Page 27 of The Beast of Beswick
“Yes, but you don’tlookat her like you do everyone else, do you?”
Silence stretched for a moment as Astrid released a shuddering breath. When the duke spoke again, his voice was dripping in ice. “Once more, Fletcher, you’ve proven that your irritating and unsolicited opinions are completely erroneous.”
Fletcher’s reply was fast and full of amusement. “His Grace doth protest too much, methinks. You’re petrified, plain and simple.”
Thane laughed, the sound devoid of any humor, and once more, his words cut through Astrid like hot blades. “If you think I’m afraid of anyone, man or woman, you’ve gone addlepated. She is the last person in England whom I would ever choose to be the lady of Beswick, even if I was in the market for a wife, whichI am not. So stop trying to meddle before I make good on my promise to sack you for good this time.”
“Very well, Your Grace. But you’re wrong about her.”
Astrid warmed at the valet’s stalwart defense, though the duke’s brutally efficient words had done more than enough damage to her pride.
“Do I pay you to disagree with me, Fletcher, or is this another one of your overly generous handouts?”
“The advice is free, though whether you choose to listen is up to you.”
“Let me put this simply, then,” she heard Beswick go on, his voice grim. “Any advice with regards to the lady is unsolicited and unwelcome. I’m not so desperate to be duped into marriage. I might be scarred, but I am a fuckingduke.” The thud of a large fist striking wood made Astrid flinch. “No. Hell will freeze over before I marry her—or anyone.”
The widening knot in Astrid’s throat threatened to choke her. His callous words felt like lead ballast, tearing into her without mercy, and she’d let her guard down so thoroughly that she felt the brutal, ugly bite of each one.
God, she couldn’t believe she’d been fantasizing about him not ten minutes earlier! The duke wasn’t some romantically tragic figure who needed saving in some silly fairy tale. Hewasthe cold, cruel villain…the unfeeling monster, inside and out, who chased everyone away.
The sound of movement—a chair scraping along wood floors and heavy footsteps—jolted Astrid’s numbed limbs into action. As she turned to flee toward her chamber, tears stung her eyes. She should have been over the pain of the past by now. But no. It never got easier. The shadow of the scandal would always be a black stain on her existence. In the eyes of theton, she was ruined.Worthless.
And now apparently worthless in Beswick’s as well.
She wouldnotcry, not for him.
In the safety of her room, Astrid slumped against her bedchamber door, composing herself roughly. With slow breaths, she reached for the cool pragmatism that had been her shield through the first few years following the scandal. It had never failed her, and it would not fail her now. She would persist. She had a job to do, and that was to keep her sister safe.
Beswick was a duke, yes, but he was also a man. And now she knew that he wasn’t immune to her. His cruel words might hurt, but hedidlook at her differently. She’d been the subject of enough heated glances from the opposite sex to know what that meant.
He wanted her.
And if wedlock to a peer was the only thing that would protect Isobel without fail, Astrid would do whatever it took.
Even if she had to seduce a beast.
Chapter Eight
At dinner the next night, Thane nearly lost his mind, his morals, and his good sense when an angel with a siren’s soul was sent by fate to tempt him to folly.
He’d lost his breath the second Astrid had been announced, his every sexually deprived nerve on fire. Her gown had been simple—a creamy ivory silk with a blond lace overlay—but on Astrid, it had clung to every feminine curve. Curves he’d felt that very first day beneath his hands—a fine bosom, small waist, flared hips—curves that had been buried since under yards of plain, serviceable fabric. The panels of translucent chiffon and lace could have been cannons for all the destruction they’d wrought upon him.
Once he’d gotten past the dress, other hints had been harder to ignore. A glance here, another there. A tart response. A secret smile. Low, throaty laughter. And then there was the way she looked at him. She’d never shied away from his face since that first day, but this was different. He had almost forgotten what it had felt like for a woman tolookat him. Eagerly, and with what felt too much like yearning.
Whatwasher game? Because it had to be a game. Astrid had never been so forward.
The absurdity of it—of even contemplating her desiring him—unsettled him. Threw him out of balance. Made him snap and growl throughout the first courses like the uncivilized beast everyone took him for. Even Aunt Mabel had been appalled. She’d chastised him once early on, but his hard glare had silenced her completely.
Astrid had borne his irascible mood with remarkable grace. On occasion, a small pleat would form between her brows, but for the most part, she’d smiled and conversed, waving those elegant hands at every turn. Taunting him with all that he could not have. Andhellif he didn’t want it all. Those hands, her mouth, the body under that indecent silk. The excruciating, endless ache in his trousers was proof of it.
Yet another reason for his rapidly fraying temper.
Did she truly think he was so despicable and so desperate that he would begratefulfor her attention? For her bold offer? Her arrogant proposition made with the assumption that he wouldn’t be able to find a suitable wife on his own?
Not that he wanted a wife, but still…
Thane clenched his jaw as she sent him a serene smile, tugging her lower lip in between her teeth and demurely lowering her eyelashes. His mind recoiled, but beneath the table, parts of his anatomy leaped with excitement. Christ, even his brain and body were at fucking war.
