“Your Highness,” he said, recognizing the rounded bulk of the Prince Regent surrounded by his usual fawning entourage. Thane bowed. “I had urgent business that saw me here.”
“Must have been important, then, for you to leave the comforts of Beswick Park. I haven’t seen you in an age. Too good for Carlton House these days, are you?”
The censure in his tone was just enough to rub Thane the wrong way. He didn’t want to be rude, but he was already at the end of his rope. While he could handle the Regent most days, he was not in the mood to deal with his self-indulgent, emotional hysterics of why he hadn’t attended one of his extravagant, hedonistic parties. He glanced around at the flamboyant crowd with a measure of distaste—this was exactly the reason.
“Apologies, Prinny. I won’t take up much of your time.”
“You’re staying, aren’t you?” he demanded. “I’ve only just made my appearance. You must stay. My shindigs are marvelous.”
“Unfortunately, I must be getting back to Beswick Park,” he said. “Though, since I’ve found you, I did have a small matter to discuss, if it pleases you.”
The Regent frowned at the thought of being deterred from his revelry. “What’s that? Though you must be quick. I’m famished and thirsty.” He laughed and belched loudly, patting his round belly.
Thane focused on the matter at hand, knowing he didn’t have long before something or someone else caught the Regent’s regard. The man had the attention span of a gnat. “The Earl of Beaumont recently petitioned you regarding his suit to marry Lady Isobel Everleigh, Viscount Everleigh’s niece.”
“I don’t recall, but I’ve been in my cups of late,” he said with a pasty grin. Thane suppressed his sigh. The Prince Regent was well-known for his excesses. Though if he didn’t remember his agreement with Beaumont, then that was a good thing. “Beaumont, Beaumont. Yes, I seem to recall something about a chit.”
“She has married the Marquess of Roth,” Thane said. “With my backing. However, I did not mean to go above any agreement you might have made.”
The Regent scratched his chin and chortled. “Roth, that bounder, is married?”
“He needed to inherit.”
“Ah yes, our esteemed rules of aristocratic primogeniture.” He rolled his eyes as his entourage twittered. “Good, because he owes me a thousand quid.”
Prinny’s love of gambling was no secret, even coupled with the fact that he was head over heels in debt. It wouldn’t surprise Thane if he owed Roth money, instead of the other way around.
“And Beaumont?” he said.
“Don’t worry—we’ll find him someone else.”
Thane cleared his throat. “There’s one more thing, Your Highness. Beaumont served in my regiment and left his watch post during an ambush. Many men died, and as you know, I barely survived. Several men reported that his gunshot wound was self-inflicted. When I returned to England, it was only to learn that he had been discharged with honor and inherited his uncle’s title.”
The Regent’s eyes narrowed, his irritation clear. “What is it you wish me to do?”
“Open an investigation,” Thane said. “That’s all I ask. Provide justice for those men who died.”
“Very well, I’ll get someone on it. But no more, Beswick. You’re trying my patience as is.” He waved an arm. “Get a drink. Indulge.”
He bowed. “Of course, Your Highness.”
Thane let out the breath he’d been holding. Given Prinny’s capricious nature, he could have gone either way. He could have taken great insult at Thane’s accusations. Thankfully, Thane’s military service to the Crown spoke for itself, and his reputation preceded him, even with the Regent, whose only goals in life involved gambling, womanizing, and drinking. However, most things with Prinny didn’t come without a price, and so Thane waited.
“I look forward to some sport at Beswick Park before the Little Season,” Prinny said over his shoulder as he moved toward the entrance to his residence and then gestured for his entourage to follow.
Thane pinched his lips but nodded. The abbey had not been open to guests since his father died, and the last thing Thane wanted was to host a bunch of drunken womanizers in the form of the Carlton set anytime soon. Their type of sport didn’t tend to favor grouse or foxes. They had a reputation for debauchery and dissipation, two things he no longer had a taste for.
