Beauty Tempts the Beast Page 11

  “A woman? Any woman?”

  Martha nodded. “They say if he cannot catch you, he will instead invade your dreams. He will either frighten you away with his evil or shock your feminine sensibilities.”

  Feminine sensibilities indeed. Catherine lifted an eyebrow, not at all concerned of a monster within these walls. Likely they were the rumors started by Charles himself to dissuade any visitors. This information only proved that her intended husband was determined and a bit mad.

  But it did give her an idea.

  “Did you learn these from the servants here?”

  Martha shook her head. “When we stopped in the village to rest the horses, a lady at the tavern issued a warning.”

  And her maid must have kept it silent fearing that Catherine would see nothing amiss at the manor upon the cliff.

  “Have you confirmed any of these rumors with Lord Ashworth’s staff?”

  “No, my lady, they tend to keep to themselves. I do not even know some of their names.”

  Catherine would have to change that. She had no qualms about using whatever means necessary to get her way. If she journeyed all the way out here, subjected herself to the misery of this house, she would get what she came for.

  Charles would bend to her will. If seduction did not succeed, she had other ideas. Blackmail usually worked miracles.

  Catherine nodded at the rose dress and stood while Martha dressed her. The sun had risen to the tip of the nearest hill, spreading sunshine amidst the gathering clouds. Sheep dotted the highest pastures, lakes scattered throughout the peaks. Summer did not seem so unpleasant here.

  She would not stay for winter.

  Martha finished lacing the stays and Catherine took that moment to turn to her maid. “Tell me, do you wish to be away from this place shortly?”

  “Yes, my lady. I am very unsettled here.”

  Catherine smiled. “As am I. Therefore I could use your help in this matter.”

  “My help?”

  “Do what you can to get to know the servants here. And learn all that you can about the home’s master.”

  Martha’s lips flattened. She clearly did not like being put in the role of a spy and yet the girl wanted out of this house as soon as possible.

  Catherine patted her shoulder. “Don’t you see? The sooner you tell me something of note, the sooner I can use it against Lord Ashworth and the sooner we can be on our way back to London.”

  The girl finally nodded. “I will do my best, my lady.”

  “Ah, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Catherine turned again, preparing herself for the remainder of the dressing. “Now, let us continue with our chore so that I may present myself at breakfast. There are other mysteries I must unravel.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ashworth stood out in the stables, where the mists crept up the cliff and enveloped him like a dream. He wished this were a dream, one where he could lose himself to tranquility. One where he could end this perpetual loneliness.

  He had not ridden in weeks, content to entertain himself with Harry or books or other matters of keeping the manor running. But now he wanted to be free of the house. Freedom beckoned to him with the call of seabirds. Catherine’s presence unsettled him, ruffled his feathers a bit. Vivian’s presence disturbed him, troubled his every movement and thought.

  He climbed upon Demon, a chestnut stallion who should be ridden much more frequently. They took off behind the manor, the wind blowing through his hair. Demon knew the paths well enough, freeing Ashworth to exercise his suppressed energy. He must release this agonizing force somehow or he’d use it to knock down every stone in the manor.

  Fury, lust, doubts and frustration roared in his veins. He knew not a moment’s peace since these women had invaded his house. Nay, his troubles multiplied daily. By the minute, even.

  He slowed Demon’s pace as they neared Briarwater. They approached the rocky shore where Vivian found her treasure. She sought to protect an innocent from a hungry fox.

  But who protected her?

  His jaw clenched at the memory of the bruises on her backside. Their circular shape led him to believe they had once been bite marks.

  Vivian’s confirmation that she had lain with someone eased the deepest concerns that The Monster—himself?—had caused those injuries. Part of him still feared he had. The other part of him raged at the bloody bastard who would inflict such damage on her.

  Ashworth stopped near the water to calm his furious pulse and clear his mind. He watched the ducks and geese paddle their way across the lake. As a child his father would take him out on Briarwater in a small boat. He loved the lazy movements, the gentle rocking to soothe his bitterness. He had dreamed then of being the captain of a ship, to live forever on the water.

