Beauty Tempts the Beast

by Lorraine Heath

  What hadn’t changed was his desire, his need, to protect women. “It’s too cold for her to be outside.”

  “Aye, but that matters not one whit to her. She spent years without feeling the sun on her face or the breeze riffling through her hair. The day I married her, we spent that night sleeping beneath the stars. She comes indoors when she must but would rather be outside.”

  “I don’t even know her name.” He thought the duke might have mentioned it earlier, but he hadn’t really noted it.

  “Mara. She was a Stuart before she became a Campbell.”

  Journeying through the house was like making one’s way through the warrens in the rookeries, easy to get lost if one didn’t pay attention. He’d lived his life paying attention to the smallest of details. He could make his way back to the entryway and beyond if he had to. He’d never considered himself a coward, but at that moment his heart was thudding so hard he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn the duke could hear it.

  What would the woman think of him, of the man he’d become? What would he think of her? His mother, the woman who had brought him into this world and then given him away? He’d spent a lifetime believing she hadn’t loved him. It was an adjustment to realize everything he’d once taken as fact was wrong. That she had loved him so much she’d fairly sacrificed herself for him.

  Finally, they stepped through a doorway onto a terrace, and he was struck by how cold he suddenly felt. How off-kilter, how—

  They’d stopped at the edge of the black marble, and it was then that he saw the woman sitting in the chair, a chair with wheels.

  “They broke her body,” the duke said, “but not her spirit. She was always stronger than anyone ever gave her credit for being. It’s only one of the reasons I love her.”

  Beast was barely aware of the fact that he was moving forward, toward her. She was younger than he’d expected. Save for a wide streak of white that began at the center of her forehead and was swept back into a bun, her hair was black. But it was her eyes, the rich shade of cocoa, that drew him in. And her smile of gladness that tightened his chest.

  At a loss for words, he knelt before her.

  With a hand that was unexpectedly warm, she reached out and cradled his cheek. “Look at you, my dear lad, all grown up. And me, not around to see you changing from a bairn into a man.”

  Placing his hand over hers, he turned his face and pressed a kiss against her palm. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

  “I wanted you so badly I ached for the wanting of you, but it was the only way I knew to keep you safe. Give you to another. Was she good to you?”

  She was a blur through the tears that had gathered in his eyes. “I couldn’t have asked for a better mum.”

  “I’m so glad.” Teardrops rolled down her cheeks. “I couldnae remember where I took you.”

  “I was well cared for. I have a family.” He gave her a gentle smile. “It seems I have two.”

  “We want you to tell us everything.” Then, as though she had no more strength, could no longer appear to be brave, she began weeping in earnest.

  Slowly, gingerly, ensuring he caused her no pain, he eased her from the chair and onto his lap, folded his arms around her, and held her close. Although he knew it was impossible, as tears filled his eyes, he thought he remembered being held by her, the feel of her arms around him, the sweetness of her fragrance. Her warmth.

  Everything about her seemed so familiar. Yet thirty-three years had passed, and he’d been a mere babe. It wasn’t possible he could have any memories of her, but he couldn’t deny he felt a connection, as though a corner of his heart recognized her, bloomed only for her.

  “Don’t cry,” he whispered. “I’m here now.”

  Chapter 25

  Striving not to worry, and having very little success at it, Althea sat on her bed in her nightdress, staring at the mantel clock that was close to striking midnight. She’d not seen Benedict since he’d left his study to go speak with Ewan Campbell. Jewel thought she’d seen them leave together but couldn’t be certain.

  Why hadn’t he come to tell her he was going out? Why hadn’t he returned? If he wasn’t back by the time the hour struck midnight in two minutes, she was going to send word to his brothers. Something was amiss. She felt it in the depths of her bones.

  When the rap came at her door a minute later, she fairly flew off the bed to the door and jerked it open. Benedict looked as though he’d been battling demons and had quite possibly lost. “What happened? Where have you been?”

  He stepped into the room, slammed the door shut. “Walking through Whitechapel. I need you, Thea. God, I need you.”

  The buttons on her nightdress scattered over the floor as he tore it off her, his own clothes quickly following. His arms came around her like bands, pressing their bodies close, her breasts flattening against his chest as he took possession of her mouth, his tongue delving, his hands frantically stroking as though he couldn’t get enough of her, might never be able to get enough of her.

  Tearing her mouth from his, she cradled his face, studied his eyes, and what she saw terrified her. He looked to be a man who had lost his way, and she was the North Star that would guide him home.

  She leaped up and he caught her, his hands cupping her bottom as she wrapped her legs around him and reclaimed his mouth. Whatever was wrong, he would tell her. For now, in order to bring him back to her, she would be what he needed, wanted.

  With long strides, he carried her to the bed, lowered her to its edge, and plunged into her. His groan was savage and raw as he pounded into her, lowering his head to her breast, licking it before drawing it into his mouth, his fingers kneading before he moved to the other.

  Meeting him thrust for thrust, she stroked his chest, his shoulders. The pleasure came fast, hit hard like a runaway horse that never again wanted to feel the bit. When it broke free, he lowered his shoulder and she closed her mouth over it to silence the scream that would have woken everyone.

