Beauty Tempts the Beast (7 page)

More and more she believed this manor had once been a castle or keep of centuries past.

She lifted the light higher, but saw only a fluttering tapestry and faded oil paintings on the walls. No doors.

Somewhere in this huge, elaborate dwelling there must be a library. Oh Lord, she hoped so. She needed a book to read to help her fall asleep.

Vivian bit her lip and turned back the way she came, searching for other halls or shut doors. Between her concern over Lady Wainscott’s arrival and uncertainty regarding her disturbing dreams, Vivian had tossed and turned on her bed for nearly an hour. Even the spiders had fallen asleep.

Nerves taut, she tried a door at the end of long hall. Locked. Another dead-end. Could it be that this place had no library? Did Lord Ashworth not read?

Rounding another corner, Vivian encountered a stairwell. Unlike the grand staircase at the main doors, this small set must be used for servants. It wound upward in a spiral, the walls made of stones, smooth from years of contact.

She doubted she would find a library up these stairs, but curiosity urged her onward. With the candle halfway gone, Vivian climbed the steps, carefully lifting her nightgown to avoid a fall. Once at the top, she came across a single long hall.

The house was silent. Not even the moaning of the night winds could penetrate these walls.

Vivian started to her left, her heart thumping a quiet rhythm against her breast. She was tempted to try the unlit doors until she realized that she had found the servants’ quarters. There was nothing here for her.

She turned back the other way. It was unwise to be up here, dressed as she was, so late after turning in for the night.

She reached the staircase when movement down the other hall caught her eye. The form was small, such as a large dog or a young child. Vivian blinked, watched for it again. Her pulse drummed in her ears.

It could be a trick of the wind. Maybe it was a phantom or ghost lurking to frighten foolish visitors.

What if it were the monster Ashworth continued to speak of?

Her mouth dried. Knees trembled.

Then, a door at the end of the hall opened and shut. So someone
had
been in the darkened corners watching her.

A strangling vice tightening in her throat, Vivian raced down the stairs to the floor below. But once there she could not remember how to return to her rooms. She had turned so many ways she couldn’t find her way back.

The candle burned lower. Hot wax dripped onto her fingers.

Following three dead-ends and two full circles, Vivian finally found the plaster covered walls again.

Her stomach ached, her jaw hurt from clenching, but at least she was closer.

Vision blurry from anxious tears, Vivian fought to rein in her panic. As she ventured down another passage, nothing looked familiar. The bitter taste of fear saturated her tongue, but she had to keep going.

Vivian turned another corner, then bumped hard into a large figure blocking her path.

Her flame died.

Terrifying blackness. Buried alive.

Harsh, deep breathing echoed in Vivian’s eardrums. A waft of sandalwood swirled in her nostrils.

She swayed like an open boat in rough seas.

For the first time since entering Silverstone Manor, a true, piercing terror gripped her heart.

She tried to find her voice, to scream, but nothing would come forth. Trapped, paralyzed, she could do nothing but wait.

Without warning, large hands snatched her upper arms. Strong fingers pressed through the gown’s fabric, bruising her flesh with a death-like grip. She struggled helplessly against his power, twisting, kicking. The candleholder loosened from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

She closed her eyes, willing the words to form in her mouth. “Wh-whatever it is you seek, please address it now. Else release me so I may find my bed.”

One hand came free of her arm, leaving the skin to throb from the crushing grasp. She thought he might release her then but instead a finger grazed her chin. Stunned, she gasped, afraid of what he may do next.

A growl resounded above her head, his ferocity chilling her blood. He released her and thrust her away from him. She stumbled into a wall where the cold stones prevented her tumble.

Suddenly a glimmer of light flashed from far down the corridor, gradually brightening the walls as it came closer. In an instant, her attacker disappeared in the other direction.

Vivian stumbled toward the light, her heartbeat frantic. Now that the mystery had passed, panic rushed up her throat. She bit her lip to keep the hysteria away.

A figure hobbled toward her, his candle illuminating old paintings and chipped murals. At last, she reached him.

The old servant, Pinkley, stared at her with pale, rheumy eyes, shock registering on his wrinkled face.

