Page 37 of The Beast of Beswick
“Isn’t that what my aunt and uncle told everyone?”
Astrid’s desperate gaze spanned the street, searching for their mounts, but the horses were nowhere in sight. Where was that dashed groom? How had Beaumontknown? He must have had someone on watch in the village. Of course he would have. She should have known he wouldn’t give up so easily.
“Get in the coach.” His command was loaded with soft menace.
“We have our own means of travel, my lord,” Astrid said. “We shouldn’t like to inconvenience you. I’m afraid we really must decline.”
His voice lowered to a hiss. “I said get in that coach.”
Isobel let out an exhale that sounded like a sob, and Astrid’s heart slammed against her rib cage. Could they make a run for it? Not hampered by skirts and improper footwear, they couldn’t. And she didn’t know where the bloody groom had run off to!
Astrid squared her shoulders. “No.”
His mouth tightened with displeasure, and his fingers pinched the tender flesh above her elbow, and she braced herself for public humiliation, but not before the sound of thundering hooves entered the square. People screamed and leaped out of the way as a curricle careened to a stop within inches of Beaumont’s coach, driven by none other than the Beast of Beswick himself.
Sans hat, sans cravat. And utterly magnificent. Astrid had never felt so deliriously happy to see anyone in all her life.
“I believe, Cain, the lady said no,” he said in that smoky snarl of his as he dismounted.
The earl’s lip curled, revulsion flashing in his eyes, his hand falling away. “This is none of your affair, Beswick. And it’s Lord Beaumont now.”
“You’ll always be a dunghill of a deserter to me.”
Beaumont sputtered. “I-I was honorably discharged.”
“You and I both know the truth,Cain, and you can’t hide from it forever.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Beswick’s response was silky. “Do you feel threatened?”
Astrid goggled from one man to the other, but by then, the whispers in the crowd had become roars. Someone screamed, and a child started to wail. The duke was inscrutable, ignoring the chaos around him, his stony expression making his patchwork face seem even more gruesome in the full light of day.
“In any case, this is my affair, you see,” Beswick went on. “Two females who clearly do not want to accompany you will always be of concern to a gentleman.”
“You’re no gentleman,” Beaumont snarled. “And I am escorting them home.”
The duke’s smile was a showing of teeth, no more. “According to Debrett’s, I outrank you.” Beswick’s amber eyes turned to Astrid, and she fought not to throw herself into his arms as though he was some dark avenging angel come to the rescue. “Do you wish to accompany Lord Beaumont?”
To Astrid’s surprise, it was Isobel who answered. “No, Your Grace. We do not.”
Beaumont scowled. “They are no one to you, Beswick.”
“Ah, but you are mistaken,” the duke drawled with an exaggerated flourish. “She is my future wife.”
…
The declaration had left Thane’s mouth before he knew he meant to say it. But it was either that or beat that craven peacock to a bloody pulp. The sight of the earl’s hand restraining Astrid had made him want to commit murder without a second thought.
“Your futurewife?” Beaumont scoffed. “Isobel is betrothed to me.”
“No, not Lady Isobel. Lady Astrid.”
Thane heard Astrid’s soft inhalation but didn’t take his eyes from the earl. Astrid was smart enough…she would take his meaning. However, he wouldn’t put it past the man to snatch Isobel and shove her into the conveyance, exposing her to public ruination.
“You wish to marry that dried-up old spinster?” Beaumont laughed, lifting an eyebrow. “I didn’t think used goods were your style, Beswick.”
The chatter soared around them, and Astrid went crimson with shame. While the beast inside him growled on her behalf, Thane kept it under control. This wasn’t a battlefield. This was the Southend village square—the home of his ancestral seat. Beaumont was baiting him, wanting him to disgrace himself, but Thane hadn’t come through hell and survived only to be goaded into stupidity.
