Lord Beast Read online

  His fingers dug into her arm and the pain nearly made her dizzy. “Danielle Carmichael!” she gasped. “Please, release me!”

  He did no such thing. “Why are you here? Who sent you?” he roared, shaking her.

  She cried out in pain. “No one sent me! I thought the place was abandoned and then I saw a light- I thought you were a trespasser!”

  With a savage curse, he released her and she stumbled backwards. “So you thought you’d come and run me out my own home?” he growled fiercely, derisively. “How noble of you.”

  “Don’t you dare mock me!” she snapped angrily, rubbing her arm. “I assure you my intentions were honourable if misguided-”

  “Indeed!”

  “But I can see I was wrong,” she stammered.

  “Get out, Miss Carmichael!”

  “Well, how-”

  “Get out and don’t come back!”

  Casting the shadow one last furtive glance, she did as he commanded.

  Chapter 3

  The following morning, after breakfast, Dani took tea with her aging aunt in the sitting room. It was a bright, crisp day and the sea was that brilliant blue she loved so much and she could spy the ocean from the parlour room windows, as well as the dark looming spires of Falmouth Castle.

  Aunt Fiona Smith was a relation Dani had never had the fortune to meet until after the death of her mother three months ago. Fiona was a woman close to her eightieth year and looking forward to days of retirement in the country with her husband rather than the untimely burden of a ward fresh for a London Season. Oh, not that Dani was eager to re-join the Marriage Mart. Having seen six seasons since she was seventeen years and having no bites whatsoever in the form of marriage proposals, she was grateful of the reprieve her mother’s death allowed her.

  However, she was not grateful that she had become the unwitting burden of an elderly couple who held no desire to acquire a ward of their own. Now, all Dani could hope for was that she could make herself as much of a pleasure as possible and if that meant crocheting or embroidery for two hours of every day, then so be it.

  Not that she found her aunt and uncle lacking in company. Indeed, she found them quite pleasant and quirky and they never once gave off the air that they didn’t want her. In fact, they were very hospitable and Fiona had taken to Dani as a mother would… a slightly senile, partly blind mother, that is.

  “It’s a fine day today, Aunt Fiona,” Dani remarked as she poured tea for the two of them, her gaze inexplicably drawn the looming spires of Falmouth castle. The morning sun caught on the elegant window panes at the topmost towers, glinting beckoningly in her line of sight.

  “Indeed it is, gel.”

  “Would you care to take a stroll around the garden later?”

  Aunt Fiona, with her silver hair and rotund, short frame, squinted quizzically at her niece for a moment. “Why, heavens, I think I’m too old for that. Perhaps I’ll sit outside among the roses on that stone bench we have, but a walk? No, my bones aren’t young anymore.”

  “Would you like me to accompany you?”

  “No, that’s alright, dear. You should explore the area. Take a maid and a carriage and go into to Truro. I know an acquaintance who would be willing to have you for the night should the trip tire you out. Lovely town, that. Practically grew up there, you know.”

  “Mmm.” It was all the opening she needed, really. Although she wouldn't have to spend the evening in Truro, she could always take the opportunity to explore the area and with it, Falmouth Castle. Her aunt need not know that she was inexplicably drawn to a mysterious and formidable stranger who resided seemingly alone in the castle’s dark spires.

  They sipped their teas in silence for a moment.

  “Aunt?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Can you tell me about Falmouth Castle?”

  Aunt Fiona was silent for a prolonged moment whereby she licked her lips, shuffled in her seat, and pushed her spectacles onto the bridge of her nose. “Well, now what do you wish to hear about it?”

  “Is… does somebody live there?”

  “Hmmm.” Fiona glanced briefly out the window, squinting. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think anybody lives there.”

  “Did anybody used to live there?”

  Her aunt thought about this for some time, ponderously draining her teacup and gesturing for a another. Dani complied hastily, eager to discover all Fiona knew about the history of Falmouth Castle and more.

