Beauty Tempts the Beast (8 page)

“Um, when would our wedding take place?”

“Good question. We will tell her sometime in autumn.”

She pulled her hand from his mouth. “Where? Here?”

Reluctantly, Ashworth let her go. “My mother would want to hold it in London or at our other estate near the coast.”

Vivian turned, her head tilted down to gaze out onto the grounds. “Won’t your mother continue to find brides for you once I’m gone?”

He stared at her round shoulders, at her straight back with the customary dark braid splitting it down the center. “Yes, perhaps. But eventually she will give up on me.”

She gasped and glanced over her shoulder. “You want her to give up on you? To forget about you?

What of family?”

Ah, so Vivian missed her home, did she? She had yet to reveal who she left behind or why she needed to run.

She questioned his secrets but would not reveal hers. “Tell me of your family, Vivian.”

Her eyes lowered and she turned back to the window. “I cannot go back.”

Ashworth took a step closer, his hand hovering over her shoulder for a moment, an impulse to soothe the pain he heard in her voice. He placed his palm on the window instead, the glass cool and uneven to the touch. “Tell me why you can’t go back. Have you no family left?”

Her mouth twitched but she did not look up at him. “I-I have family. A mother and a father. But nothing is as it was.”

His voice lowered. “How was it?”

Anguish tugged at her lips. “Once I thought we were a happy family. My mother and father seemed in love, my home secure. I thought my father was the most special man in the world for how he treated my mother. It warmed my heart to think of it.”

“But now?”

She crossed her arms, as if she could keep the cold memories from invading her soul. “Now I cannot think of it at all. It was all a lie. Everything I believed to be true was not.”

Intrigued, Ashworth leaned his shoulder against the window, angling for a clearer view of her face.

“All a lie?”

Her lips pressed together until her eyes dampened. When her face flushed with color, Ashworth realized he’d gone too far. Some secrets she would not tell.

Footsteps and voices echoed in the hall then stopped at the closed door.

Ashworth stared at Vivian’s kissable lips, at her midnight eyes. “Have we concluded our questions, then?”

She nodded.

“Then prepare yourself to meet Lady Wainscott.”

“My lord?”

He forced a calm smile, inwardly praying Catherine did not intend to stay long. His temper against her could not remain composed for more than a few days. Nor could he withstand the Vivian’s unique torture for much longer.

“I do believe the Countess has arrived.”

Vivian held her breath, her nerves afire. The door swung open and she sucked in a deep, calming breath. Mrs. Plimpton hurried in, her face more flustered than normal. “Mi’lord. The Countess of Wainscott awaits you in the parlor.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Plimpton. I will go meet with her.”

Lord Ashworth’s piercing gray eyes glanced down at her and dared her to question him. “Return to your room, Vivian. I will send for you within the hour.”

She watched his large, imposing frame maneuver past the housekeeper and out the door. His heavy footsteps faded into the distance.

Wait in her room. Whatever would she do there? She had yet to find a book to keep her busy and had not brought her sketch pad from home. No supplies were about for stitching, nor any tuned musical instruments to play on.

She could do nothing but lie upon her bed and stare at the bed coverings! She could not sit idle now if her very life depended upon it. Distraction would prove her closest friend.

Vivian poked her head out into the hall. All was clear.

To be certain she avoided the parlor, she twisted her way down the other corridor and past the Great Hall, then down the set of rear stairs. She could get that back door open somehow and save herself the lengthy jaunt around the outside of the house.

Descending the creaking stairs, Vivian pushed cobwebs out of her way. There, at the bottom, stood the door she’d seen a few days ago. Light filtered through the slats, freedom whispering to her. Passing this door from the outside, she’d noted that nothing barred it from opening, no debris or nailed wood. It was merely warped into the frame.

She would open it.

Vivian banged on it with her shoulder, then pushed with both hands. The wood groaned and cracked under her pressure, but the door stuck firm. Any minute now Pinkley would come and shoo her away again.

Instead, one of the other locked doors in the hall opened. Vivian gasped and pressed herself back against the wall when a stranger emerged from the dark.

