Page 35 of The Beast of Beswick
Not her…not Lady Astringent.
He bit back a grin. A man like Edmund Cain would have rejected any spark of originality. He would not have been able to handle her, which made Thane question how the engagement had come about in the first place.
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Why did you accept Cain?”
A guarded gaze met his, Astrid’s soft response equally so. “Edmund, though he wasn’t yet the Earl of Beaumont then, was a gentleman of means. I suppose to my father it would have been an acceptable match.”
The name hung in midair like a billowing red banner. Thane’s eyes panned from Astrid to Isobel and then narrowed. “Edmund Cain is the Earl of Beaumont? Since when?”
Astrid stared at him strangely but nodded. “His uncle died some years ago, and he inherited the title. When he was discharged from the war, I believe.”
Discharged? More like deserted.
“He’sthe man who’s wanting to marry Isobel,” Thane said slowly. He hadn’t known the old man had passed. Then again, he hadn’t kept up with much in thetonfor obvious reasons.
When Astrid nodded again, Thane felt a chill wind through him. Though many debutantes were married young, a part of him understood Astrid’s concern—a girl like Isobel in the hands of someone like Cain was unconscionable.
The official report was that Cain had been shot in Spain trying to escape the enemy, but Thane didn’t believe that for a second. A gunshot wound to his left shoulder at close range, according to the War Office’s reports he’d read years ago, reeked of a self-inflicted wound. A screen for his defection. When Thane got his hands on him, he intended to find out the truth.
Nonetheless, any man who had left his so-called brothers to die on a battlefield while claiming to be a war hero would be lacking in common decency. Missing a moral compass.
What would he do to an innocent like Isobel?
Thane loosed a breath. What did he care? Neither of the chits was his problem.
But as soon as he thought it, he knew he was lying to himself. Honor would not allow him to let either of them be at a man like Cain’s mercy. His eyes slid to Astrid, drawn to the movement of those slender long fingers, reminding him of the sinuous way her limber form had knelt at the pool. The way her mouth had clung to his…the honeyed taste of her.
A blast of tension gathered in his groin. Who was he fooling?
Honor was the least of his motives.
Chapter Ten
“We should not be going near the village, Isobel,” Astrid said, pulling the cowl of her cloak low over her brow as they cantered along the grassy paths toward the outer edges of the village of Southend. Agatha and a young groom accompanied them. Isobel must have been desperate if she’d actually climbed on top of a horse—albeit a very placid one—to escape Beswick Park. “It’s not safe.”
Her sister tossed her head. “This isSouthend, Astrid, and it’s perfectly safe. We’ve come here for years, and no one bats an eyelash at anything. You may enjoy being cooped up with your books and papers all day long, but I do not. I need some fresh air. And normal people who don’t…”
She trailed off, but Astrid knew what she meant to say:normal people who don’t frighten the living daylights out of their guests.
Despite thawing toward the duke, Isobel continued to be at odds around him. It wasn’t difficult to grasp the whys and wherefores. She was a sheltered, sweet girl, and Beswick was an imposing, terrifying presence whose constant fractious attitude didn’t help matters. In truth, his scars were the least of it. If the duke worked at being less of a bear with a thorn in its paw, he could actually be quite…nice.
Isobel dismounted and walked over to an oak growing atop a knoll that looked down over the village, her expression longing. Astrid did the same and followed her, letting Brutus graze under the watchful eye of their groom.
“I thought you liked the duke.”
Isobel goggled at Astrid. “Likehim? Just this morning, Cook said he’d been in one of his rages and not to go anywhere near the east tower if I didn’t wish to be frightened. By all accounts, the man is a beast with a temper to match.”
“A man who is providing us his protection, Isobel, and we will do best to remember that. Uncle Reginald hasn’t given up in his search. Money is a powerful motivator for even those we think are on our side.” She let out a breath. “Has the duke ever hurt you or given any indication that he would?”
“No.” The admission was soft.
Astrid sighed. “I’m doing the best I can, Isobel. For both of us. Until I come into my inheritance, we don’t have much choice in the matter, and we must prevail upon His Grace’s generosity.”
“I know. I’m just lonely, and I miss my friends.”
It was true that Astrid had been busy, and as a result, Isobel had been left to her own devices. She had not inherited their father’s love for horses, and she preferred dancing and needlepoint to more intellectual pursuits, with the exception of readingAckermann’s Repositoryfor needlework patterns. To which the duke did not have a subscription.
In the absence of social pursuits, it meant that Isobel had spent more time than she normally would in the company of an embroidery hoop, thread, and needle. Perhaps Astrid should have recognized the signs of her sister’s isolation earlier, but she’d been so wrapped up in her work and keeping Beswick at a distance that she simply hadn’t noticed Isobel’s growing unhappiness.