  That foolish dream didn’t last long.

  He turned Demon around. Harry would like it here. But too many others were about to ask questions.

  They trotted the paths of Briarfell until the unspent vigor dissipated within his blood. This was what he needed. A good, solitary ride to sort his thoughts and dispel his restless energy.

  The morning’s last rays of sunlight guided him toward Silverstone Manor, the light breeze gusting into a strong wind. He welcomed the approaching rain, the rousing storms. It kept Harry inside and visitors away.

  As he neared the house, he saw a woman riding sidesaddle upon another of his underutilized horses. For the briefest moment his heart clenched, breath paused in his throat. But then he saw a glimpse of gold hair beneath the hat and his stomach tumbled.

  Not Catherine. Not now.

  Ashworth trotted Demon down the slope toward her, steeling himself for her company. She had stopped near Vivian’s garden, eyeing the tangle with look of disdain.

  Her chin rose as he approached. “Ah, Charles, lovely morning, isn’t it?”

  “Most mornings here are, but the weather shall be upon us soon.”

  He started past her.

  “What is this? I saw Miss Suttley working here the other day.”

  Ashworth stopped, glanced at her, squeezing his gloved hands. “Miss Suttley has asked to restore this flower garden.”

  She raised a delicate eyebrow. “Ah, that would explain the delivery I saw arrive on a cart this morning.” Her gaze traveled beyond Vivian’s garden to the overgrown yew trees and crumbling statutes. “I am to assume then that you do not employ a gardener?”

  He shifted back in the saddle and crossed his arms. “Nor a scullery maid, nursemaid, butler, footman…need I go on?”

  Humor twinkled in her eyes. “So if Miss Suttley is your gardener, does that leave me with the work of a nursemaid?”

  He’d much rather see her toil as a scullery maid, but he kept his opinion to himself. “Miss Suttley rather enjoys the work.”

  Catherine quickly cleared away her smirk. “I see.”

  Ashworth gave her a slight nod. “Enjoy your ride, Lady Wainscott.”

  “I need a companion…a guide, don’t you think? I’m not familiar with these hills.”

  “I’ll send my groomsman out to accompany you.” He turned his back to her, nudging Demon to a canter.

  “Charles!” The word sliced through the swirling air.

  He was tempted to continue forward. Eventually Catherine must be dissuaded by something. The weather, the house, his rudeness…

  She rode up beside him. “You were not at breakfast this morning.”

  He didn’t look at her. “I often take my breakfast elsewhere.”

  “And Miss Suttley? Was she with you?”

  Vivian did not come down? Since she had come to Silverstone, she had always eaten in the morning room whether he joined her or not.

  Ashworth swallowed, a sudden compulsion coming over him to check on Vivian’s welfare. “I can only assume Miss Suttley was still feeling too ill to leave her room.”

  “Ah, yes, and what was it that made her so ill again? Crawling under bushes in the rain to chase a phantom?”

  He ten
sed, gripped the reins. “Pettiness does not become you, Lady Wainscott. Have a good day.”

  Sending Demon into a full run, Ashworth left Catherine far behind and prayed the impending storm would swallow her in its fury.

  Vivian held the candleholder firmly and slipped behind the tapestry. Darkness immediately engulfed her, save for the small glow of the flame. She swallowed, straightened her shoulders and forced herself to continue on. If someone was using this passageway to spy on her then she would brave the darkness to see where the trail led.

  She first turned to the left, seeing the hint of light a bit further down. Only a few paces and she was at another cutout in the wall.

  Vivian gently pushed a heavy fabric aside and peered into the room. It belonged to Lord Ashworth. She recognized the black bedcovers, the walnut triangular stand. Her gaze fell upon the tub by the fireplace.

  Her breath caught, as she remembered his touch, the way in which he was able to transform her hesitation into desire.

