Page 77 of The Beast of Beswick
His chest feeling oddly tight, Thane handed her the key. “This is part of it.”
“A key.” She laughed, her eyes brightening. “To your heart?”
Said organ squeezed painfully in his chest, but from the smile on her lips, she was teasing.
“Good God, if I’m ever that sentimental, put me out of my misery.” He drew a breath, feeling self-conscious. “I’ve bought some property with the proceeds from the auction, three connected buildings in Northern London. I was thinking you could use it for a school to educate young girls or a place for young women who have limited prospects to find new ones. A safe space.”
Astrid went still, her eyes boring into his, mouth falling open in surprise. “You bought me a building.”
“Several buildings, but yes.”
“With the proceeds,” she said faintly.
“The rest of the money is placed in an account for you to use at your discretion, but yes, all of it is yours to allocate as you see fit.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Thane.”
His smile swayed at the expression in them. “Print some pamphlets. Start an unorthodox revolution. Hire female assassins to hunt Beaumont to the ends of the earth. I don’t care as long as you’re happy.”
His wife launched herself across the carriage into his arms, and then her mouth was on his, hot and sweet and divine. “You dreadful, underhanded man,” she said between kisses that she peppered on his face. “Why do you do these things?”
“To make you happy?”
Astrid pulled back, her hands cupping his cheeks, scars and all. He wanted to nuzzle into them like a cat begging to be stroked. Her hands on him felt like a balm, like a benediction. “This is the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me. Oh, Thane, it’s perfect.” She burst into tears. “It’s not fair.”
“Why?” he asked, bewildered.
“You’re making me like you, and I hate it.”
“You don’t want to like me?” He brushed at her tears.
She sniffed and buried her face in his neck. “No. I want you to go back to being the intractable Beast of Beswick.”
“I’m still a beast; look at me.”
“I am looking.” She lifted glimmering ice-blue eyes to his, the melting desire in them making his body come to instant attention. “Thane,” she whispered, “take me home.”
He set his mouth to hers, filling his palms with her body…the long muscles of her slender back beneath her cloak, the soft tendrils of hair escaping her coiffure at her nape, the rounded curve of her hip. He squeezed her rump, and she moaned into his mouth.
“God, how I want you,” he said thickly.
And he did. Thane wanted to bury himself into her sweet welcoming depths, make her cry out in the heat of passion, lick the sweat from her skin in the aftermath. Kiss her softly. Watch her fall asleep. Hold her. Never let go.
Astrid reached one hand down between them, stroking his hard length boldly and making him so hard, it hurt. “Don’t, darling. I can’t seem to control myself around you.”
“I like when you lose yourself,” the minx whispered to him, biting at his lobe and swirling her hot tongue over the shell of his ear. Her mouth found his again, and for a moment he lost himself completely in the feel of her…her taste, her texture, her provocative little noises.
By the time the carriage rolled to a stop at Harte House, they were both panting intensely. They stared at each other and burst out laughing at the same time. Astrid smoothed his disheveled hair, while he ran his palms along hers. They exchanged another kiss when he arranged the folds of her cloak and she adjusted his cravat, only breaking apart when the footman opened the door.
Astrid bit her lip, looking chagrined, but Thane just laughed and escorted his duchess down the steps. “Trust me, love, if you could look desirable when you’re shockingly in your cups, a disarranged coiffure won’t detract from your beauty.”
“The things you say, Lord Beswick.” Blushing, she squeezed his arm and rose up on tiptoe as they ascended the steps to the house. “Won’t you take me to bed, Your Grace?”
His bold wife shrieked as Thane scooped her up into his arms. “With pleasure.”
“Don’t drop me!”
“Never.”
