Beauty Tempts the Beast (12 page)

She should not trust him.

Vivian swallowed the sting in her throat and finished cleaning the straw. She carried the last of it to her garden, covering the seeds she recently planted.

Leaves and twigs crunched behind her. Vivian waited, expecting Pinkley to return. But there was only silence.

She grinned, her heart fluttering. Perhaps it was Lord Ashworth who had come to disturb her peace.

Vivian straightened and turned. “My lord.”

But no one was there.

She shrugged it off to the movements of a fox. But then the rustling sounds came again. This time in the tangle of bushes at the base of the house. Perhaps the animal was trapped.

Rain splattered about her, daylight rapidly waned. The storm had come over the cliff, but she could not bear to think of a hurt animal trapped in the thicket.

Vivian reached the overgrown bushes, several feet deep, but found nothing other than leaves and branches. She would have either wade in or crawl in on her knees.

Wind pushed at her skirts and blew her hair from her braid. Several fat raindrops landed on her shoulders. She wouldn’t have long before the full fury of the tempest was upon her.

Vivian dropped to her knees, heedless to the damp ground, and crawled into the brush. Branches scratched her face, but the sounds increased. Rustling of leaves, whimpering.

Thunder clapped.

A squeal. Or was it a scream? Her heart lodged in her throat. She had to get back there.

“Shhh, it’s all right,” she called.

The undergrowth thickened so that Vivian had to flatten to her stomach. She pushed through the wood, the dirt and crawled over stones.

She had just about reached the manor wall when the deluge began. Even through the dense leaves, the rain pelted her back.

The crying intensified with the strengthening of the rain. Vivian tried to hurry but she couldn’t crawl any faster. Twigs snapped just beyond her reach. She saw a flash of color—was it clothing?

Good Lord, was it not an animal, but a person? A child?

Frantic, Vivian pushed harder, her dress tearing, her face smeared with damp earth.

A clap of thunder. Another scream.

Her heart ached. “I—I’m almost there.”

Finally, her head was out of the branches. Twigs snapped. Water sloshed.

Scrambling from the underbrush, Vivian pulled herself up against the wall and into the tiny clearing.

Catherine watched Charles leave the room, the dust floating into the air as he slammed the door to his study.

She surprised him with that little kiss, did she?

It took her the entire night to get up the courage to do it. Part of it was the hideous scar on his face, disfiguring a once handsome man. But she was also afraid she still harbored some feelings for him.

Luckily, she did not. The kiss did nothing for her.

Thunder clapped overhead, startling her. This wretched weather. It forced her to remain inside this miserable house. True, it was large, even grander than her late husband’s estate.

But it could not be saved. Too many years of neglect had reduced it to disaster. Catherine had no intention of living in this despicable place, but she would marry Charles.

Rain gusted against the window, prompting her to peer outside.

Was that ordinary Miss Suttley still outside with her duck egg? Catherine chuckled as she scanned the yard, but saw no figures foolish enough to be out in the storm.

She did not believe their lies.

He had yet to hold Miss Suttley the way he once held her. He did not take her hand or watch her speak. He may have affection for the girl, but more than likely he offered her money in exchange for his deception.

A draft circled the room, sending chills down Catherine’s spine. She hated this manor. She could bear it only a few more weeks. That should be long enough for her seduction to work, to have their charade exposed, and secure Charles’s hand in marriage.

Then, with his wealth to pay off the debts Wainscott left behind, Catherine would return to London.

Without Viscount Ashworth at her side.

Why had Catherine invaded his life now? Ashworth was accustomed to the long stretches of silence here at the manor, the small group of people who inhabited this isolated place. Harry was growing and learning, his staff was loyal. Everything was just the way he wanted it.

He had to get Catherine out of Silverstone. And then he must see that Vivian left. The chaos she created went much deeper than an extra plate at breakfast.

Vivian! Was she still outside?

Wind howled and thunder cracked, rousing his nerves. He had no other choice but to check the rear yard, though he clearly did not see her through the window from the parlor.