  A teaspoon clinked against the porcelain of the teacup as Fiona stirred the liquid in an agonizingly slow manner. Dani gritted her teeth to keep from yanking the blasted saucer from her aunt and stirring the contents herself.

  “Well, let’s see,” Fiona murmured thoughtfully, “I believe the castle belonged to the Earl of Falmouth. Yes, that’s right. Oh, now I remember. Terribly sad, that.”

  When Fiona made no move to say anything further, Dani nearly exploded where she perched on her settee. “What’s sad?” she blurted. “What’s terribly sad?” If her back didn’t trouble her so badly, she would be bouncing up and down on her bottom.

  “Well, a few years back it turned out the Earl had a son from Ireland. Now, when the old earl died, I believe his son came to inherit the title. Nobody had ever heard of him before, so people were right shocked, they were. But the boy did well enough, I suppose. I think he was very popular in London and with all the ladies but then one day, only having the title for a year, a terrible accident occurred.” Timeous as always, Fiona paused in her tale and set aside her teacup. Almost blithely, she reached for her knitting and for a few torturous minutes the only sound in the room was that of two needles clicking together.

  Dani, normally the embodiment of kindness, could have strangled her aunt.

  “What happened?” she asked, impatiently.

  Fiona glanced up from her knitting, bemused.

  “The terrible accident?” Dani urged.

  “Oh! Of course. Mmm. I believe it was said that his carriage rolled and the earl died. The title died with him if I recall correctly, for he didn’t marry or produce any heirs and there were no living relatives to inherit it either. He was quite young, too. Such a shame.”

  “Do you remember his name?”

  “Hmmm… no. Don’t believe I do. Although… Ashcroft. The Ashcroft’s. I think that might be it. Ashcroft.”

  They sat in companionable silence after that for an hour or two and eventually Fiona retired for her afternoon nap, leaving Dani alone to her thoughts.

  Her gaze drifted to the magnificent structure that was Falmouth Castle and her heart began to beat a little bit faster.

  Why was she even contemplating going back there? The man was a beast, a horrible person, who deliberately intimidated her into fearing him… oh, bother! It would be utter madness to go back. And why should she? Obviously he felt no need for company, let alone her own.

  Blast. She was going to go. She had to. It was just in her nature. When given the option for a puppy as a child, she had chosen the runt of the litter that was about to be drowned. When the children at church picked on a boy for being slow, Dani immediately befriended him. She inferred that she adopted a tender spot for the animals and people society rejected, and she tended to take them to her breast for love and nurture. The man at Falmouth Castle was in definite need of some nurturing.

  So Dani became resolute. Once she had set her mind on befriending… who? Could it be the Earl of Falmouth? Perhaps not. Perhaps it was some vagrant that had taken residence there after the castle had lain abandoned for so many years. Whoever it was, Dani wanted to find out more about him. She would offer him a sign of friendship, a sign of hope, and perhaps he would open up to her a bit.

  Smiling, she went to the kitchen.

  Rhys frowned at the noise coming from downstairs.

  “Hello?”

  Oh, God. Not again.

  “Hello? Is anybody home?”

  Didn’t the silly girl learn her lessons? Was she honestl
y back for more? Growling inarticulately, he snatched his cloak that was draped on the back of a chair in his study and threw it around his shoulders, tugging the hood up and over his face.

  Grayson, his butler and valet, entered quietly through the study’s only door and pointed out the obvious. “We have a guest, Lord Ashcroft.”

  “I’m aware of the fact, Grayson.”

  The haughty butler lifted a rather caustic eyebrow. “A girl, my lord.”

  “Yes.” Rhys gritted his teeth angrily. “It would seem.”

  “Would you like me to invite her in for tea?”

  “Grayson, I swear to God-”

  “Helloooo? I didn’t mean to intrude, but nobody answered the door when I knocked so I just let myself in!”

  Rhys swore vehemently under his breath and pushed past his smirking butler and into the hall. Judging by the direction of her voice, she was winding her way up the grand staircase and he aimed to meet her there.

