Beast of Beswick

by Amalie Howard

  But when the enigmatic Alexander Masters suddenly arrives in the city, dashing and oh so angry, he demands retribution. Except not in the way Katherine expected…

  Chapter Five

  The duke’s low tone was darkness and sin and something wickedly delightful. And she heard the threat of challenge and warning in his soft, contemplative question.

  Before she could formulate a proper response, the sound of the hostess ordering the orchestra to play pierced the air. Too slowly for comfort, the strains of the waltz leaped to life, and those who found the scandalous dance more rousing than Kitty and, presumably, the duke swept themselves away onto the floor.

  Suddenly, Lady Sanderson herself was by their side.

  “Your Grace, you honor me,” the marchioness breathed, dipping into a curtsy, her eyes glowing her pleasure. What a coup it was for her to be the first to declare the Duke of Thornton had been under her roof. “I’ve summoned my lord from the card rooms, and he shall be here momentarily.”

  Her gaze lingered too long on the porcelain mask before flickering to the bath chair. The marchioness wrung her hands, her fluster spiking the nervous tension inside Kitty.

  It was imperative she find a way to escape the ball, rush home, pack her belongings, and disappear.

  As if the duke sensed her silly, panicked thoughts, he spoke. “I will meet with Sanderson before I depart. As it stands, I must confer with my…beloved immediately.”

  Dear God.

  He had read the scandal sheets.

  The marchioness dipped into a curtsy and hurried away.

  “If I recall correctly,” the duke continued, turning back to her, “Sanderson has a small drawing room this way, which would offer us privacy, Miss Danvers.”

  Away from the ball, and safety, and her friends, and possibly flight? Most certainly not.

  Yet her tongue would not loosen. A mocking smile ghosted across the half lips not covered by the mask, and Kitty narrowed her eyes, not liking that he perceived her dreadful anxiety.

  “Certainly, Your Grace. If you’ll lead the way,” she said staunchly.

  They turned away from the ballroom, and the weighted speculation of the ton felt like a boulder pressed on top of her shoulders. As her fiancé, he could converse with her in relative privacy without undue conjecture, and Kitty would still ensure she left the door ajar.

  The manservant spoke to him in Greek as he pushed him in the wheeled contraption down the empty hallway.

  Why was she merely following like a lamb to the slaughter?

  “I believe this to be the drawing room,” the duke said smoothly.

  His manservant opened the door, and she cheered up slightly to see it was a small study. That, however, did not deter him. There was a fire burning low in the grate, and the room was cast in more shadow than light.

  “This is adequate,” he said, then addressed the servant once more in the same language.

  His servant bowed, and then a silver-handled walking cane seemed to materialize in the hands of the manservant. The duke gripped it and stood.

  Oh. He could walk.

  The duke was taller than she imagined, and though he had a cane, his posture was impeccable. Her forehead barely cleared his chin, bringing the masculine breadth of his chest into stark review. He was dressed in formal trousers and jacket, complemented by a blue waistcoat and an expertly tied silken cravat.

  His body was lean, lithe, powerful, with no trace of softness anywhere. That she did not expect from a man in a bath chair.

  How had he ended up this way? While the gossip had hinted of an accident, no details had been revealed. The question hovered on her lips, and she forcibly swallowed it back.

  He waved for her to precede him inside, and she sauntered into the room with affected calm. She jolted when he closed the door behind him with a decisive snick. “I believe, Your Grace, the door should be ajar. For propriety’s sake,” she hurriedly added.

  It was important to her he did not think her afraid or witless.

  “Do you?”

  Kitty felt an odd sense of shock at that bland remark. “Yes, of course.”

  His unswerving gaze made her uneasy. “I cannot credit you would want anyone from society overhearing the conversation we are about to have.”

  Oh dear. This was a disaster.

  He considered her in the silence that followed. The duke stood perfectly still, rigidly erect with the aid of his walking cane, and aristocratic. Kitty found his quality of stillness so unnerving.

