Beauty and Her Beastly Love (Passion-Filled Fairy Tales Book 2) (8 page)

There was a knock at Beauty’s bedroom door. It could only be Beast, for no one else was in the house except him. Even so, he always knocked, offering her a chance to deny or welcome his entry. “Come in” she called, as she tied a ribbon around the waist of her chemise like it was a belt.

“I like it when you walk around undressed,” Beast said.

Beauty smiled. “Well, it’s just you and me, so there’s not much point in the corset and petticoats and all that. I figured I’d go with just what I needed.”

Beast nodded, and had a look of yearning on his face as he eyed Beauty. She wasn’t sure she was up for any more sex, as they’d been at it so much lately. Watching him pleasure himself had been interesting, but pleasuring each other was infinitely more rewarding.

“You came to stare at me in my chemise?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No,” he said, then smiled slyly. “I think I have a solution to your problem.”

Beauty stared at him quizzically. “And what problem is that?”

“That you want to see your father.”

Beauty’s mouth opened in shock then she smiled. “You’ll let me go see him?” she asked, but he was shaking his head no even before she had finished the question. “Then what?” she asked, feeling betrayed.

“I’ll show you,” he said, holding out a hand. “Come with me.”

Beauty looked at his outstretched palm, and then placed her own hand inside his, with slight hesitation. He had never hurt her before, but she wasn’t sure she liked whatever he was going to show her. She wanted to see her father, and if she couldn’t leave, she couldn’t see him.

Beauty followed Beast out of her room, down a hallway, to a book case with a statue on it. Beast touched the statue, and the wall opened. Beauty stared, shocked. This manor had a secret room. She followed Beast inside a small room with a single chair in it and a mirror on the wall.

“It’s enchanted,” he said.

“The room?” Beauty asked.

Beast shook his head. “The mirror,” he said. “You simply ask it to see anyone you wish and it will show you that person.” Beauty was speechless, her mind still not quite believing what she was seeing. She looked at the mirror, wondering if it really could be. “I’ll show you,” Beast said. He turned to the mirror, and said, “Show me Odette.”

Before them on the mirror, a young girl appeared. She was probably 14 or 15, with honey blonde hair and a beautiful smile. The family must have been well off, as she was wearing a fancy dress and expensive-looking jewelry. She was sitting in a room with a woman who appeared to be her tutor.

They watched for a few seconds as the girl wrote something on a piece of paper, but the moment Odette opened her mouth to speak, Beast said, “Stop.” The image of the girl went away and the mirror reflected Beauty and Beast in the room. Beast was staring at the floor, his fist clenched. She’d thought it had been a sign of a hard heart that he’d told her to forget about her family, but as she watched his reaction to his sister, she realized she’d been wrong. He’d told her to forget because that’s what he wanted — to forget the anguish he felt at missing his family.

She grasped his hand and gave it a squeeze. “That was amazing — that the mirror let you see her,” she said softly. Beast nodded. “How do you do it exactly? Do you have to know where the person is to see them?

Beast shook his head. “No, just ask for the person, and it will know where they are and show them to you?”

Beauty nodded. That seemed simple enough. She bit her lower lip and thought. But, she wanted more than just to see her father. “Can the person see you, or just you see the person? Can we talk to the person?”

The Beast hesitated, then said, “It depends.” Beauty raised her eyebrows, so Beast continued. “I’ve found that I have the ability to… project.”

“What does that mean?”

“You remember the day the carriage arrived for you, to pick you up?”

Beauty nodded. “Yes, you were there in the carriage, and then you disappeared.”

Beast shook his head. “No, I was here, in this room. I was able to project an image of myself there, with you. I put on the cloak to make it seem as if I wanted to stay in the shadows, but I was here in this room. I could see you, and you could see me, as if I were there with you.”

