Seducing the Beast (33 page)

* * * *

She was feeding the pigs when a cart drew up before their gate. It had rained heavily the night before, leaving the ground boggy, the lane little better than a mud bath. Any cart and horses heaving their way slowly through it uphill certainly had a hard task ahead. The man steering the cart wore a hooded cloak, hiding his face.

“Good day, fair wench. Have you any supper scraps to spare a humble fellow? For payment I can entertain you with card tricks and juggling.”

She recognized that deep, booming voice at once. Surely it was too good to be true. “Nathaniel!”

He tossed back his hood, revealing a familiar, dark, curly head and a broad grin stretching on like a lazy summer afternoon. A spark of gladness tore through her previously dour mood. Her cousin’s smile was infectious, as always, and she ran to greet him. In days gone by, Nathaniel’s many tales of adventure had been a bright spot on her horizon, back when she had to make do with hearing of his exploits and had none of her own. Now she felt frighteningly mature in comparison to how she was once. No more the restless, moon-eyed maiden, she tried to hide the change, for Nathaniel was extremely astute when it came to her wicked thoughts and notions. She feared he would uncover her secret love with one glance of his silver gray eyes.

“You are pardoned, then?” she asked when he set her down from a crushing embrace.

“Indeed I am!” He leaned over the side of the cart, folding back the hay-strewn blankets, revealing a veritable mountain range of casks and boxes. “And see here the gifts I bring for my family.”

There were hard loaves of sugar, green ginger preserved in syrup, orange conserve, dried dates and figs, mustard imported from France, salted fish in wooden boxes, marchpane molded into miniature fruits and even rice, which they’d never had before as it was such an expense. Nathaniel merrily accepted blame for this excess, but Madolyn knew someone else was responsible, probably the same mysterious soul who’d arranged his pardon.

Proving her right, he suddenly handed her a wooden box. “For you,” he whispered.

She opened it cautiously, finding inside a necklace made of silver daisies, their petals inlaid with mother-of-pearl, their yellow centers formed of amber gemstones. It was lovely.

“I don’t want it,” she snapped, her throat tight.

“Precisely what he said you’d say. I see thanks are in order.”

Sullen, she muttered her thanks.

“Not yours, wench! Mine. I didn’t quite believe him when he told me how you
persuaded
him. Now I see ’tis true.”

“What did he tell you?” she demanded, closing the box before anyone else might see.

“He had no need to tell me much. It was written all over his face. And now yours.”

With a sigh of exasperation, she assured him the earl was merely a slight acquaintance, nothing more than that, and she couldn’t imagine why he thought such a gift appropriate.

“Maddie the Merciless.” Nathaniel chuckled, one hand pressed to his heart. “I vow never to ask a thing about it, coz. To be sure, you must have your reasons for leaving the poor fellow licking his wounds and pining after you. Keep him dangling and he might send any number of gifts to satisfy your sweet tooth. Get what you can from him. I would, if I was you, coz.”

Flustered, she exclaimed, “You know nothing about him, so you’d best keep your mouth shut!”

Laughing, he began unloading the cart.

Daisies, she mused, sneaking another look at the necklace. He’d remembered they were her favorites. He was indeed generous to an inconsequential scrap of a girl. Alas, she would never be able to wear it, for people would surely ask how it came into her unworthy hands, and probably assume she stole it.

What could she send him in return? She had nothing of value, and yet she should acknowledge what he’d done for her. The simple fact remained, whatever his failings, she did love the great, fat-headed oaf. She always would. And he deserved to know it.

Midsummer 1563

It was a glorious sunny afternoon. The grass where she sat rippled lushly around her, speckled with buttercups and daisies in riotous abundance. Often in the afternoons she napped, and already her eyes closed as she lay back on her elbows, chewing a long strand of grass. Even the shouts of the dancers, recklessly flinging one another in circles, seemed a distant and leisurely lullaby. The low thunder of drums was almost soothing, the whine of the sackbut a lazy, winsome sound, like a bee drunk on malmsey.

She slyly caressed her stomach and wondered who her child would most resemble, Carver or Mallory? Poor Griff, she thought with a great surge of sorrow. Folk feared him or hated him, often only on the strength of gossip spread by people like Eustacia. His stubborn temper, his Swafford arrogance, did nothing to help improve that reputation, but Maddie, having witnessed his extreme generosity on more than one occasion, knew he was not always at fault.