  Quickly she withdrew into the passageway. So now she had Lord Ashworth at the top of her suspect list. It would take him only a matter of minutes to go from his room over to hers and back again.

  It could very well be him who entered her room as she slept. He could be out in the halls at night. Would he terrorize her in the dead of night?

  Should she fear him or seduce him?

  Vivian sighed and withdrew from his room. A dead end greeted her just behind his entryway, so she retraced her steps past her bedchamber.

  Her candle illuminated multiple spider webs, dust and crumbling stones. She’d not be able to go far with it if she wanted light for her return journey.

  Vivian rounded a corner and poked her head into a few empty rooms. Mostly unused bedchambers and dressing rooms. At the very end she came upon a set of stairs leading up to the highest floor.

  She glanced at the candle, then back at the rickety, wooden steps. Noises sounded above. Footsteps, deep laughter.

  Curiosity edged her onward. Using one hand to hold the candle and the other for the railing, she began the climb.

  Her dress caught under her foot on the third rung. Vivian slipped, but caught herself before landing on the floor. The loud tear of her skirt echoed in the small space.

  The noises above her stopped.

  Dear Lord, had someone heard?

  She gathered up her skirt and hobbled back into the darkness, the candle now dripping onto her fingers.

  “Don’t!”

  The shout stopped her cold. She stood stark still and pressed herself against the cool stones. Vivian held her breath, waiting.

  “Please…”

  The plea came from a child! A child lived here in Silverstone Manor? One of the servant’s offspring? But if so, why would they be upstairs where the nursery or schoolroom must be?

  Her pulse roared in her eardrums but she didn’t move.

  “No,” answered the firm, male voice.

  The child whined, then she heard footsteps carry them away.

  Vivian lifted her skirt again and hurried down the long passageway back to her room. She had to poke her head through several openings before finding the right one.

  She slipped past the tapestry to hear hard banging on her door. “Vivian, I insist you open the door this moment or I will have Mrs. Plimpton arrive with her keys.”

  Lord Ashworth!

  “Just—just a moment.” She glanced down at her dress, which was not only torn but covered in dirt and cobwebs. She wouldn’t have enough time to change, nor was she ever accomplished at quick thinking.

  “Are you still ill?”

  Damn him and his concern right now. But she was certain that the voice she heard upstairs was not his. Even Lord Ashworth could not have moved so quickly from that spot to her door.

  Vivian smoothed out her dress as best she could and unlocked the door.

  The room diminished in size when he entered, filling the space with the breadth of his shoulders and heated emotion of his gaze. His eyes, at first dark with concern, widened the moment he actually saw her.

  “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

  For the second day in a row, she stood before him scratched, torn, and blemished. The thought of her becoming a viscount’s wife suddenly seemed so ludicrous, she giggled.

  The corner of his lips turned up, relief breaking over the tenseness of his shoulders. He came before her and started picking things from her hair.

  “I do say, Miss Suttley, you have quite the knack for dirtying yourself.”

  She seized the chance. “Rather like a little boy, I suppose.”

  Lord Ashworth immediately stiffened, but then quickly released his tension. She bewildered him even more. “I think you may be worse than I ever was as a boy.”

  He brushed his hands over her shoulders. Her mouth dried at his touch. His hands moved lower then stopped at her breasts. Vivian waited, her nipples suddenly pebbling and begging for his caress.

  She heard him gulp. Then his gaze shot up to hers once he noticed the skirt.

  “What were you doing in here, Vivian?”

  Would he believe she was crawling under the bed for something? Reaching out the window? Dusting out the fireplace? She never was good at coming up with lies or excuses.

  Instead, she must distract him. She glanced down to his waist, then to the swelling between his legs. Her mouth watered, heat swelled deep inside. Why was it that awareness pulsed so cruelly anytime he was near?

  Vivian reached for his hand and brought it to her breast. “I believe you have missed something.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ashworth’s hand seized the treasure she offered. His growl reverberated in the room. His flesh throbbed with a reckless hunger.

