Lord Beast (3 page)

Dani, normally the embodiment of
kindness, could have strangled her aunt.

“What happened?” she asked,
impatiently.

Fiona glanced up from her
knitting, bemused.

“The terrible accident?” Dani
urged.

“Oh! Of course. Mmm. I believe it
was said that his carriage rolled and the earl died. The title died with him if
I recall correctly, for he didn’t marry or produce any heirs and there were no living
relatives to inherit it either. He was quite young, too. Such a shame.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“Hmmm… no. Don’t believe I do.
Although… Ashcroft. The Ashcroft’s. I think that might be it. Ashcroft.”

They sat in companionable silence
after that for an hour or two and eventually Fiona retired for her afternoon
nap, leaving Dani alone to her thoughts.

Her gaze drifted to the
magnificent structure that was Falmouth Castle and her heart began to beat a
little bit faster.

Why was she even contemplating
going back there? The man was a beast, a horrible person, who deliberately
intimidated her into fearing him… oh, bother! It would be utter madness to go
back. And why should she? Obviously
he
felt no need for company, let
alone her own.

Blast. She was going to go. She
had to. It was just in her nature. When given the option for a puppy as a
child, she had chosen the runt of the litter that was about to be drowned. When
the children at church picked on a boy for being slow, Dani immediately befriended
him. She inferred that she adopted a tender spot for the animals and people
society rejected, and she tended to take them to her breast for love and
nurture. The man at Falmouth Castle was in definite need of some nurturing.

So Dani became resolute. Once she
had set her mind on befriending… who? Could it be the Earl of Falmouth? Perhaps
not. Perhaps it was some vagrant that had taken residence there after the
castle had lain abandoned for so many years. Whoever it was, Dani wanted to
find out more about him. She would offer him a sign of friendship, a sign of
hope, and perhaps he would open up to her a bit.

Smiling, she went to the kitchen.

Rhys frowned at the noise coming
from downstairs.

“Hello?”

Oh, God. Not again.

“Hello? Is anybody home?”

Didn’t the silly girl learn her
lessons? Was she honestly back for more? Growling inarticulately, he snatched
his cloak that was draped on the back of a chair in his study and threw it
around his shoulders, tugging the hood up and over his face.

Grayson, his butler and valet,
entered quietly through the study’s only door and pointed out the obvious. “We
have a guest, Lord Ashcroft.”

“I’m aware of the fact, Grayson.”

The haughty butler lifted a
rather caustic eyebrow. “A girl, my lord.”

“Yes.” Rhys gritted his teeth
angrily. “It would seem.”

“Would you like me to invite her
in for tea?”

“Grayson, I swear to
God
-”

“Helloooo? I didn’t mean to
intrude, but nobody answered the door when I knocked so I just let myself in!”

Rhys swore vehemently under his
breath and pushed past his smirking butler and into the hall. Judging by the
direction of her voice, she was winding her way up the grand staircase and he
aimed to meet her there.

His assumptions were correct and
he stopped at the top so that he had the advantage of height, looming over her
like a dark spectre.

Damned stubborn chit.

She beamed up at him and cocked
her head to the side in the most endearing manner. “Hello,” she said chirpily
and Rhys dropped his gaze to the basket draped over her arm. Just what was she
up to?

“What are you doing here?” he
growled. “You’re not welcome. Get out.”

At that, her smile wavered but
she straightened her shoulders and pinned an even brighter one on her face.
“Come now, sir,” she admonished cheerfully, “I realise we may have gotten off
on the wrong foot last night, but I’ve come to mend that now. Surely you-”

“Get. Out.”

“But I brought some lunch-”

“Miss Carmichael, if you do not
remove your person from my premises this instant, I shall physically complete
the favour for you myself!”

She didn’t move but she wasn’t
smiling anymore either. Rather, her small pink lips were pursed quite
charmingly as she stared up at him, not at all intimidated by his advantageous
height. Though he didn’t have much light to examine her features the previous
evening, he had noticed just how delightfully shaped her lips were. The perfect
cupid’s bow…
perfect
. He gave himself a mental shake. There was
nothing
perfect about her. Nothing. Her brown hair was too brown, her blue-ish eyes
were too blue. Her nose was too pointy and she had freckles sprinkled across
the bridge and faintly over her cheeks. Her breasts were too large, her waist
too thick, her hips too curved. Her skin was too… well, all right. Her skin was
rather nice and fair. But she was too short. No, she was too tall… He conceded
that her height might be quite nice, too. But other than that, Danielle
Carmichael had no business being around him. Nosy little thing.

“Danielle,” he warned.

“You don’t want me to go,” she
declared all of a sudden.

He almost laughed at that. “Is
that right?”

She nodded. “Yes. I think it is.
In fact, I think you’d like me to stay.”

“You’d think wrong, Miss
Carmichael. Go home.”

“No,” she stated stubbornly, “I
won’t until you enjoy some of this picnic lunch our cook specifically made for
me.”

He bit out a vulgar curse before
turning on his heel and returning to his study, slamming his door for effect.

Dani watched him go, confused.
Darn that coat. If only she could see his face she might know what to do or say
next. It was so hard reading him with that infernal contraption shoving shadows
over his face all the time.

Now what should she do? She
couldn’t very well go exploring the castle for a dining room. Nobody had
bothered to show her to one and she knew that she’d probably get lost if she
went off by herself in search of one.

So she sat down on the stairs,
turned her body a little bit, and called up to where he had last been heard;
“I’m not leaving, you know!”

Silence.

Dani huffed and set the picnic
basket beside her on the stone steps. “I’ll just eat this lavish fair by myself
then!” she hollered churlishly but, honestly, why couldn’t he be just a little
more accommodating?