“Ah, Miz, it’s not wise to be out at this hour.”

Vivian slowed her breath. “I-I know. I merely wanted a book to read.”

“Ye should have rung yer bell.”

But no servant could be spared for her. She learned that lesson well enough yesterday. Not only with the hot bath water, but anytime she had a request, no one seemed to pay her any mind.

“Could you pl-please show me to my room? I have lost my way.”

“Aye.” The old man nodded. “Just come from that a-way.”

He turned around and headed back down from whence he came. She followed him, glancing at the walls as they went by. But nothing looked recognizable. The house was so unremarkable and gloomy there was nothing to mark her attention.

Finally, Pinkley stopped at a door. “’Ere it is, Miz.”

Vivian opened the wooden door and slipped inside the room. Familiar blood red curtains hung above the bed. The walnut dresser and massive, ancient tapestry were as she left them. Oddly, she experienced a slight soothing comfort in their presence.

Vivian shivered. What a fool she was! Who knew what manner of men roamed these unlit corridors.

Even without the supposed threat of ghosts and phantoms, real men lived within these walls. Men who could easily attack or injure her. She was not witless enough to believe that Martin was the only such man who thrived by preying on the weaker gender.

But what of Lord Ashworth? She glanced behind her at their adjourning door, ice again in her veins. It was dark. Had he been the man to seize her in a frightening grip?

Vivian unbraided her hair and climbed atop the bed. The heavy blankets calmed her anxious heart like tight wrappings calmed a crying infant.

Still, it would be hours before she could lose herself to sleep.

“I heard you were lost in the halls last night.”

Vivian glanced up from her plate of ham and tomatoes. Her midnight eyes measured him, perhaps guessing his questioning. “Yes, I suppose Pinkley told you.”

“Aye.” Though Ashworth heard it first from Harry. The boy could not wait for breakfast to tell him what he saw late last night. The angel in white had come up to see him, the boy said. Thankfully, Harry had done as he was bid and had not interacted with Vivian.

She dabbed her mouth with the napkin, then set it upon the plate. “Am I forbidden from leaving my rooms at night?”

A muscle ticked on Ashworth’s jaw as a distressing feeling settled in his stomach. Relief that she was not harmed, yet anger at her foolishness. He crossed the room, glowering at her. “It is unwise.”

“Unwise. But not forbidden.”

He leaned across the table, flattening his palms on both sides of her dish. Instantly, the odor of the ham vanished and her tantalizing honeysuckle scent rose to torture him. “I have warned you of this house, yet you disregard me.”

Her quick glance away and momentary biting of her lip told him that something else had happened in the late hours of the night. Had The Monster paid her another visit?

A knot formed in his gut. “You are keeping something from me.”

Her gaze returned to his. “No.”

“I must teach you to lie better or our little folly will be seen through quickly enough.”

Vivian lifted her chin, the small dimple mocking him. “I will not allow Lady Wainscott to know the truth of our arrangement.”

Ashworth snorted and stood. If he didn’t do something this morning, Catherine would see through their charade by tea time.

He waved her over to the recessed nook, where the clouds performed their morning dance with the sun. The sporadic sun shone through the stained glass, sparkling oddly shaped colors on the floor. She followed him, standing in her plain gray dress with her back to the window, hands clasped gently before her.

“My lord?”

“Let me assess how well you can lie.”

She nodded. “Go on.”

“Do you enjoy my kisses?”

“My—my lord?”

His lips twitched. “Answer the question, Vivian. Either with a lie or the truth, but answer it.”

“Very well then.” That chin tilted ever so slightly. “I will admit that I do enjoy them.”

The truth. And the answer pleased him. “Did you enjoy my caresses?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Is this a test of my abilities or a need to satisfy your opinion of yourself?”

Ashworth grinned, but did not reply to her question. “You will answer.”

“Very well. I do enjoy them.” Another truth.

He took a step closer, close enough to thread his fingers through her hair if he chose. Instead, he crossed his arms. “Would you like me to touch you again?”

Finally, he broke her. Cheeks blushed crimson. “No. No. No.” And yet her pressed lips and averted eyes exposed her lie.

“Vivian, did something happen in the corridors last night?”