  Then he asked, his tone soft and lethal, “How do you dare?”

  Ice lodged in her stomach and her entire body trembled for precious seconds. She gathered herself. Straightened her spine and took a hard, deep breath. “I was desperate and foolish,” she said with fearful honesty.

  He angled his sleek, dark head to one side and studied her with unflinching intensity. A flare of restlessness blossomed through Kitty, and for a moment she could hear only the pounding of her own heart. She barely managed to maintain her calm composure.

  “Why are you pretending to be my fiancée, Miss Danvers?”

  Lie, her instincts screamed, but she could not. Her sins were already too great against this man. Kitty began to feel the weight of his stare, and it took an inordinate amount of will not to flinch. “Your Grace, when I consider how dreadfully I have imposed upon you, I am stricken with mortification.”

  A barely there smile touched his lips, then vanished so quickly she wondered if it was her overwrought nerves encouraging her imagination.

  “I truly doubt a woman of your ingenuity might be mortified in any situation.”

  Kitty took a deep breath and tried to be quick in her explanation as to why her pretensions had been needed. “It was ill-judged of me to concoct a plan that shamelessly importuned upon your good name and reputation. My intention was to save my sisters and mother from a life of poverty and unhappiness. I promise I will repay every penny spent on letting the townhouse and the monies and the carriages. I have planned to secure employment as a governess after my sisters are settled comfortably, and by my calculation, I shall be able to repay your unmatched generosity in about…ten years or so.”

  He smiled. And it was her turn to simply stare. Why was he smiling? The man must be addled.

  “You…you are not angry?”

  He seemed to consider this. “No.”

  Something brilliant and cunning glowed in the depths of his eyes. Then the fireplace flickered, the light shifted, and only the most arresting cerulean blue pinned her beneath its piercing stare. His entire body, his very demeanor spoke of strength. A duke secured in his elevated position, the embodiment of privilege.

  Who is this man?

  “May I ask why, Your Grace?”

  “You wish me to be angry with you, Miss Danvers?” he murmured.

  “Of course not. I have imagined every scenario in which you confronted me, Your Grace, and none resembles this. I…I fear I am failing to understand what is happening.”

  There was a disconcerting hint of sensuality in his slight smile. Oh, what do I know? She was fighting to keep her wits about her; nothing was making sense. For all she knew, he could be withholding flatulence. Gentlemen tended to do that in a lady’s presence.

  Heat bloomed through her at her unladylike thoughts, and his piercing gaze sharpened. “Would you like to share more of your thoughts, Miss Danvers?”

  “No.” Her blush got hotter, and she turned away, lifting her face to the fresh night air coming through the slightly open windows. She walked away to the fire, and after a struggle to regain her composure, she said, “I fear you’ve lost all good opinions of me before we’ve had a chance even to converse. Not that I flatter myself to think we would have ever met or that you would find me favorable.”

  She flushed at her panicked ramblings, took a deep breath
to steady her nerves. Kitty lifted her chin, looking beyond his shoulder, finding his mask disconcerting. Do not be a silly miss, she chided herself, then leveled her gaze to his face cast in shadows.

  She wondered how he had placed himself so well in the ominous shadow cast from the fire. Habit perhaps? Did he feel more comfortable in the arms of darkness? She was being morbid when she desperately wanted the circumstances to be anything but. “May I ask…what is to be done about our situation, Your Grace?”

  “I believe these unorthodox circumstances call for informality, Katherine. Please call me Alexander.”

  Why did he sound so reasonable and unruffled? Certainly the entire affair was beyond remarkable. Alexander. Though he had invited the familiarity, she could not be so intimate with a man who made her feel so desperately unsure of her position. Worse, why did his request sound like an invitation to sin and debauchery? Surely it was her overwrought nerves.

  “You are awfully silent, Your Grace.”

  “I am content with observation.”

  “Of?”

