Free Beauty Tempts the Beast by Leslie Dicken Page B

“Have you no children?”
    “I have a daughter. Still in the nursery.”
    “Did you bring her?”
    Her widened gaze lifted to him. “Of course not. She is at home with her nanny.”
    Wind swept up against the house, screeching tree branches across the stones. He noticed Catherine shiver, but he made no move to warm her. Instead, he pointed to the sofa. “Sit, I will call for some tea.”
    She glanced at the furniture, her nose wrinkling. “Your servants have not been doing their duty.”
    His lips twitched. His servants did exactly as they were told. “Silverstone is a very old manor.”
    She sniffed. “That is no reason it cannot be kept properly.”
    Ah, this was not what he needed, a woman like his mother telling him how to keep his house. He was lord of this manor. He could keep it any way he pleased. The dusty furniture gave him no pause, and yet it did wonders to dissuade anyone else from staying.
    Other than Vivian. She never once mentioned it or seemed disturbed by it. Suddenly, he longed to have her here with him.
    She wouldn’t turn right around and leave. He knew that well enough about her. Catherine was quite purposeful and stubborn when she wanted something badly enough. He would have to endure her until she tired of the pursuit. “I will have someone prepare a room for you. Did you bring a maid?”
    “Of course.”
    Ashworth turned to go.
    “Wait.” Her gloved hand settled on his arm. Once he experienced warmth in her touch, now only a hollowness in his chest.
    “Nothing is left to be said.” He watched the tree sway outside the window. “You should rest until dinner.”
    “I have not stopped thinking about you.”
    Ashworth winced at her husky voice and obvious lie. Did she think him a fool? “Whatever we had has long been over, Lady Wainscott.”
    Catherine took a step closer. The scent of lavender swirled in his nostrils. “I was young then. My father worried of the scandal. I didn’t know what to do…”
    He snorted. She did not seem so innocent and naïve that day she sent him away from her doorstep.
    Horror and revulsion were not given to her by her father. “You made your choice.”
    “You left London within days.”
    He had to. For Harry’s sake. “I could have explained it all to you then, but you never gave me the chance.”
    Her hand touched his cheek, his unblemished cheek. “You could enlighten me now.”
    Like hell he would. Ashworth pushed away from her clutches and narrowed his eyes. “It is too late for explanations. It is too late for us.”
    She reached out for him, undaunted. “But time has—”
    “Too late,” he said, closing his hand around the cold doorknob. “I am engaged to another woman.”
    Without listening for a reply, Ashworth left the parlor and headed straight for Vivian’s bedchamber.
    With each step, the prickling under his skin eased, but his blood burned. Vivian both comforted and plagued him.
    Ashworth reached her door, his pulse brisk. Knocking, he called her name.
    No answer.
    Perhaps she had fallen asleep. His knuckles rapped louder. “Miss Suttley?”
    Again, nothing.
    Ashworth tested the handle and found it unlocked. He quietly pushed it open but found no one inside.
    Her bed was still smooth from the servant’s straightening, the fire dim. But the scent of her lingered. Even with the ever-present odor of musty dampness, he could smell her honeysuckle sweetness. If he closed his eyes he could imagine her standing before him, a vision of glowing skin and shapely legs.
    Where had she gone if not here?
    Ashworth retraced his steps down the main corridor. Drafts swirled past him, fluttering tapestries and cobwebs. A few turns brought him to the library, the place Pinkley had said Vivian sought last night. But the dark room was empty.
    He shoved fingers through his hair, his heart beating a whisper of concern.
    “Charles.”
    Ashworth’s swung around at the sound of his name. John stood at the end of the shadowed hall, his frame