Free Beauty Tempts the Beast by Leslie Dicken Page A

vines and dead vegetation. Much remained to be done.
    But now was not the time to do it. And it wouldn’t be wise for her to return to the house looking disheveled.
    So Vivian carried on past the garden, walking further than she’d ever ventured. A row of trees impeded her path, their growth heavy and unkempt. At one time these specimens must have bordered the rear yard with a regal bearing and upright snobbery. Now they appeared as withered old men, their clothing loose and ill-fitting on their once proud state. Much like Pinkley himself.
    Vivian walked along the line of trees until she found a clearing to pass through. Branches snagged her hair and scraped her dress. She should turn back. This walk had been a foolish adventure to soothe her boredom and nerves, but now she would appear a disaster.
    Gull cries filled the air. There must be a body of water she had not seen from the house. Oh, she could chance another few minutes and still have enough time to return and clean up.
    Vivian scanned the horizon, finding crops of rocks and green hills bordering the water. Of course, a lake. The cries of the birds and whispering of the water calmed her nerves. Ducks and swans glided toward her. Who knew such beauty and tranquility lay within such a short distance of the decaying manor?
    She closed her eyes as the breeze, like a lover, gently caressed her face. The scent of sandalwood and berries arose from her memories and tormented her with their sweetness. It was as if Lord Ashworth stood beside her, tracing his finger down her jaw, murmuring in her ear. A surprising delicious shiver skated down her spine.
    She could stay here all day. She could—
    A soft rustle of leaves broke her from the fantasy. Vivian opened her eyes and glanced around the rocky beach. The noise came again, between a large bush and boulders. Vivian took a step in that direction and a fox darted into the thicket. She quickly pushed branches aside to see a lone egg within a nest.
    Gasping, Vivian gently scooped the egg into her hands. She didn’t want to leave it for the fox’s lunch and yet she didn’t want to take it if the mother planned to return.
    Sitting atop the boulder, she tucked the egg into the folds of her lap and waited. Lady Wainscott be damned.
    Vivian would not take an offspring from its mother. Neither would she permit a young life to fall victim to a predator. She would not repeat her father’s sins.
     
    Ashworth set his face in a scowl. He had no desire to appear handsome for Catherine. If she thought him too ugly to marry seven years ago, he would make certain her mind had not changed.
    He stepped into the parlor. Immediately his chest tightened at the sight of her standing near the carved marble fireplace. Her golden hair and flawless skin brightened the dim room like a vibrant lamp. Dressed in an expensive dark purple dress, Catherine was the embodiment of fine London society.
    Her hazel eyes lifted and stared at his scar, revulsion lurking behind the polite mask. Then, finally, her gaze locked onto his. “Ah, Charles, how nice it is to see you again.”
    For a moment, he was back in London, holding her on a polished dance floor. But then the pain of her rebuke crashed through his senses. “Lord Ashworth,” he corrected, not tolerating familiarity with her.
    Her lips curled. “Oh, really, must it be that way?”
    He’d not bother with a pretense of politeness. “Why have you come, Lady Wainscott?”
    “You must call me Catherine.”
    Nay, he detested even saying the name. “What has brought you to Silverstone Manor? My mother, perhaps?”
    Her gaze darted to the floor. “I thought a visit was long overdue.”
    She thought she could fool him with a lie. There was no need to visit him other than for his wealth.
    “And your husband, is he well?”
    “The earl died last year.” Catherine pressed her lips together. “I am alone now.”
    Ashworth did not believe her sorrow, nor would he allow her to use it to her advantage.