Beauty's Beast (11 page)

Kristine felt slightly nauseous the morning after the ball. She attributed it to a very late night and all the champagne she had consumed. By noon, she felt better. By evening, she had forgotten all about it, so she was surprised to find herself ill again the following morning, as well, and every morning for the next two weeks.

“I don't know what's wrong with me,” she groaned as she rinsed her mouth with warm water.

Lilia and Leyla smiled at each other as they changed the soiled linen on her bed.

“You don't suppose I'm coming down with something, do you?” Kristine asked.

Leyla's smile widened as she placed her hand over Kristine's belly, then pretended she was cradling a baby in her arms.

Kristine stared at the woman a moment, and then her mouth dropped open. “A baby? You think I'm with child?”

Leyla and Lilia looked at each other and nodded. Cocking her head to one side, Leyla pressed lightly on Kristine's breast.

Kristine frowned. Her breasts had been tender for the last few days.

Lilia and Leyla looked at each other and smiled.

“A baby,” Kristine murmured. “Oh, my.” A slow smile spread across her face as she contemplated telling Erik he was going to be a father. It was what he wanted, the reason he had married her in the first place. He had told her so himself.
I want nothing from you
, he had said, the words cold and blunt and implacable.
Nothing but a child.

She felt the smile die on her lips. Would he stop coming nightly to her bed now that the deed had been accomplished and she was carrying his child? Though she was certain it was unseemly, she treasured their lovemaking, had grown accustomed to falling asleep in his arms. And though he was gone in the morning when she awoke, his scent permeated her bedclothes, her pillow, her skin.

She wasn't ready to give all that up, not yet. “Promise me,” she said, looking from one woman to the other, “promise you won't tell anyone.”

Leyla and Lilia exchanged glances.

“Promise me,” Kristine insisted. “This is my news, and I wish to tell my lord husband in my own time, in my own way.”

The two silent women both nodded. They helped her dress, then left the room.

“A baby,” Kristine murmured.

Taking her diary from the drawer, she sat down and picked up her quill.

With a sigh, she put her pen aside, her happiness marred by doubts. What if Erik was horribly misshapen beneath the mask? What if he had been born that way, if the same deformity should be passed on to their child? But surely, if that were true, he would not be seeking an heir.

Keeping her secret was harder than she had expected. A dozen times a day the words rose in her throat. At night, in his arms, after they had made love, the words begged to be said and yet she kept them locked inside. She could not put aside her fear that, once he knew his seed was growing within her, he would no longer have need of her.

They went riding every morning. She knew she would soon have to stop, for safety's sake. A fall could be dangerous for her child. But not on this beautiful day. It was the first of July and the sky was a clear azure blue. As always, she lost herself in the joy of riding, in the beauty of the landscape. The grass spread before them like a carpet of lush green velvet. Flowers dotted the countryside, as bright as gems scattered by a careless hand.

They paused after an hour or so to rest the horses. It was then, as she watched Erik dismount and walk toward her, that she noticed the stiffness in his movements.

“Are you in pain, my lord?” she asked as he lifted her from Misty's back.

“It's nothing.” He set her on her feet. Gathering the horses' reins, he led them to a small pool and let them drink.

Kristine frowned as she watched him walk away. He was limping. She was sure of it.

Plucking a bright yellow dandelion, she twirled it between her thumb and forefinger, her gaze focused on Erik's back. The sun glinted in the blackness of his hair. She watched the muscles ripple beneath the fine wool of his shirt, and her fingers ached to touch him.

He turned and caught her watching him. Heat suffused her cheeks, not the heat of shame at being caught staring, but the heat of desire. The attraction between them sizzled like summer lightning.

Hardly aware of what she was doing, she crushed the dandelion in her hand as he tethered the horses to a tree and crossed the distance between them.

“Kristine . . .”

She looked up at him, her green eyes bright. “Yes, my lord?”

Erik's gaze swept the surrounding countryside. They were alone, quite alone.

Taking her by the hand, he led her to a small copse of trees.

“Here, my lord?” she asked as he drew her down beside him.

“Here, now.” He was running out of time, he thought desperately. The right side of his body ached, the pain reminding him that time was one thing he didn't have to waste. If he was going to sire an heir, it had to be soon, before even layers of clothing and a mask would not hide what he was becoming.

He undressed her quickly, his heart pounding with need and desire, his gaze drinking in the beauty of her face and form. Her skin was soft and smooth and he wished that, just once, he dared remove his clothing and feel the heat of her body against his. And even as his body became a part of hers, he knew she deserved so much more than the half man, half monster cradled between her thighs.

Release came quickly for both of them.

With a sigh, he drew her into his arms and held her close, one hand lightly moving over her belly, her breasts . . .

Muttering an oath, he sat up, eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he cupped her breast, spread his hand across her belly.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked, his voice sharp.

A dark flush stained her cheeks as her gaze slid away from his. “I'm . . . that is, we . . .”

“Are you breeding?” he asked curtly.