The man’s bright blue eyes stared at her, as if he were shocked to find her there. He had blonde, disheveled hair that told her he did not expect to be seen and a strong jaw that spoke of a man still in the prime of his life. In fact, she expected he would be of a similar age to Lord Ashworth.

Vivian waited for him to speak, to introduce himself or even ask who she was. But he said nothing.

Stunned by her presence, he remained immobile. And so they watched each other like wary tomcats until something startled the man into action.

“Kick the bottom,” he whispered. Then, just as quickly as he’d shown himself, the man retreated behind the door and yanked it closed. Vivian was once again alone in the shadowed landing.

She blinked, watching and waiting. Other than the wind whistling through the slats, all was quiet.

Vivian turned back to the stuck door. Glaring at it, she thought to give it one more attempt before moving onto more fruitful endeavors. Using the stranger’s advice, she kicked the door repeatedly. The wood splintered beneath her shoe, but she felt it pull away from the frame. With a good, hard shove, Vivian pushed it open.

Light spilled into where she stood, along with a shower of dust fluttering into the air like sparkling fairies. The cool, misty air greeted her as she stepped onto the soft earth. Finally, she was free.

Clouds rose up the cliff and built upon themselves over the roof of the house. The light color of beach pebbles, Vivian did not expect rain from them today.

She waded through the tall swaying grasses and weeds, stopping to assess her progress on the garden.

So far she had only managed to pull off overgrown vines and dead vegetation. Much remained to be done.

But now was not the time to do it. And it wouldn’t be wise for her to return to the house looking disheveled.

So Vivian carried on past the garden, walking further than she’d ever ventured. A row of trees impeded her path, their growth heavy and unkempt. At one time these specimens must have bordered the rear yard with a regal bearing and upright snobbery. Now they appeared as withered old men, their clothing loose and ill-fitting on their once proud state. Much like Pinkley himself.

Vivian walked along the line of trees until she found a clearing to pass through. Branches snagged her hair and scraped her dress. She should turn back. This walk had been a foolish adventure to soothe her boredom and nerves, but now she would appear a disaster.

Gull cries filled the air. There must be a body of water she had not seen from the house. Oh, she could chance another few minutes and still have enough time to return and clean up.

Vivian scanned the horizon, finding crops of rocks and green hills bordering the water. Of course, a lake. The cries of the birds and whispering of the water calmed her nerves. Ducks and swans glided toward her. Who knew such beauty and tranquility lay within such a short distance of the decaying manor?

She closed her eyes as the breeze, like a lover, gently caressed her face. The scent of sandalwood and berries arose from her memories and tormented her with their sweetness. It was as if Lord Ashworth stood beside her, tracing his finger down her jaw, murmuring in her ear. A surprising delicious shiver skated down her spine.

She could stay here all day. She could—

A soft rustle of leaves broke her from the fantasy. Vivian opened her eyes and glanced around the rocky beach. The noise came again, between a large bush and boulders. Vivian took a step in that direction and a fox darted into the thicket. She quickly pushed branches aside to see a lone egg within a nest.

Gasping, Vivian gently scooped the egg into her hands. She didn’t want to leave it for the fox’s lunch and yet she didn’t want to take it if the mother planned to return.

Sitting atop the boulder, she tucked the egg into the folds of her lap and waited. Lady Wainscott be damned.

Vivian would not take an offspring from its mother. Neither would she permit a young life to fall victim to a predator. She would not repeat her father’s sins.

Ashworth set his face in a scowl. He had no desire to appear handsome for Catherine. If she thought him too ugly to marry seven years ago, he would make certain her mind had not changed.

He stepped into the parlor. Immediately his chest tightened at the sight of her standing near the carved marble fireplace. Her golden hair and flawless skin brightened the dim room like a vibrant lamp. Dressed in an expensive dark purple dress, Catherine was the embodiment of fine London society.

Her hazel eyes lifted and stared at his scar, revulsion lurking behind the polite mask. Then, finally, her gaze locked onto his. “Ah, Charles, how nice it is to see you again.”

