Page 29 of The Beast of Beswick
“Where are we going?” she asked after they’d cut back through the darkened gardens and past several well-lit follies.
But she went quiet when the large glass building, and their destination, came into view. The flickering light from internal lamps made the panes of glass glow with internal fire, and he heard her gasp in awe. Thane pushed open the heavy doors, and a rush of warm air and the scent of orange blossoms surrounded them.
“Oh, goodness, what is this place?” she breathed, wonder threading her voice.
“My greenhouse. I built it.”
She gaped at him. “Youbuilt this?”
“Yes.”
Inside the glassed-in structure, lush orange trees stood laden with blooms and fruit at its center, the fragrant scent unique and invigorating. Colorful shrubs and plants occupied the rest of it, with a stone footpath cutting through them. Whimsical water features punctuated its meandering shape. Flowers of every hue lay at the edges, climbing intricate trellises set against the paned glass walls.
It was his solitude. His sanctuary. While he’d been at war and later on the Continent, Thane had almost expected what had been only the bones of the conservatory to have fallen into disrepair or neglect, but neither Fletcher nor Culbert had allowed it. When he’d returned, he’d finished it.
“Oh, Thane, it’sincredible,” Astrid breathed as her gaze turned up and up and up, following the path of flowers that climbed on vines all the way to the top. “It’s like we’re in another world.”
He startled at the sound of his given name on her lips, but from her captivated expression, she hadn’t even realized that she’d used it. He instantly wanted to hear it again. Astrid’s eyes were wide with wonder, and it made him ache to give her more. To make her look at him with such softness and admiration in her eyes. He wanted to give her everything.
And that thought made him go cold with dread.
Because hecouldn’t.
Fear was a devil with sharp claws and large teeth…and it was relentless.
Had he truly thought showing her this would make her forget what he looked like?Who I’ve become?What had he been thinking? Letting her in wasn’t some miracle that would suddenly turn him into a better man. He was and would always be a beast. Someone to be reviled and isolated. Keeping people at arm’s length was what he did…who he was.
Thane’s entire body compacted into a sick ball of fury, misery, and bitterness. Astrid would never want him in that way. No woman would. Lady Sarah Bolton, whom he had known his whole life, had looked at him with total revulsion at the thought of being touched by him. Stared at him as if he were an animal and fled his presence. No, he could never expose himself to such humiliation again. He whirled to escape the darkness creeping in on him and nearly knocked Astrid over.
With a laugh, she gripped his shoulders to right herself, her elegant fingers landing like hummingbirds on the fabric of his coat. His breath caught. His heart hitched. Time and intent came to a pained halt at the sight of her beautiful,beautifulhands. Touching him. Holding him.
“Thank you for showing me this,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
You’re beautiful, he wanted to say.
He expected her to push him away, but instead her fingers tightened on him. Her face was grave, eyes like pale crystalline chips boring into his. He wanted to drown in the pools of her irises. If he were a poet, he’d describe them as the color of a lake on a winter morning, touched by a pale-blue sky backlit with sunshine. But he wasn’t a poet, far from it. He wasn’t a dreamer. His dreams were nightmares, and she didn’t belong in them.
Thane drew a shattered breath, ready to step aside, when those perfect lips of hers parted, her pink tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. Transfixed, his starved senses reeled as desire swallowed him whole, fracturing practicality and logic, erasing concern and consequence. Demolishing restraint. Obliterating fear.
Leaving only want and need and one inevitable outcome.
He crushed his mouth to hers.
…
The feel of the duke’s lips stole every coherent thought in Astrid’s head. What had started out as a dismal attempt at seduction had dissolved into a pantomime of awkwardness over dinner, butthis…this was unexpected. He’d brought her here…to a place that meant something to him. The conservatory was magical. As was the rare glimpse into who this man was, perhaps who he’d been a long time ago before tragedy struck.
And now he was kissing her as if she were the air he needed to breathe. As if she werelifeand he only subsisted because of her. She breathed in his scent and relished the sweet violence of his mouth, basking in his heated urgency. Astrid’s hands wound up his lapels and twined around his nape into the silky curls above his collar. She met his intensity with a wildness of her own—that fire and fight that he always seemed to bring out in her.
“So sweet,” he groaned into her mouth.
Without warning, the kiss gentled, his touch featherlight on her swollen lips. Beswick’s mouth was warm and pillow-soft and so reverently tender that she ached at his extraordinary gentleness. It was completely at odds with the needy ferocity of the first, and Astrid couldn’t decide which she liked more.
He cradled her jaw in his large hands, grazing her cheeks, her jaw, her brow with his lips. His voice against her ear was an agonized rasp. “My God, you are lovely.”
Astrid blushed, but his mouth sought hers again, and she pushed herself up on tiptoe to meet him, greedy for more of the sensations bursting like wildfire inside. When he licked deep, ribbons of pleasure unraveled in her veins, making her gasp against his mouth. She clutched at him, at those broad shoulders, winding urgent fingers into fabric and slanting her mouth on his, desperate to match the delicious, decadent flex of his tongue.
He tasted of brandy and spice and his own special brand of sin.
