Beauty of the Beast (Fairy Tale Retellings Book 1)

by Rachel L. Demeter

  “I never want to see your face again,” he replied, lowering him back onto the ground. “Get out of my house, Sébastien.” Adam’s words struck him like a hurtled knife. “Get the fuck out and never return. I don’t have a purpose for you anymore.”

  He tried not to let those words affect him—yet inside, he was weeping. Forcing a poker face, he broke out of Adam’s hold and smoothed down his frock coat with trembling hands. He gazed at that man he now knew, searching to find any trace of the boy he’d once been.

  “Gladly, monsieur. After all, your face never was the highlight of my month.” Those words were a lie—but he forced them out all the same.

  Moving through the drawing room and toward the main hall, he fought to steady his tone and emotions, but twenty-five years of unspoken feelings stirred to life. “I’ve known you since you were a babe in your mother’s arms. I was there that night—I saw everything. Or have you forgotten? You’re not the only one who suffers from the nightmares.”

  As much as you believed it to be true... you were never truly alone.

  But now you will be.

  His heart aching, Sébastien departed without another word, leaving Adam in stunned silence. As he walked at a brisk pace toward the stable to collect his horse and phaeton, a peculiar sight ensnared his focus. How he’d missed the grave upon his arrival was beyond him. But there it stood, glinting in the moonlight, swaying back and forth as the crisp winter breeze cradled it.

  A wooden cross, jutting from a pile of stones. Holding his breath, Sébastien lowered to one knee while his gaze danced across the fresh aster flowers and engraved lettering, which he recognized as Adam’s neat script:

  BERNARD ROSE

  February 7, 1833

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning a peaceful calm settled over the castle. Isabelle wandered down the spiral stairwell, her belly full from a breakfast of fresh nuts and fruit. She tightened the cloak about her body and headed for the main drawing room. Indeed, the castle was becoming quite familiar to her... almost like it truly was her home.

  Isabelle paused in the archway and secretly watched as Adam lounged before the black hearth; his long legs were crossed knee high, and a book was cradled in his lap. A branch of candles sat on the end table. It shed a faint ring of light that mated with the sunrays.

  The illuminations shone in his hair, kissing the dark strands with opulent shades of navy blue. Only the handsome side of his face was in sight. Never had she beheld such devastating features. In this light, they appeared regal. Aristocratic. Even a touch arrogant.

  Stranger climbed onto his legs. He gave a massive stretch before greeting her with an amiable bark. Isabelle instantly shrank into the shadows as Adam’s gaze captured her own and held it from across the room. Slowly he lowered his book, then placed his hand on Stranger’s hind leg and rewarded the creature with a gentle massage.

  His back leg thumped up and down, rocking the panels beneath his heavy paws. Isabelle’s eyes whipped to those long, agile fingers, and she found herself wondering how they’d feel upon her skin. The erotic musing caught her off guard; Adam’s lip tipped at the corner, as if he’d read her wretched mind. Shooing away the swarm of butterflies in her stomach, she stepped forward and broke the silence.

  “Sorry. I... I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  A playful look had also entered his gaze—a distinct challenge. He straightened against the high back of his chair and swept a hand through his glinting hairline. The signet ring glittered as it drank in the candlelight. “You’ve disturbed nothing, ma belle.” The endearment sounded like liquid velvet sliding from his tongue. His voice was deep and rich, laced with an emotion she couldn’t comprehend. “Come and join Stranger and me.”

  Isabelle’s heart thundered as she eased into the parallel chair. Adam’s very presence set her pulse on fire. They stared at each other for a long stretch of silence; at the close proximity, she noticed that his eyes were a bit puffy and dark circles rimmed each one. Clearly he hadn’t slept, and a palpable agony radiated from him. Isabelle finally said, “I... I quite liked Sébastien. How long have you known him?”

  She immediately regretted asking the question. Adam’s eyes darkened even more while storming emotions flashed across his face. He continued running his large hands over Stranger’s back, visibly searching for the right words and suffering from a silent agony.

