Beauty's Beast (12 page)

Now, sitting upstairs in his room while she entertained a handful of new friends, he listened to the sounds of merriment rising from below, and knew that when the time came that he must leave her for good, she would not be alone.

“I should like to have a party, my lord husband,” Kristine decided at dinner one night.

“Indeed?”

She nodded, her eyes twinkling. “A masked ball, such as the one we attended at Lord and Lady Gladstone's.” She smiled at him, pleased with the idea.

“And when is this auspicious occasion to take place?”

“On All Hallows' Eve.”

Erik lifted one brow in wry amusement. “Indeed? And shall I come dressed as the devil?”

“If you wish. And I shall be one of your angels.”

“You are already that,” he murmured.

“I have your permission, then?”

He nodded, knowing he would willingly grant her anything she desired.

Her gaze slid away from his, and he could see she was trying not to laugh.

“Will you not share the joke with me?”

“I knew you would agree,” she said with a bright smile. “The invitations went out this morning.”

“Vixen,” he muttered. “What would you have done if I had said no?”

Rising, she rounded the table and sat in his lap. “I would have convinced you to change your mind, my lord.”

It would have been an easy task, he mused, for he could deny her nothing.

 

 

He gave her free rein to plan for the ball, letting her order whatever she wished in the way of food and decorations for the house. He hired extra servants to help Mrs. Grainger in the kitchen, gardeners to work in the yard, maids to clean the place from top to bottom. It had been years since he had opened his doors to his neighbors; if he was going to do it now, then Hawksbridge Castle must shine as bright as its mistress.

The night of the ball, he walked through the house, thinking that all the fuss and preparation had been well worth it. The castle shone like a rare jewel, the perfect setting for his lovely lady wife.

Clad all in red, with a horned mask firmly in place, he went into Kristine's room. She was sitting at her dressing table while Leyla and Lilia fussed with her hair. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at him.

She was a vision, he thought, a true angel in every sense of the word. She wore a long red gown that clung to every curve, displaying her creamy shoulders and a good bit of cleavage. No one looking at her would suspect she was six months with child. Her body was still slim, though her breasts were fuller. He frowned at the thought of other men staring at her beauty, then forced his jealousy aside. She was young and beautiful. She would marry again.

“My lord, is something amiss?”

He wiped the frown from his face and smiled at her. “If that is how the angels in hell look, I can hardly wait to go there.”

“My lord!” she exclaimed in horror, “what a dreadful thing to say. Say a prayer, quickly!”

“You say it for me.”

“I will,” she replied soberly.

He had prayed, in the beginning, promised to do anything, anything, if only the curse would be lifted, but to no avail, making him wonder if Charmion had been right and he had truly caused Dominique's death. But it no longer mattered. His soul was indeed bound for hell. As soon as he knew his child had been born, he would take his own life and thus put an end to the hideous curse that plagued him.

“Here now.” He put a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. “Smile. We're having a party, remember?”

“You look quite frightening,” she said.

“Do I?” He caressed her cheek, thinking she would be far more frightened if she knew what lay beneath his costume.

Leyla and Lilia applied the finishing touches to Kristine's hair. Smiling and bowing, they left the room.

Kristine stood up and kissed Erik on the cheek. “Ready, my lord husband?”

With a nod, he placed her hand on his right arm and they went downstairs to greet their guests.

Erik stood in the shadows, watching Kristine play Lady of the Manor. She charmed their guests, from young Edward Randolph to the old dowager, Lady Rowena Silverstone. He heard several young ladies whispering about Kristine's short hair, wondering if perhaps it was the result of a high fever. The young men swarmed around her, their eyes hot as they devoured her.

It seemed strange, to see the house and grounds lit up, to hear the sound of laughter ringing from the walls. Not since Dominique died had there been so many people within Hawksbridge Castle.

He watched as his guests went in to dinner. Mrs. Grainger had planned a buffet, and she had done herself proud. Several long tables nearly groaned beneath the weight of food being offered—succulent hams, pheasants, chickens swimming in wine sauce. Vegetables and fruit, bread and rolls. The air was redolent with the varied aromas.

He frowned as he watched young Lord Hoxford escort Kristine into the dining room. Hoxford had been hovering near Kristine all evening, smiling at her, paying her outrageous compliments, claiming her for every waltz, holding her far too close.

Erik felt his anger rise when Hoxford leaned in to whisper something in Kristine's ear. The man was far too bold, and yet he would make an excellent match for Kristine. He came from an old family. He was tall and broad-shouldered and handsome. And discreet in his liaisons.

Taking a deep breath, Erik forced himself to relax. One of the reasons he had agreed to this elaborate affair was so that Kristine could get better acquainted not only with her neighbors, but with possible suitors.

He did not join the others at dinner. One of the advantages of the buffet was that he did not have to sit at the head of the table. There was no formal seating. Some of his guests sat at the dining table, others wandered into the parlor or the library, or found seating in the gardens.

Grabbing a glass of wine, Erik sought the darkness beyond the house. Dark gray clouds were gathering overhead. He could smell the moisture in the air. There would be rain before morning. He wondered how many of his guests would look at the weather and decide to spend the night.

He drained his glass and tossed it aside. Laughter and music drifted on the breeze as he wandered through the gardens. He lifted his head, sniffing the wind, then swore as he realized what he was doing. The beast within him was growing stronger. More and more he found himself behaving in feral ways, found himself feeling hampered, confined, by his clothing, found himself asking Mrs. Grainger to serve his roast beef rare instead of well-done.