  He followed her into the realm of ecstasy with a growl that sounded feral in its intensity. Breathing harshly, sweating, he collapsed on top of her.

  Wrapping her arms around him, she simply held on.

  “Did I hurt you?” He knew it was a little late to ask. He had probably frightened the devil out of her, taking her like he was riding a tempest.

  He’d moved her farther up on the bed, and now he was on his back, with her sprawled halfway over his body, his arm protectively circling her, while his free hand skimmed lazily over flesh not hidden away by the sheet. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her.

  “No.”

  She combed her fingers through his hair. He loved when she did that, had been a fool to have stopped her from doing it sooner.

  “Tell me.”

  If there was anyone he could tell, it was her, but he didn’t even know where to begin, how to begin. He’d spent the evening dining and talking with his parents—his parents. He still couldn’t get used to that. His mind stuttered every time he thought the words.

  They’d told him about themselves, their estates, their families. Had asked questions of him. He’d told them about his mum, his brothers, his sisters. He hadn’t told them about Thea. He didn’t know why. She seemed too new, too private, too special. He’d told them about his ships, his writing, some tales from his youth—not about Three-Fingered Bill or Sally Greene or the brothel. He didn’t want them feeling guilty because he’d been attacked. He didn’t think they’d look favorably on the rest of it, and none of it mattered anymore anyway. They’d begun moving his building into the realm of respectability.

  He knew he should be able to tell his parents everything, had never felt a need to hide anything about himself from his mum. But his relationship with the duke and duchess was too fragile. He’d felt as though he’d been striving to walk over eggs without breaking any. Occasionally, he’d hear a crack and he’d revert to the part of himself that relished privacy, that seldom revealed much. It had always amaze
d him that Thea had been an exception, that he’d given more words to her than he’d given anyone.

  When the hour had drawn late, the duke had sent him back in the coach, but when he’d arrived, he couldn’t bring himself to go in just yet. He’d felt raw, untethered, not himself. Therefore, he’d walked through the streets that were familiar, that had shaped him. But only now with Thea in his arms was he beginning to feel a bit more like himself again, like someone he knew and recognized. She was the way home.

  “Was it that Ewan Campbell? Who is he? What did he want?” she asked into the silence. Normally, she wouldn’t rush him; he knew that, but the clock had ticked for far too long since she’d issued those two simple words: tell me.

  “He’s my father.”

  She shot up so fast, the bed rocked. “Your father? How can you be sure?”

  “I inherited a good deal of my features from him. My height, my hair, my eyes. Looking at him was like seeing a reflection of my older self in the mirror. He took me to meet my mother.”

  “Is she his mistress?”

  “No, they’re married.”

  “Why did they come to you now?”

  She was incensed on his behalf that so many years had passed without them making an appearance. He heard the anger in her tone. “Apparently, they’ve been searching for me for some time. It’s a long story. They only recently determined where to find me.” He told her all he knew, all they’d shared, the story of their love.

  When he was done, she tucked in her legs, scooted close so they rested against his side, and slowly trailed her fingers over his chest. “You don’t seem very happy that they found you.”

  “I don’t know how you did it, Thea. You were a lady and then you were not. How did you reconcile the difference between the two? For thirty-three years I was a bastard. Scorned, ridiculed, avoided. Thought to be the embodiment of sin.” He shook his head, skimmed his fingers along the side of her lovely face. “Now I’m to inherit a dukedom, and I no longer know who I am.”

  She went still, so still, she didn’t even blink. “I beg your pardon? A dukedom?”

  “Did I forget to mention that little tidbit? He’s the Duke of Glasford. Perhaps you know him by his title?”

  “No. But then it’s not as though I knew every titled lord. So they were married when you were born, yet still they gave you away?”

  Again, she was infuriated, and it made him smile just a little. To have such a fierce warrior at his side. “No, I was born a bastard. But they later married, and under Scottish law, I inherit.”

  “They’re from Scotland?”

  He almost laughed with her continually repeating what he was saying. It seemed she was having as difficult a time believing and adjusting to all this as he was. He wrapped strands of her hair around his finger. “Somewhere in Perthshire.”

  “My God, that’s an incredible change in circumstances.”

  “It was the oddest thing tonight. The servants kept calling me my lord. It always took me a moment to realize they were speaking to me.”

  “What’s your courtesy title?”

  “Earl of Tewksbury.”

  She released a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh or scoff, but something in between that seemed to have a sad ring to it. “You’re an earl.”

  “Apparently so.”

  “To inherit a dukedom.”

  He didn’t quite understand her forlorn expression or the manner in which she looked past him as though striving to see into the future. He had to admit it was unsettling to be stepping into something he barely knew, but she was intimately familiar with that world and could help guide him.

  Grazing his finger from her temple to her chin, he nudged her face back into his direction, captured and held her gaze. “On my arm, you’ll be returning to Society.”

  A small pleat appeared between her brows. Using his thumb, he gently smoothed it out.

