You naughty old bat, missing my house party,” the marchioness scolded. “You’re lucky I even sent you an invitation to the ball.”
Mabel laughed. “I’m here now. Allow me to introduce my nephew’s wife, the Duchess of Beswick.”
Astrid found herself the subject of meticulous attention. “Beswick is a lucky man,” she pronounced and then narrowed her piercing green eyes. “You have a sister.”
“Yes, Lady Isobel.”
“Ah, lovely chit.” Her eyes sparked with recognition as she turned back to Mabel. “She’s the one you wrote me about?”
Astrid frowned. Mabel wrote Lady Hammerton about Isobel?
“Don’t worry—I’ve kept an eye on her as you requested. She has developed a partiality for Lord Roth. Beaumont, however, proved to be another, more complicated matter. Persistent and arrogant, he refused to take no for an answer. I’ve had the servants bar him from entry tonight. A pity, since rumor has it his stamina is—”
“Eloise!” Mabel said.
Astrid blinked and pinned her lip between her teeth. The two of them in their younger years would have terrorized England, she was sure of it. She searched the throng of dancers to see if she could find Isobel, but there were too many people.
“So, the Beast of Beswick,” Lady Hammerton said, causing Astrid’s attention to swivel back, while the duchess was in conversation with a gentleman. “Mabel has been extraordinarily tight-lipped about your marriage. Why did you marry him? We know it wasn’t for his good looks. Was it for his money?”
Astrid sputtered at the woman’s gall. “I have a fortune of my own, I assure you.”
“Beautiful and fiery. So why did you marry a man like Beswick when you could have had your pick of any gentleman with a face like yours?”
“Perhaps like you suggested with Beaumont, his value is elsewhere.”
The sexual inference hung in the air like a gauntlet, and then the marchioness guffawed and gestured to Mabel. “Oh, gracious, I do like her.”
“Have you seen my sister, Lady Hammerton?”
The woman sent her an indulgent smile. “Oh, of course. She went out on the balcony a while ago after her waltz with Roth. Lady Beswick, there’s something else I think you should know that concerns—”
But her host’s voice faded into the background as Astrid’s eyes traced the edge of the ballroom to where the balcony doors stood open. She couldn’t see anything beyond the shadowy evening darkness. What she did see on the other side of the room was the Earl of Beaumont cutting through the crowd despite being barred, his mouth tight, and all the blood left her cheeks in a rush.
Astrid didn’t care about being rude; she set off almost at a run, not waiting to hear what Lady Hammerton said. She debated threading through the middle, but there were too many bodies. Instead she headed for the perimeter. She’d be lucky to make it before Beaumont did something unforgivable and history repeated itself.
By the time she arrived on the northeast corner of the ballroom, huffing for breath, a crowd had already gathered, spearheaded by none other than Lady Bevins and her entire prattling entourage. Beaumont was nowhere in sight, thank goodness. He must have been waylaid, or perhaps he hadn’t known Isobel was outside, unchaperoned, in the marquess’s company.
Astrid strove to see over the heads of the people in her path and almost started barging through when she caught a glimpse of Isobel, her cheeks red and eyes bright, standing in the arms of Lord Roth, who looked similarly disheveled.
“Scandalous!” Lady Bevins shrieked and fanned herself. “I saw the chit in a lascivious embrace with the marquess. Scurrilous, I tell you. Like her sister.”
Astrid froze. But her defense came from an unexpected source.
“Have a care, Lady Bevins,” a deep, familiar voice said that sent shivers through Astrid’s core.
The Duke of Beswick stood just inside the balcony doors, his ruined face shadowed by the brim of a hat. What on earth was he doing here? He hated balls and crowds. And besides, hadn’t he been called back to Beswick Park? Astrid glanced around the room as more people noticed his presence and the whispers mounted.
Astrid was gratified to see Lady Bevins go from red to white as she, too, recognized who had spoken. But then, through the shifting bodies, her eye caught something flash on Isobel’s left hand, caught in between the marquess’s fingers, something that looked suspiciously like a ring, and she forgot the odious woman altogether. By the time her comically sluggish brain matched the wide gold band on Roth’s left hand, her husband was already speaking.
“And since Lady Isobel is now Lady Roth, she may indulge in any displays she feels necessary with her husband. I’ve given my support for the wedding.”
The roar of the crowd felt like thunder in Astrid’s ears until it faded to nothing, and all she could hear was silence as time came to a standstill.
She had to have misheard.
But the swell of guests offering congratulations with lifted glasses filled her vision, offering their toasts and felicitations to the bride and groom. Isobel. Married. Astrid was filled with equal amounts of relief that it wasn’t the Earl of Beaumont and shock that she’d missed her own sister’s wedding. Was this the scandal that Isobel had intended? If so, she had to hand it to her sister…as far as making a statement went, it was remarkable.
