Beauty’s Beast(18)
Author: Amanda Ashley

Kristine stared at him in amazement. Was he crying?

Rising, she went to stand behind him. “Erik? Erik, I’m sorry.”

“Go back to the house.”

She had ruined it, she thought, ruined what could have been the nicest day they had spent together since their marriage. She was about to turn away when she heard a muffled sob. He was crying, and it was all her fault.

Without stopping to consider the consequences, she put her arms around him, her front pressed to his back, and hugged him. “My lord? Erik? I’m truly sorry. Please forgive me.”

He stiffened in her embrace, his body as rigid as stone, and then, as if a dam had broken inside him, he began to cry, deep gulping sobs that shook his frame from head to foot. His tears dripped onto her hands.

“It will be all right.” She murmured the words as she stroked his back. Shudders wracked his body. “Erik, please don’t cry.” Guilt rose within her. What had she said to cause him such pain?

Not knowing what else to do, she continued to speak to him in low, soothing tones, one arm wrapped loosely around his waist, the other stroking his back . . . his back. . .. She ran her hand over him, her fingertips detecting a difference between one side and the other. She lifted her hand a little and massaged his shoulders. Was his left shoulder larger than the right?

Her curiosity rising, she ran her hands up and down his arms. His left arm felt different beneath the fine cloth of his coat, larger.

She was pondering what it could mean when he suddenly whirled around to face her. He wasn’t crying now. Anger blazed in his dark eyes as he captured both her hands in his right one.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a voice that could only be called a growl.

“Nothing . . . I . . . nothing . . .”

She stared up at him, transfixed.

“I told you not to touch me.”

“I . . . I didn’t mean any harm.”

She trembled in his grasp, her eyes wide with fright. He had a horrible urge to fling her to the ground, to strip off his mask and clothing and let her see the monstrous horror that was slowly engulfing his face and body. He wanted to frighten her, to hurt her. To make love to her until they were both breathless.

With an oath, he released her hands. “Go back to the house.”

She didn’t argue this time. With a wordless cry, she whirled around and ran for her horse. He had a quick flash of one long stocking-covered leg as she pulled herself into the saddle and rode away without a backward glance.

Kristine sat at her desk, scribbling furiously, her head aching from the tears she had shed earlier.

I have ruined it all, shattered the fine thread of friendship that had bloomed between us. If only he would confide in me, if only I knew what it is that torments him so!

The memory of Charmion’s visit haunts my every waking moment. Strange, I gave it hardly a thought when it occurred, but now I cannot forget the hatred in her eyes when she looked at Erik. I think she truly believes he killed her daughter. I have not wanted to believe the rumors true, but I have seen his anger firsthand. What if, in a fit of rage, he killed his first wife? After today, I no longer think him incapable of such a foul deed. . ..

Kristine froze, her pen poised over the page, as she heard the door to her room swing open. Even before she turned around, she knew he was there.

He loomed tall and broad in the doorway. His coat was gone, his cravat was askew.

“My lord?”

“Yes, wife?”

“Is something amiss?”

He shook his head, one hand braced against the wall. “I forgot about my vow.”

“Your vow?”

He nodded, his words slurring together as he said, “I have come to fulfill it.”

She stared at him, horrified by the realization that he was drunk.

“I promised my father an heir.” He closed the door and shot the bolt home. “Get into bed.”

“Now?” Her voice emerged as little more than a frightened squeak.

“Now.”

She stood up, knocking the chair over in the sudden panic that engulfed her. Her gaze darted around the room, her heart beating frantically. She had never refused him, never truly been afraid of him, until this moment. Behind the mask, his eyes burned like glowing coals.

He took a step toward her, and she retreated.

A low growl rose in his throat as he reached for her.

With a shriek, she tried to slip past him, but his hand closed over her arm, holding her fast.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Please don’t. Not like this.”

“I must, my sweet Kristine. It is the only way to end this torment.”

She turned away as his whiskey-soured breath filled her nostrils.

A low groan rumbled in his throat as he drew her up hard against him, one arm holding her close. His right hand clasped her chin, holding her head still while he bent down to cover her mouth with his.

“Sweet,” he murmured. “Sweet.”

She tried to turn her face away, to free herself from his grasp, but it was impossible. He held her firmly, easily. She could feel every taut line of his body pressed against hers from shoulder to thigh. His tongue plundered her mouth and she tasted the whiskey he had been drinking.

She gasped when he swung her into his arms and carried her to bed. Depositing her none too gently on the mattress, he began to undress her. Clumsy in his haste, he ripped her gown and then, with a cry of frustration, he tore off her undergarments, flinging them across the room, until she lay on the bed, fully exposed to his rapacious gaze.

“Don’t.” She whispered the word, knowing, in her heart, that it would do no good. “Please, don’t.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze sweeping over her body like a flame, bringing a hot flush of embarrassment to her cheeks.

He moved away from the bed to extinguish the lamp and close the drapes, plunging the room into utter darkness. She felt the bed sag under his weight as his body covered hers, pressing her down into the mattress. His gloved hand imprisoned both of hers while his other hand caressed her.

She had expected him to be rough, to take her quickly and be gone, but his hand was infinitely gentle as it glided over her body, arousing her against her will. She heard him curse under his breath, and then he was kissing her again. There was no violence in him now, nothing but tenderness as he rained kisses over her face and neck.

She tried to remain impassive, but her body betrayed her. Had he been cruel, she might have resisted, but he made love to her with infinite care, whispering to her all the while, praising her beauty, the softness of her skin, the sweetness of her lips, and she found herself responding, found herself wishing her hands were free so that she might stroke his back and shoulders, that she might run her fingers through his hair. She tried to draw her hands from his, but he tightened his hold.