  “Since forever. Since I was a boy. Since I can first remember,” he said, his deep voice little more than a whisper. A great sadness was evident in his tone—one that called out to Isabelle and echoed her own despair. He looked broken. Defeated. Lost. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and sunk deeper into the wingback chair. Beneath a reverent, pained sigh, he added, “He knew my father and mother quite well. Worked for them, actually.”

  Isabelle eased onto the edge of her chair, waiting in suspense for him to reveal more. Adam’s desire for solitude extended far beyond the castle’s desolate walls; he was incredibly withdrawn and secretive, his heart encased by a protective barrier. She yearned to tear those barriers down, to understand a man who could act so resentful and gentle by turns. Her eyes ascended to the coat of arms hanging above the mantel and the piece of fabric that covered the house’s words. “Sébastien... was he a servant of some kind?”

  “You might say that.” Adam’s gaze briefly traveled to the coat of arms. He exhaled another sigh and adjusted his strong back against the chair. “I owe him my life. He can be a real pebble in my shoe, to be sure. I didn’t believe in much anymore. Strangely enough, I still believed in our friendship...” An uneasy sensation filled her as Adam spoke of their friendship in the past tense. “He was—” His words broke off, as if he’d caught himself mid-sentence. He swallowed deeply while painful emotions churned in his blue eyes. They even misted over with tears. A heartbeat later, he visibly fortified those inner walls; he cleared his throat, sat up a little straighter, and harnessed the tears back. “Never mind,” he said in a clipped tone that poorly disguised the depth of his despair. “It doesn’t matter any longer.”

  What was causing this new disconnect and anguish? There had been clear tension between Adam and Sébastien. What had transpired after she’d escaped to her quarters and into the pages of a book? She wondered if she was the source of the unrest—if Adam had been hiding something from his old friend. Had she done something to drive Sébastien away? The very thought filled her with an unshakable guilt and remorse; Adam already had so little contact with humanity and the world outside of these somber walls.

  “You grew up in Ruillé?” he asked, breaking the silence and her train of thoughts. “I remember you mentioning it when you first arrived.”

  Isabelle felt a grin appear on her lips. “I must say I’m surprised you remember. That night, you didn’t seem to have the slightest interest in where I came from or where I might end up.”

  Adam bowed his head while an endearing blush spread across the handsome side of his face. The effect nearly stole Isabelle’s breath away. For a moment, a cloud appeared to lift, and Adam’s rugged features held an almost youthful appeal. The wavy forelock tumbled over his right eyebrow; he tossed it out of his face in a boyish gesture that contradicted his formidable presence. Unexpected heat sped through her limbs and pooled down below. “Yes, well... as I said before, Stranger and I aren’t accustomed to receiving houseguests. And certainly not beautiful women.”

  Isabelle’s chest heated at the compliment, and a reciprocal blush burned her cheekbones. “What about Sébastien?”

  Adam chuckled—a husky, deeply masculine sound—then shook his downcast head. The subtle movement sent the dark forelock spiraling across his blue eyes again. Isabelle’s hands twisted in the material of her dress as the urge to sweep it away overcame her. Her gaze drank in the mesmerizing sight of him. His muscular, solid body seemed to dwarf the huge wingback chair. “I must say—I’ve seen fairer maids than Sébastien.”

  “You know well what I meant, monsieur.” Isa
belle leaned forward and playfully slapped his shoulder; he grabbed where she’d struck him and feigned injury.

  Then he lifted his own hand and pressed two fingers against his thick brow; her eyes drew to the signet ring’s golden face and engraved initials.

  AFD.

  A thousand questions burned on her tongue. But when he flashed her another smile, all coherent thoughts fell from her mind. She could only focus on the man before her—this strange man who both frightened and excited her, who cried out in the night, who could touch her with an impossible gentleness, and who knew the depths of a darkness she couldn’t comprehend.

  Stranger rose onto his feet, coolly limped toward the black hearth, lifted his good back leg, and urinated on the pile of logs.

  “Stranger,” Adam exclaimed, his lush mouth falling slack. “Why, there is a lady present!”

  Laughter erupted from Isabelle’s lips. The sensation felt liberating, freeing. When was the last time she’d laughed? She couldn’t recall. The revelation both thrilled and saddened her.

