Page 10 of The Beast of Beswick
“Is that so?”
She bristled at his tone, though she wasn’t sure whether he was mocking what constituted a lady’s education or whether he was mockingher. “Yes.” And then she added, “Among other things.”
“Like the study of ancient Chinese relics?”
Astrid sighed. Most men in her experience felt threatened by any females whoknewanything at all. But she wasn’t here to demonstrate her intelligence or use it as a defense against unwanted suitors; she was here to land herself a husband who was a bigger predator than the one she and Isobel currently faced. “I enjoy learning, Your Grace.”
“Given your diverse range of feminine…talents, why hasn’t some society fop seduced you off your accomplished feet and filled your womb with broods upon broods of future aristocrats?”
A blush crept up her neck. Gracious, but he was coarse. She could hardly tell him that one lying man’s word against her own had well and truly barred that door.“Perhaps because I did not wish to be seduced.”
“Don’t all women wish for seduction?”
His eyes burned into hers, that sultry rasp doing unnatural things to her. A handful of words, and Astrid couldn’t tempt a puff of air to enter her shrinking lungs. A rush of prickling heat blazed over her skin. Her entire body felt tight as if the slightest pressure would make her shatter. Gracious, what was thematterwith her?
“Not all women,” she choked out, her face hot, but her addled brain could not stop conjuring images of him naked, limned in fire and candlelight. A sliver of toweling that had barely hid his silhouetted masculine outline or the broad, muscular planes of his chest. She’d even gotten a brief glimpse of his swinging male part, and eventhathad sent a lightning bolt of heat to the base of her spine. The duke might be badly scarred, but he wasn’t disfiguredthere.
Focus, you nitwit!
Astrid swallowed and brought her marauding thoughts ruthlessly under control. A fit of nerves hit her hard, one hand rising awkwardly to smooth her hair. No strand had escaped her coiffure, however. She felt his intense gaze track the movement of her palm. He seemed fixated, and her fingers fluttered in midair for an interminable moment before falling back to her lap.
Beswick leaned forward, folding his thick arms across the desk’s surface. Even with the enormous scar that bisected his face, the diamond cut of his aristocratic cheekbones sweeping toward that perfect, luscious mouth commanded attention.
His head tilted in silent ducal command. “If I were to consider your proposal, what would I get out of it?”
“You need my help.” Astrid glanced around the room, touching on the priceless antique dish. “Least of all to catalog your antiquities. But as your wife, beyond my marital duties, I shall endeavor to be a proper hostess, should you seek to entertain. I’m also good with mathematics and can assist in your bookkeeping or estate management. Lastly, it’s clear that a woman’s touch is needed in your household.”
She cringed, aware that she’d just criticized his home, but the duke’s expression remained inscrutable.
“So when would you propose to do it?” he went on smoothly. “Marry?”
Astrid’s heart jumped in surprise. God above, was heamenable? She narrowed her eyes. Or was he toying with her? She released a pent-up breath. “As soon as possible.”
“Do you have terms?”
She nodded and reached into her reticule for the list she had prepared, then placed it on the desk between them. Despite her optimism, she’d known the odds were slim. “In terms of funds, I do have a dowry. I humbly ask for a certain amount of that be put aside for my sister’s Season. In return, I will perform the aforementioned tasks as well as…submit to you as required to procure your heir.” Astrid bit her lip, fighting the sensual quake that rocked through her. “I assume once that is achieved, you will see to your needs elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere?”
“I will not begrudge you a mistress, Your Grace.”
…
Thane was glad to be obscured by the shadows. Amistress? Irritation flashed over him. Though many lords kept mistresses in addition to wives, he was not one of them.
At this point, thoroughly pricked pride was all that kept him from showing her the door. Pride and the need to give back as good as she gave. Though his better instincts warned against engaging, he nodded and pushed the inkstand closer to where she could reach it. “You should make a notation of more than one.”
“More than one?”
“Mistress,” he said. “My physical needs are varied. And quite demanding.”
A choked sound met his ears as she reached for the inkpot and the pen, unspooling the piece of foolscap as she did so. The scratch of the pen was loud and heavy as she added an “ES” as a small postscript to the word. “There. Satisfied?”
It hurt to hold his perverse gratification inside. “And we might possibly need to rethink the word ‘submit.’ It’s so outmoded—a wifesubmittingto her husband as though she has no say. I prefer my duchess to be vocal on what she wants.”
Those pink lips flattened, splotches of bright color flooding her cheeks. “What would you like to add, Your Grace? Positions?Places?” The little astringent bit of muslin huffed an irritated breath. “If you intend to make this a mockery, then we may as well not continue along this path. We are venturing into the realm of the offensive, sir.”
What was offensive was his desire to see her utterly unclothed and open, with nothing but that salty mouth holding him at bay. Thane dug his fingers into his thighs and shook his head to clear it. They both knew that wouldneverhappen, no matter her asinine terms. She would flee his ill-tempered presence eventually, just like everyone else.
