Beauty's Beast(41)

“I’m sorry, Kristine. That must have been difficult for you. And for your father.”

“Yes.” She placed her hand over her belly in a protective gesture. “I couldn’t believe my mother had left me, left my father, for a man she scarcely knew. I still can’t believe it. At first, I told myself he had taken her by force, that she would never have gone with him willingly. Several days later, my father received a letter from my mother. She said she was sorry and begged him to make me understand why she had run away. Of course, at the time, there was nothing my father could say to make me understand.”

“And now?”

“I would never leave my child,” Kristine said vehemently. “Never!”

“And you never heard from your mother again?”

“She wrote me at first, on my birthday and at Christmas, telling me about all the wonderful places she had seen, how happy she was, promising to come and see me the next time the troupe came to town. But she never did. When I was four and ten, the letters stopped coming.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Erik murmured.

Love . . . It was the first time he had used such an endearment. It drove every other thought from her mind. Turning on her side, she looked into his eyes, so dark and mysterious, behind the mask. “Erik?”

“Hmm?”

The words do you love me trembled on her lips, but she swallowed them, unsaid. “Nothing,” she whispered, and leaning forward, her hands braced on his broad chest, she kissed him with all her heart and soul, and understood, for the first time, why her mother had run off with another man.





He rose with the dawn, knowing he would not be able to resist holding her, kissing her, when she woke, knowing he dared not risk making love to her in the light of day. He felt safe, protected, in the darkness.

Moving quietly, he went into the main room of the cottage to stand at the window. The rain had stopped and the sky was a bold dark blue. The scent of rain lingered in the air, and with it the smell of damp grass and earth. Water dripped from the eaves of the cottage, from the leaves of the trees. Birds chirped a welcome to the new day.

“Good morning.”

He glanced over his shoulder to see Kristine standing in the doorway, a blanket wrapped tightly around her. “You’re up early, wife.”

“So are you.”

He made a vague gesture with his hand. They both knew why he had left her bed; there was no need to fabricate a lie. “We should go back. Our guests will be preparing to leave soon.”

She nodded in agreement, but didn’t move.

Slowly, he walked toward her. “Thank you for last night,” he said, and watched her cheeks bloom with color.

“Thank you,” she replied with a saucy grin. “Won’t you kiss me good morning?”

He smiled indulgently, then kissed her, long and hard. “Go get dressed.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Go,” he said. “Mrs. Grainger is fixing breakfast. I smell ham and eggs cooking.”

“You do not!” Kristine exclaimed, but the mention of food made her stomach growl, and she realized she was ravenous.

He sniffed the air. “And fresh-baked scones with honey butter.”

“All right, I’m going,” she said. “And there had better be scones when we get there.”



It was late afternoon by the time the last of the guests took their leave. As Erik had expected, their absence the night before had not been noticed.

Now he and Kristine were sitting at the dining room table, nibbling on bread and cheese. Erik picked up his glass and sipped his wine. It was an excellent vintage, he mused, and added it to the list of enjoyments he would miss.

Leaning back in his chair, Erik regarded Kristine over the rim of his wineglass. “I should say your first soiree was a huge success.”

“It was fun, wasn’t it?” Kristine mused with a smile. “We shall have to have another soon.”

Erik nodded, knowing that he would not be present the next time. He took a deep breath as a sharp twinge ran the length of his right arm. He clenched his hand. The curse was spreading.

Placing his glass on the table, he stood abruptly.

Kristine frowned as wine splashed over the white cloth. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I’ll see you this evening.”

“Erik? Erik!” She turned in her chair, watching as he rushed out of the room.





Kristine sat at her dressing table, her head bowed over her diary.


Our first ball was a huge success. What fun, to be able to spend however much money I wish, to be able to order gowns and flowers, to entertain our neighbors in grand style. In truth, I had thought they might refuse, for Mrs. Grainger told me it has been several years since my lord husband has welcomed visitors to Hawksbridge Castle.