  Adam’s eyes flickered with amusement as he released a thunderous chuckle. Stranger padded back to his side, then flopped onto the ground with an apathetic groan and promptly dozed off to sleep.

  “As I said, Stranger and I aren’t accustomed to receiving houseguests,” Adam murmured, shaking his head at the mischievous creature. “You have no shame at all.”

  Isabelle was mesmerized, unable to tear her gaze from Adam. Indeed, he seemed to transform before her very eyes.

  “When you smile—when you laugh—you are beautiful.” The words took Isabelle by surprise. She hadn’t meant to speak them aloud. She swallowed deeply, then continued in a careful, clear voice. “I mean, when you smile, you are no different from any of us. I hate to inform you, Monsieur Adam, but you’re not the formidable beast you make yourself out to be. Sometimes, I think you act difficult just for the sake of being difficult.”

  His grin widened, then the smile fell away completely. “And you... I think there’s much more to you as well. When I look into your eyes, I see strength and perseverance... but also a great sadness. A certain darkness. I encountered it the moment we met.”

  Taken aback by his sensitivity, Isabelle clasped the arms of her chair as Adam rose to his feet. He reached her spot in a swift stride. His eyes hooked on to her own, intense and searching. Then he lowered to his knees as his dark head bowed forward. She admired his sleek black hair; the thick waves combed back over the tips of his ears, barely grazing the edge of his white collar. Then he gently caressed her palms, her knuckles, each of her fingers. His bare skin felt rough beneath her palm, every ridge sliding against her. His hand was shaking. “What’s your story, Isabelle? What great secrets are you hiding?” She felt the refrains of his voice, the enticing wisp of his breath, with every part of her body.

  She gave a nervous laugh, then wriggled free of his grasp. “Pardon me, monsieur, but you are hardly one to talk. I don’t even know your surname.”

  He shook his downcast head and half whispered the words, “I hardly know who I am anymore.” His gaze planted on the stone floor, he withdrew from Isabelle and returned to his own chair. The agony in his brilliant blue eyes was tangible—and Isabelle longed for his nearness again.

  She silently observed as he ran his fingertips down Stranger’s long, lean back, then idly scratched behind each ear. Needing to ease the tension, she asked at length, “Do you read often? It’s... it’s one of my favorite pastimes by far.” She gestured to the closed book, which he’d set on the end table. In Isabelle's mind, few things were as romantic as the feel of a book in her hands. The smooth, slightly embossed face of the cover. The scent of words and parchment that wafted toward her with each flip of the page. And the countless possibilities and adventures that lay between the covers.

  “Since I was a girl, all I’ve ever wanted were books. I used to wish I could live inside them, that I would fall asleep and wake up somewhere else as somebody else. It was my escape, my personal haven. Papa used to say that so long as I had my books, I’d always be free.”

  Her question lightened the mood and brought a smile to Adam’s mouth. The handsome side of his face glowed, illuminated by the shaft of light that poured through the window. Those rays softened the rugged lines that burdened his brow and equipped him with a quite boyish appeal again. He came to his feet again and towered above her. Holding out his hand, he murmured, “Then come with me and prepare to be swept away.”

  Minutes later, Adam strode through the castle with Stranger hugging close to his side. Morning’s light trickled through the large stained glass windows, which faced the courtyard and displayed a frosty February morning. Prisms of light filtered through the colorful glass panels and splintered into rainbow shafts. Those shimmering colors gave the illusion of being inside a jewel box; a mosaic of red, gold, and green swirled around them and painted the normally somber walls and floor with shifting, tinted lights. Red rubies. Fresh-forged golds. And rare emeralds.

  A jewel box, indeed.

  Isabelle’s stomach fluttered, her suspense building with each step. Ten minutes later, he paused outside a closed door, threw her a sly glance, and then pushed it open.

  Inside, the room appeared black as pitch—completely sealed off to the sunshine. Adam gently took hold of her elbow and guided her across the archway. She stumbled blindly within the dark expanse while the giddy sensation grew in her belly.

