Page 62 of Her Beast

“No, it was a long time ago. Fifteen years.”

Julia had a dozen more questions, but she’d already overstepped dreadfully. So, instead, she said, “I wish you’d call me Julia.”

He looked momentarily startled, but then a smile ghosted across his full lips. “I’d be honored. Please call me Malcolm.”

Chapter 13

Mr. Barton joined Julia at breakfast the next morning, without her even having to ask. Indeed, he was there when she arrived.

He stood when she entered, dressed to perfection in what she assumed was his normal black attire.

“I hope you don’t mind if I join you, Julia?”

She jolted; she’d forgotten they’d reverted to Christian names last night. Hearing him say her name in the bright light of day felt oddly… intimate. And had she imagined the slightly caressing way he’d pronounced it?

Julia saw he was waiting for a response. “It’s kind of you to join me—especially given that I stabbed you at our last breakfast.”

He barked a startled laugh. “I had the servants leave the knife out of your place setting—just as a precaution.”

Julia glanced down at his words and then rolled her eyes when she saw the knife was right where it was supposed to be.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” he teased when she looked up. He stood and moved toward the buffet.

“I will serve myself,” Julia said hastily, recalling the last time she’d eaten breakfast and he’d loaded a plate for her.

He bowed. “As you wish. “

Julia felt the weight of his gaze on her back while she stood at the buffet and was glad that she’d worn the day dress that Kemp had just brought up from the store that morning, a peacock blue velvet with dark-raspberry trim. There were no tiresome ruffles, as Nadine would insist on, just the contrasting piping on the fitted bodice, tight sleeves, and the modish new style of bustle which Julia thought made her appear taller.

She’d been eating better than she had in years and suspected that she would not be close to fitting into the vile eighteen-inch waist wedding gown Nadine had chosen.

Julia couldn’t bring herself to care.

Besides, if Mr. Barton—er, Malcolm—kept her captive long enough there wouldbeno ceremony.

She found herself smiling at the thought of never having to see Sebastian’s smug face again. Of never having to see his hateful grandmother or any of his other loathsome, superior relatives.

Or Nadine or Carl.

Perhaps Malcolm might just keep her forever? If she could only have Richard come and stay with her and was permitted to ride in the park a morning or two a week she might even want to stay. After all, what was there to dislike? She was permitted to eat, she spent her days painting and reading books she borrowed from the marvelous library and now she had the company of a mysterious, fascinating man.

She was still grinning at the thought when she turned away from the buffet.

And caught Malcolm staring.

He didn’t look away, his frosty blue eye darker this morning.

Her face heated under his speculative, knowing stare—almost as if he knew what she had been thinking.

Foolishness.

∞∞∞

Malcolm was an idiot to join her at meals—or anywhere else, for that matter.

Last night he’d not been able to resist sitting with her for an hour after dinner in the library. They’d chatted about nothing in particular and then played two games of chess with the antique ivory set he’d forgotten he owned. Neither of them was especially good, so they were well-matched and had ended the evening with one win each. Before taking her leave for the evening Julia had thrown down a gauntlet, demanding they have a tie-breaking game tonight.

Malcolm had been thrilled to agree.

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