Page 29 of Beauty's Beast

Trevayne grunted softly. Perhaps they should attend. When he was gone, Kristine would be mistress of Hawksbridge Castle. She should know who her neighbors were. In spite of her former station in life, she was Lady Trevayne now. He needed to make sure that she would be treated with the respect due her title.

“I was just going for a walk in the gardens,” Kristine said. “Would you care to join me?”

Trevayne smoothed the paper in his hand. “I want you to send a reply to Lady Gladstone and tell her we shall be pleased to attend.”

“What?” Kristine stared at him, certain her ears were playing tricks on her.

Trevayne nodded. “It’s time you met your neighbors.”

“But I don’t want to go. I can’t go.”

“I thought it would please you.”

She shook her head again. “I don’t like meeting strangers. And I can’t dance. And … and what if someone should recognize me? I was in prison, condemned.”

“I doubt you need worry about meeting anyone you would know,” he remarked dryly, “or anyone who would know you.”

“I would rather not take the chance.”

“Enough. We’re going. I shall teach you to dance. Leyla and Lilia can teach you anything else you need to know.”

His gaze ran over her. She was young and artlessly beautiful, her heart-shaped face devoid of the garish paint and powder so many women hid behind. She wore a day dress in muted shades of green that made her eyes glow. Her hair had grown out a little, framing her face in a cap of short, dark blonde curls.

“But we never go out,” she said. “Why do we have to start now?”

“Ah, but Kristine,” he replied, his voice tinged with bitterness, “a masked ball is the perfect place to start.” He took her hand in his. “Come along,” he said, “you can write our reply, and then we can take that walk.”

With a sigh of resignation, Kristine let him lead her into the library. She sat at his desk, her brow furrowed, as she endeavored to pen a proper reply.

Trevayne sat in the chair near the fireplace, watching her. She had torn up her first two responses and was now laboring over a third. He could have done it for her, but something kept him from offering.

At last, she put her pen aside. “How does this sound?Dear Lady Gladstone, thank you for your kind invitation. Lord Trevayne and I will be most happy to attend your masquerade ball on June first.”She looked up at him. “Is it too short? Too curt?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Amelia doesn’t require a lengthy reply. She merely needs to know how many people to expect.”

“I wish you would write it,” Kristine said petulantly. “Your handwriting is so much neater than mine.”

Rising, Trevayne went to stand behind her chair. He peered over her shoulder, his gaze skimming over the short message she had written.

“It looks fine, Kristine,” he assured her, and then, tempted by the slender curve of her throat and the flowery scent that clung to her hair and skin, he bent down and kissed her cheek.

At the sound of his voice, the touch of his lips, she went still all over. There had been no intimacy between them in the light of day. He came to her bed each night and left after she fell asleep. Except at breakfast, and the hour or two they spent horseback riding in the afternoon, she saw little of him until suppertime. A tiny flicker of hope peeked through the layers of self-doubt. Was he starting to care for her at last?

Startled by what he had done, Trevayne drew back. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world to brush his lips across her cheek. Almost, he had gathered her into his arms. Would she have objected? With a mental shake of his head, he went to stand near the hearth, his back toward her. It would bebest for them both if he remembered that theirs was a marriage of convenience. He did not want to care for her, did not want her to care for him. Once he had her with child, he would no longer be a part of her life. He would be wise to remember that.

“Have Chilton deliver your reply,” he said tersely. “And tell Judith you will need a costume for the ball.”

“Judith?”

“Mrs. Grainger. I shall see you at dinner.” Hands shoved deep into his pockets, he headed for the door.

“My lord … ”

He paused, not looking at her. “Yes, Kristine?”

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