Ashworth followed the trail Vivian normally took, descending the rear stairs to the splintered wood door. Even with her repeated use, cobwebs still hung from the ceilings. The steps were slick beneath his shoes, the air damp and musty.

Cool air greeted him at the landing, where the warped door stood ajar. Rain blew in, creating a small puddle on the worn stones.

“Vivian?” he called. The two doors behind him were shut tight.

He pulled the door open, the wind whipping his hair. Sucking in a deep breath, he plunged out into the yard, heading for her garden.

Silver sheets of rain blew across the hills and against the house. Instantly wet, Ashworth headed up the slope. Thunder rumbled overhead.

“Vivian!”

“Here, my lord.”

He raced to the top of the hill and saw her not at her garden, but against the crumbling walls. She was trapped between the stones and a tangle of underbrush.

As he got closer, his stomach plummeted. Her dress was ripped, her hair in wet disarray. That beautiful face was smeared with dirt and marred with bloody scratches.

She’d been attacked!

Ashworth stood at the other end of the thicket, his pulse crashing like thunder. He wanted to go to her, to hold her in his arms but he may as well have been miles from her.

“You’re injured.” He could not bring himself to say his other thoughts.

She sniffled and he just noticed the drops on her cheeks. He’d assumed they were rain, but now he suspected tears.

“It’s gone,” she said, looking on either side of where she stood.

“Gone? What’s gone?”

Vivian brushed hair from her forehead, smearing blood across her skin. “I—I don’t know. I saw something and now it is gone.”

Ashworth saw nothing but green brush and gray walls. Had she gone mad? Had the desolation of the manor so quickly driven her insane?

He stretched his hand out, though it fell far short of reaching her. “Something has hurt you, Vivian.

Come inside.”

She blinked. “No, I heard crying. An animal or a…a child. I-I crawled under the brush to rescue it…”

Her voice broke. “But it’s gone now.”

A child?
Harry?

Ashworth’s gut burned, his temples pounded. Had his son been outside? Did she see him?

He had to get inside and find Harry. First he needed to get Vivian into a warm bath and under heavy blankets.

Glancing her over, he realized that her torn dress and scratches could have easily been made by the thicket between them. The ache in his stomach eased, but he still worried for her health. She must come inside now.

“Whatever was there before is now gone. You must come out of this storm.”

Rain dripped from her hair as she stood there, immobile. But then she nodded and lowered to her knees.

“Wait.” There must be a better way than having her crawl back under the bushes. He’d force his way through the branches before he let that happen again.

Vivian shivered as she rose again to her feet. Her lips had turned blue and she nibbled on the lower one. Yet her eyes, blacker than the clouds overhead, shimmered with distraught tears.

Pain stung his throat as if he’d swallowed a handful of thistles. Breathlessness tightened his lungs.

What was she doing to him?

Ashworth pointed at the wall. “There. Follow the stones downhill to the door.”

She nodded. Using the solid surface for support, Vivian followed its path to where Ashworth waited for her.

He wasn’t quite sure what possessed him to do it, but he opened his arms the moment she was free of the thicket. She collapsed against his chest. An urge to brush his lips across her wet hair flared through him.

Instead, he resisted and stared out into the dark, wet afternoon.

They stood there in the downpour, the sky rumbling. His blood flowed like warm wine. With a troubled sigh, Ashworth pushed away the very peace he’d been seeking.

Ashworth descended the several flights to where he knew he’d find Harry. Being spoiled by Cook.

He found him on a wooden chair in the warm, dark kitchen, his face glowing, his red hair damp. Rage and dread mingled in Ashworth chest. Damn this boy and his curiosity. Damn the circumstances that forced him to be hidden away in a crumbling manor.

Ashworth clenched his fists, forcing his anger into the squeeze. He’d not lose his temper in front of his staff, nor frighten his son.

“Harry,” he said.

The boy turned and grinned. “Papa! Look!”

He ignored his son’s request. “Were you outside Harry? In the storm?”

“Yes, but just for a moment, I—”

Ashworth sank to his knees. “You must keep to the house, Harry. I’ve told you this time and time again.”

