Page 28 of The Beast of Beswick
Conversation had all but dissolved into verbal grunts over the last quarter of an hour. Isobel had left halfway through dinner, claiming a queasy stomach. His aunt had fled after the last course, throwing a sympathetic glance to Astrid and a fulminating one to him, but Thane was well beyond redemption by then.
If a fallen angel had come to lure…she’d succeeded.
He drained his glass as the servants cleared the plates and brought in dessert. At least the wine took the edge off the concoction of lust, misery, and bitterness curling through him at present. The object of his considerable frustration smiled at one of the footmen, waving him away and declining the offer of dessert.
“No, thank you, Conrad. I simply could not eat another bite.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Who the flying fuck was Conrad? Thane’s eyes narrowed when the man gazed adoringly at her. Was that the footman’s name? Apart from Fletcher and Culbert, servants at Beswick Park came and went. Thane hired them for their discretion, nothing more, and he certainly did not avail himself of their names. Or watched them fawn over his guests.
“Have you finished flirting with all the servants?” he snapped.
Astrid gave him a cool look. “Is that what I was doing? I thought I was just being courteous and well-mannered.”
“You made the man blush.”
“Well then, at least I can congratulate myself for being moderately successful,” she said in a teasing voice that went straight through his agonized groin. “I am not by any means, you see, an accomplished flirt.”
Jealousy tore through him like a hammer, and he let out a sharp exhale. Good God, was it possible he was jealous of a footman? Thane dismissed the remaining servants with an irritated command. He noticed that Astrid watched their departure with what looked like relief, though he could not be sure whether it was for him or for her. Or for poor sodding Conrad. Thane’s anger folded in on itself as he filled another glass with wine to the brim.
“Is something amiss, Your Grace?” she asked, her stare colliding with his once they were alone. “You seem…aggrieved.”
“I’m fine.” His reply emerged like one caustic grunt of a word.
His mood unraveled further as his eyes caught on the delicate lace overlay of her bodice and the creamy, flushed expanse that rose above it. HadConradnoticed her radiant skin? Had shewantedhim to? Was that why she’d encouraged the man? Thane was spoiling for a fight and he did not know why.
And though every sense warned against opening his mouth, he did it anyway. “That’s an unusual choice of dress for you.”
“Why? Because I’m a spinster? Because I’m tarnished in the eyes of society?” She lifted a slim brow, taking the wind from his sails. “Or because I’m not a blushing debutante? Tell me, Your Grace, which of the above offends your esteemed sensibilities?” Astrid didn’t wait for his answer. “Perhaps I chose white because I like it. It’s a woman’s prerogative, you understand, to wear what she favors. Her wardrobe is one of the few things in her control.”
“And what of a husband? Would he have a say?”
She canted her head. “I imagine so, though I am unmarried, as you well know. I enjoy my freedoms where I can, Your Grace.”
Her previous engagement to Edmund Cain shot back to mind, a fresh wave of jealousy surging with it. The man must have slunk back to England, after leaving his men for dead, only to search out a bride. Had he touched her? Kissed that pert, impudent mouth? Discovered the sinful secrets under those yards of demure white silk? His temper flared.
“Red would be a better choice,” Thane growled, thinking of what he’d read in Fletcher’s report. “For a fallen woman.”
A hint of hurt passed over her eyes before it was gone. “Fallen but not dead. I’m still here, Your Grace, with all my purported sins accounted for. Do you think to judge me for them on account of a simple color?”
The guilt was instantaneous.Pot, meet kettle.
She was right, of course. People judged him on what they saw, and they judged her on what they thought she’d done. Astrid had clearly been the root of a scandal—she’d admitted as much—but whether or not the accusations were true, who washeto punish her for them? No, his reactions stemmed from something else, something he didn’t wish to dwell on too deeply because it felt too much like jealousy.
Thane exhaled. “I suppose one should not throw glass stones when having dinner in glass houses.”
“Unless, of course, one enjoys breaking things.”
It was a dig at his affinity for throwing his father’s porcelain, and he smiled before he thought the better of it. “There is that. It’s quite liberating. You should try it sometime.”
“In your own words, Your Grace, pigs will fly with their tails forward before I lay a harmful finger on any one of those precious antiques.” Astrid let out a musical laugh, shaking her head with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, and Thane couldn’t help himself. He chuckled, too.
He’d said that very thing when they’d first met, and suddenly, Thane felt shame for his behavior. A better man would have apologized, but he wasn’t much of a gentleman, not anymore. Though for some inane reason, she made him want to remember how to be one.
He pushed off his seat and walked to the open terrace doors. “Come,” he told her gruffly. “I wish to show you something.”
For a second, Astrid looked uncertain, but then she gave a short nod and followed silently in his footsteps to the outdoor balcony.
