Page 8 of Her Beast

“A virgin?” Julia didn’t bother to point out that Solomon was not the man responsible for that condition.

His cheeks turned a fiery red at the word. Really, how had Solomon managed to make it to twenty-six with his innocence intact?

“Everyone knows I’m mad for hunting and that my father allows me to ride astride. Sebastian will just think that is how I lost my maidenhead.”

Indeed, many parents forbade their daughters from wear split riding habits and riding astride for that very reason, preferring to jeopardize their daughters’ lives riding sidesaddle rather than cause prospective husbands to question their virginity.

Julia suspected her own father would have done the same if not for the fact he was too terrified she might kill herself before he could marry her off.

Solomon’s lips wrinkled in distaste—either at the indelicate subject of hymens or hunting. Not only did he have the appearance of a poet, but he had the sensibilities of one, too. He’d gone into a swoon a few weeks ago when her twin stepbrothers had been blooded after their first hunt.

Julia thought blooding was a stupid, disgusting ritual but it didn’t make her faint. To be honest, she was a bit scornful of Solomon’s over-sensitivity, but—

The door banged open, and they both shot to their feet.

“Oh God,” Solomon moaned at the sight of Thomas Harlow.

Right behind her father was the loathsome Carl, orUncleCarl as she’d been commanded to call him.

“Papa,” Julia said, intensely aware that she was wearing nothing other than a thin chemise and drawers.

“Take the boy,” her father snapped at his brother-in-law, his cold gaze on Julia.

“It’s not his fault,” Julia said as Carl stalked toward Solomon, an expression of brutal anticipation coloring his harsh features. “Papa, what are you going to—”

“He won’t be hurt if you obey me, Julia.”

Julia exchanged a quick look with Solomon, who was so pale she worried he might faint.

She gave him a tremulous smile. “It will be all right.”

Uncle Carl closed one huge paw around Solomon’s slender biceps and frog-marched him from the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Papa—”

“Shut your mouth!”

She clamped her jaws tight at the quiet menace in his voice.

“You are a whore, Julia, just like your mother was.”

It infuriated her that her eyes prickled with tears even though he’d accused Julia of the very same thing when she’d been caught in bed with Lily.

“A whore,” he repeated. His hand moved like a blur, the slap hard enough to knock her to the floor.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done that, either.

Julia tasted blood and lifted her hand, wincing at the split on her lip.

“Get up,” he ordered.

The room tilted as Julia scrambled to her feet and she clutched the nearby bedpost for support. Terror vied with fury when she met her father’s gaze. Thomas Harlow had never looked at her with love, but neither had he looked at her with such revulsion.

Julia wiped the blood from her mouth with her shaking hand.

His arm twitched, and she flinched, expecting more—much more. After she’d been expelled, he had beaten her so badly that she’d not been able to show her face in public for weeks.

Instead of striking her again, he closed his hand into a fist and lowered it to his side, his eyes pulsing with something stronger than loathing. Something that looked almost like… hatred.

---