Page 27

S he was gone again.

The moment she stepped out his bedchamber door was the moment the loneliness returned.

Leopold prided himself on his restraint when it came to Bella, but in his weakened state, his guard was down, and he was quite overcome with emotion. He sensed her stepping closer to the bed when he emitted a faint moan. He hadn’t intended to let that slip, but the pain was intolerable. And then there she was, bending over him. The faint aroma of her perfume—something soft and delicate, like her—wafted to him. He inhaled it with a silent breath, relishing it, savoring it, basking in it.

His first mistake was lifting his hand to touch her face. When he did, everything changed forever. Her skin was velvety, her cheek warm. He heard the almost imperceptible intake of breath. He was quite overcome as his hand slid around to the nape of her neck where tendrils of wispy hair rested.

Then he made his second mistake. Opening his eyes to gaze up at her. He had no words for her beauty. No words to describe how she made him feel. Her brilliant blue eyes were wide and round and gleamed with wonder. The dark pupils expanded with yearning. Her face was flushed. Her pulse pounded like a hummingbird’s delicate wings. Her delicate lips parted in anticipation, and he realized with a wild, unfettered emotion, he was going to kiss her.

Her name escaping through his own lips was a prayer, a plea, a desperate need. She had no idea she looked at him with yearning. He pulled her closer with a gentle nudge. When she did not resist him, the surprise and delight edged through him. Oh, how he wanted to kiss her. To taste those delicate, pink lips. To pull her into his arms and ravish her.

Deep down, the warning clanged through him, pounding his mind. If he kissed her, if he touched her lips with his, he would never be able to stop. He would pull her into his arms, into his bed, and he would love her forever.

So, he released her, closed his eyes and feigned sleep once again. A fervent prayer flickered through his mind for her to step away, to move out of arm’s reach, to expand the distance between them.

She did just that, but to his horror, she remained in the room with him. He heard the shuffle of papers, the sigh as she sat in his chair at his writing desk. He imagined her nimble fingers picking up his favorite quill and dipping it into the inkwell. Then the scratch of the tip on parchment, her faint muttering as she continued to try to translate the book.

Why had Dickens allowed her to stay here with him? Why did he not send her back to the library? That cold, cavernous library where she would remain alone. Thinking of her alone in that room sent a pang of despair through him. He did not want her to be alone. Not there. Not ever.

He chanced a peek at her. Across the room, shrouded in shadows, she was absorbed in her work, her head bent over the book. One hand rested on the aged page before her while she scribbled madly, then scratched out in frustration. He watched her from the haven of his bed, knowing all the while he was falling madly in love with her. Knowing all the while he would never have her.

Now, in the deafening silence, he laid there staring at the ornate ceiling. Dickens had arrived to usher her home. Dickens knew, like he did, what was to come when the sun dipped below the horizon. The brand on his arm already started to burn, to sear, to throb. Though the full moon waned and was nothing more than a crescent, he continued to change into that horrendous beast. His alteration had not stopped as the full moon diminished.

Returning footsteps signaled Dickens came back. The door pushed open. His valet remained in the entrance, not moving.

“Come in, Dickens.” His voice was raw, thick, and heavy with emotion. He had wallowed in his self-pity long enough.

Dickens appeared at his side, moving the vacant chair out of the way. Concern etched his pale features.

“Is she safely away?” he asked.

Dickens nodded. “In the carriage returning to Hawthorne. It’s time, my prince.”

He waved him away. “No, Dickens. The bonds do not help. I will only break through them again.”

He shoved off the blankets and swung his legs to the side of the bed, the hot pain from the slashes in his chest lancing through him. He winced and uttered a low groan.

“Are you certain, my prince?”

“Help me up. Take me to the gardens, Dickens,” he said, ignoring his question.

“But—”

“The time is near. I cannot stop it, even if I wanted to. Take me to the gardens where I will do the least amount of damage,” he insisted.

Dickens nodded, though it was clear he wanted to protest. He remained mute as he placed a hand under his arm and hoisted him to his feet. He wore nothing but the torn trousers and the bandage around his mid-section. When his bare feet hit the floor, he shuddered. He stayed upright, though, despite the agony spreading through him.

