Beauty’s Beast(26)
Author: Amanda Ashley

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.

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.

Chapter Eleven

“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.