Page 54 of Harpy of the Ton
The child’s eyes widened, then he started to wail. The twins began to protest, and the girl—or, at least, the one with the longest hair that claimed to be a girl—wrapped her arms around her brother. “Ignore her—she’s a witch.”
“Yes,” the other twin said. “She’s not our—”
“Stop that!” the Beast roared, rising to his feet. His eyes had darkened to the color of coal, but a spark of fury flashed inside their depths. He balled his hands into fists, the knuckles whitening.
He was a man not to be crossed.
And, as her husband, he owned her.
The girl regained her composure first. “Papa—”
“Get to bed, Roberta,” he said. “You too, William. Take care of your brother.”
“Yes, Papa,” they said in unison, and all three children climbed off their chairs and exited the kitchen.
The Beast closed his eyes and inhaled, slowly, as if composing himself.
Was he readying himself to beat her? Husbands beat their wives if they deemed it proper. And while it was most certainlynotproper to beat her after forcing her to endure such a dingy cottage and a disgusting meal, he might think otherwise.
And he was so big—so strong—that she’d never be able to fight him off.
But when he opened his eyes, the anger had gone.
All she could hear was the sound of his breathing, punctuated by distant voices and the occasional sniff from the child she’d admonished.
No, not admonished—she’d called him avile creature.
Vile he may be, but he was a child.
He washerchild—even if she couldn’t recall him.
“I didn’t mean to call…” She made a random gesture in the direction in which the children had fled.
Dear Lord—he was her son and she’d forgotten his name again.
“Jonathan,” the Beast said.
“Jonathan. I didn’t mean to call him a…”
“Avile creature.”
Her words seemed harsher on his lips, and she flinched. “I’m sorry.”
“No matter—Jonathan’s a forgiving soul.”
“But I’m his mother.”
He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. “That you are,” he said. “Now, it’s late and I’ve had a long day fetching you back. Time to retire. You can clear the table in the morning.”
He cocked his head to one side and stared at her, as if expecting a reply. As if expecting to be thanked.
Curse him!Couldn’t he take her apology with the good grace it demanded?
At length, he let out a chuckle.
“No matter—you can thank me later,” he said. “Come on.Bed.”
Bed…