He must have wondered what she meant by sending him her cockle shell on a leather string. Surely he would think it foolish, even childish. Of course, he was accustomed to finer gifts, could have any luxury he wanted.

Not that he’d ever sought luxury, she realized. Despite the title, he was a quiet man with simple tastes and no time for fancy clothes, at least not his own. If she saw him in the street, she would take him for a groom, or a farmer, or a carpenter perhaps, she thought, considering his wonderfully skilled hands and their attention to detail. She would easily mistake him for an ordinary man. As indeed, she had.

Her heart ached, missing him intolerably, but knowing there was nothing she could do to heal it, Maddie the Merciless conceded defeat.

She watched her sister dancing on the common with Nathaniel. The goodly warm scent of baked pasties drifted across the common, and once the sun set, it would mingle with the smoke of the bonfire.

Lifting her nose to the warm air, she sniffed. Lord, she was hungry, tired one moment and famished the next. She sat up, and suddenly the earth tipped and shook. Closing her eyes, she waited, thinking this simply another dizzy spell. But in the darkness, with her eyes shut, she saw the image again of the dancers on the common, and there, standing to one side, watching her…a man.

Her lashes fluttered open cautiously and she looked again.

Her heart vibrated like the wings of a captive butterfly.

It was him. The Beast. Standing there. Watching her.

Now he began a slow approach.

Oh. Her teeth hurt. He’d warned her they would, unless she curbed her appetite for sweet things.

Suddenly his imposing figure was intercepted by another and she scrambled to her feet, looking to escape.

* * * *

“Swafford!” Her father trotted over, one hand raised in greeting. “I’m glad you could visit.”

“I had business in Norfolk, captain. Since I was passing, thought I’d accept your kind invite.”

“We are indeed honored.” Although the sentiment was warm, the captain’s smile was not. In fact, he was unusually solemn. “You find us at our best today.” He gestured to the dancers. “Shall you dance with one of our pretty maids? Or do you, like me, keep time like a deaf man?”

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he agreed, wincing. There seemed little order to the steps, only a vast deal of falling down and laughing. It bore scant resemblance to a galliard, the one dance he’d learned.

Scanning the dancers, he found her, black hair flying as she clasped her partner’s arms and he stumbled drunkenly into her. Catching Griff’s eye, she instantly looked away. Several others on the common had noticed his presence and were whispering to one another, curious about the giant, ungainly stranger in all the finery. He felt ridiculously overdressed, and quietly cursed himself for the spur of whimsy which had induced him to heed Matthew’s fashion advice. But what else could he have done? Having decided he should make an effort if he meant to go courting for the first time in his life and then realizing he didn’t know the first thing about courtship, he’d been forced to rely on the opinion of his romantically inclined valet.

As the dance ended, the captain beckoned to his daughter and she sauntered over to where they stood, her hair loose and wild, cheeks flushed.

“You remember his lordship,” her father said, nudging the surly wench with his elbow. “Curtsey, girl. Show some manners.”

Saucy lips tightly pursed, she performed an extravagant curtsey, dipping low. Griff, who was unfortunately on his best behavior, had a disquieting view of a bosom even more opulent than he remembered. Pity he couldn’t simply carry her off over his shoulder and have done with it.

“His lordship has a fancy to dance,” said her father abruptly.

Tearing his eyes away from the woman before him, he began to protest, “But I--”

“My daughter wants a partner, Swafford.”

Was that menace in the captain’s tone? It was definitely new.

“As a gentleman, Swafford, you won’t keep the lady waiting.”

Nothing else to be done, he put out his hand, palm up. The captain, however, reckoned without his daughter’s stubborn temperament.

“I’ve no shortage of willing dance partners, Papa,” she said smugly, her blue eyes dismissive and amused. “And since I’m currently out of breath, I’ve no intention of dancing again yet.”

He withdrew his hand and put both behind his back, squaring his shoulders. The captain glowered at his daughter.

Awkwardly, Griff fumbled for conversation, a skill he’d never acquired, having no need for it. “You are in health, Mistress Madolyn?”

