Page 79 of The Beast of Beswick
“You have thought this through, Aunt,” Thane said.
“When one is my age, dear, it pays to be prepared.”
…
The night of the opera came swiftly. For the evening, Astrid selected a lavender silk gown, with a square bodice embroidered with pale-green lace, with sleeves that came to her elbows. It was one of the bolts of fabric her husband had selected when Madame Pinot had fitted her. The fabric molded to her figure, and the color brought out the violet hints in her eyes.
Astrid had to admit that Thane had exceptional taste.
When she thought of his kindness after the auction and the extravagant gift he’d given her, she’d been overwhelmed. No one—certainly no man—had ever understood her so well. The gift had meant more to her than the crown jewels. And then that same night, he’d made love to her so tenderly that she’d nearly wept. Her own vulnerability where he was concerned made her terrified, and a part of her warned constantly for her to protect her heart.
She had a feeling it was already much too late.
As Alice put the last few touches on Astrid’s coiffure, she descended the staircase to where the duke was waiting. Mabel had left earlier to meet with the Featheringstokes, as arranged. Astrid found him in his study, poring over an open ledger book. She was glad for the chance to study him unobserved. Dressed head to toe in midnight blue, with a similar toned waistcoat and snowy white cravat, he made her breath catch. The candlelight flickered on his sable hair, glinting gold in the lock that curled into his brow and limning his profile in gold. He seemed almost fantastical, a man half made of shadow, half made of flesh.
Lord above, but he made her heart flutter.
Astrid exhaled, and he looked up, their eyes colliding for an inexorable moment before he moved, his lion’s gaze scanning her from bodice to hem, lingering on the creamy expanse of décolletage revealed by the gown, her cinched-in waist, and the elbow-length white kidskin gloves that covered her hands. After an eternity, his gaze lifted to hers once more. His cheeks had grown ruddy, his eyes glazed, and when he spoke, his voice was gravelly. “There’s no word in the history of language to describe how beautiful you are.”
Astrid blushed, her cheeks going dangerously hot. “Thank you, Your Grace, you look incredibly handsome.”
“That’s one I haven’t heard in a while.” Thane’s lip curled in ironic humor, and Astrid felt a stab in the vicinity of her chest. Did he think she would be so callous as to be glib? That she’d meant it in jest? Surely he did not think her so heartless?
“I was sincere.”
“Perhaps we should leave it at well-heeled, Duchess.” His laugh was hollow. “Money, you see, can purchase clothing so exorbitantly expensive that it’s designed to distract from a beastly face. Or that’s what the tailor says anyway.”
After his heartfelt compliment, the biting sarcasm took her by surprise. She did not know what had suddenly set him off, and she didn’t wish to encourage him or become the target of his capricious moods. “Good thing you have lots of it, then,” she said mildly. “We are already late. Shall we go?”
“Of course, though later is better for an arrival.”
When most of the other guests would already be seated, Astrid realized.
In the foyer, where Culbert retrieved their cloaks, she eyed the duke over her shoulder. His eyes had been fastened on the breadth of bare skin at her back, the neckline of the dress dipping scandalously low on her spine into a V shape. Astrid’s skin felt singed just from the burn of his stare. Female satisfaction licked through her as his greedy gaze chased the knots of her spine until they disappeared.
“Do you like my dress?” she asked, hiding her smile. “Madame Pinot informed me that you selected the fabric and color.”
He inhaled a shuddering breath and dragged his hot gaze away. “Fabric that was meant to cover you,” he said with a scowl.
“It is of her own design. Clever, no?”
“That woman is a heretic and should not be allowed near a pair of scissors.”
“Come now, Beswick, surely you’re not turning into a prudish fusspot in your dotage?”
“Did you just call me a…a…fusspot?”
Astrid laughed as he helped her into the coach. “If the shoe fits.”
She’d hoped to make him laugh, tease him a bit, but her hope had been in vain. As he entered the coach, his mouth flattened into a hard white line, and his jaw went rigid. It looked like he’d gone somewhere else in his head. Somewhere dark. A muscle in his cheek took up residence, flexing frantically, a sheen of sweat coating his brow. His gloved fists were clenched on his knees, his posture as stiff as a ship’s mast as the carriage rolled into motion.
“Thane, what’s the matter? Are you well?”
“Yes,” he bit out without looking at her.
“Thane.”
“Not now, Astrid. Pray let us get through this evening without incident.”
