Lord Beast

by Ashlyn Montgomery

  “Quite a catch, I must say. However did you manage to accomplish trapping him into marriage?”

  “You’ve risen quite above your expectations, Miss Carmichael.”

  The encounters would haunt her most during the night when sleep eluded her and Dani had no choice but to listen to her mind play the words over and over to the extent that she would shove a pillow over her face in an attempt to shut off the hurtful sounds.

  For Rhys, the week could not have passed quickly enough. The barrage of visitors that called upon him was nauseatingly persistent and each time he would send them away, more would suddenly appear. Grayson had taken his master’s advice on the subject and had placed a scandalous note on the castle’s entrance doors. Even that did not deter them and many still insisted on hearing with their own ears that the Earl of Falmouth was not taking callers.

  Rhys discovered that the number of household servants at Falmouth Castle were slowly on the rise, much to his disgruntlement. How that had happened, he wasn’t sure, but now he had instilled a full kitchen staff, several gardeners and a grounds-keeper, two footmen and maids, and a valet. Both Val and Grayson had insisted that the extra help was needed to prepare for the monstrous wedding occurring at Falmouth in the very near future.

  His only reprieve was his (chaperoned) visits with Dani. It brightened a rather bleak looking horizon, knowing that soon she would be at his side for the rest of his life.

  An exact week from the encounter with Dani’s uncle, Rhys was hosting a picnic luncheon for the Sinclairs and the Smiths for the sole purpose of seeing her again, and went about inspecting the gardens to ensure that the preparations were going smoothly when someone called out to him, “Lord Ashcroft!”

  Rhys turned, reluctantly. There were just some people he didn’t manage to avoid and unfortunately one of them was walking hastily in his direction. He briefly considered hiding. He could run fast, after all, and it would be no difficult feat to find a suitable hiding place on the extensive Falmouth grounds. But the effort that endeavour would cost him made him quickly discard the idea. Better to get the encounter over with quickly and succinctly.

  “Lord Ashcroft,” the woman panted as she came to a halt in front of him. “I’ve been dying to get an audience with you for weeks now! I’m so glad I finally caught you-”

  “And you are?” Rhys snapped impatiently, noting the unpleasant look about her in general. There was something about her eyes, a maliciousness that caused premature lines to mar the skin there as if she frowned too often.

  “You do not remember me, my lord?” she pouted, staring up at him imploringly. “Surely you must-”

  “I do not. Now, if you have nothing of import to say to me, I am a very busy man with significant things to attend to.” He made to leave.

  “I am Lady Patricia Pennyworth, my lord.”

  Chapter 21

  The name meant nothing to him but it had been spoken as if it should.

  Rhys turned to give the woman a cold look. “State your business and then leave.”

  The woman gave him a very hurt glance that conveyed as much sincerity as a notorious gambler vowing that he was about to play his last hand. “I am offended that you would not remember me,” she told him petulantly. “Surely if you just try-”

  “Lady Pennyworth,” Rhys gritted out, his hands clenching at his sides, “as I said before, I am a very busy man. If you have something of import to say to me, then say it and be done. Otherwise, you will excuse my rudeness as I leave you to your own devices.”

  She smiled, a conniving, guileful twist of her lips that was unpleasant to behold. “My, the scars are quite horrible, are they not?” she murmured quietly, reflectively. “I’m sure it must have been terribly painful and all those years, alone and isolated. How awful for you, my lord.”

  Rhys muttered something derogatory about menacing woman and began to turn away from her again, intending to rid himself of her company when the damned Lady Pennyworth began to walk after him.

  “Isn’t it curious,” she pondered aloud, panting slightly as she struggled to keep up with his wide gait, “how Miss Carmichael succeeded where I did not? All those years between the accident and now must have made you soft to the ways of a woman.”

  What the devil was the silly woman talking about? Rhys ignored her, or at least tried to, but her voice was gratingly loud and it would take a deaf person not to take notice of the bitter words that oozed from her lips like poison.