* * * *

How strange it was to hear and see him attempt such politeness, as if they were phrases learned by rote. But though his words were civil, his eyes were not. Her hand moved to the nape of her neck, where she was warm and clammy. And beginning to itch. “I’m fair bursting with good health, my lord. And you?”

“I’ve been better.”

“Oh?” She turned, lifting her gaze to his, hand still on her neck.

“’Tis but a trifling matter.” He managed a tepid smile. “I will find the cure.”

Her father waited for the conversation to resume, and then gave up. Complaining of a great thirst, he left them alone.

Madolyn made up her mind to make Griff speak first. It lasted approximately three seconds. “Why are you here, for pity’s sake?”

His brows dipped. “Am I not permitted to go wherever I please?”

She shrugged, swinging her arms as she looked over at the dancers.

“I wanted to see where you lived.” He bowed his head toward her slightly. “I wanted to see the place where such stubborn, recalcitrant women are born.”

“And what do you think of us?” Looking up at him, the sun made her squint.

“I’m not yet decided.”

Her arm accidentally knocked against his and she stepped away, self-conscious in her patched gown. Today he looked every bit the nobleman, from his fine leather boots to his plumed hat. Folk would speculate on his identity and why he talked to plain Maddie Carver. Wouldn’t they be shocked to know the truth?

He fidgeted with his ruff, as if it was too tight. “I want you back,” he said suddenly.

Shocked, she tried to calm the naughty, rebellious pixies dancing in her breast. She could not give this man an inch. Today she would be as intransigent as him. “Whatever our previous arrangement, I’m not your chattel.
That
is over.”

His eyes darkened. “Because you got what you wanted? Perhaps now I want something from you.”

“Your arrogance grows tiresome.” She sighed. “Excuse me I--”

He grabbed her arm and she stumbled to a halt, laughing uneasily. “Folk are watching us, my lord.”

Jerking away, she ran back to the dancers, leaving him there alone.

* * * *

As they readied for bed, Grace asked, “Who was that man on the common, Maddie?”

“No one,” came the quick reply.

Sliding under the coverlet, Grace kicked her feet, seeking the warm patch under her sister. “Do not play the innocent with me, Madolyn Carver. What have you done to him? The poor fellow looks wretched.”

“And so he should.” She wriggled. “Stop it! Leave me alone.”

“This is my bed too.”

“There is no need to kick me.”

“I didn’t kick you, for pity’s sake.”

“Yes, you did. I’m all bruised. Ouch!”

“Hush, or you’ll wake John,” she warned.

Maddie turned back to study the darkening sky through the open shutters. “If you must know, his name is Lord Griffyn Mallory.”

“The Earl of Swafford? Gabriel’s brother?
The Beast?
”

Sighing reluctantly, she nodded. Grace poked her again with her toes and said, “He claims to be in love with you.”

But he didn’t believe in it. He’d told her that. “He’s a damned liar!” Maddie stared hard at the purple sky, until she began to feel there were no walls around her, as if she floated in the air, like another tiny, winking star. “What…what did he say?”

“Just that. He’s a man of few words, it seems. Asked if I was your sister and informed me he’s in love with you. He seemed to think I might advise him on how best to rectify the matter.” Grace sat up, plumping her pillow. “I told him he should cast his eyes elsewhere.”

“Good,” she snapped, to hide her trembling lip.

“Believe me, I said to him, my sister leaves dozens of befuddled men in her wake. Good Lord, said I, you’re not the first, poor, cocksure fool to think himself in love with my sister, roll up the lane from Merryweather’s with cider on his hot breath and start yelling for our Maddie.”

“Thank you, sister. Now what must he think of me?”

“I did it for your own good,” Grace teased. “’Tis what you always said to me when you sent my suitors on their way.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to your own devices from now on,” Maddie vowed solemnly, flinging herself on her back.

After a brief pause Grace continued slyly, “Ask any young man hereabouts, I said to him. Many have lost their heart to Maddie, at one time or another. Who would not? What man in his right mind wouldn’t love my sister?”

Maddie turned her head against the pillow. “You said that about me?”

Grace took her warm hand and squeezed it gently. “He’s in love with you.”