Beauty's Beast(37)

Kristine stood up and kissed Erik on the cheek. “Ready, my lord husband?”

With a nod, he placed her hand on his right arm and they went downstairs to greet their guests.



Erik stood in the shadows, watching Kristine play Lady of the Manor. She charmed their guests, from young Edward Randolph to the old dowager, Lady Rowena Silverstone. He heard several young ladies whispering about Kristine’s short hair, wondering if perhaps it was the result of a high fever. The young men swarmed around her, their eyes hot as they devoured her.

It seemed strange, to see the house and grounds lit up, to hear the sound of laughter ringing from the walls. Not since Dominique died had there been so many people within Hawksbridge Castle.

He watched as his guests went in to dinner. Mrs. Grainger had planned a buffet, and she had done herself proud. Several long tables nearly groaned beneath the weight of food being offered—succulent hams, pheasants, chickens swimming in wine sauce. Vegetables and fruit, bread and rolls. The air was redolent with the varied aromas.

He frowned as he watched young Lord Hoxford escort Kristine into the dining room. Hoxford had been hovering near Kristine all evening, smiling at her, paying her outrageous compliments, claiming her for every waltz, holding her far too close.

Erik felt his anger rise when Hoxford leaned in to whisper something in Kristine’s ear. The man was far too bold, and yet he would make an excellent match for Kristine. He came from an old family. He was tall and broad-shouldered and handsome. And discreet in his liaisons.

Taking a deep breath, Erik forced himself to relax. One of the reasons he had agreed to this elaborate affair was so that Kristine could get better acquainted not only with her neighbors, but with possible suitors.

He did not join the others at dinner. One of the advantages of the buffet was that he did not have to sit at the head of the table. There was no formal seating. Some of his guests sat at the dining table, others wandered into the parlor or the library, or found seating in the gardens.

Grabbing a glass of wine, Erik sought the darkness beyond the house. Dark gray clouds were gathering overhead. He could smell the moisture in the air. There would be rain before morning. He wondered how many of his guests would look at the weather and decide to spend the night.

He drained his glass and tossed it aside. Laughter and music drifted on the breeze as he wandered through the gardens. He lifted his head, sniffing the wind, then swore as he realized what he was doing. The beast within him was growing stronger. More and more he found himself behaving in feral ways, found himself feeling hampered, confined, by his clothing, found himself asking Mrs. Grainger to serve his roast beef rare instead of well-done.

He lifted his left hand and removed his glove, staring at the animal-like paw as if, by doing so, he could make it disappear. And then he lifted his right hand and wiggled his fingers. What a wondrous thing a hand was, he mused. He could hold a glass, pick a flower for his wife, caress her warm, soft skin. . ..

He closed his eyes as pain ripped through him. It was constant now, the pain that throbbed through his body as it fought the transformation, the anguish of knowing he was running out of time. And the worst pain of all, that of knowing that he was going to lose Kristine. He had known her such a short time, yet he loved her beyond all reason. He longed to tell her so, to hold her in his arms and pour out his love. It took all his willpower to keep the words locked inside. Once said, they could not be taken back. It was better for her to go on thinking that all he wanted from her was an heir. She knew he was fond of her, but there was a vast difference between fondness and what he felt. Better for them both if the words remained unsaid.

With a sigh, he turned back toward the house. He was the host; it was his duty to mingle with his guests.

As he neared the back of the castle, he heard whispered voices. And then he saw a couple standing near one of the hedges. Young lovers. The thought filled him with a bittersweet longing, and then, catching Kristine’s scent on the air, he felt a surge of anger rise up within.

On silent feet, he padded toward them.

“You are most fair, Lady Trevayne,” Hoxford was murmuring. “Truly, you are the most beautiful woman here this evening.”

“You mustn’t flatter me so, Lord Hoxford,” Kristine protested.

“I speak no flattery,” Hoxford replied. “Only the truth.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “Your skin is like the finest satin, your hair shines like the sun.”

Kristine tried to withdraw her hand from his. “Lord Hoxford, you must not say such things to me. It isn’t proper.”

“Not proper to compliment my hostess?” Hoxford laughed softly as he drew Kristine into his arms. “Don’t be absurd.”