Beauty stared at him, trying to remember that day, trying to remember what she saw. Had she actually touched him that day? She didn’t think so. And he disappeared as if by magic. But, what if he was never really there? “So, I can ask to see my father, and then project to speak to him?”

Beast nodded. Beauty felt the joy building in her. She could see her father again. She could speak to him. A smile broke across her face, and she could feel it pinching at her ears since it was so large. She wrapped her arms around Beast. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.” Then she turned and walked toward the door.

“Beauty,” Beast said, confused. “Where are you going?”

She laughed, realizing she must seem a bit crazy. “To put on some clothes. I can’t let my father see my like this. He’ll think you’ve been doing exactly what you’ve been doing with me.” She winked at Beast. “We can’t have that, now can we?”

* * *

When Beauty returned a few minutes later, her hair fixed in a simple knot in the back and her corset on, she looked radiant. It was happier than Beast had seen her in the past couple of months. He realized now her melancholy was caused by homesickness, and this was sure to be the cure.

Beauty faced the mirror and tentatively said, “Show me my father, please.” There, on the face of the glass, was Pierre. Only, he wasn’t at his modest cottage in the countryside. He appeared to be in prison. His hands and feet were shackled, and he had a bowl of gruel in front of him. “Father,” Beauty said frantically. “
Mon Dieu
. Papa,” she cried out. “Papa, what has happened? What is going on?”

She turned to Beast. “Why can’t he hear me?” she asked. “You said I could project.”

Beast placed a hand on her shoulder. “You have to concentrate to project. And it’s possible that you can’t. Maybe it’s something only I have the power to do.”

“But, why wouldn’t I be able to project, Beast?” she asked. “Why just you?”

“Don’t worry about why,” he said. “Just turn around, close your eyes and concentrate on your father, on trying to get your message across to him.” Beauty turned and closed her eyes, he assumed to concentrate. He didn’t want to have to answer her questions. He didn’t want to have to admit that maybe projecting worked for him because he was bound to this manor. He could never leave it. However, he could send the enchanted carriage, so long as it had a live animal pulling it, to do his bidding.

“It’s not working,” Beauty said, frustration clear in her voice.

Just then, in the mirror, a man walked up to Pierre. He had brown hair, a chiseled jaw and wore fine clothing. “Monsieur LaVigne,” the man said as he bent down toward Pierre. “If you will just bring your daughter from hiding, I will forgive all of this. But, if you do not, you will be executed in two days. You cannot promise me your daughter and, in anticipation of our marriage, have me pay your debts, only to refuse to deliver her.”

Pierre coughed, then said in a whisper. “I told you, Monsieur Dumas, I was coming to pay my debt to you.”

“Only it was stolen by bandits as you came,” Dumas said coldly. “Pierre, is it really worth dying to keep me from my bride?”

“I swear to you, follow the path in the forest, and you’ll find the beast’s lair. You’ll find Beauty there.”

“Enough lies,” Dumas said. “Jailer, please let me out. I will be back in two days to witness his execution.”

The image faded from the mirror, and Beauty turned frantically to Beast. “We have to go back. We have to save him,” she said. “We have to explain.”

She turned and started toward her room. Beast wasn’t sure what to do. He couldn’t let her leave. She’d never come back if he let her leave. However, the sole reason she’d come was to save her father. If her father was just going to die anyway, die because Beast had prevented Beauty from being delivered…. The thought of that made him shudder. He went to Beauty’s room and found the house had already provided her a bag. She was packing some clothes in it. He felt dread and some other feeling building in him, but he was at a loss to describe what it was. It was unpleasant and weighed him down. It wasn’t until she looked up from her packing and saw him standing in the doorway that he realized what the other feeling was: shame. Beauty stopped packing and stared at him. He said nothing, but her face crumpled, and she started shaking her head as she walked toward him.

“Don’t say I can’t go,” she said.

“You promised,” he said softly. “You promised to stay here forever.”

