Beauty Tempts the Beast

by Lorraine Heath

  As she had yesterday, she spoke as though all this had happened to someone unknown to her, not to herself. Her voice was distant and flat. But he couldn’t help but believe that inside, a maelstrom of emotions bombarded her.

  “I tried to convince her we would be better served to wait until all was settled. I had not yet accepted the notion that my father could possibly be involved in so traitorous an undertaking. I was certain matters would soon be set right, and he would be vindicated. All would return to what it had been. In addition, I was betrothed, you see, to the Earl of Chadbourne, and he had not visited to determine how I fared, and it gave me pause. None of my friends called upon us, and when I called upon them, they were not home. But my mother was insistent, and I couldn’t let her go alone. Only later did I realize the stress was affecting her judgment. She had begun to live in a world where her husband was not accused of treason. But I did not know it at the time, and so I went with her.

  “After we were announced, as we descended the stairs, Chadbourne made his way to the foot of them. Gossipmongers—even the articles in the society sheets—made a point of recounting the joy that wreathed my face, describing my expression as that of a princess who believed a knight had ridden up to defend her honor. To my utter chagrin later, at the time I did very much feel that way. He would save me. Only when I reached him, he turned his back on me, which resulted in everyone else doing the same. He felt the need to make a public statement regarding his loyalty to the Crown and England and my unsuitability as the daughter of a traitor to become his wife.”

  An immediate loathing for the man ratcheted through him. He would seek him out, he would find him, he would destroy him.

  “Mother swooned, and it was left to the servants to haul her out, rather unceremoniously, I’m afraid. She never recovered, never again spoke, never left her bed, simply withered away like a flower plucked from the soil and left without water. A few hours after they hanged Father, she passed. Couldn’t bear the mortification, I suppose. Which was all for the good because the following day they came and took everything from us. That alone would have killed her.”

  She met his gaze, and he could see that it had cost her to reveal so much, and yet so much more remained to be divulged. “Tell me about Chadbourne.”

  Her smile was self-deprecating. “He caught my attention during my first Season when I was all of nineteen and in no hurry to be spoken for. I enjoyed the dancing, the flirtation, the being sought after. He didn’t court me seriously until my second. During my third Season he asked for my hand.”

  “And you hope to regain his attentions by becoming a courtesan?”

  Her laugh was caustic, reflected the pain she still harbored. “Good God, no. But I wouldn’t mind being so sought after that he would want me, and I could rebuff him. I’d find some satisfaction in that.” She tossed back the scotch, wheezed, coughed as her eyes watered. “It’s suddenly so frightfully cold in here.”

  Setting aside the glass, she stood, wrapped her arms around herself, and walked to the hearth. Cautiously, he joined her there and rested his forearm against the mantel.

  “I used to take fires for granted,” she said softly. “They were simply always lit, always burning. I barely paid any heed to the servants who saw to the task.”

  “We seldom appreciate what we have until we no longer have it.”

  She looked so bloody miserable standing there, and he despised himself because he’d forced her to dredge up the memories, because his curiosity wanted to turn over every stone of her life in order to fully understand her, even as he knew he had no right to know anything at all. “Did you love him?”

  Her nod was shallow, barely perceptible, but he felt it like a punch to the gut.

  “More fool I,” she said flatly, and he knew the blackguard’s betrayal had cut her more deeply than her father’s, had stolen more from her than her father, Society, or the Crown. He’d stripped her of hopes and dreams. His actions may have driven her to Beast when she’d thought his proposition involved becoming his mistress.

  “He was the fool.”

  Before he could consider all the ramifications, before he could remind himself of the tenet he’d always held sacred, never broken, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  It was a mistake. In the same manner that eating too much cake was a mistake. There was certain to be an ache in his gut and regret later, but while the sugary goodness existed, he longed for nothing else.

  Her lips were as warm, soft, and plump as he’d known they would be. He might have left off, then and there, after the initial touch, but she made a little mewling sound that sounded like desperation to his ears, and her arms entwined around his neck like vines clinging to a solid surface for support. He circled one arm around her waist and brought her in nearer as he enticed her lips into parting for him and deepened the kiss.

  The heady flavors of sherry and scotch coated her tongue, but it was she and she alone who was responsible for the light-headedness that assailed him. He was no stranger to women, but he’d never experienced such an overwhelming need to take what was being offered and to beg for more. An innocence marked her movements, a tentativeness as she greeted his eagerness, and he was relatively certain it wasn’t because she was wary of him but because she was unfamiliar with the journey upon which they’d embarked.

  Good Lord. Had her betrothed never taken possession of her mouth? What sort of saint had he been that he could resist the temptation of her? Beast had been right to call him a fool. He himself was neither saint nor fool, but sinner.

  When it came to what passed between men and women, he held nothing back, was open to exploring all possibilities. Nothing was off-limits. She wanted him to teach her how to be seductive. He could show her how to destroy a man’s will, how to conquer, how to entice, how to manipulate, how to master.

