Beast of Beswick

by Amalie Howard

  “Old lady, my behind,” Astrid said with a laugh, struggling to hide the blushes that would not relent. She selected a bit of toast and then turned to the duchess.

  Her eyes warmed. “You love him, then?”

  “Desperately.”

  “Then, we can only hope.” She reached for Astrid’s hand and held it tightly, and Astrid fought the sudden burn of tears behind her eyes. She squeezed back.

  “There are my two favorite ladies.”

  The warm, husky voice sank into her very bones, and Astrid turned to see her husband, fine and still delicious, standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a shirt and breeches with no shoes and no cravat, and he looked utterly mussed and delectable.

  “Honestly, Beswick,” Mabel teased. “You’d think I’ve raised a barbarian.”

  “There are worse things,” he said, bending to peck her cheek and then kissing Astrid with a more lingering kiss before sitting beside her.

  “Did you sleep well, nephew?”

  “As well as you, I imagine. I see we’ve acquired new help.” He grinned, flexing an arm across the back of Astrid’s chair and making every hair on her body stand on end as his fingers caressed her nape.

  “He rode me home,” she said and then widened her eyes in all innocence. “Drove me home.”

  “This is unseemly, Aunt, even for you.” Thane rolled his eyes and looked at Astrid. “I told you: terrible influence.” He nuzzled her ear. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Thane,” she gasped, feeling the wet swipe of his tongue. “The servants.”

  “They all know that the duke is mad over his wife, so whether I kiss you here or behind closed doors is of little significance.” He bit her lobe and relented, leaning back into his chair.

  Good Lord but the man was sex incarnate. They’d made love for hours, and already, she was ready to race back upstairs and have her wanton way with him. Instead, she demurely sipped her coffee and avoided Mabel’s knowing looks.

  Fletcher entered the door, once more doing double duty in Culbert’s absence, and announced they had callers.

  The duke frowned. “This early? Tell them to come back at a reasonable hour.”

  “Who is it?” Astrid asked at the same time.

  “The Marquess and Marchioness of Roth.”

  None of them was dressed for callers, including a shoeless, cravat-less duke, but they were family, after all.

  “Isobel!” Astrid exclaimed as her sister entered the dining room on her new husband’s arm. “How are you?”

  “I’m well,” her sister said. “Astrid, may I present my husband, Lord Roth.”

  He bowed over her hand. “Your Grace.”

  Thane stood up, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. “Good to see you, Roth.”

  “And you, Beswick,” the marquess said. “Although good is rather an exaggeration.”

  The duke barked a short laugh, but Astrid blinked at the man’s slightly dry tone. Her gaze panned back to Isobel, who shot her a bright smile. Though her sister was in high spirits, her marquess seemed a bit more…taciturn. Then again, Astrid had only just met him. Thane knew him, however, and he’d assured her that Roth was a decent man at the heart of it. Astrid smiled to herself. She was one to talk—she had married a beast, after all.

  They exchanged greetings with Mabel, and then Thane invited the newlyweds to join them for breakfast. More hot dishes were brought in and additional place settings arranged. Her sister’s obvious regard for her husband was evident, and Astrid felt sad that she’d missed the wedding, but it was a small price to pay for Isobel’s safety.

  “So, about this marriage,” Astrid said. “I, apparently, was the only one in the dark.”

  “Sorry about that,” Isobel said. “I was waiting to see whether Lord Roth would make his intentions known at Lady Hammerton’s house party, and he did. However, my plan was a little less thought out. I was hoping to convince him to elope.”

  Astrid lifted a brow. “That would have indeed been a scandal.”

  “But Scotland is days away by coach, and Lady Hammerton had a better idea. After the Earl of Beaumont showed up, the duke was able to procure a special license for us,” Isobel finished excitedly. “My only regret is that you were not able to be there, Astrid, but it was very small and tasteful in Lady Hammerton’s family chapel.”

  “I am simply glad that you’re happy, Izzy.”

  “I am,” Isobel said.

  Astrid could not be upset with her sister for so bravely taking hold of her own future. It was more than she had done at that age—when she had naively found herself at the mercy of an unscrupulous man. Isobel, however, had not allowed herself to become entrapped by a society whose rules bestowed all the power to men while women bore the consequences. Astrid could not be prouder of her.

  A wolf in sheep’s clothing, indeed.

  The newly married couple visited for a while before taking their leave. Roth was taking his bride to his family seat in Chelmsford. After they departed, Astrid turned to her husband with a mock pout. “I cannot believe you kept such a monumental secret from me.”

  He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, the light graze and the desirous look in his eyes making her skin burn. “If your uncle came to Harte House demanding an explanation, I wanted you to have full deniability. As it was, we did have words.”

  Astrid’s eyes narrowed at the thought of her uncle. “What did he say?”

  “He was reasonable.”

  “Reasonable” wasn’t a word to describe her uncle, and she knew her skeptical expression said so.

  “I offered him what Beaumont had agreed to give him,” her husband said.

