Page 89 of Beauty Tempts the Beast
Meeting him thrust for thrust, she stroked his chest, his shoulders. The pleasure came fast, hit hard like a runaway horse that never again wanted to feel the bit. When it broke free, he lowered his shoulder and she closed her mouth over it to silence the scream that would have woken everyone.
He followed her into the realm of ecstasy with a growl that sounded feral in its intensity. Breathing harshly, sweating, he collapsed on top of her.
Wrapping her arms around him, she simply held on.
“Did I hurt you?” He knew it was a little late to ask. He had probably frightened the devil out of her, taking her like he was riding a tempest.
He’d moved her farther up on the bed, and now he was on his back, with her sprawled halfway over his body, his arm protectively circling her, while his free hand skimmed lazily over flesh not hidden away by the sheet. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her.
“No.”
She combed her fingers through his hair. He loved when she did that, had been a fool to have stopped her from doing it sooner.
“Tell me.”
If there was anyone he could tell, it was her, but he didn’t even know where to begin, how to begin. He’d spent the evening dining and talking with his parents—his parents. He still couldn’t get used to that. His mind stuttered every time he thought the words.
They’d told him about themselves, their estates, their families. Had asked questions of him. He’d told them about his mum, his brothers, his sisters. He hadn’t told them about Thea. He didn’t know why. She seemed too new, too private, too special. He’d told them about his ships, his writing, some tales from his youth—not about Three-Fingered Bill or Sally Greene or the brothel. He didn’t want them feeling guilty because he’d been attacked. He didn’t think they’d look favorably on the rest of it, and none of it mattered anymore anyway. They’d begun moving his building into the realm of respectability.
He knew he should be able to tell his parents everything, had never felt a need to hide anything about himself from his mum. But his relationship with the duke and duchess was too fragile. He’d felt as though he’d been striving to walk over eggs without breaking any. Occasionally, he’d hear a crack and he’d revert to the part of himself that relished privacy, that seldom revealed much. It had always amazed him that Thea had been an exception, that he’d given more words to her than he’d given anyone.
When the hour had drawn late, the duke had sent him back in the coach, but when he’d arrived, he couldn’t bring himself to go in just yet. He’d felt raw, untethered, not himself. Therefore, he’d walked through the streets that werefamiliar, that had shaped him. But only now with Thea in his arms was he beginning to feel a bit more like himself again, like someone he knew and recognized. She was the way home.
“Was it that Ewan Campbell? Who is he? What did he want?” she asked into the silence. Normally, she wouldn’t rush him; he knew that, but the clock had ticked for far too long since she’d issued those two simple words: tell me.
“He’s my father.”
She shot up so fast, the bed rocked. “Your father? How can you be sure?”
“I inherited a good deal of my features from him. My height, my hair, my eyes. Looking at him was like seeing a reflection of my older self in the mirror. He took me to meet my mother.”
“Is she his mistress?”
“No, they’re married.”
“Why did they come to you now?”
She was incensed on his behalf that so many years had passed without them making an appearance. He heard the anger in her tone. “Apparently, they’ve been searching for me for some time. It’s a long story. They only recently determined where to find me.” He told her all he knew, all they’d shared, the story of their love.
When he was done, she tucked in her legs, scooted close so they rested against his side, and slowly trailed her fingers over his chest. “You don’t seem very happy that they found you.”
“I don’t know how you did it, Thea. You were a lady and then you were not. How did you reconcile the difference between the two? For thirty-three years I was a bastard. Scorned, ridiculed, avoided. Thought to be the embodiment of sin.” He shook his head, skimmed his fingers along theside of her lovely face. “Now I’m to inherit a dukedom, and I no longer know who I am.”
She went still, so still, she didn’t even blink. “I beg your pardon? A dukedom?”
“Did I forget to mention that little tidbit? He’s the Duke of Glasford. Perhaps you know him by his title?”
“No. But then it’s not as though I knew every titled lord. So they were married when you were born, yet still they gave you away?”
Again, she was infuriated, and it made him smile just a little. To have such a fierce warrior at his side. “No, I was born a bastard. But they later married, and under Scottish law, I inherit.”
“They’re from Scotland?”
He almost laughed with her continually repeating what he was saying. It seemed she was having as difficult a time believing and adjusting to all this as he was. He wrapped strands of her hair around his finger. “Somewhere in Perthshire.”
“My God, that’s an incredible change in circumstances.”
“It was the oddest thing tonight. The servants kept calling memy lord. It always took me a moment to realize they were speaking to me.”
