Page 95 of Her Beast

He didn’t speak for a moment.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answ—”

“I did when I was little.” His lips curved into a small, cold smile.

“What made you stop?”

He turned to her and gave her a long look.

“I’m just curious,” she said lamely.

“You are,” he agreed, and then turned to look ahead. “There was a boy at the orphanage named Robby Smith. He was convinced his father was a viscount and lots of the lads believed him—after all, who would make up a viscount? Why not a duke? Or at least an earl?” He gave her a darkly amused look. “If you are going to dream—why not make it a grand one?”

“Perhaps he was telling the truth?”

“That’s what some of us came to think. But then his mother came to claim him—six years after she’d abandoned him. The first words out of poor Robby’s mouth were where was his pa, the viscount. Mrs. Smith—if that was really her name—was a whore, who’d only come to fetch Robby back because he’d come to an age where he could be put out to work and she’d get some money out of him. She cuffed him upside the head and told him not to be daft, that his father had been just another drunken sailor on leave.”

Julia struggled to control the prickling feeling behind her nose and eyes—the sensation that always presaged crying. “That’s aterriblestory.”

He gave her an unsmiling look. “Yes, it is. But it is also an excellent lesson.”

“A lesson for what, pray?” she demanded, brushing a freezing tear from her cheek.

“That sometimes it’s better if you don’t know the truth; sometimes it’s better to hang on to the dream.”

Chapter 19

The evening had been a magical one—the most wonderful night that Julia could remember.

Malcolm hadn’t just kidnapped her body, he’d captivated the rest of her, as well.

Her desire—no, herneed—to see past the wall of reserve that he’d erected around himself to the man within had become an obsession.

And you think you will learn more about him by spying?

Julia grimaced guiltily at the thought.

But that guilt didn’t stop her from pressing the secret panel and slipping into the gloomy corridor like a sneak thief an hour and a half after Malcolm had delivered her back to her chambers.

Julia knew—even before she reached the small window into his study—that something was different tonight.

For one thing, the long rectangle of glass across from Malcolm’s study was illuminated, allowing her to see into the room for the first time.

And oh, what a room it was. A huge black four-poster bed dominated the large space, with a woman standing slightly off to one side, her arms cuffed at the wrists and stretched high over her head.

That was unusual enough, but there were so many other things clambering for Julia’s attention.

The wall of whips was self-explanatory—although never had she imagined there were so many different sorts in existence—but the furniture was unlike anything she’d ever seen: a huge black X made from wood and several benches and racks, one that even resembled a stockade.

Julia’s wide-eyed gaze slid back to the woman.

She faced straight ahead and wore a loo mask with blood-red pouting lips, an aquiline nose with holes for breathing, and impossibly long curling black lashes projecting from closed eyelids, which meant the wearer wouldn’t be able to see.

Her long blond hair fell in waves around her face, making the mask look eerily real.

The mask didn’t just conceal her face, it erased her identity. When you combined that effect with her naked body the result was distinctly dehumanizing, making her resemble a life-sized doll.

It should have repulsed Julia, but was almost suffocatingly arousing, instead.

---