Page 64 of The Beauty and the Griffin

BEATRICE

Polished wooden bookshelves loomedon every side of me, and the smell of old books filled the air. All around my little hideaway, freestanding stacks rose higher than my head. What a literary treasure house!

Straightening my skirts, I stood upright, my heart racing in anticipation. My gown’s loose-fitting bodice and knee-length skirt had vertical black-and-white stripes, while a snug band of horizontal stripes hugged my hips. I reached up to find my hair in a tight bun hidden beneath a turban, which confirmed the era. Once again, I was a century in the past.

He's got to be here. Why else would I have this dream?

“Niel?” It was silly to speak just above a whisper, but I was afraid to raise my voice. After all, I was in a library. I tried again, slightly louder: “Niel?”

When an unforgettable voice answered “Hello?” from somewhere near, I nearly fell over with excitement.

“I’m here. Where are you?”

Niel appeared around a stack, one finger tucked between the pages of a book. His eyes were wide, and his face went white, then very red. His mouth worked, but no sound emerged until he breathed out, “Beatrice!” I’d never heard my name spoken with more emotion.

“Niel!” I felt like crying—which was unreasonable. It was only a few weeks since I’d dreamed of him the first time.

But he was taller than I remembered, and his face was less boyish, more manly, and browned by the sun. He evidently hadn’t shaved recently—stubble darkened his chin, and his tawny hair stuck up and out as if he’d been running his fingers through it—far more attractive without pomade plastering it to his head.

Oh my, but he looked good! My eyes drank in every detail: a tweedy pair of trousers, his vest hanging open over a white shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He was still lean but thicker in the shoulders, and his rolled-up sleeves revealed tanned forearms corded with muscle.

His return gaze revealed equal admiration and awe until he gave a sudden start, looked down at himself, dropped the book on a table, then tried to button his vest while simultaneously rolling down his sleeves. “I apologize—”

I stepped forward to grasp his big hands. “This is no time for formality!” I couldn’t help smiling from ear to ear.

His hands relaxed in my grasp, then turned to wrap around mine, warm and callused. While he stared down at me, his mouth working as though someone had stolen his power of speech, I asked, “You look older. How long has it been?”

After a hard swallow, he said, “Two years last winter.”

I inhaled sharply. Twoyears? After being years younger, then a few years older, I was finally near his age. How very strange all this must have felt to him! It was weird enough for me after just a fewdays.

Slowly, almost fearfully, he lifted my right hand and pressed his warm lips to it, then laid my palm over his rough cheek, making my heart race and my cheeks grow hot. “Just when I began to fear that you were only a beautiful dream, here you are.”

“I’m the one who’s dreaming. Again. But . . . two years?” A sudden dread nearly stole my power of speech, and I stepped back, pulling out of his grasp. “You aren’t . . . married, are you?”

“No!” He reached for me, eyes intense, then checked himself and let out a humorless laugh. “I am neither married nor promised to anyone. No one can force me to wed against my will.”

He studied me with an intensity that might have been frightening if I’d had anything to hide. “I panicked when you vanished.” His voice was almost a growl. “I knew it was magic, but nothing I tried could bring you back—and I didn’t give up easily. I would have doubted my own sanity, but . . .”

“But what?” I asked just above a whisper.

“It sounds insane even to me, but . . . all that time, I could always feel you, your existence somewhere. Not in a place I could go, and yet real. I knew we would meet again in this life. But in the interim, I . . . I had to focus on being king and on . . . on other things Icouldcontrol.”

His eyes appeared almost golden by daylight. “Whatdidhappen to you? Why did you vanish?” He reached for my left hand and gently rubbed my bare ring finger. “No ring. I still have hope.”

Hearing him speak with such passion aboutmewas almost frightening. “I woke up in a dark cave and cried. I thought I would never see you again. I can’t even . . .”

My voice broke. Too many emotions rushed through me. So, as usual when I had no idea how to react, I tried to lighten the mood. “I just . . . I feared you would forget me and go find a woman to marry who doesn’t vanish when you try to kiss her.”

One corner of his mouth curled upward, and he peered at me from under his brows. “I might be gun-shy of kissing you from now on,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “Your disappearance knocked me sideways. Was my kiss so bad that you vanished to escape it?”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, then felt my face go hot.

He smiled, yet when he gently brushed his thumb over my cheek, I felt his hand tremble. “Do you do it often?”

His eyes and touch were mesmerizing. “D-do what?”

“Vanish when a man kisses you?”

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