  “Oh, I suppose we all can’t be as lucky as Miss Carmichael,” she sighed raggedly and Rhys was sure she meant to sound wistful but the pace he had set contributed to the wheezing sounds coming from behind him. “Or as smart, I’m sure. Not even the wiliest of tricks could force you to the altar five years ago. Miss Carmichael must be quite a performer-”

  Being a man of bad temperament as it was and having to endure a week that he had, the appearance of Lady Pennyworth had frayed a thread that was already in a disreputable state. Now, that thread seemed to break with an ominous twang as Rhys’s anger made the blood pound in his temples. He whirled to face the troublesome woman, a wolfish glower of ferociousness pummelling into her. “I suggest,” he ground out with barely contained fury, “that you remove your person from my property before I throw you into the sea.”

  Lady Pennyworth stiffened notably and frowned. “You don’t believe me?” she asked, astounded.

  “Frankly, only an idiot would believe the loathsome words you utter, madam.”

  She gasped, offended, before glowering at him so venomously, so hatefully, that Rhys thought her face might have changed completely into a spectre he could not recognise. “You may not remember,” she spat, “but I do. I remember the Earl of Falmouth who would discard the women who crossed his path without blinking an eye, women far more beautiful than Miss Carmichael.” She pointed her finger at him and Rhys fought the urge to break it. “I only serve to warn you of your folly, of your softness, to prevent you from making the mistake of marrying the deceitful little-”

  “Be careful what you say about my wife,” Rhys barked, infuriated. “If you are not removed from my presence in due haste I will see to it that you are escorted from it.”

  Lady Pennyworth gave him one last furious glance before turning on her heel and marching back towards the drive where her elaborate phaeton was waiting for her.

  Allowing a moment for his temper to cool, Rhys watched her march gracelessly back to her transport. She was the most unpleasant woman he’d ever had the chance to encounter and he sought to eradicate the aftereffects of the meeting. She seemed to know him, from where he wasn’t sure as he could not recall ever having met the unpleasant woman, but back when he did the circuits he never put much credence into his interviews with debutantes. A niggling worm of unease unfolded in his mind and Rhys speculated whether there was any significance in her sudden presence. He made a mental note to find out just who the devil Patricia Pennyworth was.

  But the deed was done and the seed had effectually been planted in his mind.

  Dani, Victoria and Gabriel were first to arrive.

  Rhys noted that his intended looked marvellously pretty in a gown of striped green, a sash of black around her waist for propriety sake. The black in her attire was becoming less and less the closer the day of the wedding approached and just the sight of her made his mood improve and all the venomous things Lady Pennyworth had said seemed to dissipate slightly with her appearance.

  But she looked weary and withdrawn today, her eyes lacking their usual spark of vivaciousness. Dark rings were smudged under her eyes but she gave him a small smile when he approached, having dutifully greeted his other guests first.

  “You seem tired,” he remarked, taking her arm and beginning to lead her in Vicky and Gabriel’s wake.

  “I am.” She sighed plaintively. “If I have to visit the blasted milliner one more time this week, I shall die. I’m sure of it.”

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  Dani gave him
a sunny smile, a little bit of light re-entering her eyes. “It’s not. I’m rather sure it’ll be worth it in the end.”

  At that, Victoria spun around, breaking from the grasp her husband had on her arm, and beamed spectacularly at the approaching couple. “And you have me to thank for all of it, you know.”

  Dani grumbled, “You were never one for humility, Victoria.”

  “Thank you for what?” Rhys asked.

  Gabriel sighed patiently before giving Rhys a wry look. “She has a worm in her head that without her interference, you two would never have agreed to marry,” he explained.

  “Well, she did insist upon it,” Dani told her friend with a meaningful look.

  Victoria plunked her hands on her hips with a satisfied smirk. “Without your summons,” she said to Dani, “I might not have found you in time and then where would you have been? If Rhys is anything like Gabriel, he’d take years to propose!”

