Beauty Tempts the Beast (25 page)

Her nipple tasted of heaven, sweet and luscious.

“Please!” She grabbed his hips, pulled him deep. “More!”

He reached his hand between their bodies and flicked her swollen nub with his fingers, even as he continued driving into her soft flesh.

“Oh…yes!” Her head dropped back and her channel convulsed around him in divine spasms.

He’d intended to still, to let her have her moment. But he couldn’t withhold the surge rising up from his core. Ashworth plunged into her moisture again and again. Surely he would die if he stopped now. Die if he didn’t find release.

Tingles raced down his spine, then exploded in his groin.

His groans echoed off the chamber’s walls. He collapsed onto her, physically and emotionally spent.

“Vivian…you don’t know what you have done for me.”

Her breath was warm in his ear. “Are you a changed man?”

“You have set me free. I don’t know how but you’ve done it.”

“No.” She brushed the damp hair from his forehead, her own breathing shallow. “You have believed in yourself. Perhaps now you can tell me what you would see.”

Could he? What would she think of his gruesome visions? Of his shocking story of waking up and finding a whore covered in blood and a knife in his hand?

His gut twisted, saturating his mouth with a bitter taste.

Ashworth slid out of her. His breathing was still erratic, his pulse still frenzied, but he could not reveal his horrifying secrets.

“Don’t go.”

But he was already pulling his clothing on. “I’ll find Lady Wainscott and ask her to leave. Her presence has become too unsettling.”

Vivian’s eyes penetrated through the soft glow. “You ask her to go because it upsets me?”

He shrugged, uncertain which answer she hoped to hear.

“Does that mean you intend to marry me?”

Ashworth forced himself to continue his dressing, forced himself not to flinch. “You don’t know me.

Don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“Then tell me.”

“Nay.”

“You are afraid I would leave you? Not accept you?”

He didn’t know what he feared by telling her. Could he trust her? What if she found a way to take Harry from him?

She wouldn’t want him anyway. Could she possibly love him despite the truth? He snorted. He once thought Catherine loved him too.

Vivian stood and searched for her underclothes. He watched her firm bottom as she bent over to sort through the jumble of fabrics on the floor. He could observe her all day, gaze at her while sleeping, stare at her as she gardened.

She continued dressing in silence, only releasing a heavy sigh as she braided her hair. Now completely recomposed, Vivian lifted her chin.

“I’ll not be your mistress, my lord. As much as I need to remain in hiding, I cannot sacrifice my honor.” Along with determination in her eyes, he could have sworn he saw something akin to dread. “If you find you still cannot marry me, then I…I will go.”

Ashworth spun away from her. His throat stung as if he’d swallowed a mountainside of thistles.

How could he marry her? Despite being absolved of the visions, he was not pardoned from his possible participation in a killing. He suffered enough raising Harry under that chance, but the sight of his son never caused ghastly images.

What if those hauntings returned? He could not sleep in his wife’s bed, nor fill her belly with his child.

And if she left the manor? His son would wail at her loss, the garden would once again fall into a hopeless tangle, the room next to his would house only spiders.

And he would feel dead. Just as he had before she’d arrived.

So Charles thought he could avoid her.

Catherine turned the corner down the dimly lit hallway. She would not return to London a failure, with her tail tucked between her legs. How hard could it be to convince a lonely, wealthy eccentric to marry a beautiful woman of proper society? Who else would be willing to have his name?

The oft-dirty Miss Suttley?

She laughed and rounded another corner. The girl, despite being a baron’s daughter, was not prepared to be a viscount’s wife. Obviously, she too was out to use Charles. But her reasons were vague.

Catherine would make them known. She would not allow that girl to take her man away.

The ancient wooden door she sought loomed dark at the end of the hallway. Outside it a glass of clear liquid rested upon a tarnished silver platter. Ah, a perfect greeting.

The tray in one hand, she knocked.

Shuffling noises behind the door and then it swung open.

