Page 82 of The Beast of Beswick
“That’s just another word for stubborn, dear,” Mabel said with a grin. She nodded to Frederick, who stood outside the box with a tray of refreshments. “Shall we have a drink, then?”
Astrid’s bright eyes skated over his, and she bit her lip as her cheeks burned anew. “Of course, but first I must visit the retiring room.”
That scorching look made Thane want to snatch her up, take her home, and see for himself how aroused she was. How aroused touchinghimhad made her. He didn’t miss his aunt’s sudden interest, either, and for that reason, he simply nodded.
“I shall stay here and keep my dear nephew from accidentally terrorizing anyone in your absence,” Mabel said.
Thane wanted to say something to Astrid before she left, but he couldn’t find the words. In any case, his nosy aunt was there, and she missed nothing. Instead, he dipped his head briefly before Astrid disappeared. He almost wished Aunt Mabel had left him in peace as well, but she did not. She sat and poured two whiskies.
“Go on, say it,” he said.
She smirked. “Say what?”
“That you think I’m infatuated.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“You never could lie to me, Nathaniel Harte,” she said.
He winced at the sound of his given name. She was right—his feelings for his wife were fast becoming obsession. Thane sighed. Notbecoming—already past. He hungered for her more than anything he’d ever wanted…her smile, her glances, her kisses. What he felt was beyond dangerous. It wasn’t superficial. It was bone-deep. And it was, above all, dangerous.
“If not infatuation, then what?” Mabel asked.
Admiration…passion…affection…love. He couldn’t admit any of those things. Even acknowledging those sentiments made it real. Gave it life beyond what he could control. His helpless gaze met his aunt’s. “Ican’tdo this.”
“We don’t choose when we fall in love, Thane. Or with whom. We can only decide whether what we feel is worth fighting for. Fate hasn’t been kind to you, that’s true, but you still have breath in your lungs and blood in your veins, so do yourself a favor and live. Otherwise you’re just a walking corpse.” She reached over to pat his shoulder, softening her words. “If you push Astrid away because of some misconstrued notion that you don’t deserve her, then you’re a bigger fool than you know.”
A muscle beating in his cheek, Thane glanced at his aunt, who seemed to have said her piece, two grooved lines appearing between her brows. “Finished?”
She glowered at him. “No, actually, I’m not. You’re my nephew, and I love you, but you need to remove that stubborn head of yours from your arse before you do yourself permanent damage.”
Thane blinked. He couldn’t remember Aunt Mabel being this furious, not since the first days when he’d come back from the Continent and attempted to drown himself in whiskey and self-pity. Much as he had then, Thane resented the intrusion. Resented being scolded like an ill-behaving child.
“Not to be rude, Aunt,” he drawled, covering his churning emotions with chilly reserve, “but what doyouknow of love? You certainly did not marry for it.”
“Aristocrats marry for other reasons,” she said, unperturbed by the ice in his tone. “Love matches are rare. Even my marriage to the Duke of Verne was arranged by our parents. Affection and fondness came later, but why do you think after Verne’s death, I took such pleasure in my liaisons?” Thane opened his mouth, and she lifted a palm to stop him. “I know you disapprove of that part of my lifestyle, but I am determined to be open to love before I cock up my toes.”
“With indiscriminate affairs?” he asked dryly.
She canted her head, watching him. “Look at you, so stone-cold. There’s too much of your father in you, I suppose. Lord knows he was the embodiment of blue-blooded indifference.”
The comparison to his father pricked deep, though Thane could not fault her for making it. The man had been a cold, frightening duke. He understood the similarity all too well—because he’d fashioned himself to suit. A stone heart was impervious. An unfeeling man could not be harmed.
Mabel sighed, reaching to pat his cheek. “But there’s some of me in you, too, and hope springs eternal that you might allow yourself the chance to be happy. You have to choose, Thane.”
“Choose what?” he said.
“Oh, my darling, choose to act with your heart instead of that rigid, fractious brain of yours.”
He could hear the hope in her words.Hope. It sliced at him, mangling his defenses. Entreated and beseeched like the liar it was. He’d been duped by hope so many times before. His father. Leo. His friends. Lovers. They’d all left him, running in horror from the beast he’d become. And Astrid would, too, once she no longer needed him. He thought of her willing hands upon him…how great his need had been; how great it still was. Already, he needed her like the air in his lungs. It was too much.Too much!
Thane thought the war had broken him, but that pain would not even come close to what Astrid could do. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that there would be nothing left of him when she left. The bitterness grew inside him until it became all he could feel. It comforted him like an old, worn blanket. A longtime companion. He drew its familiar, soothing darkness around him.
His eyes met his aunt’s, the shadows clinging to him as they’d always done. “That’s where you’re wrong. You see, my heart withered with the rest of me.”
“I fear I’ve done more ill than good,” she said sadly.