  His assumptions were correct and he stopped at the top so that he had the advantage of height, looming over her like a dark spectre.

  Damned stubborn chit.

  She beamed up at him and cocked her head to the side in the most endearing manner. “Hello,” she said chirpily and Rhys dropped his gaze to the basket draped over her arm. Just what was she up to?

  “What are you doing here?” he growled. “You’re not welcome. Get out.”

  At that, her smile wavered but she straightened her shoulders and pinned an even brighter one on her face. “Come now, sir,” she admonished cheerfully, “I realise we may have gotten off on the wrong foot last night, but I’ve come to mend that now. Surely you-”

  “Get. Out.”

  “But I brought some lunch-”

  “Miss Carmichael, if you do not remove your person from my premises this instant, I shall physically complete the favour for you myself!”

  She didn’t move but she wasn’t smiling anymore either. Rather, her small pink lips were pursed quite charmingly as she stared up at him, not at all intimidated by his advantageous height. Though he didn’t have much light to examine her features the previous evening, he had noticed just how delightfully shaped her lips were. The perfect cupid’s bow… perfect. He gave himself a mental shake. There was nothing perfect about her. Nothing. Her brown hair was too brown, her blue-ish eyes were too blue. Her nose was too pointy and she had freckles sprinkled across the bridge and faintly over her cheeks. Her breasts were too large, her waist too thick, her hips too curved. Her skin was too… well, all right. Her skin was rather nice and fair. But she was too short. No, she was too tall… He conceded that her height might be quite nice, too. But other than that, Danielle Carmichael had no business being around him. Nosy little thing.

  “Danielle,” he warned.

  “You don’t want me to go,” she declared all of a sudden.

  He almost laughed at that. “Is that right?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I think it is. In fact, I think you’d like me to stay.”

  “You’d think wrong, Miss Carmichael. Go home.”

  “No,” she stated stubbornly, “I won’t until you enjoy some of this picnic lunch our cook specifically made for me.”

  He bit out a vulgar curse before turning on his heel and returning to his study, slamming his door for effect.

  Dani watched him go, confused. Darn that coat. If only she could see his face she might know what to do or say next. It was so hard reading him with that infernal contraption shoving shadows over his face all the time.

  Now what should she do? She couldn’t very well go exploring the castle for a dining room. Nobody had bothered to show her to one and she knew that she’d probably get lost if she went off by herself in search of one.

  So she sat down on the stairs, turned her body a little bit, and called up to where he had last been heard; “I’m not leaving, you know!”

  Silence.

  Dani huffed and set the picnic basket beside her on the stone steps. “I’ll just eat this lavish fair by myself then!” she hollered churlishly but, honestly, why couldn’t he be just a little more accommodating?

  Pouting, she crossed her arms under her breasts and waited.

  Rhys paced the length of his study like a caged animal, his coat billowing around his legs with each furious movement.

  “Is she still here?” he snarled at Grayson.

  Looking heartily amused, Grayson nodded.

  “What is she doing?”

  Grayson discreetly opened the door of the study and poked his head out before pulling it back inside and closing it again. “She’s sitting on the stairs, my lord.”

  “Still?”

  “It’s only been ten minutes, my lord.”

  “Oh for God’s sake!” Throwing his hands in the air, he stalked past Grayson and poked his head around the door. She was indeed sitting on the stairs, patiently studying her fingernails. Damn it all!

  “How do I get rid of her?” he hissed at his butler.

  The odious man shrugged. “Have lunch with her, my lord. Take her for a stroll around our gardens. Woo her-”

  “Are you mad?” he snarled. “There is nothing, I repeat, nothing about her that appeals to me.”

  “Whatever you say, my lord.”

  “Don’t use that tone with me.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Rhys threw him a scathing glare although the man couldn’t possibly see it. No one had seen his face in years, not since the accident, and Rhys liked it that way. Oh, he could stand the fact that he was maimed- hideously. What he couldn’t stand was the pity. It sickened him. Rather let them think he were dead than that.