Catherine couldn’t withhold her gasp. Charles stood in only his breeches. His bare chest gleamed in the low light, hard angles and dark shadows. She never realized the strength in his shoulders or arms, the leanness of his stomach.

Something stirred deep inside her center. She had not been with a man for far too long. And her husband never looked like this.

Charles sighed. “Catherine. What are you doing here?”

She gathered her wits and held the tray up. “You called for a drink?”

His silver eyes stared at her, penetrating her. The spot between her legs ached, dampened.

He took the tray. “Thank you. Good night.”

She refused to yield that easily. “You have avoided me.”

“For good reason, I am certain.”

“I tire of these games. Do what makes the most sense.”

He set the tray down up his night table. “Yes, I plan to.”

Her heart pattered. She untied the string of her robe, letting it fall open to reveal her thin chemise.

“Take me tonight, Charles.”

His lips curled as he crossed his arms. “I thought I revolted you.”

“I-I have overcome that.” She ran her fingertips over the hard muscles of his arm. “I want you. I want to marry you.”

He remained motionless. “You want me to return with you to London? Host balls at our home? Father your children?”

Catherine struggled to keep the smile upon her lips. She could deal with those issues later. Right now she needed to hear that he would take her, that he would clear her of her late husband’s debts. “Kiss me and I will do whatever you like.”

“Whatever I like? Tell me I have your word on that.”

He glanced her over. A tingle raced through her bloodstream, weakening her knees.

Right now her need was so great she would agree to anything. Perhaps she would even want him in her bed each night, bringing her pleasure such as she experienced right now.

He yanked her close, knotted his hand in her hair. She gasped, pressed her breasts against his chest.

“Your word, Catherine.”

She angled her face, lowered her lashes. “Yes. Anything you wish. Just kiss me.”

His warm mouth touched hers. Catherine opened her lips to him, welcoming his tongue with a fervor of need. She melted against him, rubbed her aching spot on his leg. His tongue stroked hers, reminding her of a man’s arousal deep within her.

She grasped his hair, pulling him in further. The need for release rose up, causing pain at her nipples, hunger at her flesh.

Charles kissed her hard, almost violently. His large hands rested on her shoulders as if he were ready to shove her away at any moment. She wouldn’t let him.

Catherine thrust her hips against him, captured his jaw in her hands, and suckled his tongue as if it were plunging within her feminine center. The crest of her passion rose to a pitch.

She yanked on his fingers and placed them over her breast. With his slightest touch, she climaxed.

Waves of release shuddered through her. She was so dazed, Catherine didn’t realize Charles had thrust her away until she nearly fell against his bed.

Catching her breath, she watched as he stood motionless before the fireplace. He forced a hand through his hair. His face betrayed nothing as he turned to face it. He must have felt passion for her. That episode must have brought out some desire.

She gathered her composure and walked over to where he stood. “When will you tell Miss Suttley to go?”

He did not make a move that he heard her.

“Have her pack her things at daybreak.”

“Miss Suttley is not going anywhere.”

Heat from the fire crept up Catherine’s legs. Her elation of a few moments ago dimmed. “You have no reason for her to remain here if we are to wed.”

“We are not to wed, Catherine.”

Her pulse charged. “Look at me, damn you!”

He swung around, his lips twisted into a snarl. “You gave me your word you would do anything if I kissed you.”

“I did. You mentioned living with me in London. Having your children. How can that not mean you will marry me?”

“You said you would do ‘anything’. It is you who interpreted it to mean that.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you telling me, Charles?”

“
You
are to leave Silverstone at dawn.”

Rage choked her. “Y-you are sending
me
away?”

“Yes. Go back to the wretched hole you crawled out of.”

“But what about our kiss?” Her lips still tingled.

Charles crossed his arms and shrugged. “It meant nothing. I felt nothing.”

“You can’t send me away.” She stomped her foot. “I will not go without a marriage contract.”

“I can have you forcibly removed.”

Catherine stifled her scream, her gut burning with the agonizing rejection. Damn him. Damn that Miss Suttley. She’d find a way to force his hand, she’d find…

Ah, how could she have forgotten?

