Free To Beguile a Beast by Elizabeth Hoyt Page B

yesterday.”
    “But that was in the kitchen!”
    “It’s proper for me to eat with you in my kitchen but not in my dining room? Your logic escapes me, Mrs. Halifax.”
    “I don’t think—”
    Lady Grey passed them and started down the stairs. Alistair gestured for the housekeeper to precede him. “And I expect your children to dine with us as well.”
    “Abigail and Jamie?” she asked as if she might have other offspring about the place.
    “Yes.”
    She was below him on the stairs, but she shot a look over her shoulder that clearly stated that she thought he’d gone mad. And perhaps he had. Children never dined with adults, at least not in his level of society.
    His beautiful housekeeper was still protesting when they made the hall outside the dining room, although Alistair was fairly sure she’d given up the idea of dining in the kitchen by then. Her objections were merely stubbornness now.
    He nodded to the children when he saw them hovering in the hall. “Shall we go in?”
    Jamie readily ran into the dining room, but Abigail frowned and glanced to her mother for guidance.
    Mrs. Halifax pursed her lips, looking uncommonly disapproving for such a lovely woman. “We’re to eat with Sir Alistair tonight. But this will be the only time.”
    Alistair took her arm firmly, leading her into the dining room. “On the contrary, I expect you and the children to dine with me every night that you stay in Castle Greaves.”
    “Huzzah!” yelled the boy. He had already found a place at the table.
    “You can’t!” hissed Mrs. Halifax.
    “It is my castle, madam. Allow me to remind you that I do here as I please.”
    “But the other servants will think… will think…”
    He looked down at her. Her harebell-blue eyes were wide and pleading, and perhaps he should’ve taken pity on her.
    But he didn’t. “They’ll think what?”
    “That I am your mistress.”
    Her lips were red and parted, her hair smooth and golden, the skin of her neck and breast so white and pure it might’ve been made from the wings of doves.
    The irony was enough to kill him.
    His mouth twisted. “Madam, I care not what others think, about me or anyone else. I should’ve thought that was obvious by now. You may either leave my castle this very night, or you may stay and dine with me tonight and every evening henceforth. It’s your choice alone.”
    Alistair pulled out her chair with a thump and watched to see if worry for her own reputation would finally drive her away.
    She inhaled, her sweet bosom swelling above the square-cut neckline of her dress. She’d left off the fichu tonight, and he damned the loss. Yards of creamy skin seemed to be revealed in the fichu’s absence. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, pounding to that most earthly part of him.
    “I’ll stay.” She lowered herself to the chair he held.
    He gently pushed it in for her and bowed over her golden head. “I am filled with joy.”
    * * *
    B EASTLY, BEASTLY MAN!
    Helen glowered from beneath her brows as she watched Sir Alistair round the table and sit at his own place. He didn’t have a worry about society or the consequences of flaunting it, and as a result, he’d put her in an untenable position purely on a whim it seemed! She inhaled and beckoned to Tom, the taller of the two footmen. He’d been standing in the corner gawking at their byplay all this while.
    “Fetch dishes and silverware for myself and the children,” she ordered.
    Tom hurried out of the room.
    “Mrs. McCleod’s made meat pie,” Jamie confided to Sir Alistair.
    “Indeed?” Sir Beastly replied to her son as gravely as if he spoke with a bishop.
    Helen frowned at the polished table in front of her. Lister had never been interested in anything Jamie or Abigail had ever said.
    “Yes, and it smells won- der -ful.” Jamie drew the last word out to emphasize the ambrosia that awaited them.
    Despite working all afternoon, Jamie was bouncing with energy. Helen couldn’t help