She gasped, obviously not expecting the question. “No. Nothing.” And yet, her expression had not changed from the previous question. A card player, she was not.

He quirked an eyebrow. “You are not telling me the truth.”

She slid him a resigned glare. “Well, I did see something in the upstairs servants’ hall. I can’t be sure what it was, but something watched me.”

Aye, Harry. Still, he was relieved in that she did not recognize the small figure in the shadows. No one other than those living in this house could know about Harry. Ashworth could never risk the boy being taken from him.

“You need lessons in how to lie.”

Vivian sighed. “What is it you’ll have me do?”

Clenching his jaw, Ashworth braced himself. He must demonstrate what not to do. He must touch her.

“Have you finished with your breakfast?”

“Yes.” She fixed her gaze upon his eyes, not gaping at the scar as others did.

“Good.” Gently, he lifted her chin, the smooth skin a welcome answer to the rough texture of his own.

“You must not look down or away. Keep your face steady, your manner confident.”

Ashworth reached for her crossed arms, trying not to brush the tempting swells of her bosom, but was unsuccessful. His knuckles grazed the soft curve of the fabric. The memory of her breast naked and glowing flashed before his eyes. He remembered running his tongue along their valley, tasting her luscious splendor.

Scorching heat blasted through his blood. Like a randy lad, he was instantly erect.

He cleared his throat. “Do not cross your arms or lock your fingers. Remain loose and relaxed.” She let her arms drop to her sides. “Yes, like that and always look directly at the person, no glancing away.”

Vivian nodded.

Just one thing left to do. He grazed her warm mouth with his thumb, smiling at her hushed intake of breath. “No biting, licking or pressing on your lips.”

Ah, those lips! He wanted to kiss them, taste her skin, lick her most feminine treasures. Like any man, he yearned for a woman’s tender flesh and sweet scent.

He truly ached with need. But too many horrors had taken over his mind. The other night confirmed it.

Vivian stepped back from him, her eyes shuttering to a quiet reserve. “So when Lady Wainscott asks of our impending vows, I shall answer her with my arms at my side, my chin held high, my gaze directly upon her and my mouth set in a smile.”

He nodded, relieved the lesson was over. “That should do it.”

A bell rang elsewhere in the house, prompting Ashworth to think of the time. It must be Harry or John calling for breakfast. Catherine would be here before long, escalating his life into further chaos.

“Mrs. Plimpton,” he called, never removing his gaze from Vivian’s lovely face.

She appeared nearby. “Yes, mi’lord?”

“Clear up breakfast as usual.”

“I should wrap it, mi’lord?”

“Yes, then leave us.”

Ashworth listened to his housekeeper package up food and scones for Harry, who liked to eat downstairs with the servants. As he waited for her to leave, he watched the vivid reds and yellows from the stained glass window bounce atop the black shimmer of Vivian’s hair. He’d never cared for the sun before, it reminded him of his youth and it shined an ugly brightness upon his scar.

Standing there, amid the dancing hues, Vivian resembled an Italian mosaic come to life. His chest twinged at the sight.

Finally, Mrs. Plimpton left the room and pulled the door shut with a firm tug. They were alone.

He cleared his throat. “What other questions do you have before the Countess arrives?”

Without hesitation, she said, “Why is she coming to visit you now?”

If he only knew. Catherine spurned him after the accident, no longer enamored with a disfigured and scandalous viscount. She pulled her affection for him and found another man to latch onto. Pity of it was, Ashworth had thought he loved her. Her shallowness scarred his heart like the mark on his face.

He could only assume she returned for one thing. His money. And no doubt, Ashworth’s own mother had meddled somewhere in the mess.

He sensed Vivian’s reservation, her concern. She could easily leave him, walk out the door and force him to face Catherine alone. Ashworth lifted Vivian’s hand and placed a kiss upon the knuckles. “I am unaware of her intent. Her letter did not state a purpose.”

Vivian’s breathing grew shallow. “Oh?”

She did not believe him. Ashworth nodded and flipped her hand over, kissing the raised marks of yesterday’s injuries. He should stop. And, yet, he could not seem to let her go. “Any other questions?” he whispered against her palm.