“Thank you.”
For a moment it appeared he hadn’t heard her, so total was his absorption in the view outside the carriage. But after a minute he slowly turned to face her. “I don’t blame you.”
She regarded him in blank confusion. “I beg your—”
A small, cynical smile curved his lips. “Were I in your position, I would have wanted to run as well.”
She could think of no reply, nor did any seem appropriate. So she did the only thing she could think of. She turned away, directing her attention outside the carriage once again.
Seconds later the coach slowed before a large tract of land that was markedly different from the homes that surrounded it. There was no elegant facade, no neatly manicured lawn, no smoothly paved drive. Instead, all that could be seen was a tall iron gate connected by imposing brick columns that encircled the property. Thick, thorny vines had woven their way through the iron rails, obliterating any view of what was contained within.
Julia went cold at the sight. Had she escaped one hell only to make herself a prisoner in another? As most of London knew, the gate that circled the St. James estate had been erected shortly after the fire. With its appearance — and further isolation of the man within — rumors had begun to spread throughout the city as to exactly what was behind those gates.
The Beast.
Embarrassed by her own foolishness, she pushed the thought away with an irritated sigh. Ridiculous. She had researched the man carefully. Hadn’t Morgan’s own servants spoken well on his behalf? Furthermore, she was here of her own free will. This was entirely her choice, her decision.
Nevertheless, as the broad gates opened to admit them, her breath caught in her throat and her heart thundered at twice its normal tempo. This step — entering what was to be her home for the remainder of her days — seemed far more final than any she had taken to date, including the wedding vows they had exchanged earlier. She had once read an account written by a man who had been sentenced to life imprisonment. In his recollection, it wasn’t the sentencing itself that had caused him to break down. The stark, cold realization of what was happening to him had come when the metal bars of his cell clanged shut behind him.
And so it was for her.
Perhaps because that grim analogy filled her mind, because she had prepared herself for the worst, the reality that greeted her was all the more startling. Stretching out as far as her eye could see were lush green lawns that rolled over gently sloping hills. Stone pathways traversed the grounds, leading to pockets of tall, shady trees and intimate gardens that bloomed with a riot of color. She noted a brook that meandered across the property from north to south, and a formal, bubbling fountain centered in the courtyard to the west of Morgan’s estate.
The house itself was classic in design, with tall columns, an ornate oak door, and broad steps composing the facade. Constructed of bricks it had been painted a dazzling white that seemed to shimmer in the summer sunlight. Black shutters flanked the windows; matching black window boxes were bursting with bold crimson geraniums and neatly trimmed ivy.
She turned to him and smiled. “It’s lovely.”
A look of cynical amusement touched his features. “What did you expect?”
Refusing to be intimidated yet again, she replied honestly, “A deteriorating estate with crumbling walls, shutters hanging askew, rotted steps, and broken window-panes. I thought it would be surrounded by dying trees that cast ghostly shadows on the walls, and dismal gardens that had long since withered with neglect.”
“How very dramatic. I fear I disappoint you.”
“You surprise me.”
For a moment she thought she saw something other than cool indifference in his gaze. But the expression, whatever it was, vanished too quickly for her to be certain. As the carriage shuddered to a stop a footman was instantly at the door,
For a moment it appeared he hadn’t heard her, so total was his absorption in the view outside the carriage. But after a minute he slowly turned to face her. “I don’t blame you.”
She regarded him in blank confusion. “I beg your—”
A small, cynical smile curved his lips. “Were I in your position, I would have wanted to run as well.”
She could think of no reply, nor did any seem appropriate. So she did the only thing she could think of. She turned away, directing her attention outside the carriage once again.
Seconds later the coach slowed before a large tract of land that was markedly different from the homes that surrounded it. There was no elegant facade, no neatly manicured lawn, no smoothly paved drive. Instead, all that could be seen was a tall iron gate connected by imposing brick columns that encircled the property. Thick, thorny vines had woven their way through the iron rails, obliterating any view of what was contained within.
Julia went cold at the sight. Had she escaped one hell only to make herself a prisoner in another? As most of London knew, the gate that circled the St. James estate had been erected shortly after the fire. With its appearance — and further isolation of the man within — rumors had begun to spread throughout the city as to exactly what was behind those gates.
The Beast.
Embarrassed by her own foolishness, she pushed the thought away with an irritated sigh. Ridiculous. She had researched the man carefully. Hadn’t Morgan’s own servants spoken well on his behalf? Furthermore, she was here of her own free will. This was entirely her choice, her decision.
Nevertheless, as the broad gates opened to admit them, her breath caught in her throat and her heart thundered at twice its normal tempo. This step — entering what was to be her home for the remainder of her days — seemed far more final than any she had taken to date, including the wedding vows they had exchanged earlier. She had once read an account written by a man who had been sentenced to life imprisonment. In his recollection, it wasn’t the sentencing itself that had caused him to break down. The stark, cold realization of what was happening to him had come when the metal bars of his cell clanged shut behind him.
And so it was for her.
Perhaps because that grim analogy filled her mind, because she had prepared herself for the worst, the reality that greeted her was all the more startling. Stretching out as far as her eye could see were lush green lawns that rolled over gently sloping hills. Stone pathways traversed the grounds, leading to pockets of tall, shady trees and intimate gardens that bloomed with a riot of color. She noted a brook that meandered across the property from north to south, and a formal, bubbling fountain centered in the courtyard to the west of Morgan’s estate.
The house itself was classic in design, with tall columns, an ornate oak door, and broad steps composing the facade. Constructed of bricks it had been painted a dazzling white that seemed to shimmer in the summer sunlight. Black shutters flanked the windows; matching black window boxes were bursting with bold crimson geraniums and neatly trimmed ivy.
She turned to him and smiled. “It’s lovely.”
A look of cynical amusement touched his features. “What did you expect?”
Refusing to be intimidated yet again, she replied honestly, “A deteriorating estate with crumbling walls, shutters hanging askew, rotted steps, and broken window-panes. I thought it would be surrounded by dying trees that cast ghostly shadows on the walls, and dismal gardens that had long since withered with neglect.”
“How very dramatic. I fear I disappoint you.”
“You surprise me.”
For a moment she thought she saw something other than cool indifference in his gaze. But the expression, whatever it was, vanished too quickly for her to be certain. As the carriage shuddered to a stop a footman was instantly at the door,
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