His valet wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him across the room, to the door. Leopold focused on every step as he made his way out. One more step and then another step and on and on until he reached the landing at the top of the stairs. He paused here, to take deep breaths and stave off the shear pain. Dickens did not speak. He waited patiently for him to begin again.

Down the stairs. One slow step at a time. He needed something to distract him, so he turned his thoughts back to Bella.

“Why did you allow her to remain in my room?”

“She did not want to spend the day, alone, in the library, my prince. I thought it would do no harm for her to watch over you.” He said this as though he were speaking of nothing more than the weather on a fine day.

He wanted to retort that it was quite harmful—to him. To his psyche. To his very existence. Could his valet not see how much she affected him? How much he wanted her?

“She’s quite taken with you,” he added, his voice soft as though whispering a secret.

Oh, gods, he didn’t need to know that about her. He wanted to forget her. He wanted to push her out of his mind forever. But he knew that was folly.

He would never be able to forget her. He would never be able to push her from his mind forever. He loved her.

It was impossible to think she loved him back, though. He was cursed to live as man and beast. And, if she didn’t find the way to break the curse, he would roam the world forever as that immortal beast. Never to feel her touch again. Never to see her beauty again. Never to hear her voice again.

He couldn’t bear the thought. The anguish was too raw, too real.

They were at the bottom of the stairs. He paused there to take another deep breath, to take a rest while he regained his strength once again for the remaining journey to the dark gardens.

“Is there any reason to hope?”

“She’s quite determined to succeed,” he said. “Do not give up yet, my prince.”

He glanced at his old companion to see the optimism and the hope glinting in his dark eyes. If Dickens continued to have faith, then he would, too.

Nodding, he said, “Let’s continue.”

After a laborious long walk to the castle gardens, where night flooded the area, he was relieved to perch on the edge of a bench. Dickens released him and stepped back, waiting no doubt for the inevitable.

A glance overhead to see the sky dotted with twinkling stars and the quarter moon glaring down at him. He closed his eyes as the shift took hold of him. The burning sensation from the brand on his arm was the first sign. Then, then pain ripped through him. He staggered to his feet, the guttural feral scream ripping from his throat as the shift started in his legs, then moved upward to his torso, down his arms, and finally his head and shoulders.

He tilted his head back and snarled, then howled at the quarter moon, his transformation complete. With his feral instincts taking over, he bounded from the castle gardens and into the night.

The familiar carriage was parked outside Hawthorne Hall when she arrived. Lord Vincent . A wave of apprehension shifted through her as she froze there, staring at the house with the yellow candlelight dancing behind the lace curtains. Warm. Cheerful. Welcoming.

A contrast to the enchanted castle she left behind with a secluded man who needed her.

Lord Vincent had come to call, and she was not at home. Dread pounded through her. She did not want to see him, but she suspected he was there to see Emmaline. At least, she hoped he came to see the girl and not her.

The distant howl sounded through the night. She halted there on the stoop and turned to stare into the inky darkness. Squinting, she tried to make out any movement that was there, but she saw nothing and no one.

An eerie sensation swept up her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. There was something out there. Something that skulked through the shadows, searching. Though she didn’t see the veil-shade , she suspected they were still out there.

The howl sounded again. Sucking in a breath, she read for the doorknob and pushed open the door, stepping inside quickly and closing it with a snap behind her. She pressed her back against the door, her heart beating wildly.

Movement in the parlor caught her attention. She straightened and did her best to put on a bright smile, as if nothing was amiss. Emmaline appeared in the doorway. Lord Vincent stood behind her. They both gave her a curious look.

“Oh, Bella, you’ve returned,” Emmaline said. “Lord Vincent is here.” She motioned to the man standing behind her, her cheeks turning a pale pink.

“I see that.” Bella moved toward the foyer table and placed the book there, hoping neither of them saw it. She pulled off her gloves in haste, dropping them on top of the book. Then she removed her bonnet and turned to the two of them and continued to force a pleasant smile. “You’ve come to call on my Emmaline, have you?”

Lord Vincent moved around the girl to greet Bella. He reached for her hand, taking it in his, and kissed the top of it with his cool lips. She slipped her hand away.

“I do hope this is not an imposition,” he said.

“Not at all. Is there tea?” She peered into the parlor hoping there was something to eat. Her stomach emitted a fierce rumble.

“Yes,” Emmaline said and moved back into the room.