  Although he had to give Miss Carmichael credit. He’d been insufferably rude to her yet she remained in vain hopes to what? Befriend him? How utterly preposterous. The silly girl. He’d have to make her see what a foolish idea that was the only way he knew how.

  Uttering a low oath, he yanked the door open and traipsed back to the top of the stairs.

  She inclined her head to him and smiled. “Changed your mind?” she asked as if she knew he would.

  “No,” he grunted. But he dropped down a few steps and sat, despite his contrary declaration. “Although I am hungry.”

  Her smile, he thought, was quite something. She pushed the picnic basket toward him and flipped it open. “We have bread and cheese,” she explained happily, “grapes, pears, ham and wine.”

  “Wine,” he grunted, snatching the bottle from the recesses of the basket. “You do have glasses don’t you?”

  “Of course!” She produced two glasses and gave them to him with a wide smile.

  Promptly, he splashed wine into her glass and passed it back to her before filling the other one to the brim.

  “Miss Carmichael-”

  “Cheese?” she asked, offering a slab on a plate to him as well as a hunk of bread and some ham.

  “Thank you. Now-”

  “I don’t think it’s fair,” she began thoughtfully, staring up into his hood, “that you know both my names and I don’t know any of yours.”

  “Call me what you want-”

  “Oh, please! Tell me who you are?”

  Who was he to refuse such beguiling blue-green eyes? God, they were huge and framed with long, dark lashes and delicately winged brows. The way she was looking at him made his gut clench with longing, which was altogether strange. Rhys didn’t usually take to plain country misses with freckles and a bit too much meat on their bones but here she was… that all too familiar churning of desire tightening his loins. It could mean that he hadn’t been to the village in a while to visit the whore there that didn’t mind that his face was frightfully scarred. He’d never lacked for attention from the fairer sex, that was for sure, but after the accident he was forced to re-evaluate with whom he shared a bed. Rather than be scorned and pitied, Rhys turned recluse and retired to the countryside. Many believed him dead. That was fine- he didn’t mind. So long as he avoided the pity.

  “Rhys
Ashcroft.”

  She made a little sound- something between a cough or a gasp. “My aunt told me you died,” she blurted, then blushed, before burying her nose in her wine. “I beg your pardon. It’s none of my business.”

  “No it isn’t.”

  “I’m dreadfully sorry.”

  “As you should be.”

  She gave him an irritated look. “Do you accept my apology?” she asked impatiently. “Because you are being rather obtuse.”

  “I don’t accept.”

  “And deliberately hostile!”

  He shrugged and sipped his wine. “You insisted on staying,” he pointed out. Reasonably, he thought.

  “Well,” she huffed, crossing her arms again. “Well.”

  A reluctant smile scraped across his lips. Of course, she couldn’t see it so he didn’t mind in the least that it had slipped onto his face. “Miss Carmichael,” he began in a reasoning voice, “you cannot stay here.”

  She turned to him at that, her brows raised inquiringly.

  “Firstly, it’s improper for a lady to call upon a gentleman.”

  He watched her eyes darken imperceptibly and a tiny blush stain her flawless cheeks. She shrugged. “I don’t care,” she said flatly.

  “Secondly,” he continued, ignoring her comment, “you put yourself at risk here. Thirdly, I don’t want you here.”

  She shrugged again before popping a grape into her mouth. “How am I at risk and I told you before that I think you do want me here.”

  “You are at very great risk being here,” he said warningly, his voice a husky growl which caused her to look at him warily. “Don’t you think? I’m a lonely man with naught but this pile of bricks for company.”

  At her blank stare, he emphasised: “Very lonely.”

  Still blank. He sighed before sidling closer to her, grabbing her arms and pulling her close up against him. She gasped and, finally, understanding dawned in those vibrantly blue eyes. “So very lonely,” he growled.