  They fell into a striking silence, which was distinctly uncomfortable. A few moments later, it struck her that perhaps he was not a man at ease with conversation. The rumors did say he was a recluse and had been without the proper company of society for many years. Why, she had never imagined anyone could be so unflappable in such a potentially ruinous situation.

  “Observation of what, Your Grace?” she asked again, not certain what to do or say anymore. It was simply all too surreal.

  “You invite study, Miss Danvers. I’ve been following your conquests of the ton most carefully.”

  Her heart jolted. “My conquests?”

  “The newspaper articles and scandal sheets of your many outings and escapades. Reporters seem fit to compare your laugh with that of a nightingale, your smile to that of sunshine. Quite riveting, I’m sure you would agree. The ton declared themselves scandalized by our courtship, but we know they are secretly fascinated and hunger for more. I am not quite certain what to make of you.”

  The reporters had been merciless in their pursuits for quotes from her about the reclusive duke. It shattered her to think he might have read all the ridiculous flattery she’d claimed he showered upon her. He might have thought her a woman desperate for artful compliments and love.

  A flush worked its way over Kitty’s body as humiliation crawled through every crevice of her heart.

  “I spent most of my journey here wondering what kind of woman you are,” the duke said. “I imagined Kitty Danvers in numerous scenarios. A hardened fraudster? A con artist fleecing the merchants on my good name? A jewel thief using my connections to enter the best houses? A bored lady simply stirring mischief and mayhem? I wondered how to best dispose of you.”

  Her heart lurched, and a shiver went through her entire body. “Your Grace, I—I fear ‘dispose’ may not be the right word to use in this situation. I daresay it rings too ominously.”

  Nothing warm lit in his eyes at her miserable attempt at humor. Dratted man.

  Still, a reassuring remark would not be misplaced, yet he offered none. The duke merely stared, as if she were an unusual creature that invited the most intense speculation. She could hear the faint din of laughter and clinking of glasses from the ballroom, and she concentrated on those muted signs of frivolity, slowing her heart to normalcy. Her entire family depended on her to be unflappable and courageous in the face of such ruinous uncertainty.

  She dipped into a quick, elegant curtsy before lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders. “I never meant you any harm, Your Grace. I truly only wanted to borrow your connections for a few months. If I had dreamed for even a second it would reach your ears, I would never have done it. Pray believe that I am sincere.”

  He took a step forward, and she shifted back. Their slight dance had the visible side of his face cloaked entirely.

  “And does that excuse validate your outrageous deception, Miss Danvers?”

  The mask staring at her was at once cold and removed, then glowed with sinister intent. A strange roaring thundered in her ears, and she felt a moment’s unwilling fascination.

  “Of course not, but I pray it may temperate your disgust and anger and allow me the chance to make amends.”

  A slow, fascinating smile curved his mouth. She began to think that he was a very strange man, and one with whom it was going to be more difficult to deal than she had foreseen.

  Kitty glanced away, hurrying over to the far-left corner, and lit a candle atop the oak desk. There. Fewer shadows and, indeed, less anxiety on her part. She faced him, frowning her displeasure to see that the candlelight had only served to throw more shadows into the small study, and the wretched man seemed to be…amused? Discerning with that dreadful porcelain mask was hard.

  “I have the greatest apprehension my family will never recover from the scandal exposure will bring. I must know, Your Grace. I believe you are too honorable to wilfully subject me to the anxiety I currently feel. Will you please inform me how we are to proceed?”

  She prayed he wouldn’t send notices to the papers of her deception. Poor Anna would be wretched for certainly. She would lose whatever admiration the baron possessed. The implication of everything else was simply too frightful to consider. This man could have Kitty jailed or committed.

  “Without knowledge of my character, you presume me to be honorable? How naive you reveal yourself to be. Or are you being artful in your flattery for an advantage? You are a beguiling complexity, Miss Danvers.”