“Let me be the first to wish the happy couple all of life’s many blessings,” Lady Hammerton announced from the center of the ballroom, drawing the attention away from the duke, though many prying eyes still remained glued in his direction. “We will celebrate with their first waltz.” With an imperious gesture to the orchestra, the strains of the interrupted waltz resumed.
Astrid took a deep breath and pushed to the place where Beswick remained, half hidden in the shadow of a potted fern, tears in her eyes at her sister’s obvious happiness as she danced with her husband.
“How did you do this?” she whispered, clutching his arm, her brain still spinning with the announcement and the fact that her recalcitrant duke was here. “You went against the Prince Regent? Didn’t Beaumont ask him to overturn the terms of my father’s will?”
“He’ll understand. I’m heading to Carlton House myself to make sure of it,” her husband said, his voice gruff, stepping away so that her hand fell uselessly to her side.
He did not meet her eyes even as he distanced himself. Something was wrong; she could feel the storm brewing in his body, and the fact that he wouldn’t look at her was a stab to the heart, knowing how far they’d come and what they’d each sacrificed to get there.
“How did you do this?” she asked, her heart in her throat.
“It was simply a mat
ter of procuring the license. I spoke with the Archbishop of Canterbury myself. Now you no longer need to worry about Beaumont or your uncle.”
“I…thank you.”
“No thanks needed.”
“Thane,” she said, a familiar sense of dread filling her veins at his remoteness. “Talk to me. What’s the matter?”
“Your sister deserves to be happy,” he said so softly that she had to strain to hear. “As do you.”
“I am happy.”
He looked at her then, and the raw agony visible in his eyes for a single heartbeat before it was shuttered nearly drove her to her knees. “No, Astrid. The truth is you’re settling. You only married me to protect her, not because I was what you wanted. You deserve more. You deserve someone you truly want. Someone you choose without an anvil hanging over your head. I thought I could do this, that I could have you, but I can’t.”
His neutral words were like daggers.
“I don’t understand. I thought we were beyond this. We agreed in your study to give us a chance.”
“We made a mistake,” he rasped. “I made a mistake. Look at Roth and your sister—that’s what marriage should look like. The beauty gets the prince. That’s how this tale should end.”
“This isn’t a fairy tale, Thane. This is real life.”
“Exactly.”
Astrid gasped at the sudden, acute pain in her chest. Didn’t the daft man understand? He was the only one for her. She didn’t want a prince; she never had. No, she wanted the man who made her laugh, who challenged her intelligence, who matched her on every fundamental level.
She was aware of their avid audience, though she couldn’t begin to focus on any of them. The only one who had her attention was the man who was intent on smashing her heart into pieces. “Why are you doing this, Thane?”
“Because what we have isn’t real, Astrid. You’ve become infatuated with a man who was little more than your jailor, and no matter how much we pretend, we cannot argue how this all began. I release you from our bargain.”
She stared at him. At his overt lies. Did he truly believe them? “You’re wrong and you know it. You were never my jailor. You never kept me prisoner. I stormed into your life, when you categorically pushed me away. I chose this because it’s what I want.”
“You chose it to save Isobel.”
She faltered. “Well, at first, yes. But, Thane, you know this is so much more than that.”
“I was never meant for marriage. You’re more than I could ever deserve. I mean to petition Parliament for a divorce decree, on account that you were coerced into marriage under false pretenses. You did marry a beast, after all, and no one can fault you for wanting to escape that.”
He growled at the people no longer trying to hide their stares and strode from the room before she could form a reply.
A divorce?
Astrid wanted to rail and scream, but beyond the hurt, deep down a part of her understood his skewed reasoning. The Duke of Beswick had never felt like he deserved her love. He’d saved her sister, and now he thought he was saving her…by letting her go. A divorce was unheard of in the peerage, though one would be granted for a duke, and Thane fully intended for the shame of it to be his. This proud, broken man who shied away from polite society was pushing her away by humbling and humiliating himself.
Her heart clenched.
Oh, Thane.
Astrid pushed through the twittering crowd, ignoring the pitying glances, and caught Mabel’s eye where she stood with Lady Hammerton, her hands pressed to her mouth, eyes brimming with tears. She must have heard, along with half the guests in the ballroom. Astrid fought back her own tears, but she couldn’t afford to become derailed by emotion.
She had to get to the daft man before he rode off to London.
She had to stop him and set him straight.
With a quick wave of farewell to the duchess, Astrid made her way to the front of the enormous ballroom, only to be waylaid by a looming figure. At first, she thought it was her husband, but when he stepped into the light, she groaned.
“What do you want, Beaumont?”
“You did this,” he hissed.
Astrid pinched her lips thin. She’d had enough with men telling her things were her fault, making decisions for her, and trampling all over her. For once, she took a page from the duke’s book and straightened her spine, uncaring of who heard her in the ballroom. This man had silenced her before. Hell if she’d let it happen again.
