Beauty Tempts the Beast (Sins for All Seasons #6) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,11

devil was he doing that was causing his tardiness? If it killed her, she would pry the answer from him when he showed.

Determining she was in as much danger waiting as walking, she removed the dagger from her reticule and began striding briskly home. She again had that warm sensation of someone wrapping a hand around the nape of her neck. Without stopping her strides, she swung about, walking backward as she squinted at the dark shadows. She couldn’t see anyone but still had the sense of being watched.

Spinning back around, she quickened her pace and tightened her hold on the weapon. Surely, she would run into Griffith at any moment. Even a hansom cab would be welcomed. She could use a portion of the unexpected coins she’d received tonight to get herself home.

Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw nothing, heard nothing. It was probably just paranoia on her part after all the warnings Griffith had given her. He hadn’t wanted her working at night, but it had been the only position—

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her wrist, biting into the tender flesh, and an arm snaked forcefully around her waist. Releasing a blood-curdling scream as she was yanked into the darkened alley, she struck out blindly with the dagger, shuddering when it hit its mark.

“Ye bitch! Ye sliced me!”

A brick wall slammed into the back of her head, and pain ricocheted through it. Flashes of bright light floated around her. Her legs lost their vibrancy, and she slowly slid down, down, down . . .

From a great distance, somewhere beyond where she existed, she heard a growl, followed by the echoing crunch of bone being crushed. A grunt. Footsteps.

A large hand gently cradled her head. “Stay with me, Beauty, stay with me.”

His tone reflected a desperation and she dearly wanted to adhere to his demand, but oblivion beckoned, refusing to be denied.

Chapter 3

The first thing Althea noted was the warmth surrounding her, the absence of the cold that had been such a part of her for so long. Then she was hit by a powerful rose scent that made her eyes water. Someone was alternatingly patting the back of her hand and rubbing it.

“That’s it, love, come on. Wake up.” The feminine voice was a rough rasp, reminiscent of someone who spent a good bit of time coughing.

Opening her eyes, she was greeted by the countenance of a woman she judged to be a few years older than her own twenty-four years, her hair a fiery red. The woman’s emerald eyes sparkled, and her smile revealed one front tooth overlapping another. Her kind expression was offering absolution, a shepherdess accustomed to taking in lost lambs.

“There, now, that’s a good girl. You had him worried, you did.” She jerked her head back slightly, and Althea looked past her to see Beast Trewlove standing with his right shoulder pressed against the dark green and burgundy patterned wall, near a window, his arms crossed over a massive chest that for some reason she thought she knew the feel of. Always before he’d been wearing a greatcoat and she’d thought it was partially responsible for his broadness. She was wrong. He was all brawn.

“What happened? How did I come to be here?”

Here being a dimly lit parlor rather garishly decorated with red fringed pillows as well as numerous statuettes and paintings revealing the taut buttocks and pert breasts of nude couples in various amorous positions. But it also contained the most comfortable sofa upon which she’d ever rested her weary body.

“Seems you swooned, love,” the woman said.

“I don’t swoon.” She’d never swooned in her life.

“Call it what you like, he had to carry you here.”

In those massive arms against that wide chest. Her mouth went dry with the thought.

“My name’s Jewel, by the way. Here, let’s sit you up, get a bit of warm tea into you.”

Placing her arms around Althea until she was cushioned against her plump breasts, she helped her rise slightly and scoot back into the corner adorned with plush pillows. Althea grimaced as dizziness assailed her and pain shot through her skull. She pressed her hand to her forehead, but it didn’t help.

“I’ve sent for a surgeon,” he said quietly.

She met his gaze. “I’m not in need of a surgeon.”

“The knot on the back of your head and the blood say otherwise.”

All of a sudden the memories assailed her, and she remembered being dragged into an alley, the pain reverberating through her head. The growl, the crunching. I threaten