Pouting, she crossed her arms
under her breasts and waited.

Rhys paced the length of his
study like a caged animal, his coat billowing around his legs with each furious
movement.

“Is she still here?” he snarled
at Grayson.

Looking heartily amused, Grayson
nodded.

“What is she doing?”

Grayson discreetly opened the
door of the study and poked his head out before pulling it back inside and
closing it again. “She’s sitting on the stairs, my lord.”

“Still?”

“It’s only been ten minutes, my
lord.”

“Oh for God’s sake!” Throwing his
hands in the air, he stalked past Grayson and poked his head around the door.
She was indeed sitting on the stairs, patiently studying her fingernails. Damn
it all!

“How do I get rid of her?” he
hissed at his butler.

The odious man shrugged. “Have
lunch with her, my lord. Take her for a stroll around our gardens. Woo her-”

“Are you mad?” he snarled. “There
is
nothing
, I repeat,
nothing
about her that appeals to
me
.”

“Whatever you say, my lord.”

“Don’t use that tone with me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Rhys threw him a scathing glare
although the man couldn’t possibly see it. No one had seen his face in years,
not since the accident, and Rhys liked it that way. Oh, he could stand the fact
that he was maimed- hideously. What he couldn’t stand was the pity. It sickened
him. Rather let them think he were dead than that.

Although he had to give Miss
Carmichael credit. He’d been insufferably rude to her yet she remained in vain
hopes to what? Befriend him? How utterly preposterous. The silly girl. He’d
have to make her see what a foolish idea that was the only way he knew how.

Uttering a low oath, he yanked the
door open and traipsed back to the top of the stairs.

She inclined her head to him and
smiled. “Changed your mind?” she asked as if she knew he would.

“No,” he grunted. But he dropped
down a few steps and sat, despite his contrary declaration. “Although I am
hungry.”

Her smile, he thought, was quite
something. She pushed the picnic basket toward him and flipped it open. “We
have bread and cheese,” she explained happily, “grapes, pears, ham and wine.”

“Wine,” he grunted, snatching the
bottle from the recesses of the basket. “You do have glasses don’t you?”

“Of course!” She produced two
glasses and gave them to him with a wide smile.

Promptly, he splashed wine into
her glass and passed it back to her before filling the other one to the brim.

“Miss Carmichael-”

“Cheese?” she asked, offering a
slab on a plate to him as well as a hunk of bread and some ham.

“Thank you. Now-”

“I don’t think it’s fair,” she
began thoughtfully, staring up into his hood, “that you know both my names and
I don’t know any of yours.”

“Call me what you want-”

“Oh, please! Tell me who you
are?”

Who was he to refuse such
beguiling blue-green eyes? God, they were huge and framed with long, dark
lashes and delicately winged brows. The way she was looking at him made his gut
clench with longing, which was altogether strange. Rhys didn’t usually take to
plain country misses with freckles and a bit too much meat on their bones but
here she was… that all too familiar churning of desire tightening his loins. It
could mean that he hadn’t been to the village in a while to visit the whore
there that didn’t mind that his face was frightfully scarred. He’d never lacked
for attention from the fairer sex, that was for sure, but after the accident he
was forced to re-evaluate with whom he shared a bed. Rather than be scorned and
pitied, Rhys turned recluse and retired to the countryside. Many believed him
dead. That was fine- he didn’t mind. So long as he avoided the pity.

“Rhys Ashcroft.”

She made a little sound-
something between a cough or a gasp. “My aunt told me you died,” she blurted,
then blushed, before burying her nose in her wine. “I beg your pardon. It’s
none of my business.”

“No it isn’t.”

“I’m dreadfully sorry.”

“As you should be.”

She gave him an irritated look.
“Do you accept my apology?” she asked impatiently. “Because you are being
rather obtuse.”

“I don’t accept.”

“And deliberately hostile!”

He shrugged and sipped his wine.
“You insisted on staying,” he pointed out. Reasonably, he thought.

“Well,” she huffed, crossing her
arms again. “Well.”

A reluctant smile scraped across
his lips. Of course, she couldn’t see it so he didn’t mind in the least that it
had slipped onto his face. “Miss Carmichael,” he began in a reasoning voice,
“you cannot stay here.”

She turned to him at that, her
brows raised inquiringly.

“Firstly, it’s improper for a
lady to call upon a gentleman.”

He watched her eyes darken
imperceptibly and a tiny blush stain her flawless cheeks. She shrugged. “I
don’t care,” she said flatly.

“Secondly,” he continued,
ignoring her comment, “you put yourself at risk here. Thirdly, I don’t want you
here.”

She shrugged again before popping
a grape into her mouth. “How am I at risk and I told you before that I think
you do want me here.”

“You are at very great risk being
here,” he said warningly, his voice a husky growl which caused her to look at
him warily. “Don’t you think? I’m a lonely man with naught but this pile of
bricks for company.”

At her blank stare, he
emphasised: “
Very
lonely.”

Still blank. He sighed before
sidling closer to her, grabbing her arms and pulling her close up against him.
She gasped and, finally, understanding dawned in those vibrantly blue eyes. “So
very
lonely,” he growled.

“Don’t!” she cried, staring up
into his hood, feeling his warm breath skim against her skin.

“Don’t what?” he mocked huskily.
“Don’t kiss you? Don’t make love to you right here on the stairs? You stayed,
didn’t you?”

She shook her head as her skin
became warm pressed so intimately against him. But her eyes… they weren’t
fearful, no. But curious… Rhys swore that if he knew she couldn’t see his face,
she’d be trying to decipher his very soul. A delicate frown creased the lines
between her brows and her lips parted slightly.