  “Why would you even give that bounder any money after everything he’s done?” Astrid asked. “He’ll only lose it all. He bought a fortune in horseflesh with my father’s money.”

  “I also took possession of those horses at a fraction of the cost and had them sent here to Beswick Park,” he said with a grin. “Your groom, Patrick, was kind enough to lead the transaction. That was the business I had to conclude.”

  Astrid didn’t care that they were in the middle of the foyer in view of a dozen servants and Aunt Mabel in the next room—she flung her arms around her husband’s neck. “Oh, Thane, I love you.”

  “Not as much as I love you, Duchess.” He smiled down at her. “And speaking of Beaumont, I suspect that after the investigation of what happened in Spain is completed, the earl will most likely be stripped of his title and estate.”

  “I’m glad,” Astrid said feelingly. “He will get his just deserts.”

  Thane nodded. It would not bring back the lives of his men, but it was a start. If the earl was found guilty, he intended to ask the Regent for a portion of the earl’s confiscated fortune to be used for the deceased men’s families. It was less than they deserved but more than he’d hoped for.

  “Now that we’ve had breakfast, what would you like to do today?” She bit her bottom lip and blushed.

  His laugh was husky. “I suppose we could do that.”

  He scooped her into his wonderfully muscular arms.

  “I am capable of walking,” she told him.

  “Yes, but my legs are much longer.”

  She laughed as he flew up the stairs. “I knew I married you for a reason.”

  Epilogue

  Nathaniel Blakely Sterling Harte, the seventh Duke of Beswick, paced the corridor, a fine sheen of cold sweat coating his forehead. God, he’d never been so nervous in all his life. He glanced at his pocket watch and then went back to pacing. His valet watched him, not hiding his amusement, as he trampled the same stretch of carpet for the fortieth time.

  “Perhaps you should have some brandy,” Fletcher suggested. “You’re going to wear a hole in the rug.”

  “It’s taking too long,” he said. “And since when do you
care about carpet? You’re turning into as much a fusspot as Culbert.”

  “Bite your tongue, Your Grace,” Fletcher said, looking horrified. “And in any case, her ladyship is a duchess.”

  Thane scowled. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Everything,” he said dryly. “Ah, here she comes.”

  Thane perked up at the sight of his beautiful and pregnant wife, accompanied by his precocious six-year-old daughter, Lady Philippa Harte, and her younger brother, Lord Maxton Harte, the four-year-old Marquess of Locke, who were both supposed to be sleeping. He knew that because he’d fed them dinner and put them to bed ages ago, as he did almost every night.

  Astrid smiled. “I had to kiss the children good night, and they wanted a story. Since we aren’t going to be back until tomorrow after the race, I said yes.”

  He frowned fondly at his naughty daughter, whose eyes were twinkling with mischief. He had a good idea who wanted another story. “I’d already read them several stories and put them to bed. Why are the two of you little crumpets still awake?”

  “We wanted to say good night to Mama,” Pippa said, while Max nodded his sleepy head fiercely. “And she’s always writing in her study.”

  “I’m sorry, darlings,” Astrid said. “It won’t be for much longer, I promise.”

  It was true; his brilliant wife had been busy of late. After the publication of a few polemic literary essays on the significance of women’s voices, including those of writers like Wollstonecraft and Mary Shelley, who had indeed come out as the author of Frankenstein a few years before, his duchess had made quite a stir in the beau monde. Some did not agree with her controversial stance that a woman was only as bad as the man behind her, but many did. She was now working on her first novel, a story about a man trapped in a woman’s body and the intersection of male and female ideology. It was a bold effort, but if anyone could do it, his intrepid duchess could.

  “The coachman is ready, Your Graces,” Culbert announced, walking into the room. “Good gracious, I haven’t been this nervous about anything since the young master was born.”

  “It’s just a race, Culbert,” Astrid said.

  Fletcher shook his head, his expression as delirious as the butler’s. “It’s not just a race, Your Grace! It’s your champion, and he is going to win.”

  Several years ago, she had bred Brutus and Temperance, and the resulting foal had exceeded all expectations. The colt had been magnificent—a perfect combination of strength, stamina, and speed. She’d named him Dante, and now, the racehorse was unbeatable on any terrain of any length. Tomorrow would mark a monumental day of racing at Ascot. They planned to stay at Harte House overnight.

  “Will you tuck us into bed before you leave, Mama and Papa?” Pippa asked, her sweet voice hopeful.

  “Come on, quickly then, my little crumpets,” Thane said, lifting Max up and tossing him into the air, making him squeal. He knelt and pulled Pippa in for a hug. She was the image of her mother. With a head full of glossy dark curls and in possession of the golden Beswick eyes, Thane had no doubt she was going to be a beauty.

  “Why can’t we go, too, Papa?” Max complained, tugging at Thane’s coat. “I want to see Dante race.”

  Thane set Max on his hip and ruffled his dark-blond hair. “Because the racecourse is no place for young striplings, but I promise to take you both when you’re a bit older.”

