Page 18 of Beauty's Beast

He made a soft, wordless sound deep in his throat. He wondered how long she had spent in prison, if that was the reason she feared the darkness, the reason she kept a lamp burning at her bedside throughout the night.

He took a deep breath, his nostrils filling with the warm, sweet scent of her—the soap she had bathed with, the peppermint she used to sweeten her breath, the scent of lilacs that clung to her skin. It was part of the curse, his heightened sense of smell, of taste. His hearing was more acute than before, too. He could hear each soft breath she took.

He clenched his left hand, shoved his right hand into his pocket to keep from touching the curve of her cheek, the short, silky cap of her hair.

Desire rose within him, a desire to bury himself within her. He yearned to shed his clothes and his accursed mask and enfold her in his arms, feel the heat of her skin against his …

His body hardened painfully. Why was he sitting here, torturing himself with her nearness? He was not her nursemaid, nor her governess. If she was afraid of the dark, she had a lamp at her bedside.

But he didn’t leave the room, only continued to sit there, his hands tightly clenched, until the soft, steady sound of her breathing told him she was asleep.

Hating her, hating himself, he lit the lamp at her bedside and then left the room, left the house.

Outside, he removed his mask, ripped off his glove and his shirt, and then he began to run. He threw back his head, and the deep-throated sound of his despair pierced the darkness in a long, mournful howl.

Chapter Six

Kristine sat in the library a week later, trying to make sense of the history book she was reading, when one of the maids entered the room.

“Lady Charmion is here,” Yvette announced.

“Who?”

“Lady Charmion.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who that is.”

“She is the mother of Dominique, Lord Hawksbridge’s first wife.”

“Oh. I … ” Kristine closed the book and set it on the table beside her. “Does she wish to see me?”

Yvette nodded, her blonde curls bobbing. “She’s waiting in the front parlor.”

“I see.” Kristine stood up, uncertain what she should do.

“Perhaps you would like some tea and honey cakes?” the maid suggested.

“Yes, thank you.”

With a nod and a curtsy, Yvette left the room.

Kristine took a deep breath, hoping to calm her nerves. Lady Charmion. She had heard it said the woman practiced the black arts. Why was she here?

Kristine smoothed her skirt, hoping her day dress of dark blue velvet would be acceptable for greeting her guest. A white lace cap covered her short hair.

Gathering her courage, Kristine made her way to the parlor, hoping that Erik would be there.

Opening the door, Kristine stepped into the room. A woman stood in front of the hearth, staring into the fire. She turned when she heard the door open.

Kristine stared at the woman. Lady Charmion was tall and slender. Dressed in a severe black gabardine gown and cloak, she had the look of a crow, with her sleek black hair and piercing black eyes.

Kristine bobbed a curtsy. “Good day to you, Lady Charmion.”

The woman looked at her sharply. “So, he has taken another wife. I could scarcely credit it when I heard the news.”

Kristine gestured at the floral damask sofa. “Won’t you please sit down?”

“I’ll stand.”

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