She lifted her chin. “You have no alternative but to choose me.”

He did not blink.

“I know your little secret.”

His lips tightened, but he said nothing.

She smirked with glee. “He goes by the name of Harry.”

The struggle to keep his face impassive required more strength than he could have imagined.

Ashworth fought the dread welling up his throat. She knew about Harry. But how she found out or what exactly she discovered he must ascertain. He must not let fear or rage take control.

“Tell me, Catherine. What is it that you know about Harry?”

She moved closer to him, stood within an arm’s reach. But he wouldn’t touch her again. “I know that he is a child who lives here under your roof. You have hired your friend, John Hughes, to tutor him.”

Was that all she knew? She was not aware of the connection between Harry and himself? Or that the boy was taken from Mary Yeardley’s flat?

Ashworth nodded. “Yes, you have found out that truth.”

“Who is he? Is he your son?”

“Did you not learn these answers on your own?”

Her nostrils flared. “John would not tell me more.”

“So then you know nothing other than I have a boy living here.”

“You keep him a secret. There must be a reason for it.”

“But that would be none of your business.”

“Damn you!” She slapped his cheek.

The sharp sting spread across his jaw. Fury blazed through his veins, wild and reckless. He grabbed her arm and shoved it down by her side. “You’ll not control me, Catherine.”

She twisted but could not free herself. “Go to hell, where you belong.”

He narrowed his eyes, bared his teeth. “That I may. But your actions are not much holier than my own. Vanity. Lies. Deception. Manipulation. What won’t you do to get your way?”

Her porcelain skin mottled with red. “You’ll regret refusing me. I’ll see to it that you meet your ultimate downfall.”

He raised an eyebrow and released his hold. “Now, did I seek revenge on you when you refused me?”

She shrugged. “That was your mistake.”

Ashworth didn’t answer as Catherine made her way to his door. She grasped the handle then looked back at him. “Your nightmares are only beginning, I promise you that.”

“Be gone at daybreak.”

But as she slammed the door, his gut knotted. He could not shake the feeling he had just chosen Vivian over his son.

No, he must believe that Catherine would find nothing about Harry, no one to connect him to the murder in St. Giles.

And now that one woman was leaving, he must turn his attention to the one remaining. Could he finally convince Vivian to leave him to his seclusion or did he long for her to remain here forever?

***

Vivian stared at the calm surface of Briarwater. She could not believe she was here. Nor could she actually believe that Lady Wainscott was gone. She and her maid had taken their things and left before breakfast a week before.

Charles had not spoken much to her in the days that followed and now he was again in one of his silent moods. It was surprising that he’d offered to take her and Harry out on a boat if the weather held.

A quick glance at the sky told her they would not have more than a few hours to enjoy the shifting sunlight and warm breeze.

Harry, squeezing her hand tightly, bounced up and down as his father pulled the rowboat closer to the dock. The boy’s red hair gleamed brilliantly against the blue waters. His eyes were alive and bright as the swaying trees.

With the boat secure, Charles helped her in, his hand warm and familiar. Her heart sped at the contact.

She took a seat, the boat rocking as Harry clambered on board and settled beside her. Finally, they were all seated and set out upon a brief journey.

Of course, this was not what she had in mind exactly when she told Charles of her desires. No, she wanted to be here under a starry, midnight sky. She wanted his hands upon her, his mouth tasting her.

“Look!”

She smiled at Harry’s exuberance. Perhaps this was better. The boy had not been permitted here before. He told her on the walk that he had not gone farther than Silverstone’s borders.

“I see a turtle!”

Vivian followed his pointing finger to a clump of branches and leaves floating on the water. Sure enough, a large turtle sunned himself upon the oasis.

She lifted her gaze to the boy’s father. He wasn’t looking at them, but staring out at some unseen point, lost to his thoughts and troubles. “I think he is enjoying this.”

Charles did not answer. He continued rowing, unaware of what lay behind him or the direction they headed.

Harry clutched her hand. “Did you see it?”