Beauty Tempts the Beast (Sins for All Seasons #6) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,18
question?”
“Only when I don’t know the answer.”
Those words sobered her. “You strike me as a man who always knows the answer.”
His dark eyes narrowing, he studied her for all of a heartbeat, and she wondered if he’d find whatever it was for which he was searching. If it was within her, did she want him to find it? She admired his honesty and openness but couldn’t embrace the same traits, not when they could bring so much pain.
“Usually I am,” he said. “But something about you—”
The front door burst open. “Althea!”
“Griff!” She leapt out of the chair too fast. If Beast hadn’t quickly stood, wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her against his broad chest, she surely would have toppled to the floor.
“Easy, Beauty,” he whispered.
The dark eyes drew her in. She’d never felt more protected, more treasured than she did at that moment. She had a strong urge to rise up on her toes, bury her face against the skin below his jaw, and inhale the masculine scent of him. Dark and forbidding, leather and scotch, and something so uniquely him—
“What the devil is going on here, Althea?” Griffith asked.
Having regained her balance, if not her equilibrium, she flattened her palm against the broad chest. “I’m all right now.”
Never taking his intense gaze from her, gingerly, he slid his arm away, and she had to fight to remain steady, not to seek out the comfort of him.
“I got into a bit of a bother earlier. Beast—” She stopped, shook her head. “Your mother did not name you Beast, surely.”
One corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly. “Benedict. Sometimes my family will call me Ben.”
“Benedict Trewlove, here, came to my assistance.”
“Trewlove? Are you the Trewlove half of Whitechapel fears and the other half worships?”
“That description could apply to any Trewlove. You shouldn’t leave your sister to walk home alone.”
“I got held up tonight.” He looked at her. “It won’t happen again, Althea.”
“Where were you?”
“Searching for you.”
“Before that? Why were you late?”
“It’s not important.”
“It damned well better be bloody important if it puts her life at risk,” Benedict stated succinctly in the same tone a king might use when proclaiming a decree.
Griffith blanched. “As I said, it won’t happen again.”
“Make sure it doesn’t. And start taking different paths to the residence. You don’t want to have a routine that footpads can expect and take advantage of.” With long, purposeful strides, he headed for the door.
She started to rush after him, had to stop when her head protested. “Please, halt.”
Her plea reached him just as he was closing the door. He paused.
The cold wind whipped through the narrow opening as she neared. “Thank you for everything you did tonight.”
“Coal will be delivered in the morning.”
“You don’t have to do that. You didn’t use that much.”
“’Tis done.”
She wondered if anyone ever won an argument with this man. “You were wrong earlier. What you said. I haven’t taken a dislike to you.”
His eyes darkened. Based on the visibility of his breath in the cold, his breathing had slowed. He lifted a bare hand, and she wondered if he was tempted to touch her face. He dropped his hand, began tugging on his gloves, stepped back. “Good night, Miss Stanwick.”
As he strode away, she watched him hunch his shoulders against the cold. He cut such a lonely figure that she was tempted to call him back to make use of the fire as long as it burned. Instead, she closed the door, locked it.
Griffith was standing by the fireplace, staring at the flames. Not willing to let any of the heat go to waste, she joined him there. Now that they didn’t have company, she thought he was more likely to answer. “What are you up to? Where were you last night and tonight?”
“With a woman.” He slid his gaze to her. “I was only a few minutes late. Who was he?”
“I told you.”
“His name, yes, but what is he to you? How did you come to be with him, with your hair undone? When I walked in, you looked as though you were on the verge of inviting him into your bedchamber.”
“Bedchamber is a bit too elegant a word for the room in which I sleep. As for how I came to be with him . . .”
She explained all that had happened, and when she was done, he cursed soundly.
“I won’t be late again. I swear to you.”
“Was she someone I know?” She couldn’t imagine he’d gone to a brothel.