Page 41 of Beauty's Beast

Erik allowed her to lead him along, saying nothing. They had almost reached the cottage when it began to rain, a light mist that quickly became a downpour.

Kristine, dressed only in a gown of thin red silk, was soaked to the skin by the time they reached the cottage. Erik, clad in shirt, breeches, and a heavy woolen cloak, fared better.

As soon as they were inside, Erik pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She surrendered willingly, wondering at the desperation that seemed to grip him.

Gradually, his hold loosened. With a sigh, he released her. “You’re shivering,” he said. “You need to get out of that wet gown.”

She nodded.

“I’ll build a fire.”

While he laid the fire, she went into the bedroom and took off her ruined slippers, then peeled off her clothing, draping her gown and undergarments over a chair to dry. There were several blankets in the chest at the foot of the bed. She wrapped one securely around her, then carried two more into the parlor.

A small fire blazed in the hearth, casting heat and shadows into the room.

Erik stood with his back to her, one hand braced against the mantel. He had removed his cloak; it was spread over a chair.

She bit down on her lower lip. She knew without asking that he wouldn’t undress in front of her; knew better than to light one of the lamps.

With a sigh, she walked up behind him and draped one of the blankets over his shoulders.

“Thank you.”

“What is this place?” she asked, looking around.

“My brother and I played here when we were young.”

“Your brother?”

Erik nodded. “My elder brother. Robert,” he said heavily. “He was the rightful heir. He died in a hunting accident when he was nine and twenty.”

“You’ve never mentioned him before.”

“No.” He gazed into the flames, thinking how different his life would have been if his brother had lived. Robert would be lord of Hawksbridge Castle and he, Erik, would be living with the good brothers in poverty and obedience, his life dedicated to the church. He never would have married Dominique, or been burdened with this hideous curse.

He never would have met Kristine … Meeting her, loving her, was almost worth all the rest.

“My lord, you should get out of those wet things.”

“They’re only damp,” he replied with a shrug. “They’ll dry soon enough.”

She stared at his broad back, wondering at the change in him. Only moments ago he had been on fire for her; now he seemed almost indifferent to her presence. What was he thinking?

“Have you other brothers?” she asked. “Sisters, perhaps?”

“No.” Slowly, he turned to face her. He had removed the horned mask and replaced it with one of black silk. “Have you?”

She shook her head, thinking how rare it was for him to ask about her family, her past. “All I have is you,” she said, very softly. And then she smiled. “And our babe.”

Pain lanced through him at her words, a pain so deep he thought he might die of it. He would never see his child. He knew it with gut-wrenching certainty.

“My lord? Erik?” She reached out, her hand closing over his arm. “Are you ill?”

“No.”

She looked up at him, her green eyes filled with worry.

“I’m fine, Kristine,” he said reassuringly. “Only cold all of a sudden.” He opened his arms. “Come, warm me.”

---