After doing as requested and forcing down a glass of fine whiskey—he didn’t want to insult the Regent in his own home—Thane made his way back to the front as unobtrusively as possible and signaled a footman to retrieve his horse while he waited in the entrance hall. His skin felt tight, and his scars pulled. He needed to get back home. Needed a swim.
“I think you might have forgotten something behind, Your Grace,” a lilting voice said.
Thane froze at the sound, his breath stilling in his lungs, and turned to see an angel in midnight-blue satin standing at the top of the steps just inside the doors. He blinked. Surely he was dreaming. But no, when he opened his eyes, Astrid was still there.
He closed his eyes and gripped his thigh with numb fingers, fighting the pull of her voice with everything in him. Footsteps clicked against the polished checkered marble as she drew closer, and soon, her scent curled around him, weakening his resolve even further.
“What’s that?” he said without thinking.
“Your wife.”
…
Astrid stared at him, her heart pounding in her throat.
She’d left Lady Hammerton’s not long after he had, but it had taken her a bit longer, as she’d opted to use Mabel’s carriage and she knew he’d ridden on Goliath. Even with a team of horses pulling the coach, that was no match for Goliath’s stamina or speed. But she was here now, and that was all that mattered.
“Did you follow me?” he asked.
“I had to.”
“How could you be so foolish, Astrid?” he chided, steering her into a nearby alcove away from the throngs of people flocking through the hall. “Do you know how dangerous the roads are at this time of night? You could have been hurt, stopped by highwaymen, robbed, or killed!”
“I’m unhurt, as you can see.”
“You were lucky. If anything had happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”
Even in his anger, his face looked tortured, but Astrid wasn’t going to stop until he was honest with her. “Then, for once, talk to me, Thane. Stop hiding behind this temper of yours and tell me what you’re really feeling. You’re not alone anymore. Trust in me.”
“Here?” he asked.
She nodded. “It’s as good a place as any.”
He scrubbed his hair and stalked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The leashed danger emanating from his body made the few occupants scurry out of the room. Astrid huffed a breath. He didn’t even realize he was doing it—using this ruthless, harsh facade as a front to terrorize people. The menace surrounding him was innate…like a suit of armor.
After a beat, Thane turned to face her and began to speak. “When I fought on the Continent, I fought for duty to king and country, and I’ve seen and done things that have taken a toll.” He swallowed hard, his gaze going inward for a moment. “My scars are the least of it. I’m fractured on the inside, Astrid, and you don’t need that. My own father ran from me. My brother, too. And then you came along and confounded every expectation I had. You made me feel again, and for that I’ll always be grateful that I met you.”
Astrid didn’t want his gratitude. She wanted his love.
She knew more than anyone that the wounds on the inside were as bad as the ones on his face and body. Her scars didn’t hold a candle to his, to what he’d suffered, and she’d barely recovered from those. Thane was stronger and more resilient than he knew, and he was deserving of everything. She couldn’t save him, but he could save himself. He had to love himself before anyone el
se could…before he could accept that others did.
“Why did you go to Lady Hammerton’s, Thane? Was it only for Isobel and Lord Roth?”
He exhaled. “I went to be with you. I wanted to be with you, but when I saw Isobel with him, I realized I was being selfish. I wanted you to be free to choose who you want to love.”
“I have chosen. I chose you. I’m here, aren’t I?” She closed the distance between them and reached up to cup his face. “Even if you divorced me, you daft man, I would still choose you. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth. Or to the infamous Carlton House, as it were.”
“Why?”
Astrid rose on tiptoe to drag her lips across his ear. “Because I love you. I don’t want a sodding prince, you idiot. They’re too pretty, too full of themselves, too much maintenance.” She rocked back with a grin and waved a hand. “Who needs all this opulence? Give me a dark abbey and a grumpy beast any day.”
He froze, the vulnerability on his face nearly bringing her to her knees.
