Page 56 of The Beast of Beswick
“I don’t.”
And he didn’t. For the most part, the rest of the aristocracy tended to shy away from him, not just because of the way he looked but because his temper was notorious. No one cared to be mauled by the Beast of Beswick. But now, with Astrid, he felt exposed. Every flicker of her eyes, every pained twitch of her lips felt like a new blow to him. A lash to freshly vulnerable skin.
Determined to enjoy the evening for her sake, Thane sipped on chilled cucumber soup and chewed tender lamb before sparing his duchess a glance. Her brow had knitted with a curious combination of confusion, discomfort, and annoyance, but she seemed focused on her food. As he ate, he felt her gaze upon him from time to time, but she remained steadfast upon her own meal. He worried that if he looked up, she would see the rage brewing in his eyes and think it directed at her when it wasn’t.
Even now as the mention of “bestiality” reached him followed by noxious laughter, Thane found himself holding on to his temper by a thread. Every muscle in his body was locked. It was as though they didn’t even see Astrid—the jewel she was—they only sawhim. He wanted to rail and rage, but at the same time, his tortured soul filled with powerless anger. Powerless to prevent it. Powerless to protect her.
God, how could he be so blind? So stupid?
No matter what, his appearance could never be changed. People would always stare, and they would always whisper, and theton’s cruelty knew no bounds. They thought him a monster, and she was now the monster’s bride. He could not protect her by virtue of who he was—the duke. He could only hurt her bywhathe was—the beast.
No woman deserves to be tied to this.
The only answer would be to keep her at a distance. To close himself off.
As if she could sense his turmoil, her low voice pierced his hateful thoughts. “Your Grace, do you wish to leave?”
He clenched his jaw, swallowing hard. “No. Finish your dinner.”
Despite her concerned glances, he made no attempt to converse, no attempt at refined politesse, and his behavior, without question, bordered on rude. If she was confused at the peculiar turn of events or his conduct, she did not show it. But Thane knew that if he opened his mouth, only vitriol would follow. He’d cause an unforgivable scene, and as furious as he was, it was still her wedding day. But by the time they finished the last course, the strain on Astrid’s face was clear. Whether that was because of their avid audience or him, he could not say.
“Have I done something to displease you?” she asked in a low voice after they were back in the privacy of the carriage.
“No.”
“Then, what is bothering you? Why are you shutting me out? Are you…regretting your decision?”
Thane drew a deep breath and voiced the resolution he’d come to at dinner. “Once your sister is safe from Beaumont, I will move back to Beswick Park. You may remain here in London. Harte House is yours. If it is not to your satisfaction, I will buy you any other property that suits you.”
Astrid blinked. “I don’t understand.”
“Since this marriage is a means to an end, it is preferable that we reside separately,” he said. Her stare met his, pale-blue chips of ice, when they arrived at his residence. Her expression was riddled with hurt and confusion.
“Why?” she asked. “Because people were staring and whispering? I don’t care.”
“You will after a while. Trust me that this is for the best, Astrid.”
The air grew thick with tension between them. It was his fault, he knew, but he had to protect her from herself. And from him. This was the only way to keep her unscathed. If thetonbelieved it was a marriage ofinconvenience, she might have a chance to join their ranks unscathed. Thane knotted his fingers into fists.
He owed her that much for the price of being the unfortunate Duchess of Beswick.
Chapter Fifteen
“Fletcher,” Astrid called out, entering her husband’s suite via the shared connecting door the moment she knew the duke had departed the residence.
She’d deliberately waited after another silent meal—a repeat of their first horrid wedding dinner and each meal since—and overheard the duke talking to the valet about a midday meeting with the Marquess of Roth.
The duke had not made any overtures to her over the past few days, nor had he sought out her company once. He was scrupulously polite when their paths crossed, of course, but no more than necessary. The sudden and unexpected coldness had stung, but Astrid was determined to not let it affect her. Theirs was a marriage of convenience, after all.
He’d made that more than clear.
A part of her still ached for him, for what he’d endured in public at his club, but any further overtures or attempts at conversation had been harshly cut off. He was stony and cold to the point of cruelty. Enough for it to sting, enough for her to stop trying. Though he hadn’t yet left for Beswick Park, he might as well have already gone for the little she did see of him.
Astrid took in the minimalist decor of his chamber in the daylight. She’d barely spared it a glimpse on her wedding night, concerned with other things before he’d snuffed out the candle. Unlike hers, it was overtly masculine, with dark mahogany furnishings and navy and cream accents. It was spare, much like the man himself.
Astrid averted her gaze from the bed, however, which was massive and luxurious and the complete opposite of the rest of the room. Her brain might have taken the hint, but her body was slower to listen. The memory of them in that bed, joined together in the darkness, tied her up in knots.
Swallowing her emotions, she turned to the valet, who had stalled with a pair of the duke’s trousers over his arm and was staring at her expectantly.