“No, Beaumont, you did this.”
His brows shot to his hairline, his face going dark. “How dare you?”
She raised her voice, head high. “I dare because of what you did. You coveted a woman who did not want you, and when she did not instantly fall at your feet, you smeared her reputation with lies and tried to destroy her in the eyes of society. But you know what, you lousy excuse for a man? I didn’t let you destroy me. Instead, I found someone who is proud and honorable, who values me for me, who doesn’t treat me like a thing.”
“That disgusting beast?” Beaumont scoffed.
“He’s more of a man than you could ever hope to be,” she said. “I’m proud to be his wife, and I’d rather be married to a beast like him than a swine like you.” The earl’s eyes narrowed with anger, but Astrid wasn’t finished. “Sooner or later, Beaumont, you’ll try to ruin the wrong woman, and you’ll lose everything. But it won’t be me, and it won’t be my sister. So if you have nothing more to say for your sorry self, I’d advise you to get the fuck out of my way!”
“How dare you address me that way, you…you insolent…” he sputtered.
“Duchess,” she said. “The word you’re looking for is duchess.”
Astrid suddenly became aware of the thunderous silence. The music had petered out, and almost every eye was trained on them. She could have heard a pin drop in the ballroom, and then suddenly the sound of slow, measured clapping broke through. Lady Hammerton looked positively beside herself with glee.
“Well said, Lady Beswick. I’ll deal with this ball-crashing miscreant. Now, go save that fool husband of yours.”
Despite a few disapproving glances, there were quite a few gratified ones, including her sister and Aunt Mabel, as well as a number of other ladies who were enjoying Beaumont’s humiliation with undisguised relish. They might live in a man’s world, but she had a voice, and she wasn’t going to be afraid to use it. Not anymore. Astrid grinned, savoring the moment, but only for a second.
After all, she had a duke to rescue.
Chapter Twenty-five
Galloping through the roads of North Stifford, Thane breathed in the fresh country air. Soon, at the very least within two hours, he would be in London. It wasn’t too late, and with any luck, he would catch Prinny before he was drowning at the bottom of his cups. It would be hit or miss whether the Regent would already be drunk, given his proclivities, but at least Thane had it on good authority that he was currently in residence at Carlton House.
He’d chosen to ride instead of taking a carriage because it would be quicker. And he needed the grueling pace. Everything hurt. His head, his body, his heart. He wanted to howl like a wounded animal. He wanted to tear at his cursed face, flay his ruined skin, and, most of all, weep for what he’d done. He’d broken Astrid’s heart. His beautiful, courageous, clever girl. Oh Christ, the look on her face…it had nearly demolished him. But he had to let her go.
He had to set her free.
Creatures of her beauty didn’t deserve to live hidden away. And that was what she would have been, married to him—a caged bride. She deserved so much more than he could give her. Even with a hat, the whispers and glances had been almost impossible to endure, and he’d been hard-pressed not to snarl and growl like the creature he was. But he’d done it, because it was what she had wanted. She’d needed for him to be there, to help keep Isobel safe. People
had stared, and he had let them. They’d simpered and whispered, and he’d held his tongue, kept his composure. Been a gentleman.
But once he’d seen Isobel in Roth’s arms, seen the look of adoration on her face, he’d understood just how much he would be cheating Astrid of. She should be dancing in ballrooms with pride, not hiding away from the world in a dark abbey because of him, not enduring the whispers of the ton. She’d had enough of hurtful gossip to last her a lifetime. Because no matter how much he pretended, he wasn’t a gentleman. He’d never be one.
Cutting her loose had been the only way.
It was the best for everyone.
His head was still pounding when he arrived in St. James on the south side of Pall Mall and into the courtyard of the prince’s residence. From the lights and the revelry spilling down the steps, the Regent was entertaining. Wonderful. Thane sucked in a breath. He was not in the mood to socialize. He wanted only to get this over with so he could ride back to Beswick Park and sequester himself in solitude.
With a grunt, Thane dismounted and threw the reins of his mount to the waiting groom under the porte cochere. “I’m the Duke of Beswick. I won’t be long. Cool him down.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Thane strode through the crowded first hall, knowing he’d likely find Prinny in one of the many drawing rooms or in the great hall or in the gardens. The man wasn’t particular about his entertainments. As he strode through the palace, the Greco-Roman architecture with its marbled floor, carved columns, and lush draperies was stunning, but he could hardly appreciate any of it. A few people gathered in small groups, revelers who were strolling past him to head outside to enjoy the warm evening air. Following them, he ignored the stares and the whispers without comment, too focused on finding the Regent.
He was so intent on getting to his destination that he did not immediately notice the group of people he’d nearly crashed into or its royal leader until a heavy hand clapped his back.
“Good Lord, Beswick, didn’t think I would see you here.”
Beast of Beswick Page 27
