Page 26 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars (Ton’s Beasts #1)

A aron had instructed the servants to ready Midnight for a long ride. They had packed him refreshments in case he wanted to spend the entire day away from Blackwell Manor. They knew too well that he often spent entire days away from home for no apparent reason.

Today, he would return to the spot where he had first met his wife.

When he had seen her that day, her beauty struck him. Made all the more alluring by the drab garments she wore, he knew that the image of her amid the trees would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He found that he did not mind so much, now that she was his wife.

He enjoyed the solitary ride away from the city. He had not had much peace and quiet since he married Theresa. Once, his tower had been a haven. No one dared to set foot in his private quarters when he wished to be alone.

Juliette and his grandmother had learned over the years to respect his wish to be alone. They overlooked his vices in a way Theresa did not seem inclined to do. She even wanted to ride with him rather than in the carriage with the other ladies.

Admittedly, Aaron preferred having a wife who flouted conventions, as he always had done.

He did not know what the ton thought of her yet, but he knew what they thought of him.

When he arrived at the lake, he set up the easel that he had tucked into his saddlebag. This was his favorite place to create because he never had to worry about someone interfering with the process.

For a while, he sat in front of the easel and did nothing but look out over the water. He had packed his usual palette of reds and blacks, but the paint did not call to him the way it always had. He had no interest in the violence of war anymore.

He had one person to thank for this monumental shift in his perspective. It was the one image that he felt inclined to paint that day.

He pulled new colors out of his bag—colors he had packed on the off chance that he wanted to paint something other than violence and anger. He let his hand move of its own accord, putting paints on his palette and moving his hands across the canvas as if in a trance.

More than an hour passed, and the object of his painting started to take shape. The face was blurred, but he knew it was that of his wife. She sat on his bed, her dress a heap on the floor. The duvet covered her lower half, but her breasts told him that she was naked.

This was how he wished to see her, beckoning him.

He wanted to have her, to take her in the way every married man took his wife. A memory tugged at the edges of his mind and pulled him away from the image in front of him.

Suddenly, it was not Theresa in the bed in his tower, but another woman.

Lady Isabella.

The memory flashed through his mind like lightning. He could not look away from the wreckage of his broken betrothal. The last time they had been with one another so intimately was shortly after the war.

She had been in his bed, dressed in a revealing gown. It was the kind of gown that Theresa favored as well. But she had modesty to spare, whereas Isabella had none.

He had planned a romantic evening for the two of them, but he was so tired of donning his mask.

It had not yet become second nature to him to put it on and shield the rest of Society from his beastly visage.

His skin had grown hot and itchy beneath the mask, so he took it off and set it on the bedside table.

He leaned in to kiss Isabella, only for her to throw the covers off her and run into the hall. He had run after her and found her retching.

He did not know what had made her ill so suddenly.

It was not the first kiss they had shared.

It was not the first time they had been intimate with one another, either, as he had been intimate with Theresa.

He had hopes that one day, they would sleep with one another.

Until the moment realization dawned on him.

He had taken off the mask that prevented her from seeing the monstrosity on his face.

“Stay away from me,” she hissed, shivering from head to toe.

He took a step back from her, back into the tower, where he affixed his mask back on his face, discomfort be damned.

He had thought that they would be able to work out a way for them to be married if he were mindful to leave his mask on at all times. He may not have been in love with her, but she was the most convenient option at that time.

Isabella had made it clear shortly after that marriage was out of the question. The only way he would wind up married was if the Queen’s edict mandated that someone join him in matrimony.

Anger surged through him at the memory.

The painting in front of him took on a sinister look, the taunting gaze of his former betrothed rather than the inviting gaze of his wife. He wished he could just see Theresa’s face on the canvas.

She had no problem kissing him and letting him be intimate with her. But there was one major difference between Theresa and Isabella—Isabella had seen him without his mask on.

He would not risk his wife’s rejection if he were to reveal his true self. He did not think he could handle the disgusted look on her face if he took off his mask, the revulsion he would have to live with in the precious sanctuary of his home.

No, he could not risk it.

He yelled at the top of his lungs, disturbing the birds that had been resting in the trees surrounding the lake. They took off in flight just as he slashed white paint across the freshly painted canvas.

The painting was ruined, marred irreparably by his pain.

He thought of staying at the lake all day, soaking in the solitude and sunshine. Now, he could not wait to get away from this painting. Even his refuge was now tainted with what women had done to him.

He threw his paints and easel back into the saddlebag and left the canvas by the side of the lake. No nun who happened across it would recognize the half-naked woman painted there. The white paint had made sure that the painting was well and truly ruined.

Just like him.

He could not wait another moment to be back in his tower. It would be impossible for him to wait for Midnight to plod along, so he kicked his heels into his stallion’s flanks, urging him to go faster.

Midnight took off at a gallop, surefooted from much practice traversing the land.

Aaron was not satisfied until he felt the wind whip at his face and heard his mount’s labored breathing. He allowed Midnight to slow down as they reached the city, but kept up a fast pace to discourage anyone from stopping him for conversation.

He pulled his horse to a stop when they finally arrived at the manor. As they rounded the corner into the stables, he eased his feet from the stirrups and leaped from Midnight’s back. Without a word, he tossed the reins to the groom, who would water Midnight and brush him down.

When he saw servants in the path ahead of him, he dodged them and took another route to his tower. The maid who was in charge of cleaning his quarters was carrying linens to his tower when he stepped into the manor.

“Draw a bath for me,” he commanded.

She looked around, as if hoping someone would appear out of thin air and rescue her. When she saw no one, she bowed her head and hurried away in the direction of the washroom in his quarters.

Aaron skulked up to his tower and flung the door open, ready to put the morning behind him. He had had enough of women, and he knew that no one would bother him so long as he was here, secluded in his quarters.

But when he opened the door, he found that Theresa had other plans for him.

She was seated on his bed in a gown that showcased her breasts in a way that he found utterly indecent.

He could see their fullness, and already his hands itched to feel their weight in his palms. It must be one of the custom-made gowns the dressmaker had delivered after their shopping trip because he did not remember seeing it in the shop.

The kitten sat in her lap, its tiny mewls echoing off the walls. Aaron could not remember the name she had given to the creature, only her promise that it would live in the gardens. It seemed the feline had made its way into the manor, after all.

“You were not here,” Theresa said by way of greeting.

“I needed some fresh air. I needed to get away from the estate for a little while. Surely, you can understand the need to escape from the ton ?”

“You needed fresh air, while I needed my husband,” Theresa argued. “I had no choice but to wait here patiently for your return.”

“What could have gone wrong in my absence?” Aaron was puzzled by her sudden need.

Juliette and his grandmother found ways to occupy their days without his supervision. Could his wife not do the same?

“The house party is in three days, and I have a problem.”

“What problem could you have? If it is a dress you need, I am sure we can make some arrange?—”

“I do not know how to dance,” she blurted out.

Theresa had been trying for half an hour to master the steps to the dance Aaron led her through. When she confessed her worries of embarrassing him at the garden party, he had been kind to her—kinder than she thought he would be about something that came naturally to him.

She still did not think he understood how out of her depth she was in the city after growing up in a convent.

“We did not dance in the convent,” she explained. “We had no partners. It was not fitting for ladies to dance before the Lord.”

“You will find it to be one of the few pleasures of a house party,” Aaron said. “You will not want for a partner all evening, I assure you. Everyone will want their moment with the Duchess.”

“That is precisely what I am worried about! I do not know how to even begin to master dancing. I will bring shame upon you and your family, after they have been so welcoming.”

Theresa was so upset over this revelation that she was near tears.