Page 7 of The Beast of Beswick
“Of course not. How rude of you to suggest such a thing.”
Oh, he was just getting started. Thane lifted a brow. “One could argue, my lady—itismy lady, isn’t it?—that it’s rude to call one’s host ‘rude,’ especially since you were the one to barge in uninvited in the first place. Or has well-bred, ladylike behavior changed so drastically in the years of my self-imposed isolation?”
His emphasis on “ladylike” was not lost as she sucked in an affronted breath, flags of color bursting in her cheeks.
“Then I apologize,” she ground out, her eyes fairly sparking with indignation that she struggled to control, though control it she did. “It was a matter of—”
“Some urgency, yes, I’m quite aware. Enlighten me, then, Lady Astringent.”
Her eyelashes descended, her cheeks hollowing with obvious frustration. “I do beg your pardon, Your Grace, but my name is Lady Astrid. Perhaps you misheard.”
“Beg away, my lady. I’m quite at my leisure.”
Pale eyes flashed. “You, Your Grace, are…are…”
“Abominable? Appalling? Atrocious?” he supplied.
“I was going to say insufferable, but clearly your intelligence is limited to only the first letter of the alphabet.”
A bark of laughter burst from him. It was as clear as day that beneath that stony exterior, his guest had quite a temper. It made him want to rile her all the more, to make those brewing passions ignite in her eyes, anything to disrupt her ironclad control.
“So, LadyAss-trid, come to suss out the beast, have you?” he drawled. “Did you not get a good enough look earlier? Duke en déshabillé?”
Her lips pursed as if she’d sucked on a lemon, and he wondered briefly—albeit insanely—what those perfect pink arches would taste like. Whether her nipples were the same shade or darker.
“This conversation is unseemly, sir.”
If she only knew the true debauched slant of his thoughts.
“That’s an understatement.” Thane leaned back in his chair. “Shall we trade insults all night, or will you eventually tell me what you’ve come here for?”
The lady swallowed what looked like it could have been a blistering response and sealed her lips. She leaned forward to pick up a green-flowered dish from the mantel with deceptive calm. “This is beautiful,” she said. “Fifteenth century Chinese?”
He arched a split brow. “Yes. My father collected the silly things.”
“Hardly silly, Your Grace.”
She examined the dish in her delicate, long-fingered hands. Thane was momentarily fascinated. Those delicate hands were at odds with the rest of her sharp angles and acerbic voice. For an instant, he wanted to be that bowl, being caressed by her palms. He imagined what those long, elegant fingers would feel like circling his hardened length, and his entire body throbbed with a surge of instant need. Lust roared through him.
Holy Christ.
Thane set the heel of his palm on the placket of his trousers hidden beneath his desk, willing the stiffness beneath it to dissipate as his gaze narrowed on the woman still inspecting the antique across the desk’s mahogany surface. With the plain clothing and her no-nonsense coiffure, she reminded him of a governess. Thane half expected to see a ruler in her hands, ready to crack down on his knuckles for any hint of misbehavior. She was not the sort of woman who heated his blood…and yet his blood was on fire.
Reverently, she placed the dish gently back in its place, her hands falling to her lap, thankfully out of sight, and found his silhouette with her eyes.
They were light, he guessed, but their exact color eluded him. Pale gray or green, perhaps. He didn’t recall meeting her, but before the war, he’d been surrounded by dozens of stunning fresh-faced debutantes and had been just as determined to avoid them all. He wouldn’t have forgottenher, though. She was lovely…until she opened her mouth. A stunning rose, sheathed in bloodthirsty thorns.
“What is it you want, Lady Astrid?” Distracted by the fire in his veins, his voice was gruffer than he’d intended. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Spit it out.”
Her delicate brows crashed together, but she cleared her throat, once more fighting for calm. Thane felt a smile creeping along his lips. “I have a proposition for you, Your Grace.”
“Proposition?”
“Abusinessproposition,” she clarified, gesticulating in midair. Those graceful fingers fluttered, and his entire body hummed in response. “While I was waiting for you to…er…get dressed, I noticed some of the broken porcelain, and Mr. Fletcher mentioned earlier that you might be looking for someone to help you categorize your late father’s collection.”
He was still caught up in indecent proposals, her flirting fingers, and thinking with his rock-hard lower regions. “And?”
“And I can help. I’m familiar with the period as well as the worth of some of the pieces.”