For a moment, he was back in London, holding her on a polished dance floor. But then the pain of her rebuke crashed through his senses. “Lord Ashworth,” he corrected, not tolerating familiarity with her.

Her lips curled. “Oh, really, must it be that way?”

He’d not bother with a pretense of politeness. “Why have you come, Lady Wainscott?”

“You must call me Catherine.”

Nay, he detested even saying the name. “What has brought you to Silverstone Manor? My mother, perhaps?”

Her gaze darted to the floor. “I thought a visit was long overdue.”

She thought she could fool him with a lie. There was no need to visit him other than for his wealth.

“And your husband, is he well?”

“The earl died last year.” Catherine pressed her lips together. “I am alone now.”

Ashworth did not believe her sorrow, nor would he allow her to use it to her advantage. “Have you no children?”

“I have a daughter. Still in the nursery.”

“Did you bring her?”

Her widened gaze lifted to him. “Of course not. She is at home with her nanny.”

Wind swept up against the house, screeching tree branches across the stones. He noticed Catherine shiver, but he made no move to warm her. Instead, he pointed to the sofa. “Sit, I will call for some tea.”

She glanced at the furniture, her nose wrinkling. “Your servants have not been doing their duty.”

His lips twitched. His servants did exactly as they were told. “Silverstone is a very old manor.”

She sniffed. “That is no reason it cannot be kept properly.”

Ah, this was not what he needed, a woman like his mother telling him how to keep his house. He was lord of this manor. He could keep it any way he pleased. The dusty furniture gave him no pause, and yet it did wonders to dissuade anyone else from staying.

Other than Vivian. She never once mentioned it or seemed disturbed by it. Suddenly, he longed to have her here with him.

She wouldn’t turn right around and leave. He knew that well enough about her. Catherine was quite purposeful and stubborn when she wanted something badly enough. He would have to endure her until she tired of the pursuit. “I will have someone prepare a room for you. Did you bring a maid?”

“Of course.”

Ashworth turned to go.

“Wait.” Her gloved hand settled on his arm. Once he experienced warmth in her touch, now only a hollowness in his chest.

“Nothing is left to be said.” He watched the tree sway outside the window. “You should rest until dinner.”

“I have not stopped thinking about you.”

Ashworth winced at her husky voice and obvious lie. Did she think him a fool? “Whatever we had has long been over, Lady Wainscott.”

Catherine took a step closer. The scent of lavender swirled in his nostrils. “I was young then. My father worried of the scandal. I didn’t know what to do…”

He snorted. She did not seem so innocent and naïve that day she sent him away from her doorstep.

Horror and revulsion were not given to her by her father. “You made your choice.”

“You left London within days.”

He had to. For Harry’s sake. “I could have explained it all to you then, but you never gave me the chance.”

Her hand touched his cheek, his unblemished cheek. “You could enlighten me now.”

Like hell he would. Ashworth pushed away from her clutches and narrowed his eyes. “It is too late for explanations. It is too late for us.”

She reached out for him, undaunted. “But time has—”

“Too late,” he said, closing his hand around the cold doorknob. “I am engaged to another woman.”

Without listening for a reply, Ashworth left the parlor and headed straight for Vivian’s bedchamber.

With each step, the prickling under his skin eased, but his blood burned. Vivian both comforted and plagued him.

Ashworth reached her door, his pulse brisk. Knocking, he called her name.

No answer.

Perhaps she had fallen asleep. His knuckles rapped louder. “Miss Suttley?”

Again, nothing.

Ashworth tested the handle and found it unlocked. He quietly pushed it open but found no one inside.

Her bed was still smooth from the servant’s straightening, the fire dim. But the scent of her lingered. Even with the ever-present odor of musty dampness, he could smell her honeysuckle sweetness. If he closed his eyes he could imagine her standing before him, a vision of glowing skin and shapely legs.

Where had she gone if not here?

Ashworth retraced his steps down the main corridor. Drafts swirled past him, fluttering tapestries and cobwebs. A few turns brought him to the library, the place Pinkley had said Vivian sought last night. But the dark room was empty.