Page 4 of The Beast's Heart

“My office.”

“Right. Since you’re in control here.”

I think a smile flickers somewhere behind his beard, but it disappears so fast I’m not convinced it was real. “Am I?”

Is that a joke? His gaze is so intense that I really can’t tell. His eyes are the color of storm clouds. I want to get lost in the—Oh god, Jonathan, stop. This man will likely kill you when he learns the truth. Youcannotbe attracted to him.I force a smile. “Is that when I’ll meet the children? At dinner?”

“Hopefully.”

Again, I’m not sure if he’s serious. He sounds serious but he could also just be a giant with an excellent deadpan. I scratch at my ear. “I’ll watch out for pinecones”

His bushy brow furrows. “Pine...cones?”

“Ah, The Sound of Music? Julie Andrews? When she joins the children for dinner for the first time, they prank her with a pinecone on her chair.”

He’s just looking at me so I continue.

“And then she sits on it and screeches. But she’s so nice about it that the children feel guilty and start crying—not that I would make the children cry! Never.” My face is so hot. I must be bright pink.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Mister Belle. You haven’t met the children.”

Another joke? There’s no sign of humor in those stormy eyes. “I’m not sure I follow?”

He folds his arms and I definitely do not notice how his biceps bulge. “Behavioral issues are common with children who’ve been in the system. You may find real life quite far from a musical.”

I fold my own arms—the effect is no doubt far less impressive. “I’m aware of the maladaptive behaviors trauma and neglect can cause.”

“Are you?”

He’s still evaluating me, with a piercing look that makes me want to guard my thoughts as well as my words.

“These children might require a firm hand, Mister Belle. Are you up to the task?”

My throat goes tight.How firm?

My doubt must reflect in my expression because he steps in closer. The oxygen leaves my lungs as he leans in and says, “These children need structure, they need stability, they need discipline. Is that something that you feel you’re able to offer, Mister Belle?”

I look soft. I know I do. God, every bully between year one and my third year of college thought the same thing. I tilt my chin up and meet his gaze, trying to show that I’m not as softas he thinks. I can handle some unruly children. I can handle them my way. “On the contrary, Mister De Villeneuve. Studies show that children need to feel safe and secure in order to thrive. They need kindness and respect, so they’re able to trust their caregivers.”

Hesmirks. “Beast.”

“Excuse me?”

“Beast. That’s what people call me. Or Adam, if you prefer. I’ll leave you to get situated.” He turns away and then pauses. “There are few locked doors here. You are free to explore. I ask only that you stay clear of the west wing.”

“And this is the east wing?”

“That’s right.”

And then he’s retreating back down the long corridor, past the rooms that belong to my charges.

I’m starting to form a mental picture of the manor. It’s symmetrical: Two giant wings split by that beautiful sweeping staircase. De Villeneuve’s office is in a mirror location to the classroom, but where this corridor continues in its horseshoe shape—folded around the playroom—there was a big brown door cutting off the opposite passage. That must lead to his private quarters. The west wing.

Images of a plush and luxurious space out of Buckingham Palace fill my mind. But, in truth, there’s no guessing what his space might look like. While the exterior of this house is Victorian, the interior is not so easily categorized. The entrance is baroque, with white paneling and marble floors. On the landing, overlooking the foyer, there’s a white baby grand on an antique rug. Then there’s the rest of this floor, which is more understated but with cozy and elegant details. The average person probably wouldn’t appreciate the hardwood floors, fine wallpaper, or the art nouveau light fixtures. Whoever decorated this house loved it. They weren’t chasing fashion or evenconsistency. They were trying to make each space magical, each detail significant.

I somehow doubt that person was The Beast.

I wait until he’s rounded the corner before I take a deep breath and turn to open the door to my room.

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