Page 2 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars (Ton’s Beasts #1)

I am in great trouble now.

Theresa winced as she urged her horse deeper into the woods. She had been out with Pippin for what seemed like only a few minutes, and the next thing she knew, the sun had begun its descent to the horizon.

“Sister Mary is going to kill me,” she mumbled under her breath. “Not that she needs a reason, but I suppose she must justify herself before God if she were to truly commit murder.”

The Congregation of St. Agatha was not averse to meting out corporal punishment to its members. Sister Mary especially disliked her. The old nun would call Theresa out for the smallest infractions, often meting out the maximum punishment with ill-concealed glee.

Such uncharitable thoughts .

She winced again, catching herself. But with Sister Mary, Theresa sadly had a great lack of charitable thoughts, and they were all fortunate enough that a great many of those thoughts never slipped past her lips.

Most of the time, that is.

Suddenly, Pippin gave a petulant snort and, with an indignant toss of his dark mane, came to a rather unfortunate stop.

Theresa let out a slight groan when she spotted the rivulet where Pippin liked to take a leisurely drink on their rides.

“I know you are particularly fond of the water here, but we really need to go, Pip,” she wheedled. Overhead, the sunbeams were beginning to fade as they slipped through the foliage. “Sister Mary is really going to kill me this time.”

The last time a novice had been caught out after sunset, the Abbess had whipped her to within an inch of her life. For Theresa, Sister Mary would probably go all the way to the last inch.

But Pippin simply stomped his hooves stubbornly on the ground.

“All right, all right!” Theresa dismounted in defeat and glared at the horse in warning. “But just a little. You know we cannot stay overlong.”

The horse snorted lightly, as if in agreement.

“And if Sister Mary ends up killing me, then it shall be on your conscience forever and ever.”

Pippin gave her chest an affectionate nudge, and Theresa rolled her eyes at his antics.

Taking the reins in her hands, she walked over to where the clear water pooled slightly before cascading further down, when she heard a slight splash.

Immediately, she stiffened. Wolves were known to frequent this part of the woods, and although she had never encountered one before, she did not fancy doing so now.

Pippin nudged her shoulder gently, and she gave him another glare. “I had thought that animals have a greater sense of self-preservation than humans. It would seem that your thirst overpowers even that.”

The horse gave a soft neigh and urged her toward the river.

Death by a wolf or death by Sister Mary? Why do my choices have to be this bleak?

Theresa groaned inwardly as she carefully approached the rivulet. She brushed aside the foliage, peering cautiously.

Please do not be a wolf . Or any other wild animal out to devour me…

Her heart stuttered in her chest, her eyes widening as she took in the sight before her.

Standing waist-deep in the water was a man—she was certain of it. Only a human male could possess such broad shoulders. When he moved ever so slightly, his muscles rippled in the last of the day’s dappled sunlight.

Suddenly, she felt a strange warmth blooming in her body, radiating from her core all the way to her toes and fingertips. Even her scalp tingled with an unfamiliar heat.

Unbidden, her eyes followed the line of his shoulders, the broad back that tapered into narrow hips as they disappeared into the water. Good heavens, even his forearms were corded with muscle!

And injured .

Theresa sucked in a deep breath. Just a slight intake of air, really, but it was enough to draw his attention.

His head immediately whipped around, the movement agile and bristling with barely restrained power.

“Who goes there?” He called out, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

Her heart thudded in her chest, so loud that she wondered if he could hear it, too. A silver mask covered half of his face. Yet, it could not hide the startling silver of his eyes.

Or the sensuous curve of his lips.

“No one,” she called out meekly as she stepped away from the foliage. “I mean, it is just me.”

“A girl.” His voice seemed to rumble in his chest, stirring something strange and new within her. “What is a girl like you doing all alone in a forest?”

Theresa pushed those feelings aside. “I live near here and have used this route many times,” she replied. “Besides, I am not the one in need of help.”

“Oh?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “And, pray tell, who is in dire need of assistance?”

“You, of course.”

She could hardly believe how calm he could be despite his injury. His arms were covered in blood. He should be screaming in agony, not debating with her about who needed help.

“Me?” His lips curled into a cold smile. “Now, there’s a thought.”

Maybe the pain has addled his brain . These things are known to happen, after all.

“Do you mind telling me what happened?” She asked him kindly.

Sister Edith told her that people responded better to kindness, although Theresa regrettably needed to remind herself of that more.

She saw his dark eyebrows snap together in a frown above his mask.

“That is none of your business!” He snapped.

“But your injuries…” Theresa tamped down her frustration. “You are not safe running around in your condition. The longer you leave it unattended?—”

“Between the both of us, it is not I who is in danger right now,” he cut in smoothly. “You should leave, and be quick about it. You do not want to be spending time with beasts, do you?”

She felt her cheeks grow warm.

Did he perhaps know that she initially mistook him for a wild animal? Of course, he would be greatly offended at the comparison.