“But—”

“I won’t take any replies from you. Miss Suttley nearly spotted you. What if it had been Lady Wainscott? Do you want to be taken from me?”

Harry started crying. “No, Papa.”

Ashworth pulled him into his arms. The gentle warmth of the boy did not cause him the distress he experienced while holding Vivian. There was no vulnerability, no feeling of utter helplessness with his son.

He kissed his forehead and stood. “What did you want me to see?”

Harry sniffled, then his smile returned. He pointed to a wooden box next to the oven. “It was out in the rain, so I brought it inside.”

Ashworth knelt beside the box and pushed aside the straw. A small, dull egg lay nestled in a dry cocoon. A sudden dawning came up him. “You went outside to bring in the duck egg?”

Harry nodded. “I didn’t want it to get too cold.”

So if that were the case, then Vivian must not have seen him. It must have been animal, perhaps wounded, that scampered away just as she reached it.

Relieved, Ashworth gave his son another hug and headed upstairs to change from his wet clothes.

Vivian should be out of the tub in his room and back into her own bed.

Unfortunately, he didn’t think she’d be well enough to join them for dinner. He’d have to suffer through it alone, facing Catherine like the adversary she was.

Warmth. Finally, the chill in her bones eased but now flames spread along her skin.

Vivian kicked off the blankets, yet sweat still soaked her. Groaning, she pulled off her nightdress and tossed it to the floor. Her face stung from the scratches. A bandage irritated her forehead.

Vivian reached for the glass beside her bed and gulped the water. The heat would not ease.

She dropped back down to the pillow and fought the invasion of sleep. She had to be up. There was something she had to do, some unfinished business she must resolve. But her brain was foggy, her concentration lacking.

The egg. It had something to do with the duck egg. There was a box and some straw…

Unable to stave off the encroaching slumber, Vivian closed her eyes and sank into the depths of a fever-inspired dream. She was on a boat, lying on her back, staring at stars in a darkening sapphire sky. Her stranger, familiar enough to her now, rowed them to the center of Briarwater. The water gently rocked her, like a babe in a mother’s belly. Secure, safe, protected.

The stranger leaned toward her, his face still shadowed, but his musky scent ignited a liquid fire in her veins. She spread her legs, lifted her hips. Her nipples peaked, begged for his caress.

The last rays of an orange sun dipped below Briarfell. Vivian smiled as the stranger placed his hands upon her legs. Slowly, he lifted her dress, pushing his way higher and higher up her legs. Cool air slid across her skin. She wore no stockings or petticoats.

Vivian sat up on one elbow and reached her hand out to him. “Come to me.” She wanted to taste his lips, suckle his tongue.

But he shook his head and trailed a warm finger down her shin.

She shivered. “What—what are you going to do?”

But she may as well have been asking the moon, for the stranger would not answer her. He never spoke in her dreams. But his touch elicited a passion she could not control, a craving she could not deny.

He settled himself between her legs then rubbed warm hands over them, kneading and pressing along her skin.

Vivian sighed, relished the sensuality of his touch. The stars winked, the boat swayed. Contentment drifted like rose petals through her bloodstream.

Then his lips touched her skin.

Vivian lifted her head, gasping.

The stranger did not notice. He continued to kiss her thighs, alternating between the two of them. She wriggled as impatience spiked.

Soon enough, his tongue traced damp trails down from her knees to the apex of her legs. He licked the crevice of her hip.

Vivian moaned as the sweet tension built. She reached down and grabbed a hold of his hair. She needed more, something more.

His tongue flicked over her sensitive nub and she shook with an instant release. But he would not let her go; no, it seemed he was only beginning. Like a starved man, the stranger tasted her. He lapped her essence, thrust his tongue inside her willing body. Vivian closed her legs around his face as the pressure grew once more. She rocked, reached, yearned for more than just his wicked mouth.

He was relentless.

He kissed her thighs, her hips, her mound. He licked her core until she had to shut her eyes and block out the twinkling sky.

Pleasure rose to an unbearable pitch. She had to find release, she had to let go. Lord, she needed him inside her. So very deep inside…