  “Vivian.”

  But he did not remove his hand. Instead, his thumb drew circles around her nipple. Her eyes lowered, cheeks flushed. She melted, fire upon ice.

  Ashworth nudged his leg between hers, drawing her close to him, enraptured by the sweet scent of her hair. Covered in dirt, scratched by thorns, it didn’t matter Vivian’s appearance. He lusted for her like a hound after a fox.

  Passion roared through his veins. His fingers cupped her breasts then moved around to her slender waist. Her breath hitched, back arched.

  Pulse rampant, Ashworth pushed her backward until she was against the bedpost. He trapped her between his arms then lowered his lips to feast upon her neck. She tasted of flowers and dust and feminine beauty.

  He lifted his head and stared at her, breathing wildly as Vivian opened several buttons at her throat. She was seducing him again. What did she want of him? Could she possibly know that he would give her just about anything to find relief in her warmth?

  When the white lace of her chemise peeked from beneath the buttons, Ashworth snatched her wrists and raised them above her head. Pleasure buzzed in his head, fear tore at his heart, rage pounded in his gut.

  “Why, Vivian? Why do you torture me this way?”

  Her dusky eyes blinked at him. “Because you equally torture me.”

  He thrust his hips against her stomach. “Do you feel that? You tempt me into danger.”

  She bit her lip, her breasts rising and falling with rapid breaths.

  With his free hand, he traced a line down her jaw. “You don’t know what you ask of me, why it is impossible for me to deliver what you seek.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “Nothing is impossible. You make your choices as it pleases you.”

  “You still want to wed me, Vivian?”

  She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

  He let her hands drop but did not back away. Her lips were mere inches from his, enticing him beyond reason. But he must have the answers he sought.

  “Why?”

  The word hung in the air, twirling with the wind gusting at the window.

  Vivian sighed, lowered her eyes. “I cannot go back.”

  “Because of those marks on you?” His jaw tightened at the thought of
the pain she must have endured.

  “I left much misery behind.”

  “You came to me as an escape?”

  “This seemed the perfect place to hide.”

  But what or who did she hide from? Ashworth swept several black strands of hair from her face, stared at her mouth. “Yet you’ve no idea what you’ve found.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  Her vibrant lips lured him into temptation and he nibbled at their succulence. She relaxed against him, pressing her mouth to him with a desperate fervor. Ashworth cupped her jaw in both hands, controlled her every move.

  He plunged his tongue inside, sweeping against her in a fury of strokes. Liquid fire erupted in his bones, weakened his knees.

  Vivian’s fingertips tickled up his legs like butterfly wings. He moaned, then gasped, as her hand reached in his trousers and closed around his shaft.

  Ashworth reared back, clenched his hands into fists. With an intense curiosity, he glanced down at her caress. Her slender fingers moved across the rise in his breeches, stroking the length, then circling him at the tip.

  He shuddered. All coherent thought fled.

  Immobile, he dared not move away from the excruciatingly sweet sensation. Instead, he watched, his pulse thumped madly in his throat, sweat collected at his collar. When he could bear it no longer, he squeezed his eyes shut. Tension built within him like a powerful storm. A tingle raced throughout his limbs, curled his toes, then sparked into his groin.

  The memory of her pink-tipped breasts rose in his mind. He saw himself licking them, imagined his fingers plunging inside of her.

  His breathing lurched, his hands gripped her waist.

  Vivian moved faster, fondling him with just the right amount of pressure. He wanted to pound himself into her but he dared not move.

  “Oh, Vivian…”

  Through the crashing of his heartbeat he heard her whimper. She was denying herself in order to please him. He looked down to see her lips bright, her skin slick with sweat. Her arousal impaired his thinking.

  Ashworth needed to stop this torture, but he couldn’t. He’d let it go too far, found himself struggling at her mercy. It had been so long since a woman touched him. So long—