“The thing is, I’m not Isobel. I’m me. And I’m imperfect and combative and my mouth tends to run away with me, and I say things before I think about them. I’m bold and outspoken and probably don’t belong in polite society.”
“I don’t, either.”
“What a pair we make.” She smiled. “But we’re made for each other, Thane. Don’t you even—”
Breath deserted her as he crushed her to him, his mouth taking hers in a kiss that tore the words from her lips and left her mind spinning. She could hardly draw air into her lungs when he pulled back and positioned her a few inches away.
“What…what are you doing?” she gasped as he wrapped one large arm about her waist and threaded the other into her gloved fingers.
“What I should have done the minute I saw you at Lady Hammerton’s ball. I wish to dance with my wife.” He drew her against his lean, hard body and then went still, a ripple of worry chasing across his face. “Unless you don’t want to.”
Wild horses couldn’t drag her out of the haven of her husband’s arms in the middle of that room. “No, I do,” she said quickly, grasping hold of his sleeves. “But we’re not exactly in a ballroom, and we seem to have gathered an audience.”
They did indeed have an audience, including several nobles dressed to the nines, blatantly observing their interlude. Astrid blushed hard at the thought that Thane had kissed her so thoroughly in such a public venue. It wasn’t done. Then again, this was Carlton House, and even she had heard of some of the dissipation that flooded its halls. She blinked, recognizing a few of the faces as some infamous aristocrats from Prinny’s notoriously fast set.
“Is that the Duke of Rutland?” she whispered. “And Viscount Petersham?”
“Ignore them,” Thane whispered, holding her close as he began to move them in a slow waltz, the faint strains of music from the gardens enough to guide their steps.
“They’re staring at us.”
Thane gathered her close, placing his large hand on her waist. “Why wouldn’t they? They’re looking at the most beautiful woman here.”
“Or perhaps because we’re dancing in the foyer of the Regent’s residence, and they think us daft.” But she was smiling as she said it, her heart overflowing.
“Who cares what anyone else thinks?”
She swayed unsteadily, her breath catching. “You usually do. Do you wish to leave? I know you hate this…being out in public.”
“I do,” he agreed. “But I love you more.”
Time stopped, voices and people fell away, and the only things she could see were her husband’s beautiful, shining eyes. “What did you say?” she whispered.
He drew her into a flawlessly executed turn, despite the lack of music and despite the rapt attention. “I love you, Astrid Harte, with everything remaining inside me. All of it—the good, the bad, the broken. I’m nothing without you. And if I can’t face a few empty-headed aristocrats to make you happy, then I’m not worthy of you.”
Her feet, for some reason, had refused to work, along with her brain. Thank God for his excellent timing and impeccable skills because she would be flat on her bottom. But there was nowhere else she would rather be. Suddenly, everything fell into place. Him. Her. Them, together. Dancing like no one else mattered.
Because no one else did.
“Good God, Beswick,” a loud voice said. “I said get a drink, not snatch up one of my female guests and force her to dance in the entrance hall.”
Astrid sucked in a gasp as the Prince Regent strolled toward them, and she broke away mid-waltz to dip into a deep curtsy. “Your Highness.”
The Regent’s glassy eyes narrowed as she rose. “You’re a beauty. How do I not know you?”
“Hands off, Prinny,” her husband’s deep voice said, a possessive arm snaking around her waist. “She’s mine. May I present Lady Astrid Beswick, my wife.”
To Astrid’s surprise, the Regent laughed so hard, his jowls rippled. “I’m shocked anyone would have you with that ghastly disposition of yours.” The prince leered at her. “Honestly, how do you put up with him?”
She smiled. “He’s not so bad, Your Highness.”
The Regent scrunched up his nose, and Astrid had the sneaking suspicion that the man was foxed or stewed on something. His dissipated reputation was infamous. He peered up at the duke. “I suppose I owe you a wedding gift. What do you want besides your earlier demands? More courtesy titles? Estates?”
