Read Online Beauty's Beast by Amanda Ashley - Free Book Online

to me! I will not hurt you. No one will ever hurt you again, I swear it.”
    Opening her eyes, she stared at him blankly a moment. “My lord?”
    â€œYou’re safe now, Kristine,” he murmured. “I’ll not bother you again.”
    Carefully, he lowered her back onto the mattress, drew her gown down over her hips, and pulled the covers up to her chin.
    Turning away from the bed, he fastened his breeches, then walked toward the door. He was reaching for the latch when she called his name.
    â€œErik?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWill you not stay with me?”
    He went still, hardly daring to breathe. “Why?”
    â€œI don’t want to be alone. I . . . I don’t want you to be alone.”
    â€œWe can’t always have what we want.”
    â€œPlease, my lord, won’t you stay with me until I fall asleep?”
    Every instinct he possessed urged him to leave the room. Instead, he retraced his steps to the side of the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. “Go to sleep, Kristine.”
    He could not see her face in the darkness, but he heard her soft sigh as she snuggled under the covers.
    â€œThank you, my lord.”
    He made a soft, wordless sound deep in his throat. He wondered how long she had spent in prison, if that was the reason she feared the darkness, the reason she kept a lamp burning at her bedside throughout the night.
    He took a deep breath, his nostrils filling with the warm, sweet scent of her—the soap she had bathed with, the peppermint she used to sweeten her breath, the scent of lilacs that clung to her skin. It was part of the curse, his heightened sense of smell, of taste. His hearing was more acute than before, too. He could hear each soft breath she took.
    He clenched his left hand, shoved his right hand into his pocket to keep from touching the curve of her cheek, the short, silky cap of her hair.
    Desire rose within him, a desire to bury himself within her. He yearned to shed his clothes and his accursed mask and enfold her in his arms, feel the heat of her skin against his. . ..
    His body hardened painfully. Why was he sitting here, torturing himself with her nearness? He was not her nursemaid, nor her governess. If she was afraid of the dark, she had a lamp at her bedside.
    But he didn’t leave the room, only continued to sit there, his hands tightly clenched, until the soft, steady sound of her breathing told him she was asleep.
    Hating her, hating himself, he lit the lamp at her bedside and then left the room, left the house.
    Outside, he removed his mask, ripped off his glove and his shirt, and then he began to run. He threw back his head, and the deep-throated sound of his despair pierced the darkness in a long, mournful howl.

Chapter Six
    Kristine sat in the library a week later, trying to make sense of the history book she was reading, when one of the maids entered the room.
    â€œLady Charmion is here,” Yvette announced.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œLady Charmion.”
    â€œI’m sorry, I don’t know who that is.”
    â€œShe is the mother of Dominique, Lord Hawksbridge’s first wife.”
    â€œOh. I . . .” Kristine closed the book and set it on the table beside her. “Does she wish to see me?”
    Yvette nodded, her blond curls bobbing. “She’s waiting in the front parlor.”
    â€œI see.” Kristine stood up, uncertain what she should do.
    â€œPerhaps you would like some tea and honey cakes?” the maid suggested.
    â€œYes, thank you.”
    With a nod and a curtsy, Yvette left the room.
    Kristine took a deep breath, hoping to calm her nerves. Lady Charmion. She had heard it said the woman practiced the black arts. Why was she here?
    Kristine smoothed her skirt, hoping her day dress of dark blue velvet would be acceptable for greeting her guest. A white lace cap covered her short hair.
    Gathering her courage, Kristine made her way to the parlor, hoping that