  Not that she required lessons. Here he was doing what he had sworn he wouldn’t do: inhaling her fragrance of gardenia heated with passion, feeling the outline of her body against his, memorizing all of her dips and swells and noting where they pressed so convincingly against the hard contours of his chest, his stomach . . . his groin. Her frock was simple, lacked an abundance of petticoats. She had to be aware of the effect she was having on him. Or was she so lost to the sensations they created together that they dominated her to such an extent she was cognizant of nothing beyond herself?

  Her fingers scraped up the back of his head along his scalp, came around—

  Grabbing her wrists, he carried her arms behind her back, which only served to lift her breasts more firmly against his chest. She was a duke’s daughter, and although she may have fallen from grace, it didn’t change the fact that she was born on the right side of the blanket while he was born on the wrong side of it.

  No reason existed for her to be abandoned by her parents. A reason existed for him to be.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, staring down at her lovely features, he wondered whatever had possessed him to think he had the right to touch so much as her little finger, let alone her mouth and every other part of her that was presently pressed up against him. Those lovely lips were damp and swollen, little gasps of breath escaping between them. In her blue eyes were the dying embers of desire.

  She didn’t want him. She wanted only the lessons. His earlier assessment had been incorrect. He was a fool.

  Releasing his hold on her as though she’d suddenly ignited, he stepped back. “We leave for the dressmaker at ten tomorrow morning.”

  He headed for the hallway.

  “Benedict?”

  Increasing his tempo, he loped down the stairs, jerked open the front door, and stalked out into the night.

  Idiot.

  He’d kissed her. He enjoyed kissing her. He wanted to kiss her again.

  As he was a colossal idiot, he’d also left without his greatcoat. Being too stubborn to go back to retrieve it, he hunched his shoulders against the cold, which no doubt made him appear more beastly, and strode on. He had a stron
g urge to strike something: a brick wall, a jaw, a gut. If he ran across someone causing havoc, he’d be only too happy to add to the mayhem.

  In spite of his size, he’d never been in favor of violence except as a last resort. He meted out punishment. Tonight he had a strong need to be on the receiving end of it. He’d made a fool of himself.

  She’d kissed him back.

  Had she enjoyed it? Did she want to kiss him again? Or had she merely thought, “Ah, here is lesson one.”

  Bugger it. Women didn’t generally get under his skin, but from the moment she’d told him she was none of his bleedin’ business with a Cockney accent, her acerbic tone had embedded itself in his mind and grown tentacles to reach every aspect of him that responded to womanly wiles.

  That she had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen and dainty features that reminded him of the princesses in the fairy tales he’d read to his sister Fancy—fourteen years his junior—when she was a wee lass did not mean that Thea saw him as deserving of her or thought of him as a prince riding in on a white steed to save the day.

  Thea. Thea seemed to suit her better, at least in his mind. Althea was for the lady she’d once been. Thea was the woman she was now.

  Presently, she was under his roof, under his care. And his care should not include kisses that even now, in spite of the cold, managed to keep his lips warm. When he was daft enough to run his tongue over them, he could still taste her. Not the sherry she’d sipped or the scotch she’d gulped, but beneath it all a mixture of cinnamon, butter, and sugar, all things sweet, a flavor that was unique to her, that he would recall and savor until his last breath.

  At the end of their time together, he was going to be a thousand pounds poorer, because he’d be damned if he’d teach her how to seduce another man into her bed.

  Chapter 12

  It was only a kiss. She’d carried a litany of those words into her slumber, and upon awakening discovered they still mocked her. It had been only a kiss in the same manner a feast was merely one dish or a storm a single raindrop or a blizzard a solitary snowflake.

  It had been everything, all consuming, the brightest sun, the largest moon, a thousand upon thousand stars. It had been more than pliant lips moving in tandem, testing, gliding, settling in. It had been tongues and teeth, sighs and moans. It had reached beyond mouths to include limbs and breasts and that very sensitive spot between her legs that had been straining toward him, had tingled and pulsed, and seemed nearly ecstatic when she’d felt the hard evidence of his desire pressed up against her belly. It had warmed. It had been the spark that ignited passion. It had been like nothing she’d ever before experienced while at the same time it contained a familiarity, as though every aspect of her recognized that with him, she somehow belonged.

  Which was absolutely absurd, especially as it was apparent he’d experienced none of the mind-numbing pull she had. It was obvious he’d not been able to get away from her fast enough, had recognized their encounter as a mistake. Strange how his escape had hurt far worse than Chadbourne’s turning his back on her when she’d believed he was stepping up to show Society that her father’s actions changed nothing between them.

  As she went through her morning ablutions, washing her face, unplaiting, brushing, and plaiting her hair, and changing into her simple blue frock, she fought not to remember the devastation that had hit her mother when all of Society had literally and figuratively turned their backs on them, left them to make their own way without any assistance or support. Her mother’s decline had begun that night and she blamed the ton as much as her father for destroying such a proud, kind woman.

  When she cast off those musings, she found herself anticipating seeing Benedict at breakfast, hoped a chair next to him had been reserved for her—in spite of his hasty retreat. She would find a way to laugh it off, to give the impression she saw it as merely the first of several lessons, so he would realize she wouldn’t take seriously whatever emotions might rise to the fore with his nearness, his touch, his tutoring.

