Page 50 of Her Beast

Malcolm snickered to himself; she was bloody magnificent.

He shut the door to his office and then sank into the chair behind his desk with a sigh, his mouth pulling into a slow smile at the memory of her outburst. He reached up to rub his shoulder and encountered something wet and sticky. The cut didn’t hurt, but the knife had punctured his damaged skin, which was prone to tearing, so he’d have to ring for Norris sooner rather than later to see to the wound.

He dropped his hand to his desk and considered the scene he’d just left, absently drumming his fingers.

Malcolm had—stupidly—hoped to enjoy Julia Harlow’s company while he plotted and planned to destroy her family. Now he saw that would be impossible. Of course she was going to resist her captor and it was natural that she’d spent the entire time spitting and scratching like an infuriated kitten. It was his bloody luck that the first woman he’d met in fifteen years who’d not fainted at the sight of him was the same woman he was using as a weapon against her own family.

You could change that right now, Mal. There’s still lots of time to do the right thing.

No there wasn’t. That time had passed and he knew it.

Malcolm couldn’t help grinning at the memory of her sharp tongue and hateful looks, although he could have done without the stabbing.

Indeed, he’d enjoyed being around her a great deal too much. Already visions of bending her over the breakfast table and fucking that adorably pouty look off her face were romping through his mind.

It would not be easy leaving her alone for the next few weeks—or longer if he couldn’t get what he wanted quickly enough—but he suspected his body would soon overwhelm his reason if he was in her presence for too long.

Malcolm didn’tliketo deny himself sensual pleasure, but in this case, he could and he would.

Besides, he didn’t need to go without entirely; Maisie was at hand.

Malcolm toggled the second lever on the black lacquer box on his desk.

He didn’t have to wait long before the door to his study opened.

“Yes, sir?” Butkins said.

“I want the estimates from the Brussels store and send Maisie to me.”

“Right away, sir.”

The door closed and Malcolm’s fingers resumed their drumming on the desk.

It would take some effort, but he would put the Harlow chit from his mind using the time-honored methods of hard work and whores. It wouldn’t be difficult.

No, it wouldn’t be difficult to forget her, at all.

Chapter 10

It took Malcolm five full days before he felt he could trust himself around Carl Sheehan without killing him. Those five days had felt like fifty as he’d endeavored to keep his mind—and spying eye—off his houseguest.

For once, poor Maisie was earning her keep.

Although he’d not yet heard anything from Harlow—meaning the man was probably tearing his hair out by now—it was time to confront the first of his victims.

It was just past midnight and Joe was waiting for him when Malcolm arrived at the cottage where Sheehan was being held.

“We’ve got him tied to a chair, sir,” Joe said, after taking Malcolm’s overcoat and hat. “You need any help with him?”

“No. Stay out of the room unless I call for you.”

Joe nodded.

Sheehan had fallen asleep, which gave Malcolm a moment to observe him.

He was Malcolm’s age with more gray threaded through his red hair, his big body overflowing the heavy wooden chair. There were bruises darkening his handsome face and smudges beneath his eyes, hinting at sleep deprivation. In Malcolm’s experience, there was no better torture than a lack of sleep.

A normal human response would have been to feel pity for a human being who was so battered and strained.

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