Page 44 of The Beast of Beswick
“Do I?”
Beaumont’s eyes widened, and Thane almost laughed. Had the coxcomb really thought that he would be cowed by the presence of the parish officer? No one terrorized a duke in his own home, much less one like him.
“By God, Beswick, you’ve gone mad.”
“No, on the contrary, I’m perfectly sane.” Thane turned to the jowl-faced man standing behind him. “Parish Officer Jones, unless you have something to charge me with, I bid you good day.”
The man blanched and bowed. “No, I do not, Your Grace. Good day.”
“Aunt Mabel, Lady Ashley, if you’ll excuse me, it seems I have some business to cover with Sir Thornton. Fletcher, if you’ll accompany Lady Isobel to her room.” He did not acknowledge Beaumont, the viscount, or his odious wife.
Thane reached for Astrid’s hand and lifted it to his lips. “My lady,” he murmured.
Unreadable ice-blue eyes met his, though she did not remove her hand from his.
On the way past, Fletcher shot him a gratified look, an aggravating grin gracing the man’s mouth. “Do you require a blanket, Your Grace? Perhaps a scarf or muff?”
“No.” He stared quizzically at the valet. “Why do you ask?”
Fletcher’s grin widened. “Heard it’s been snowing rather heavily in hell.”
His future duchess made a strangled noise at his side that sounded like she was trying not to laugh and failing miserably. Thane shook his head, the sound of her muffled laughter a balm to his damaged soul, and he chuckled, too. He’d never hear the end of it now.
Winter had come in hell—the Beast of Beswick was to be married.
Chapter Twelve
Over the next fortnight, Thane had reservations about leaving for London to procure an expedient marriage license, if only because Beaumont still lurked in Southend. Though the time had passed without incident, Thane would not put it past him to try something sly with Lady Isobel. Most overindulged aristocrats, when denied anything, only made them more determined to have it. And Beaumont was no exception.
Although Thane was not a pauper by any means, he’d been shocked when he’d learned of the astronomical size of Astrid’s and Isobel’s dowries. No wonder the viscount had been so desperate to get his hands on part of them. Sir Thornton had reported that the viscount was in debt up to his ears, and he had also discovered from Jenkins & Jenkins that the money had remained untouched because of the ironclad terms surrounding it.
Astrid, too, had been convinced that her uncle would not give up without a fight.
“I’m certain my uncle would have found a way to take both mine and Isobel’s,” she had told Thane. “As a woman, my rights are restricted without a man breathing down my neck like a dragon hoarding its treasure.” He had not missed her bitter tone. “My only goal was to make sure Isobel had a proper Season, but then Beaumont came sniffing around.”
“Why did he? As much as I despise the man, he is not strapped for coin. With his title, fortune, and looks, he’d be a desirable catch.”
Her glare had nearly set him on fire.
“Then,youmarry him. Beaumont is a toad. Perhaps you can kiss him and live happily ever after.”
Thane had laughed, but she wasn’t wrong that the man was a toad. “Turns out I’m partial to saucy-mouthed harpies, not toads.”
He’d been hard pressed not to kiss the tartness off her tongue.
In the past weeks, they’d seemed to come to some sort of unacknowledged truce, and despite her moratorium on physical contact, Thane found himself enjoying spending time with her.
He’d discovered that one of her favorite collections of stories wasThe Thousand and One Nights. He’d contended that Scheherazade had willfully entrapped the king with her storytelling gifts, and she’d countered with the argument that women throughout history had always had to use any tools at their disposal to survive.
Granted, the king in the tale of Scheherazade had killed his queen and all his concubines and subsequently every maiden he married thereafter. Subtlety, Astrid had claimed, was the key to overthrowing the patriarchy. Dukes included, she’d added with a sly look. Thane had laughed at her utter irreverence.
He appreciated the way her mind worked and how she viewed the world. Her ideas on education and female empowerment intrigued him. And while he liked challenging her, he especially loved when she took him to task. Her quick mouth and shrewd brain might deter a lesser man, but not him—he’d come to esteem their verbal duels.
But most of all, he liked figuring out what made her tick. Loyalty. Learning. Passion. And shewaspassionate. About her sister and her interests. About her beliefs. It made Thane want to discover if that passion extended elsewhere.
In bed, particularly.Thatdesire he squashed firmly.
Thane’s bottled-up physical wants didn’t stop him from seeking out her company in the warmth of the conservatory, where they’d taken to walking after dinner, her with a book and him a nip of brandy, before retiring for the evening.