“I… I apologize for the intrusion,” she mumbled, hanging her head. “I shall do as you say and leave, but please…” She raised her eyes to his and pleaded once more. “You should at least seek help for your injuries. You must not let your wounds fester, or you might lose an arm. Maybe two.”

She caught the dark glare he shot her and immediately paused her rambling.

“I shall be going now,” she said quickly. “Good day to you, Sir.”

She hastily turned around and dragged a recalcitrant Pippin behind her. She had already done her best to encourage the man to seek help for his wounds, but he was as obstinate as a mule.

“I suppose one cannot bring a horse to water,” she mumbled to herself. “Except for you, perhaps,” she told her horse affectionately. “You run to every stream, rivulet, and spring with nary a care for the consequences.”

Pippin let out what seemed to be an indignant snort, but thankfully, he made no further argument as Theresa mounted him once more.

As she rode back to the convent, she closed her eyes, recalling the unfamiliar heat that had swept through her the moment she laid eyes on the stranger. How that secret place between her legs throbbed and pulsed as if it knew him.

What nonsense! Body parts do not recognize people, especially strangers in the woods!

The nuns, however, had warned her of the sins of the flesh. How her body might react when it was tempted by wickedness. How she needed to pray for forgiveness so that the Lord would cleanse her of her impure thoughts.

They had not been more forthcoming about it, and Theresa had not given it much thought then. After all, Sister Mary often lectured her about things she couldn’t care less about.

But she understood it now as surely as she felt the sweet ache in her core. Hot. Persistent. Craving.

Craving what, exactly?

Theresa shook her head. Such musings were sinful, she had been told. If such wickedness were to overcome her, only prayer would stave off the beastly hunger, they had told her.

Lord, forgive the weakness of my flesh . My eyes have caused me to sin greatly…

Must she pluck them out now, as the Bible had suggested? She did not doubt that Sister Mary would most happily attend to the task.

Her hands tightened on the reins as she urged Pippin faster. She could see the outline of the convent just as the sun dipped below the horizon, the familiar dread in her chest replacing the new sensations.

She led Pippin to the stables and changed the water in the trough, smoothing the horse’s mane before heading back to the nunnery. She could already see Mother Superior standing in the doorway, Sister Mary smirking cruelly from behind her.

Theresa squared her shoulders as she approached them.

“Disobedience is the first sin that the woman committed before God,” Mother Superior told her in a cold voice. “The Congregation of St. Agatha does not condone the flagrant perpetuation of such wickedness in its members.”

“You must be punished, of course.” Sister Mary cackled gleefully. “Only then can you be rid of your sinful nature.”

Theresa winced and lowered her head. How many times had she heard them say the same things? How many times had she borne the punishment just to feel the wind through her hair, the sun on her cheeks?

If God had created such wonderful things, why were the nuns of the Congregation of St. Agatha forbidden from enjoying such gifts?

She watched as Mother Superior pressed her lips into a thin line, her cold gaze boring into Theresa as if she were looking at a particularly distasteful insect. As if she would like nothing more than to squash her underneath her shoe.

But there was a sullen flicker in her eyes. A restraint that she seemed to chafe at with every fiber of her being.

“Punish?” A tired voice called out from behind. “What does that mean?”

Theresa saw the nuns stiffen, saw the barely leashed anger that sparked in Sister Mary’s dull brown eyes, as they turned around.

Only then did she notice the lady standing in the doorway.

She was of average height and easily the most beautiful woman Theresa had ever laid eyes on.

Her dark brown hair was coiled artfully underneath an elegant hat of midnight velvet.

Her traveling clothes were a little wrinkled, but even the poor lighting could not hide the luxurious fabric or the fineness of their make.

However, it was her eyes, worn and weary, that had Theresa sucking in a sharp breath. They were a vivid, brilliant green that she was all too familiar with.

She looked toward Sister Edith, the nun who had raised her from infancy, and Margaret, the novice she had grown up with, their eyes glassy with unshed tears. They were the only ones who had ever shown her kindness in the dismal cold of the nunnery.

“Sister Edith… Margaret…” She whispered brokenly.

Why were their gazes filled with so much sorrow? Why had they not come out to hug her as they often did when she returned to the nunnery?

“Your punishment is… no longer ours to mete out,” Mother Superior told her in a harsh breath, her eyes flashing. “There is… someone else you should meet.”

The beautiful lady let out a soft sob, and Mother Superior closed her eyes as if praying for infinite fortitude.

Theresa trembled as her gaze darted from the lady to Mother Superior. “Who must I meet?”

The old nun’s eyes flashed open. “Your mother,” she told her flatly.

At her words, the exquisitely dressed lady rushed forward, her arms wrapping around Theresa in a tight hug. The fragrance of a summer garden invaded her nostrils as she reeled back in shock.

My… mother?

“Oh, Theresa!” the woman wailed. “You must come home with me. At once. Your sister is about to get married!”