  The dark indulgence in his tone rattled her equanimity as nothing else had done that night. A message throbbed in his voice, one she was unable to decipher, but a ripple of awareness scythed through her. The duke was a man who stood in the gray area of morality. Perhaps that was the reason he’d not exuded disgust at her charade, the reason he hadn’t penned a letter to the newspapers denouncing her…and maybe the reason he had traveled to see her.

  The very implication of that being the reason he stood before her left her breathless with a bewildering clash of fear and anticipation.

  “May I ask what you will do, Your Grace?” How odd she sounded, so calm when she wanted to scream her fear at his slow response.

  A tense silence blanketed the room for gut-wrenching moments. Say something, she wanted to snap. But she worked to be temperate and bury the panic.

  “Ah,” he said with that odd, fleeting smile. “I believe I shall do nothing.”

  Kitty laughed and then sobered instantly. In fact, she tugged the white half glove from her right hand and placed the back of her palm against her forehead. Her skin was surprisingly cool. She understood nothing, and she was uncertain that she wanted clarity anymore.

  “Are you well, Miss Danvers?”

  The cool mockery in his tone suggested the wretched man knew he toyed with her composure.

  “Yesterday I was caught in the rain. I had a mild fever when I went to bed. I am not altogether certain I did wake this morning. There is a very strong possibility I might still be in bed dreaming.”

  He tilted his head. “You are also peculiar. I like that.”

  Kitty was even more confident she was stuck in some delirious nightmare. There was a trace of amusement in the odd warmth of his voice. Nothing was clear, and she glared at the mask obscuring the nuances of his features. She wanted to flee from the madness of this encounter, and perplexingly she wanted to stay…to converse with him, to find out why he had truly come for her, what path she needed to traverse to avoid scandal and ruin.

  “Why do you wear a mask?” she asked. “The speculation of your peculiarity will be on the lips of everyone within society.”

  He faltered into such complete stillness, she wondered if he breathed.

  “My face is scarred,” the duke finally replied.

  She had not heard that rumor or even a mention in the newsp
apers she’d dug up on him. And Kitty was glad there hadn’t been rabid speculation that fed his pain to the ton for fodder of gossips.

  “Show me,” she whispered, mildly shocked that she would dare be so familiar and improper. What madness had overtaken her? She could not credit it. Though her reaction was unpardonable, Kitty lifted her chin, an evidently defiant gesture, and waited.

  “Ah…not only are you peculiar but also daringly impudent. My interest soars, Miss Danvers, infinitely so. I wonder, is this your diabolical design?”

  She sucked in a breath at that bit of provoking cynicism.

  He took one step closer, and the room shrank. How did he do it?

  “I only thought to look upon the features of Your Grace. It is decidedly odd to converse with you so masked, as I am ignorant of your full appearance. There was nothing else behind my request.”

  The hand not gripping the cane pressed against his heart, and two fingers tapped twice. “How disappointing, truly.”

  He was the peculiar one, and Kitty felt like a leaf floating on the vast waters of the ocean, being churned about in its frothy waves. The duke was a man of consequence, and she sensed the force of the crafty and intelligent personality surrounding her.

  While it pained her to admit it…she was intimidated.

  Every instinct warned her that it would not do to appear frightened or witless, that he would not mind that she was in possession of an unruly tongue, as her mother often lamented. Yet why should it matter that he would like her oddity? The only thing of import was that her family escaped unscathed, even if she were sacrificed upon the altar of her desperate recklessness.

  “Your Grace seems to want me to have another reason for my request; I would not dare disappoint you.” She canted her head left, assessing him. “Perhaps you are not the Duke of Thornton…and a charlatan out to deceive me.”

  He smiled, and her heart beat faster.

  “Is that the best you can do?” He tsked, as if disappointed. “Do you really think I’m not Thornton?”

  “I believe you are the duke,” she admitted. It was too preposterous to consider another scenario. Only the real duke would know she pretended.