To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(4)

“It’s terribly dirty, isn’t it?” Abigail whispered.

Sir Alistair turned as she spoke, and at first Helen thought he’d heard. “Have you eaten?”

He’d halted so suddenly, Helen nearly trod on his toes. As it was, she ended up standing much too close to him. She had to crane her neck to look him in the eye, and he held the candle near his chest, casting the light diabolically over his face.

“We had tea at the inn, but—” she began breathlessly.

“Good,” he said, and turned away. He called back over his shoulder as he disappeared around a corner, “You can stay the night in one of the guest rooms. I’ll hire a carriage to send you back to London in the morning.”

Helen gripped the bags higher and hurried to catch up. “But I really don’t—”

He’d already started up a narrow stone stair. “You needn’t worry about the expense.”

For a second, Helen paused at the bottom of the stair, glaring at the firm backside steadily receding above them. Unfortunately, the light was receding as well.

“Hurry, Mama,” Abigail urged her. She’d taken her brother’s hand like a good older sister and had already mounted the steps with Jamie.

The horrid man stopped at the landing. “Coming, Mrs. Halifax?”

“Yes, Sir Alistair,” Helen said through gritted teeth. “I just think that if you’ll only try Lady Vale’s idea of having a—”

“I don’t want a housekeeper,” he rasped, and resumed climbing the stairs.

“I find that hard to believe,” Helen panted behind him, “considering the state of the castle I’ve seen so far.”

“And yet, I enjoy my home the way it is.”

Helen narrowed her eyes. She refused to believe anyone, even this beast of a man, actually enjoyed dirt. “Lady Vale specifically instructed me—”

“Lady Vale is mistaken in her belief that I desire a housekeeper.”

They’d finally reached the top of the stairs, and he paused to open a narrow door. He entered the room and lit a candle.

Helen stopped and watched him from the hall. When he came back out, she met his gaze determinedly. “You may not want a housekeeper, but it is patently obvious that you need a housekeeper.”

The corner of his mouth quirked again. “You may argue all you want, madam, but the fact remains that I neither need you nor wish to have you here.”

He gestured to the room with one hand. The children ran in ahead. He hadn’t bothered moving from the doorway, so Helen was forced to sidle in sideways, her bosom nearly brushing his chest.

She looked up at him as she passed. “I warn you, I shall make it my purpose to change your mind, Sir Alistair.”

He inclined his head, his one good eye glittering in the light of the candle. “Good night, Mrs. Halifax.”

He shut the door gently behind him.

Helen stared at the closed door a moment, then glanced about her. The room Sir Alistair had led them to was large and cluttered. Hideous long drapes covered one wall, and a huge bed with thick carved posts dominated the room. A single, small fireplace sat in a corner. Shadows masked the other end of the room, but the outlines of furniture crowded together made her suspect that it was being used as storage space. Abigail and Jamie had collapsed on the huge bed. Two weeks ago, Helen wouldn’t have let them even touch something that dusty.

But then two weeks ago, she’d still been the Duke of Lister’s mistress.

Chapter Two

Truth Teller stopped and stood before the black castle. Four towers loomed, one at each corner, rising high and ominous to the night sky. He was about to turn away when the great wooden doors creaked open. A beautiful young man stood there, clad in robes of gold and white and wearing a ring with a milky-white stone upon his forefinger.

“Good evening, traveler,” said the man. “Won’t you come in out of the cold and wind?”

Well, the castle was foreboding, but snow was blowing around him, and Truth Teller didn’t mind the thought of a hot fire. He nodded and entered the black castle….

—from TRUTH TELLER

It was dark. Very, very dark.

Abigail lay in the big bed and listened to the darkness in the castle. Beside her, Jamie was snoring in his sleep. He was right up against her, squishing himself as close as possible, his head shoved into her shoulder, his hot breath blowing on her neck. She was nearly at the edge of the bed. Mama breathed softly on her side of the bed. The rain had stopped, but she could hear a steady drip from the eaves. It sounded like a little man walking up the wall, each measured step growing closer. Abigail shivered.

She had to pee.

Perhaps if she lay still, she’d go back to sleep. But then there was the fear of waking to a wet bed. It’d been a very long while since she’d wet the bed, but she still remembered the shame the last time it had happened. Miss Cummings, their nurse, had made her tell Mama what she’d done. Abigail had nearly thrown up her breakfast before she could make her confession. In the end, Mama hadn’t been cross, but she’d looked at her with worry and pity, and that had almost been worse.

Abigail hated to disappoint Mama.

Sometimes Mama looked at her with a sad expression, and Abigail knew: She wasn’t quite right. She didn’t laugh like other girls, didn’t play with dolls and have lots of friends. She liked to be by herself. Liked to think about things. And sometimes she worried about the things she thought about; she simply couldn’t help herself. No matter how much it disappointed Mama.