“Aye, my lord.”

“How long have you known?”

“Nearly a month.”

“And you saw no need to tell me?”

“I . . .” She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes.

“Why did you not tell me, Kristine?”

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

The flush that stained her neck and cheeks crept up into her hairline.

“Answer me!”

“I was afraid,” she stammered. “Afraid you would no longer come to my bed if you knew.”

He stared at her, speechless. “Why would you think that?”

She grabbed her riding habit and drew it over her, as if it would protect her. “You once told me that you wanted nothing from me but a child.”

Erik nodded, still not understanding.

“I . . . I . . .”

He would have wagered half his estate that her cheeks could get no pinker than they were. He would have lost. “Go on.”

“I didn't want to lose your company in my bed, my lord.”

“Ah, Kristine,” he murmured. “What a delight you are, and how I shall miss you.”

“Miss me, my lord? Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” he said quickly. “When is the child due?”

“I'm not sure. Mrs. Grainger thinks sometime after Christmas.” Kristine bit down on her lower lip. “Will you be terribly disappointed if it is a girl, my lord?”

“No.” He plucked the habit from her hand and tossed it aside, then placed his hand over her belly. His child was growing there, beneath his hand. It was a powerful thought.

She glanced at his hand, then frowned up at him. “I don't even show yet. How did you know?”

He shook his head. She was right. How had he known? He shied away from the answer that quickly came to mind even as he knew that it was somehow tied to the curse that plagued him, to the heightened senses that enabled him to see things, hear things, that others could not.

Kristine's gaze slid away from his as she wondered how to phrase the question that plagued her without hurting his feelings.

“My lord, may I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“You won't be angry?”

“No.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“I know you said I was not to ask about the mask, but I should very much like to know why you wear it.” She lifted a hand to silence him. “You needn't tell me what you're hiding. I should only like to know if . . . if it's an affliction you were born with and if . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“You need not worry, Kristine,” he replied stiffly, “your child will not be cursed with my affliction.”

Right or wrong, his words removed a huge weight from her mind. “I'm sorry, my lord.”

He shook his head. “Don't be. You have every right to be concerned for your child's welfare.” He spread his fingers over her belly. His hand was large and very brown against her pale skin. “Now I would ask you a question, and beg you tell me the truth honestly. Is this child something you want?”

“Oh, yes!” She placed her hand over his. “Never doubt that, my lord husband. I am happy to be carrying our child.”

With a sigh, he drew her into his arms and held her close.

“May I ask another question, my lord?”

He smiled at her. “Today you may ask anything.”

“You are in pain, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No.”

“What of your physician? Can he do nothing to ease your suffering?”

Erik rested his chin on top of her head and stared into the distance, the sound of Charmion's voice roaring like thunder in his mind.
When my daughter forgives you, so shall I.

“No,” he said heavily. “There is nothing anyone can do.”

 

 

He had planned to see less of her now that she was with child, to gradually withdraw from her presence, thinking it would be less painful that way. Instead, he resolved to spend as much time as he could with her, to store up a wealth of memories against the day when he would no longer be able to hide his affliction and he would be forced to leave the castle for good.

True to her word, Kristine asked no more questions, but accepted the peculiarities of their life together. She grew accustomed to dimly lit rooms, to making love in the dark to a man who was fully clothed, to being unable to touch him.

As time went on, they took their rides after sunset, when the world was gray. He cherished the quiet times they spent riding together. He could see her clearly in the darkness, and he memorized every inch of her face and form, every expression, the happy sound of her laughter. She was radiant now, with a new life growing within her. Her eyes seemed to glow from within, her skin was soft and pink, her breasts were fuller, often tempting his touch. She never pulled away, never denied him.

Loving her was a mix of pleasure and pain. He delighted in touching her, holding her, caressing her, and ached because he could not accept her touch in return. And she wanted to touch him. He saw it in her eyes, in the way she sometimes forgot herself and reached out, only to have him stay her hand. Soon, he would not be able to share her bed. Soon, there would be no hiding what he was becoming.

Shortly after their attendance at the masked ball, Kristine began receiving invitations to other events—horse races and luncheons, card parties and afternoon teas. At first, she refused to attend, but he urged and then insisted that she accept. It was not good for her to spend all her time in the castle. She needed to make friends of the other women in the district, needed a life of her own.

Kristine argued at first, afraid to venture out of the house without him, afraid her manners would be found wanting. And so he had Mrs. Grainger and the mute women instruct her in every art of polite society he could imagine, and then he sat back and watched her blossom. Her hair, longer at last, framed her face with honey-gold curls. Her green eyes sparkled like the emeralds he had given her. The sound of her merry laughter filled the rooms of the once-gloomy castle.

He knew a sense of pride as he watched her accept invitations, watched her confidence grow. He gave her leave to have company whenever she wished, though he made himself scarce on days she was entertaining. In the city, it was unheard of for a pregnant woman to entertain or to accept invitations, but here, in the country, it was common for women to go out in society until their condition was quite pronounced.