  The door shut behind her with an echoing click. Isabelle’s heartbeat rose inside her throat as she stood in the darkness with only her erratic breaths piercing the silence.

  “Close your eyes, ma belle.”

  Strong hands cupped either side of her face. She felt as Adam’s thumbs tentatively brushed back and forth, stroking her cheeks in reverent caresses. Isabelle shut her eyes and slipped beneath his spell... leaned closer in the darkness until they stood heartbeat to heartbeat. The warmth of his breaths teased her hairline, bringing with them a minty scent. His thumbs descended to just below her chin. She lowered her face... felt a featherlight kiss land on her brow. It happened so subtly and gently—Isabelle wasn’t sure whether she’d imagined it.

  She was allowing herself to feel too much. A stab of guilt penetrated her chest as her thoughts crept inward. Yet instincts told her to trust in her gut—to allow her heart to speak over her tumultuous thoughts. So she shoved away her guilt and allowed herself to simply feel.

  Pounding footfalls echoed in the room, attesting to its sheer size. Isabelle waited in anticipation under the veil of darkness, her small hands knotted in Stranger’s wiry coat. The steady beat of Adam’s boots floated away from her. A loud whipping noise and a burst of light illuminated the room as he tugged a heavy damask curtain aside.

  “Open your eyes, Isabelle.”

  She did as he commanded. Shafts of sunlight tore inside, dancing across the marble floor in blaring prisms—though the darkness still obstructed the room’s contents. Isabelle’s imagination soared as she fantasized about what lay in those clotted shadows. Pale light fringed Adam’s formidable shape, contrasting his silhouette against the dim atmosphere.

  He paused in front of the opened window and folded both arms behind his ramrod-straight back. Isabelle gazed at the line of his body, unable to tear her eyes away. Indeed, light from the window set him aglow, shrouding him in a cloak of gold. He wore black trousers and a white silk shirt, which fluttered lightly when he moved. Over the past several days, he’d made a habit of abandoning the cloak and hood. Isabelle had become accustomed to the mismatched sides of his face; where she once felt horror and revulsion, she now tingled with curiosity and budding admiration. Alas, the only true revulsion that remained was the memory of that night...

  Adam was an undeniably prideful man, and she knew he’d only scorn her pity. Even his stance exuded a sense of importance and authority. Strange, how he was so often shy and almost childlike; then, as if by a flip of a coin, he’d turn regal, confident. It was as though he was battl
ing two separate halves... as if an intricate part of himself kept fighting to emerge.

  Not unlike the two contrasting sides of his face, Isabelle mused.

  For a suspended moment, he stood in front of the conservatory window, his scarred hands planted on his lean hips as he surveyed the distant gardens. Then he crossed the room, his footfalls amplified by the medallion flooring, and thrust open another curtain.

  Whoosh. Light flooded the space and chased away the shadows, and the room’s contents were ushered into view.

  Isabelle nearly lost her breath at the sight.

  It was a beautiful library—the most stunning sight she’d ever beheld. Ornate, intricately carved shelves towered against the painted walls and reached for a gilded ceiling. A baroque chandelier hung in the heart of the room; its crystals sparkled like diamonds as they drank in morning’s light. Isabelle fought to temper her racing heart as she gaped at the sweeping shelves. An intimate reading nook lined a curved window; lush pillows decorated the chaise, and a brass candelabra towered beside it.

  In all her life, she’d never seen so many books. There were far too many to count. Too many books to read in one lifetime. Isabelle couldn’t help but think of the little storekeeper from Ruillé’s bookshop; she imagined his astonishment, how his bushy white brows would rise at the sight of Adam’s vast library. He’d run his wrinkled fingertips over the bindings and spines, reverently caressing each one. Her heart twisted with nostalgia at the thought of her former home. Once Raphael had entered her life, however, Ruillé had transformed into a prison.

  This castle should have been just that. A jail cell. Yet she’d never felt more free.

  The library was larger than her whole cottage; several book-filled rooms connected to it, each one built with floor-to-ceiling shelves. Three sliding ladders were nestled against the circular walls, soaring to the very top of the domed ceiling.