Beauty Tempts the Beast by Leslie Dicken Page A

against his veins like water upon the pebbles. And yet, he feared touching her. He feared wanting her too badly. He feared the haunting agony of what she did to him.
    “It…” Ashworth cleared his throat. “It is time to go. Lady Wainscott awaits our return.”
    “But I am not sure if the mother will return.” Vivian slowly opened her fingers to reveal a duck egg.
    “Leave it.” He could not be concerned with hatching an egg. And he was certain Vivian did not plan to have it for breakfast in the morning.
    Vivian rose to her feet, her eyes bright with temper. “I will not leave this orphan to be lunch for a hungry fox.”
    Ashworth crossed his arms. “Leave it. You were to remain in your room but I had to climb hills to find you.”
    She lifted her chin. “I will not remain a prisoner in my room, nor that house. You may choose to, but I will not.”
    “I stay inside because…” He swallowed the reasoning in a bitter lump. He stayed inside because he was marked. The villagers believed him a monster, why should he not believe it of himself? Besides, no one could know about Harry. If he ventured away from Silverstone Manor for too long, eventually his secret would be out.
    Vivian brushed past him toward the path, her honeysuckle scent eddying through his senses. “The air is chilled,” she said, without looking back. “I shall hurry back and change my dress. And find a home for this lost soul.”
    Ashworth waited, letting her go ahead of him. Chaos churned within him like the building of a storm.
    His life had been predictable, clear, serene before Vivian arrived. How had it derailed into such disorder?
    And why the hell had Briarwater given her a treasure at her first visit and never once offered one to him?

Chapter Eight
    She was narrow.
    Vivian tried not to stare down her nose at the woman perched at edge of a chair. Lord Ashworth’s former love was the tightest person Vivian had ever seen. Straight, thin nose, long neck and slender form hidden beneath a deep purple dress.
    “You hail from the south,” Lady Wainscott asked again. Even her voice was stiff, controlled, constricted.
    Vivian nodded. “Staffordshire, my lady.”
    “Your father a baron, you said?”
    Clearly, Lady Wainscott did not recognize her either. It was just as well. She did not want either of them have the ability to contact her father.
    Wind rattled the windows as she lifted her chin. None of this was a lie. “Yes, he is a baron. I have been presented to the queen.”
    The woman arched a blonde eyebrow. “Ah, have you?” She then shivered. “Do you not feel those drafts in this wretched room?”
    “I do. They are all over the house.” Perhaps they alone would send this woman on her way.
    “Lord Ashworth has been neglectful in his upkeep of the manor.”
    Vivian smiled. She knew that Lord Ashworth did not care for the upkeep. She rather thought he wanted it to go to hell, to appear as dreadful as he suffered inside.
    Lady Wainscott tilted her pointed chin. “How is it that you found no husband during your seasons in London?”
    The direct, sharp question struck like a knife through her stomach. Her cheeks heated. But she could not allow for weakness. She promised him she would stay on. At least until this vixen had left.
    “My father had chosen a husband for me at home instead.”
    “Oh?” A wicked gleam flashed in those hazel eyes. “Then what are you doing here?”
    What the heavens was taking Lord Ashworth so long? He said he had pressing matters to attend to.
    Thus, Vivian had to face the jaws of the lioness alone as they awaited their evening meal.
    She stood and wandered over to several large windows, never having been in this formal dining room before. All other meals had been taken in her room or in the breakfast room. This space must have once been glorious, with an intricately carved ceiling and ornate plasterwork around the fireplace. But now, despite having been tidied for the dinner, the room appeared as