“To save my father,” she said. “But now he is going to die if I don’t go. Please,” she said, tears streaming from her red-rimmed eyes. “Please, if what we’ve had has meant anything to you, please let me go.”

“I can’t,” he whispered, but looked away from her.

“You can,” she said, falling to her knees, bowing before his feet. “I am begging you, please.”

He couldn’t help but look at her, watch her beg him, and he felt cruel. He felt like a monster, but if he let her go…. He couldn’t let her go. There had to be another solution, something other than her leaving. “I can’t let you go,” he said.

She sobbed a minute more, with Beast feeling worse with every pained cry, then finally she calmed enough to look up at him. She stood, wiped her eyes, and then spit in his face. “You keep telling me I have a choice,” she said venomously. “You are a liar. I have never had a choice. Never. I have been kept here under threat of my father’s death, and now it will happen anyway. Well, if you offer me simply the paltry choice of whether to be your wife or not, then no! The answer will always be no. Always. I will never forgive you for this, Beast. Never. I heard you the other day when you said you loved me. Well, I will never love you. Never. By keeping me here, you are as responsible for my father’s death as the man who swings the axe.”

He stared, unable to respond. Probably because she was right. He kept looking at her, not wanting to leave her, even though she was so angry with him.

“Get out,” she said. Beast remained still, too shocked by what was happening to move. When he didn’t go, Beauty took both hands and shoved him. “Get out,” she said.

He opened his mouth to say something, but there was nothing to say. He turned and left her room.

Beast spent the next two hours thinking. Beauty was right. Nothing here had been her choice, as much as he had tried to present it as such, as much as he tried to make her choose him. She probably continued to refuse to marry him because refusal was the only thing that actually felt like a choice. Everything else had been forced upon her.

He went back upstairs to Beauty’s room, his gifts in the bag on his shoulder, hoping to make things right. He didn’t knock this one time, because he knew she would send him away. When he opened the door, he found her lying face down on her bed sobbing.

“Beauty,” he said softly.

“Go away,” she cried out.

“I won’t,” he said. “But you may. Go away, that is. You may go to your father.”

Beauty’s sobs stopped, and she sat up and eyed him as if he were a figment of her imagination. She got down from the bed, walked over to him, and asked tentatively, “I may go?”

“Yes,” he said. “If you promise to come back.”

She nodded. “Yes, of course,” she said, taking Beast’s hand into both of hers and kissing it. “Yes, I promise. I will come back.”

“You’ll need these things,” he said, using his free arm to tap the shoulder satchel. He walked to Beauty’s bed and emptied the contents of the bag onto the mattress. There were several gold roses, a book, and some papers.

“There should be enough gold to pay for your father’s debts and give him enough money to live for the next few years,” Beast said. “The book is the one you asked about. It’s Volume 19. It appeared a few minutes ago. I hope, when reading it, you will think of me. And the papers are what you will need to convince Dumas that you cannot be his. They are papers, signed by your father, agreeing to our marriage, which was sanctified when he left you last November.”

Beauty stared up at the Beast, bit her lip. “I thought you said we would only be married if I agreed.”

“That’s true,” Beast said. “We are not married. The papers are a forgery, as your father didn’t really sign them. But if you don’t have them, I fear Dumas will be able to claim you as his own. It will not be a lie if you tell him we have consummated the relationship.”

Beauty stared at the paper. She picked it up and read the contract: “Angelina ‘Beauty’ LaVigne is married to Emile de Verran.” She looked up at Beast. “Who is,” she started, but he clamped his hand over her mouth.

“I have given you a secret that can kill me,” he said softly, looking deeply into her eyes, hoping this act showed her exactly how much he loved her. “Please don’t say my name here.”

When he removed his palm from her mouth, it was still open. She closed it for a second, and then said. “Beast, you shouldn’t have. The sorceress said it would kill you if I called you this.” Her eyes were starting to fill with tears again. “What if I make a mistake?”