  “Summons?” Rhys repeated thickly.

  Dani looked at him strangely for a moment before answering him. “That day in the gallery- I sent Victoria a note to join us. She was to act as chaperone, after all.”

  His body went cold.

  “Rhys?” Dani asked warily, staring up at him as if she feared for his health. “Are you alright?”

  No, he was not alright. He had been cuckolded by an incredibly deceitful little actress and as much as he loathed admitting it, Lady Pennyworth had been astute in her assumptions. Danielle Carmichael had succeeded where others had not: she had arranged a carefully constructed assignation and devised a means in which they would get caught; effectively securing his hand in what she hoped would be fortuitous marriage. He used to be careful with the women of the ton, safeguarding his person against threats of marriage that were downright cunning. Yet Dani had found a way to get to him. He wasn’t sure how, but she had succeeded and now he was forced to marry the deceitful bitch-

  “Rhys?” she squeaked concernedly from beside him.

  Realising that her fingers were resting lightly on his arm, he jerked out of her grasp, the merest touch infuriating him. He couldn’t stand the sight of her, the way her wide blue eyes stared up at him with an expression of worry. Lying, deceitful eyes. Oh, she was good. He hadn’t once suspected her of trickery and with the promise of her enticing body he’d been blinded by the pure need for her, unable to think logically about the situation at all.

  The way she had gone about it was exceptionally clever and he’d grant her intelligence, but other than that Danielle Carmichael was just like the rest of them- a conniving, power-hungry little wench thirsty for blood.

  “I’ll not be party to this,” he rasped savagely at Dani, before turning on his heel and storming back towards Falmouth.

  “Rhys!”

  He ignored the way the sound of her voice sent waves of hurt and fury spiralling through him. It was enough that she had deceived him, that she had succeeded in tricking him into marrying her- and he had played right along with it. All the times he had thought he’d seen genuine affection in her eyes, the words that she had spoken, it all came back to him with vivid clarity that made the bile in his stomach churn with cold hostility.

  “Rhys, wait!”

  He ignored her. He couldn’t handle her rationally. He needed time to compose his raging emotions.

  “Rhys!”

  Having rounded the other side of the castle, his boots crunching on the gravel drive; he spun around to face her. “Leave,” he growled.

  “What’s wrong?” she urged, holding her hands out imploringly. “I don’t understand.”

  He had to grit his teeth. Every muscle in his body was taut with rage and the sight of her, the look of concern on her face, nearly sent him over the edge. It was too much to bear. “You’ve got what you wanted,” he told her coldly. “You can be assured that I will keep my end of the bargain. I’ll trust you to extricate yourself from my property as soon as possible until the day of the wedding.”

  Those blue eyes were hurt, wide and confused, but she did not cry. Her chin tilted up proudly a notch and she looked for all the world the martyr. It sickened him. “I don’t know why you’re doing this,” she told him in a painful voice, “but I wish you’d stop. I haven’t done anything wrong-”

  “Like hell!”

  She blanched at the viciousness of his tone but resumed her stoic pose almost immediately, looking him directly in the eye when she repeated, “I haven’t done anything wrong, Rhys.”

  “You,” he told her disdainfully, “are an excellent liar.”

  And because the pain in her eyes made him loathe her even more, he turned and left her standing there on the drive, unable to face her or her lies.

  It had been so easy to be deceived by her but her ploy had worked devastatingly well. He’d played along stupendously, and he had no doubt that he was partly at fault. He could have resisted her better, not been so eager to indulge in clandestine embraces in enchanting galleries. He’d practically thrown her the opportunity to arrange such a compromising rendezvous.

  Her persistence in befriending him, the solitary visits to the castle… it was all bitingly obvious now. She was a brilliant actress, cruelly intelligent and selfish, and Rhys had believed every second of her performance. He’d even gone so far as to propose… what a fool he had been. He recalled the words of that night with sickening anguish, hating the falseness of it all and how much he had actually believed, or wanted to believe, that she actually cared for him.