He lifted his left hand and removed his glove, staring at the animal-like paw as if, by doing so, he could make it disappear. And then he lifted his right hand and wiggled his fingers. What a wondrous thing a hand was, he mused. He could hold a glass, pick a flower for his wife, caress her warm, soft skin. . ..

He closed his eyes as pain ripped through him. It was constant now, the pain that throbbed through his body as it fought the transformation, the anguish of knowing he was running out of time. And the worst pain of all, that of knowing that he was going to lose Kristine. He had known her such a short time, yet he loved her beyond all reason. He longed to tell her so, to hold her in his arms and pour out his love. It took all his willpower to keep the words locked inside. Once said, they could not be taken back. It was better for her to go on thinking that all he wanted from her was an heir. She knew he was fond of her, but there was a vast difference between fondness and what he felt. Better for them both if the words remained unsaid.

With a sigh, he turned back toward the house. He was the host; it was his duty to mingle with his guests.

As he neared the back of the castle, he heard whispered voices. And then he saw a couple standing near one of the hedges. Young lovers. The thought filled him with a bittersweet longing, and then, catching Kristine's scent on the air, he felt a surge of anger rise up within.

On silent feet, he padded toward them.

“You are most fair, Lady Trevayne,” Hoxford was murmuring. “Truly, you are the most beautiful woman here this evening.”

“You mustn't flatter me so, Lord Hoxford,” Kristine protested.

“I speak no flattery,” Hoxford replied. “Only the truth.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “Your skin is like the finest satin, your hair shines like the sun.”

Kristine tried to withdraw her hand from his. “Lord Hoxford, you must not say such things to me. It isn't proper.”

“Not proper to compliment my hostess?” Hoxford laughed softly as he drew Kristine into his arms. “Don't be absurd.”

A low growl rose in Erik's throat as Hoxford kissed Kristine. She struggled for a moment, then stood passive and unresponsive in the young man's arms.

Hoxford released her immediately, his expression curious. “Do you find me so repulsive?” he asked quietly.

“No, my lord. I am flattered by your words and your interest, but I am, after all, a married woman.”

“You take your vows seriously, then?”

“Yes, very seriously. I would do nothing to shame my husband, or myself.”

Hoxford nodded. “My apologies, my lady. I hope you will not think the less of me for my impetuousness.”

Kristine shook her head. She knew that flirting was to be expected, knew that many women, forced to marry men they did not love, sought affairs. She was not one of them. Her marriage might be a strange one, but she had no wish to end it, no wish to cuckold Erik.

Hoxford offered her his arm. “Come, I'll walk you back to the house.”

“Thank you, but I think I shall stay outside and take the air for a few minutes,” Kristine said.

Hoxford bowed over her hand. “As you wish, Lady Trevayne. Again, my apologies for my behavior. I pray I have not offended you.”

“Apology accepted, Lord Hoxford.”

“We can remain friends, then?”

Kristine smiled. “Of course.”

With a nod, Hoxford returned to the house.

Kristine watched him walk away, her emotions in turmoil. He was a very handsome young man. At another time, before Erik had entered her life, she would have found young Hoxford most attractive, would have been extraordinarily pleased by his admiration. In truth, she had found his kiss quite pleasant, though it lacked the fire and excitement of Erik's kisses. Erik. She wished he was here with her now, wished he would take her in his arms. . ..

She whirled around, suddenly aware that she was no longer alone. As if conjured by her desire, he was there before her, a dark silhouette in the blackness of the night.

“My lord,” she murmured. “You startled me.”

“Indeed?” He closed the distance between them, until they were only a hand span apart. “What are you doing out here, alone?”

“Nothing. I . . .” Her gaze slid away from his. How much had he seen? How much had he heard? She felt a wave of heat sweep into her cheeks. “I wasn't alone.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “Lord Hoxford was with me.”

“A fine young man,” Erik remarked, his voice cool.

“Yes.”

“He's to your liking, then?”

“Yes. But only as a friend, my lord. You are my husband.”

“And if you were free, would you accept Hoxford's suit?”

“Erik, my lord . . .” She couldn't keep the fine edge of panic from her voice. Had she displeased him in some way? Was he planning to put her aside? “What are you saying?”

“Nothing, my sweet.” He drew her into his arms and crushed her close. “Nothing.”

“You don't think that Lord Hoxford . . . that I . . .” She looked up at Erik, wishing she could see his face.

“No.” He drew her against him once more, his hand stroking her back. She was warm and soft in his arms, a temptation like none he had ever known. With a sigh, he rested his chin on the top of her head, wishing he could hold her thus forever, wishing that he had years to spend with her instead of only a few more months at best. Wishing . . .

The strains of a waltz filled the air. Kristine placed her hand on his shoulder. “Dance with me, my lord?”

With a nod, he led her onto a small expanse of smooth stones, then swept her into his arms. The music and the night seemed to close around them, shutting out the rest of the world.

She was light as a feather in his arms as she followed his lead, and he thought how well they danced together, how well they fit together. Had it not been for the awful curse that plagued him, they might have enjoyed a long and happy life together.

He drew her closer. Soon, her belly would swell with his babe. It amazed him that she wanted his child, amazed him still more that she didn't despise him, that she welcomed his touch, that she had feared he might cease coming to her bed once she conceived. What had he done to inspire her affection, her trust? Or was he fooling himself into thinking she cared? Perhaps she welcomed him in her bed out of a sense of duty because he had saved her from the executioner's axe and given her a comfortable home. Perhaps her smiles were merely her way of expressing her gratitude. The thought filled him with a strange sense of anger and sadness. He wanted her love, her affection. He wanted her smiles and her laughter, knew he would hoard each precious moment he spent with her from now on so that he could take them out and look at them later.