She immediately started to work and poured a cup as Bella entered, Lord Vincent on her heels. Bella gratefully accepted the warm brew, relishing the bergamot scent wafting up to her. It was a long, tiring day, and the last thing she wanted to do was entertain a guest.

“Miss Emmaline said you were interested in the unfinished manuscript you were translating,” Lord Vinent said. He motioned to the book and a stack of papers on the low table between the chairs. “I brought it.”

“Oh, thank you for bringing it. Now, I can finish my work.” She sat near Emmaline, holding the cup and eyeing the small finger sandwiches on the tray. It was long past dinner time.

“I can pay you the remaining fee in advance, if you like,” he said.

Her gaze lifted to him, peering at him over the top of her cup. It occurred to her he suspected she wanted to finish the translation because she needed money. Because her father was still in the port. Because her father’s business was in ruination. Because she was facing the downfall of the estate.

“That’s not necessary,” she said with a pleasant smile. She wanted to make it clear she was not desperate. “You can pay me upon delivery of the final translation. I should have that ready for you in the next day or so.”

An awkward silence descended between the three of them. She was desperately tired, yet she was unable to think of nothing else but the cursed book on the foyer table.

“I should be going.” He rose to his full height, his gaze flickering between the two of them before landing on Emmaline. “Miss Emmaline, thank you for your hospitality.” Then he turned to Bella. “I shall take my leave.”

He headed for the door where he paused to collect his hat and overcoat. Guilt slashed through her, though she was unsure why. It was as though her arrival had interrupted their intimate meeting. She was at a loss for words, though. She glanced at Emmaline who looked disappointed by his leaving.

Bella placed her cup on the table and followed him to the door. Emmaline remained in the parlor.

“Thank you for bringing the book, Lord Vincent.”

He had paused in the foyer, his keen gaze on the cursed book underneath her bonnet and gloves. Her nerves rattled, and she resisted the urge to dash to the book and scoop it up. He turned to her, then, his gaze meeting hers.

“I do hope all is well with you, my lady.” He said no more, but the hint was there. He hoped she was all right while her father was absent and faced who-knows-what terrible things in the port.

“I am well, thank you.”

She reached for the door and pulled it open. The balmy night air spilled inside along with a scent of something wild and untamed. Her breath caught as she snapped her head toward the darkness. She thought she saw the flash of pale brown eyes in the night. Her heart clawed its way to her throat. Her first impulse was to put her hand on Lord Vincent’s arm to stop him from stepping outside.

“Are you sure you can’t stay for another cup of tea?” she asked.

“The hour is late, my lady,” he replied as he placed his hat on his head. He gave her a brief nod and stepped out the door.

The moment he did, a low, savage growl sounded through the night. Close. It was so close. He halted one step outside the door and stiffened, his gaze flickering through the shadows. A shudder of fear ran through her as she remained rooted to her spot within the threshold. If she darted into the night, Lord Vincent would try to stop her. She feared what would happen if she did that and if Leopold, the beast, saw him do it.

She stepped through the threshold and planted herself between Lord Vincent and where she suspected the beast was.

“You’re quite right, Lord Vincent. The hour is late. I do thank you for calling on us to see how we’re faring while my father is otherwise indisposed. It was quite gallant of you.” Her incessant chattering was far too brash.

He cut her a curious glance. “Yes, well, please let me know if you need anything. I’m happy to help.”

“I will,” she said with a nod and a smile that was painful.

Another low growl nearby. Her heart rammed hard and fast, and she silently begged Lord Vincent to get in the carriage and ride away before Leopold decide he was a threat.

“Good night, my lady,” he said finally.

And then he was stepping toward the carriage, the footman was opening the door, and he was climbing inside. The door closed, the footman returned to his place, and they were off. The carriage rattled down the gravel drive, the wheels clattering in the night. She waited there, watching it disappear, swallowed by the night shadows, before she turned back to the open door. She paused there in there slash of light from the house, her head turned to one side. Though she couldn’t see him, she knew he was there.

“He means us no harm,” she whispered, hoping he heard her. “He is a friend. Nothing more.”

A muffled rumble, as though he understood but detested the thought there was another man in her life.

“Go home, Leopold,” she pleaded on a whisper.

Then she stepped inside and closed the door.