  “I’ve never been given something so beautiful before.”

  “Gabriel chose it,” Rhys told her with a warm smile.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t talking about the ring.”

  “What were you talking about?”

  A small, soft smile touched her lips. “You.”

  He shook his head angrily, despising the lies and the hurt the memory caused. And there was more, all of them replaying through his mind as aching, false memories that made him feel betrayed and enraged all at once.

  She threw him a wry grin. “However would you live with yourself? Giving flowers to young country misses. Lord knows you’d probably get a reputation and then all the young country misses would expect it from you-”

  “Especially because all the young misses trespass on my property on a nightly basis,” he said gruffly.

  “I should like to think that all of them were that innovative,” she said.

  “No,” his voice soft now, “only you.”

  Surely this torment would drive him mad? Their entire acquaintanceship was based on lies, on falsehoods and deceit. Nothing she said had been truthful, all of her words uttered for the sole goal of duping him into marriage.

  But then, to his disbelief, she frowned and pursed her lips, looking annoyed. “Really?” she asked, her eyes rising to meet his again. “This is what all the fuss is about?”

  She was telling him off?

  Not waiting for a response, she continued, “Honestly, Rhys, if I had known that a few scratches had been the cause of all this nonsense, I would have pushed you into the fireplace long ago.”

  Rhys squeezed his eyes shut against the myriad of thoughts jumbling through his mind as he stormed up the steps of his castle. Even Grayson wisely decided to avoid his furious master as Rhys raged through the castle and into his study, slamming the door shut with a formidable crash, and sought out the first decanter of liquor he set his eyes upon.

  Dani watched Rhys go, a terrible feeling of longing and pain settling heavily in her gut. His actions confused her, his accusations stunned and shocked her… but nothing could be as horrible as the all-consuming pain that squeezed her heart until she thought it might burst.

  She held her waist protectively, warding off the tears that threatened to fall as she stared at the man she loved as he disappeared into Falmouth, willingly allowing him to break her heart. Oh, the agony was an awful thing and the worst of it was that she couldn’t understand why he suddenly despised her so. It was a
ll she could do to keep from crumbling to the grass, a broken woman, and pouring her tears into the soil.

  “Dani!” Vicky breathed, trotting to a standstill beside her. “Is everything alright? Where is Rhys?”

  “Oh, God,” Dani whispered brokenly. “Take me home. I want to go home.”

  “What happened?” Victoria pressed, taking her friend by the shoulders and looking worriedly into her anguished eyes. “Dani?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head, feeling desolate, humiliated and rejected. “Please, take me home.”

  Vicky gave her husband a worried glance over the top of Dani’s head but all Gabriel could do was shrug, at a loss. “All right,” she said to Dani, “we’ll take you home.”

  A missive was sent to Fiona and George informing them of the cancellation of the luncheon before Dani was bundled into the Hawthorne carriage and escorted back to the cottage. It was a silent journey but thankfully a short one and the couple allowed Dani to wallow in her misery until they reached her home. With a promise to visit soon, Victoria gave her a tight hug and left, whereby Dani proceeded to climb the stairs to her chamber and shut the bedroom door.

  Only then did she allow herself to succumb to her tears.

  Chapter 22

  The woman staring back at her in the mirror was a different woman than the one she had been two weeks ago. Hollow, empty blue eyes returned her forlorn stare while inside, her body quivered with the urge to flee, to run away, to escape the horror she now found herself in.

  Danielle Carmichael was about to marry a man who hated the very air she breathed.

  There was no denying that now and she had tried persistently hard to tell herself that Rhys would come round, that he’d be the wonderfully sensuous man she had fallen in love with.

  But he hadn’t. He’d grown even more distant and colder with each passing day, spurning her attempts to rekindle the spark that had existed between them with a chilling, emotionless fury that made Dani fear him.