Page 95 of The Beast of Beswick
“I do,” he agreed. “But I love you more.”
Time stopped, voices and people fell away, and the only things she could see were her husband’s beautiful, shining eyes. “What did you say?” she whispered.
He drew her into a flawlessly executed turn, despite the lack of music and despite the rapt attention. “I love you, Astrid Harte, with everything remaining inside me. All of it—the good, the bad, the broken. I’m nothing without you. And if I can’t face a few empty-headed aristocrats to make you happy, then I’m not worthy of you.”
Her feet, for some reason, had refused to work, along with her brain. Thank God for his excellent timing and impeccable skills because she would be flat on her bottom. But there was nowhere else she would rather be. Suddenly, everything fell into place. Him. Her. Them, together. Dancing like no one else mattered.
Because no one else did.
“Good God, Beswick,” a loud voice said. “I said get a drink, not snatch up one of my female guests and force her to dance in the entrance hall.”
Astrid sucked in a gasp as the Prince Regent strolled toward them, and she broke away mid-waltz to dip into a deep curtsy. “Your Highness.”
The Regent’s glassy eyes narrowed as she rose. “You’re a beauty. How do I not know you?”
“Hands off, Prinny,” her husband’s deep voice said, a possessive arm snaking around her waist. “She’s mine. May I present Lady Astrid Beswick, my wife.”
To Astrid’s surprise, the Regent laughed so hard, his jowls rippled. “I’m shocked anyone would have you with that ghastly disposition of yours.” The prince leered at her. “Honestly, how do you put up with him?”
She smiled. “He’s not so bad, Your Highness.”
The Regent scrunched up his nose, and Astrid had the sneaking suspicion that the man was foxed or stewed on something. His dissipated reputation was infamous. He peered up at the duke. “I suppose I owe you a wedding gift. What do you want besides your earlier demands? More courtesy titles? Estates?”
“God, no,” the duke said. “I’ve more than enough of those.”
“A fund for war heroes, then?”
Astrid couldn’t help her wayward tongue, knowing what Thane had endured at the hands of the French on the battlefield. “How about simply avoiding war in the future?”
Her cheeks burned at the sudden, awful silence, but then the prince chuckled, and the tension broke. Relief trickled through her limbs as he addressed Thane before marching from the room. “You certainly have your hands full with that one.”
“That I do.” Her husband smiled down at her after the Regent left and gathered her close. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Your Grace?”
“Yes, my love?”
She brushed her fingertips along his hard chest and let her desire for him fill her eyes. “I know you’re all about the grand gestures at the moment, but please take me home.”
Thane laughed and swept her up into his arms, crossing the entrance hall as swiftly as those long legs could carry them. Everyone else stared, but she didn’t care. Neither did her husband. They only had eyes for each other. Astrid buried her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder as he parted the throng of guests with not one single growl.
She stifled a smile. He was learning, her beast.
Chapter Twenty-six
She’d fallen asleep in his arms.
In the coach at Beswick Park, Thane didn’t want to wake her. He stared down at his peaceful wife and fought the impulse to hold her tighter and closer.
His brave, fierce lioness.
God, she was so beautiful. He wanted to kiss her lips, bury his face in her hair, claim her forever. He adored her with every fiber of his being, every red-blooded cell in his body, down to his marrow. And miracles of miracles, she loved him back.
Lifting her into his arms once more, he climbed out of the coach and up the stairs. She was so exhausted that she didn’t stir one bit. Fletcher opened the door in Culbert’s absence, his eyes flaring wide at the sight of his masterandmistress.
Thane started to carry her up to their chambers and then paused. “Are the hearths in the bathing chamber still lit and heated?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
