Page 88 of Beauty Tempts the Beast
What hadn’t changed was his desire, his need, to protect women. “It’s too cold for her to be outside.”
“Aye, but that matters not one whit to her. She spent years without feeling the sun on her face or the breeze riffling through her hair. The day I married her, we spent that night sleeping beneath the stars. She comes indoors when she must but would rather be outside.”
“I don’t even know her name.” He thought the duke might have mentioned it earlier, but he hadn’t really noted it.
“Mara. She was a Stuart before she became a Campbell.”
Journeying through the house was like making one’s way through the warrens in the rookeries, easy to get lost if one didn’t pay attention. He’d lived his life paying attention to the smallest of details. He could make his way back to the entryway and beyond if he had to. He’d never considered himself a coward, but at that moment his heart was thudding so hard he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn the duke could hear it.
What would the woman think of him, of the man he’d become? What would he think of her? His mother, the woman who had brought him into this world and then given him away? He’d spent a lifetime believing she hadn’t loved him. It was an adjustment to realize everything he’d once taken as fact was wrong. That she had loved him so much she’d fairly sacrificed herself for him.
Finally, they stepped through a doorway onto a terrace, and he was struck by how cold he suddenly felt. How off-kilter, how—
They’d stopped at the edge of the black marble, and it was then that he saw the woman sitting in the chair, a chair with wheels.
“They broke her body,” the duke said, “but not her spirit. She was always stronger than anyone ever gave her credit for being. It’s only one of the reasons I love her.”
Beast was barely aware of the fact that he was moving forward, toward her. She was younger than he’d expected. Save for a wide streak of white that began at the center of her forehead and was swept back into a bun, her hair was black. But it was her eyes, the rich shade of cocoa, that drew him in. And her smile of gladness that tightened his chest.
At a loss for words, he knelt before her.
With a hand that was unexpectedly warm, she reached out and cradled his cheek. “Look at you, my dear lad, all grown up. And me, not around to see you changing from a bairn into a man.”
Placing his hand over hers, he turned his face and pressed a kiss against her palm. “I thought you didn’t want me.”
“I wanted you so badly I ached for the wanting of you, but it was the only way I knew to keep you safe. Give you to another. Was she good to you?”
She was a blur through the tears that had gathered in his eyes. “I couldn’t have asked for a better mum.”
“I’m so glad.” Teardrops rolled down her cheeks. “I couldnae remember where I took you.”
“I was well cared for. I have a family.” He gave her a gentle smile. “It seems I have two.”
“We want you to tell us everything.” Then, as though she had no more strength, could no longer appear to be brave, she began weeping in earnest.
Slowly, gingerly, ensuring he caused her no pain, he eased her from the chair and onto his lap, folded his arms around her, and held her close. Although he knew it was impossible, as tears filled his eyes, he thought he remembered being held by her, the feel of her arms around him, the sweetness of her fragrance. Her warmth.
Everything about her seemed so familiar. Yet thirty-three years had passed, and he’d been a mere babe. It wasn’t possible he could have any memories of her, but he couldn’t deny he felt a connection, as though a corner of his heart recognized her, bloomed only for her.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “I’m here now.”
Chapter 25
Striving not to worry, and having very little success at it, Althea sat on her bed in her nightdress, staring at the mantel clock that was close to striking midnight. She’d not seen Benedict since he’d left his study to go speak with Ewan Campbell. Jewel thought she’d seen them leave together but couldn’t be certain.
Why hadn’t he come to tell her he was going out? Why hadn’t he returned? If he wasn’t back by the time the hour struck midnight in two minutes, she was going to send word to his brothers. Something was amiss. She felt it in the depths of her bones.
When the rap came at her door a minute later, she fairly flew off the bed to the door and jerked it open. Benedict looked as though he’d been battling demons and had quite possibly lost. “What happened? Where have you been?”
He stepped into the room, slammed the door shut. “Walking through Whitechapel. I need you, Thea. God, I need you.”
The buttons on her nightdress scattered over the floor as he tore it off her, his own clothes quickly following. His arms came around her like bands, pressing their bodies close, her breasts flattening against his chest as he took possession of her mouth, his tongue delving, his hands frantically stroking as though he couldn’t get enough of her, might never be able to get enough of her.
Tearing her mouth from his, she cradled his face, studied his eyes, and what she saw terrified her. He looked to be a man who had lost his way, and she was the North Star that would guide him home.
She leaped up and he caught her, his hands cupping her bottom as she wrapped her legs around him and reclaimed his mouth. Whatever was wrong, he would tell her. For now, in order to bring him back to her, she would be what he needed, wanted.
With long strides, he carried her to the bed, lowered her to its edge, and plunged into her. His groan was savage and raw as he pounded into her, lowering his head to her breast, licking it before drawing it into his mouth, his fingers kneading before he moved to the other.
