Page 59 of The Beast of Beswick
“Not everyone.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Mary Shelley, Percy’s wife, was Wollstonecraft’s daughter, did you know? I’ve heard she wrote the novel, not her husband. From women’s rights and the feminine mystique to unnatural monsters and unhappy endings. Quite a leap for a female author, don’t you think?”
Her expression peaked with curiosity, her mouth parting as though she might respond, but then she chose to ignore him, focusing studiously on her book. After a while, she looked up. “Do you mean to stand there and hover?”
“I like watching you.”
“That’s not disturbing atall.” Sighing loudly, Astrid snapped the book shut and stood, looking everywhere but at him. “Very well, I shall leave you to it, Your Grace. I, however, do not enjoy being incinerated by a pair of eyes belonging to a man who has hardly made the effort to say two words to me in the short time we have been married. Clearly, you have much better things to do than manage a wife. Or even pretend you have one.”
God, I miss her tart tongue.
She swept past him in a flurry of skirts, and the faint waft of her scent hit him like a log to the head. Without thinking, Thane reached out to grasp her elbow. She gasped but held herself like a statue, clutching her book to her chest.
“Astrid, look at me.”
Rebelliously, she did. At a distance, the power of her gaze had been supportable. At close range, the fire in them was lethal. Her mouth twisted into a grimace, and Thane had to fight with every ounce of sanity in him. He wanted to bend his head and kiss the salty defiance from those lips. Set her on that stone bench, toss her skirts over her head, and lash her with his tongue until the only thing left in her eyes was passion.
“About the Featheringstoke ball—” he growled. He’d meant to tell her about Sir Thornton accompanying her in his stead, but she didn’t let him finish.
She reared back, her eyes flashing bloody murder. “You cannot think to forbid me to go.”
Thane forgot everything he’d been about to say, reacting only to her tone. “If that is my prerogative, certainly I can. I am your husband.”
“In name only.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Name is the only thing that matters.”
“Go to hell, Beswick.”
Thane drew her closer to him, tightening his hold on her elbow even as she tried to wrestle out of his grip. He laughed at her. “What a filthy tongue you have, dear. You sound like a peevish child. Are you a child? Do you know what’s usually done to punish such childish displays of temper? Naughty children are put over the knee.”
Her eyes went wide as she took his meaning, though his fierce little virago didn’t cower one bit. “You wouldn’t.”
“No, but don’t tempt me.”
Thane dragged her so close that her upper body was crushed against his, the book sealed between them. Beneath her loosely fastened cloak, her breasts heaved. He wondered if she were having the same arousing thoughts about a thoroughly erotic spanking and being splayed over his knees, her pert bottom bared to the sky. His other hand moved to the small of her back, his last finger grazing the start of that tempting curvature, and held her against him.
Now that he had her in his arms, Thane could think of little else. Not his decisions, not keeping her at a distance, not engaging with her at all. All his good sense fell by the wayside.
They stood there for an interminable moment, panting against each other. Her, standing frozen in his arms. Him, fighting desperately not to take her to the ground and give them both the release they craved. Her tongue snaked out to wet her lips, making his body jerk in response.
“Thane,” she breathed.
Her eyes were wide with defiance and desire, her mouth parted. Long fingers fisted in the folds of his morning coat, not pushing him away but not encouraging him, either. He would not ask the question he’d asked that day in the library. No, if she wanted him, she would have to be the one to bend this time.
“If you want me to kiss you, Astrid,” he told her, “you simply have to ask. You made the rules, after all.”
“You’re a beast.”
He shrugged. “I’ve never claimed to be anything else. If you want me, say please.”
She grasped at his lapels as she pushed to her tiptoes, her gaze lit with equal parts anger and passion. Thane’s heart thudded in his chest. Would she do it? Would she give in? Her lips parted, and he leaned forward a fraction, his body stiff and aching. Desire hummed between them, so thick he could taste it on his tongue.
Put us both out of our misery, he willed her.
Her lips grazed his, a puff of air feathering against his mouth. Glacial eyes lifted to his. “I wouldn’t beg you to kiss me if you were the last man in England.”
Then she wrenched out of his grasp and whirled away, stalking toward the house.
A pained chuckle burst from him.Stubborn little minx.