“God, no,” the duke said. “I’ve more than enough of those.”
“A fund for war heroes, then?”
Astrid couldn’t help her wayward tongue, knowing what Thane had endured at the hands of the French on the battlefield. “How about simply avoiding war in the future?”
Her cheeks burned at the sudden, awful silence, but then the prince chuckled, and the tension broke. Relief trickled through her limbs as he addressed Thane before marching from the room. “You certainly have your hands full with that one.”
“That I do.” Her husband smiled down at her after the Regent left and gathered her close. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Your Grace?”
“Yes, my love?”
She brushed her fingertips along his hard chest and let her desire for him fill her eyes. “I know you’re all about the grand gestures at the moment, but please take me home.”
Thane laughed and swept her up into his arms, crossing the entrance hall as swiftly as those long legs could carry them. Everyone else stared, but she didn’t care. Neither did her husband. They only had eyes for each other. Astrid buried her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder as he parted the throng of guests with not one single growl.
She stifled a smile. He was learning, her beast.
Chapter Twenty-six
She’d fallen asleep in his arms.
In the coach at Beswick Park, Thane didn’t want to wake her. He stared down at his peaceful wife and fought the impulse to hold her tighter and closer.
His brave, fierce lioness.
God, she was so beautiful. He wanted to kiss her lips, bury his face in her hair, claim her forever. He adored her with every fiber of his being, every red-blooded cell in his body, down to his marrow. And miracles of miracles, she loved him back.
Lifting her into his arms once more, he climbed out of the coach and up the stairs. She was so exhausted that she didn’t stir one bit. Fletcher opened the door in Culbert’s absence, his eyes flaring wide at the sight of his master and mistress.
Thane started to carry her up to their chambers and then paused. “Are the hearths in the bathing chamber still lit and heated?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Good. Have the cook prepare some food. And thank you, Fletcher. For everything,” he added.
It had been his longtime valet and friend who had made him realize
what a stubborn fool he was being. Not so succinctly, but his clever mention of Lady Hammerton, her reputation for wild balls, Astrid, and randy males in the same sentence had made Thane see reason, among other things.
His cheeks went ruddy. “My pleasure, Your Grace.”
In the well-lit bathing room, he lay Astrid on the sofa and then proceeded to undress her, starting with her gloves.
“Thane?” Astrid asked sleepily. “Oh, we’re home,” she said, her eyes adjusting and recognizing the room. “What were you doing?”
“Undressing you,” he said. “I thought perhaps a swim might be soothing. The water is heated and salted. Unfortunately, Alice is in London. I can get one of the upper maids to assist with your garments, if you prefer.” Aware that he was babbling, he sealed his lips.
She slid her palm over his and squeezed. “I confess I’ve been intrigued ever since the first time I saw you in here.”
“And the time when you didn’t,” he said. “I saw you, though. I was consumed by lust watching you dip these perfect feet in.”
She glanced around at the cozy sitting area that comprised two large, overstuffed sofas; an armchair; and a low table. “I didn’t even realize this section was here.”
A discreet knock on the outer doors had Thane on his feet, but it was only Fletcher with a tray of food. Thane thanked him and returned, sustenance in hand. Astrid’s stomach growled loudly, and she giggled.
“I’m ravenous,” she said, reaching for a piece of crusty bread and some cheese as he lowered the tray to the table. They didn’t talk as she filled a small plate with the offerings on the tray—some cold chicken, along with fresh fruit and a warm meat pie. Thane wasn’t hungry, but he watched her eat her fill.
“I was famished,” she said, licking her fingers clean with a sigh. He forced himself to behave at the sight of those elegant fingers disappearing into her mouth, but his body had other ideas. Time had not dulled his infatuation with her hands. “I only had a bit of Aunt Mabel’s whiskey on the way to North Stifford after luncheon at Harte House.”
“She’s a terrible influence.”
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