  “Me too, Papa, even though I’m a girl?” Pippa said with wide eyes.

  He winked at her with a grin. “Being a girl never stopped your mama, and I’m willing to wager it won’t stop you, either, Pippa bean.”

  “Yes, dearest, you can do anything you put your mind to,” Astrid chimed in.

  They took their children’s hands and shepherded them back toward their rooms. Thane lifted Pippa into bed, kissed her, and then did the same with his son. A pair of somber ice-blue eyes stared back at him, and it was clear Max was holding back his disappointment and doing his best to be brave about it.

  “Tell you what,” Thane said to him, fishing into his pocket for a sixpence. “We’ll bet this on Dante from you and Pippa, and if you win, you can share all the winnings. How’s that? That way, it’s like you could almost be there.”

  “Truly, Papa?” Max said.

  “Yes, truly.”

  He met Astrid’s amused eyes as she kissed their children good night and wished them sweet dreams. “We’ll be back soon, my darlings. Sleep well. Tomorrow night, we can read one of our old favorites, La Belle et la Bête.”

  The old French tale of the beauty and the beast was a Harte family favorite for obvious reasons. Thane smiled and met his wife’s tender gaze from where she stood beside the bed. He couldn’t fathom that she loved him so much and that after seven years of wedded bliss, she still made his heart beat faster.

  His own feelings for her had grown and matured, though she could still flay him with a word and make his body leap with the flutter of an eyelash. As was evident by the small mound of her stomach, it was nigh impossible to resist her charms. She was his brilliant, beautiful duchess—his wife, his love, the mother of his children, and his light in the darkness.

  “Papa?”

  Thane paused at the door. “Yes, Pippa bean?”

  “My favorite part of the story is when Beauty is brave enough to tell Beast she loves him,” his daughter said shyly.

  “That’s my favorite part, too,” he told her, his chest tightening with emotion as he gathered Astrid close. “As your very clever mama once wrote: Love is one part courage, one part choice, and one part luck. And like anything worth fighting for, it’s worth it in the end.”

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  Don’t miss the next book from Amalie Howard

  The Rakehell of Roth

  Lord Winter Vance, a notorious scoundrel and the Marquess of Roth, must marry to save his inheritance, but a wife is the last thing he needs. Determined to carry on his rakish ways provoking his straitlaced duke of a father and scandalizing the ton, the minute Winter ties the knot, he dumps his starry-eyed debutante of a bride at his country estate and hies back to London.

  But three years later, forgotten in slumbering Chelmsford while her husband gallivants in Town, Lady Isobel Vance decides that enough is enough and she’s ready to take matters into her own hands. When a case of mistaken identity leads to a devilish dance of seduction and an indelicate wager is made, this marchioness will show her marauding marquess just who he married.

  Acknowledgments

  I loved writing this story so much, but it wouldn’t have been the book it is today without my two incredibly savvy, talented, and brilliant editors, Liz Pelletier and Heather Howland. You ladies ROCKED IT. Thank you so much for all your love for this book—it means so, so much. Team LAH for the win!

  To the fantastic production, design, quality assurance, and publicity teams at Amara, with special thanks to Stacy Abrams, Curtis Svehlak, Holly Bryant-Simpson, Riki Cleveland, Heather Riccio, Katie Clapsadl, Jessica Turner, Bree Archer, and Erin Dameron-Hill, thank you for all your hard work. To Ginger Clark, who sold this title, thank you for helping to make this book such a gorgeous reality. To my current agent, Thao Le, thank you for your advice, support, and enthusiasm. I’m looking forward to all the things!

  I’d like to shout out to my friends and fellow writers—Sophie Jordan, Mary Lindsey, Brigid Kemmerer, Angie Frazier, Wendy Higgins, Rachel Harris, Katie McGarry, Suzanne Young, and Cindi Madsen—you ladies keep me laughing and sane on this roller coaster of a journey. Thanks for always being willing to read, brainstorm, or commiserate. I adore you all to pieces.

  To the readers, bloggers, booksellers, and librarians who spread the word about my books and humble me with their unwavering support, I have so much gratitude for you. Thank you for all you do. To my extended family and friends, online
and off, thank you so much for your continued love and friendship. It means more than you know. Last of all, but certainly not least, to the loves of my life—Cameron, Connor, Noah, and Olivia—I’d be lost without you.

  About the Author

  Amalie Howard is the award-winning author of several young adult novels critically acclaimed by Kirkus, PW, VOYA, SLJ, and Booklist, including Waterfell, The Almost Girl, and Alpha Goddess, a Kids’ Indie Next selection highlighting East Indian mythology. She is a national IPPY silver medalist and Moonbeam Award winner. She is also the coauthor of the #1 bestsellers in regency romance and historical fiction My Rogue, My Ruin and My Hellion, My Heart. Of Indo-Caribbean descent, she has written articles on multicultural fiction for The Portland Book Review, Ravishly magazine, and Diversity in YA. She currently resides in Colorado with her husband and three children.

  Visit her at www.amaliehoward.com.

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