  But when she made her way to the dining room, it was to find the chair at the head of the table vacant, and it struck her almost like a physical blow. “Is Benedict”—the women all stared at her—“Beast not joining us for breakfast?”

  “He was out until the wee hours,” Jewel said. “I ’spect he’s having a lie-in.”

  She imagined him sprawled over a bed, one larger than normal, one especially designed and built to accommodate his size. Did he wear a nightshirt? She very much doubted it. At the thought of him quite possibly not wearing anything at all, her mouth went dry. She didn’t want to see him wearing nothing. Well, maybe not wearing a shirt. Would his arms be as ropy and sinewy as they felt? Would his chest be an assortment of contours? She rather envisioned him modeling for a sculptor who was creating statues of Greek gods.

  Although she had little appetite, she filled a plate with the offerings from the sideboard, took her seat, and forced herself to eat as though her stomach wasn’t knotted up with misgivings and doubts.

  “You look troubled, lass.”

  She jerked her gaze over to Jewel and wondered if she’d ever known anyone who gave the impression of truly caring as much as this lady of the night did. She needed to master that technique but had been raised to never show exactly what she felt, especially when it involved extreme emotions. Even during the reception she’d received at her last ball, she’d kept her chin up, had refused to crumple beneath the weight of their rejection. “Benedict mentioned going to the dressmaker at ten. I wasn’t certain if perhaps he’d changed his mind.”

  “Oh,” Hester said on an excited breath. “Is he getting you a frock to hang your dreams on?”

  What she was pursuing wasn’t her dream. It was simply an alternative to a nightmare. But she didn’t want to go into all that, didn’t want them to know anything about her past. They might be sinners, but it didn’t mean they wouldn’t be horrified if they learned the truth of her father. She forced herself to smile. “I suppose so, yes.”

  “Can’t wait to see what it looks like.”

  It would be provocative, sensual, and no doubt comprised of very little fabric.

  “What is your dream?” Hester’s brow furrowed. “What is it you’re wanting to do if you’re not doing it now?”

  Before she could answer, Jewel said, “I suspect Beast is merely showing his appreciation to Althea for having to deal with you lot.”

  Seeing the compassion in her eyes, Althea knew he’d confided in the madam regarding her ambitions.

  “After we’re finished with breakfast, Althea, I wondered if you might give me a few minutes in my office. And, yes, pet, if he told you he’d take you to the dressmaker at ten, then that’s what he’ll do. He’s not one to break his word.”

  When she descended the stairs later that morning, it was to find him waiting in the foyer for her, and she wasn’t particularly happy with the gladness that swept through her at the sight of him. It was imperative that she remember they had a business arrangement. Nothing good would come of developing any deep affection for him. He had a use for her. She had one for him. Only their signatures on parchment bound them. In three months they’d each go their own way and probably never cross paths again.

  As he was wont to do, he studied her intently and she was grateful that her cheeks—which had fairly ignited during her candid discussion with Jewel—had finally cooled. At his behest, the madam had instructed her on various methods she could use to avoid getting with child. She was grateful for the information, but it had also brought home the reality of what she was doing.

  Without a word, he opened the door for her, and she stepped out beneath the eaves. Rain was splattering the pavement. A hansom waited at the end of the walk. She suspected he’d gone in search of it to spare her having to stroll through the cold and wet.

  Bringing up the hood on her cloak, she dashed to the hansom with his hand on the small of her back the entire way. She didn’t even have to stop before he was s
winging her up and inside the carriage and settling in beside her.

  Althea was beginning to look forward to the moments when they traveled in a hansom cab together. Benedict took up so much room that she had little choice except to be snuggled against him. While she had her cloak and he had his greatcoat, she could still feel the warmth radiating from him into her. She kept her attention forward, to the unbarred view of the scenery that the rain painted dark and gray. Because he hadn’t even bothered with a proper greeting, had said not one word to her, she decided to poke the beast. “I rather enjoyed last night’s lesson.”

  “It wasn’t a bloody lesson.”

  She glanced over to see him looking at her, his jaw so tense that his back teeth had to be aching from the force with which he was biting down.

  “But you taught me to kiss.” To feel, to melt, to want, to need.

  “It shouldn’t have happened.”

  “At some point it was on your lesson plan, surely.”

  “You think I have planned out exactly what I’m going to show you?”

  “I would have thought so, yes. It’ll save us wasting time. I’ve planned out my lessons for your ladies.”

  He seemed both stunned and disgruntled. “I told you. I find a lady’s words seductive.”

  She scoffed. “You can’t have found anything seductive about last night’s tale of horror.”

  “You confided in me more than you ever have. It was more than your words. You let me feel your pain.”

  “You find my pain an aphrodisiac?”

  Shaking his head, he squeezed his eyes shut. “No.”

  When he opened them, she saw true remorse reflected there. “I wish you didn’t know what it was to feel pain of any kind, but you trusted me with it, not to abuse it, not to take advantage. I took advantage.”