  “How does all that happen?” she asked. “Do they just take out an advert in the Times?”

  “The duke and I will be visiting with his solicitor tomorrow, to determine what all has to be done to ensure I am recognized as his heir and inherit. I’ll have dinner with them tomorrow evening. Join me. I’d like to introduce you. Let you come to know them, them to know you. I think you’re going to like them. I know they’ll adore you.”

  A sweet blush dusted up her throat and over her cheeks, giving him cause to regret all the nights he’d had her in the dark and all the blushes he’d missed.

  “It’s too soon, don’t you think? Your relationship with them needs to be on a more solid footing before you begin introducing surprises. You have no history together to have formed a foundation that can sustain the trials and tribulations that family members encounter. No memories of the better times to help you get through the worst.”

  He comprehended the wisdom of her words, of what she was explaining. He wanted to love Ewan and Mara Campbell, did love them because they were responsible for his existence, but his family remained the Trewloves. His letter had been L. He’d painted it in red. The first letter of love. Suddenly, it seemed significant. A letter tying him to a name, to a family, to an emotion.

  They’d done it for Robin, but it was still part of him. He was still part of them.

  Turning onto his side, facing her, he threaded his fingers through her hair. “Surely, you don’t think you fall into the category of worst?”

  “I think you don’t yet know how they’ll react to you marrying a woman whose father was a traitor. At Christmas, you knew your siblings would accept me because you had a history with them, knew how they had handled other situations. Did you tell your parents about me?”

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead, avoiding her gaze. “The moment never seemed right. God, Thea, I don’t know why I didn’t. You’re the first thing I should have mentioned.”

  Cradling his jaw, she pulled back and held his gaze. “I suspect right now you’re all treading very lightly as you come to know each other.”

  She had the right of that. They still had so much to learn about each other. It wasn’t enough to share the stories. He had fewer than a dozen hours of memories with them.

  Tonight had involved a few awkward moments of silence as they’d searched for stories to be shared, as he’d mined his memories for the kinder, gentler ones that wouldn’t leave them feeling guilty.

  “Another time, then,” he said, and felt her go lax in his arms, hadn’t realized how tense she’d been. Was she dreading meeting them, learning their opinion of her? If they didn’t accept her, he’d be unable to accept them. He needed to pave the way, so it wouldn’t be difficult for her. He also knew none of the past would matter if his parents weren’t part of the aristocracy. Perhaps, more than anything, that was what Thea was striving to make him understand. So much more mattered now.

  He skimmed his fingers over her bare shoulder. “I don’t know how to do it, Thea. How to be a lord.”

  She offered him a small smile. “For one thing, you’re going to have to become a great deal more arrogant.”

  He returned her smile in equal measure. “Will you still fancy me if I’m arrogant?”

  “I will fancy you however you are.”

  Yet, he was left with the distinct impression that something had shifted between them, and not necessarily for the good.

  Chapter 26

  Sitting in the library, having poured her own sherry, listening as the mantelpiece clock ticked away, Althea glanced over at it to see that only a minute had passed since she’d last looked. It was nearing the hour of ten, and Benedict had yet to return since leaving that morning.

  He might not know how to be a lord but certainly knew how to dress like one. She didn’t know where he’d acquired the fine clothing—not the evening wear he’d worn for Christmas—but jacket, trousers, and waistcoat almost as posh. Possibly what he wore when meeting with the merchants or anytime he represented his shipping business. But he had most certainly given the impression of being a man comfortab
le in his own skin, a man who knew what he was about. A man upon whose shoulders a dukedom could securely rest.

  She was relatively certain his parents would have been pleased by his appearance, by the knowledge their son displayed such confidence. The solicitor wouldn’t doubt his place among the aristocracy.

  Whereas Althea had spent most of her day questioning her place in his life. She’d come to understand who she would be with Benedict Trewlove, that she belonged with him, would be his wife. But what was to be her role in the life of Benedict Campbell? Did she even have a part to play upon the stage that would now encompass his world?

  She wondered if she would ever wake up one morning confident that everything would be the same as it had been the day before. It seemed every time she came to understand who she was, fate laughed at her confidence as it tossed an obstacle in her path.

  The empty chair across from her creaked as it became occupied.

  “He shouldn’t be much longer, I shouldn’t think,” Jewel said quietly.

  She wondered if she’d ever have another night with him in this library. “They have years to catch up on.”

  He’d told Jewel of his change in circumstance but hadn’t yet told Hester and Lottie. She didn’t think he’d told his family, either. How would Mrs. Trewlove feel, after all these years, to see him with the couple responsible for his existence? Would she be happy for him? Or would she feel a tinge of sadness that he was no longer completely hers, that others loved him, sought to make him happy?

  “I’ve been thinking I shall need to find an occupation and should like to let a room here.”

  “He’s not going to leave you behind, Althea.”

  He might not want to, but eventually he would have to accept the reality as she had—he could no longer marry her, they were no longer of the same world, no longer . . . fit together as easily as they had. “I have learned through hard lessons that it is always wise to have alternative plans at the ready, just in case they are needed.”