Free Beauty Tempts the Beast by Leslie Dicken

lord?”
    He forced a calm smile, inwardly praying Catherine did not intend to stay long. His temper against her could not remain composed for more than a few days. Nor could he withstand the Vivian’s unique torture for much longer.
    “I do believe the Countess has arrived.”

Chapter Seven
    Vivian held her breath, her nerves afire. The door swung open and she sucked in a deep, calming breath. Mrs. Plimpton hurried in, her face more flustered than normal. “Mi’lord. The Countess of Wainscott awaits you in the parlor.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Plimpton. I will go meet with her.”
    Lord Ashworth’s piercing gray eyes glanced down at her and dared her to question him. “Return to your room, Vivian. I will send for you within the hour.”
    She watched his large, imposing frame maneuver past the housekeeper and out the door. His heavy footsteps faded into the distance.
    Wait in her room. Whatever would she do there? She had yet to find a book to keep her busy and had not brought her sketch pad from home. No supplies were about for stitching, nor any tuned musical instruments to play on.
    She could do nothing but lie upon her bed and stare at the bed coverings! She could not sit idle now if her very life depended upon it. Distraction would prove her closest friend.
    Vivian poked her head out into the hall. All was clear.
    To be certain she avoided the parlor, she twisted her way down the other corridor and past the Great Hall, then down the set of rear stairs. She could get that back door open somehow and save herself the lengthy jaunt around the outside of the house.
    Descending the creaking stairs, Vivian pushed cobwebs out of her way. There, at the bottom, stood the door she’d seen a few days ago. Light filtered through the slats, freedom whispering to her. Passing this door from the outside, she’d noted that nothing barred it from opening, no debris or nailed wood. It was merely warped into the frame.
    She would open it.
    Vivian banged on it with her shoulder, then pushed with both hands. The wood groaned and cracked under her pressure, but the door stuck firm. Any minute now Pinkley would come and shoo her away again.
    Instead, one of the other locked doors in the hall opened. Vivian gasped and pressed herself back against the wall when a stranger emerged from the dark.
    The man’s bright blue eyes stared at her, as if he were shocked to find her there. He had blonde, disheveled hair that told her he did not expect to be seen and a strong jaw that spoke of a man still in the prime of his life. In fact, she expected he would be of a similar age to Lord Ashworth.
    Vivian waited for him to speak, to introduce himself or even ask who she was. But he said nothing.
    Stunned by her presence, he remained immobile. And so they watched each other like wary tomcats until something startled the man into action.
    “Kick the bottom,” he whispered. Then, just as quickly as he’d shown himself, the man retreated behind the door and yanked it closed. Vivian was once again alone in the shadowed landing.
    She blinked, watching and waiting. Other than the wind whistling through the slats, all was quiet.
    Vivian turned back to the stuck door. Glaring at it, she thought to give it one more attempt before moving onto more fruitful endeavors. Using the stranger’s advice, she kicked the door repeatedly. The wood splintered beneath her shoe, but she felt it pull away from the frame. With a good, hard shove, Vivian pushed it open.
    Light spilled into where she stood, along with a shower of dust fluttering into the air like sparkling fairies. The cool, misty air greeted her as she stepped onto the soft earth. Finally, she was free.
    Clouds rose up the cliff and built upon themselves over the roof of the house. The light color of beach pebbles, Vivian did not expect rain from them today.
    She waded through the tall swaying grasses and weeds, stopping to assess her progress on the garden.
    So far she had only managed to pull off overgrown