Chapter Fifteen

T he warm aroma of straw thickened in the air—the scent of the countryside. She inhaled, and the acrid note of manure caught in her throat.

Something nudged her shoulder. The memory floated before her—a long brown face with a white mark across the forehead and big, thickly lashed eyes. Her horse, perhaps.

Do I have a horse?

The creature nudged her again.

“What are you doing?” she murmured.

“Come on!” a voice said. “This isn’t the time to be lazin’ about.”

She opened her eyes, lifting her hands to shield them against the sun, and sat up.

She was in the back of a cart, in a pile of straw.

Where am I?

Who am I ?

Another poke—in her back this time.

Cursed animal! She whirled around.

“Will you stop…” Her voice trailed away as her gaze fell on a man.

Not a man—a beast. A giant with dirty blond locks framing his face, forming a halo as they caught the sunlight. Another man stood next to him—smaller in stature, but equally rough in appearance.

Then she remembered.

The giant was the man from the doctor’s cottage. He’d called her Bella .

And—Lord save her—he was her husband. He’d proved it when he mentioned…

Her cheeks warmed as she recalled what he’d said about the scars on her leg near her intimate area .

The Beast grinned, revealing dimples in his cheeks, then offered his hand.

“Come on—let me help you down.”

Bella stared at the hand, then back at the man. His smile slipped and he cocked his head to the side.

“Must I remind you of your vow of obedience?”

“Lawrence, I hardly think—” the other man began.

“Stow it, Ned! She’s got to learn. A disobedient wife’s no use to a man.”

Though she heard laughter in the Beast’s tone, his eyes narrowed. Swallowing the ripple of apprehension, tinged with an unfathomable smattering of excitement, she took his hand. Her skin tightened as he closed his fingers around hers, the rough callouses of his palm abrading her skin. Then he pulled her toward him, and she stumbled out of the cart. He squeezed her hand, and she caught her breath at the fizz of need.

“Best tidy yourself up, love,” he said. “You got into a right state in the back of that cart. We’re living in a respectable village now.”

She glanced about. The cart had stopped at a fork in the road. One direction was wide enough to fit a cart, but overgrown. The other led to a smattering of dwellings—small, unremarkable houses forming rows either side of the track. Beyond, a spire rose, pointing toward the sky, surrounded by trees. A shot sounded in the distance, and a cloud of birds rose from the trees, squawking and scolding at the world, before circling then settling back into the trees.

Halfway along the road—if a filthy track with a gully running through the middle could be called a road—a sign jutted out from one of the buildings, swinging in the breeze, depicting a thick-stemmed tree topped by a crown. Raucous laughter filled the air and two men stumbled out of the building. One spat on the ground, then they thrust their hands in their pockets and ambled along the road.

At the far end of the road, a couple on horseback rode toward them. The men stopped to remove their caps and bowed, but the riders passed without acknowledgment.

How uncivil!

The Beast tugged at her sleeve.

“Tidy yourself up, love!” he whispered. “That’s the squire and his missus—Sir Halford and Lady Merrick.”

She lowered her gaze to her dress—Mrs. Carter’s ill-fitting gown, given with little grace and accepted with even less.

“I can’t help it if this… rag isn’t suitable,” she said, aware of the petulance in her tone.

“Heaven help me, lass, that bump to your head’s made you soft.” He reached toward her, and she flinched, but he caught her sleeve and pulled her close. “You’re a right mess with all that straw. Let me.”

He brushed her gown with his hands, wiping off strands of straw.

“There’s naught I can do about the horseshit, but their sort don’t expect the likes of us to smell as sweet as them. But if they catch you looking like that, they’ll think we’ve been rutting in a stable.”

She caught her breath. “R-rutting in a s-stable ?”

He grinned. “Later, lass. You’re insatiable for me as always.” He held her at arm’s length and grinned. “There!” he said. “You almost look presentable.”

Almost? Insufferable savage!

The elegantly dressed couple approached them—the squire in a close-fitting dark-blue jacket and cream breeches, and his wife in a deep-purple riding habit complete with a hat set at a jaunty angle and a feather on the brim.

Compared to them, she was a peasant.

Is that what I am—a grubby peasant?

The Beast and the other man—Ned, was it?—bowed their heads.

“Good day to you, Sir Halford,” the Beast said. “And Lady Merrick.”

The man reined his mount to a halt. His wife followed suit, tilting her nose in the air as if she’d encountered a bad smell.

“Baxter, isn’t it?” Sir Halford said.

“That’s right, sir.”

“And you’re a friend of Mr. Ryman here.”

“Aye, that’s right—Ned’s been a good friend, findin’ me a place here, thank you, sir.”

“Good—very good. You’re renting Ivy Cottage, are you not?”

“Yes, sir.” The Beast bowed his head again. Then he gave her a nudge.

Why did he insist on poking her at every opportunity?

“What is it?” she snapped.

“It’s Sir Halford and Lady Merrick,” he said through gritted teeth. “Forgive my wife’s disrespect, Sir Halford—she’s taken a nasty bump to the head.”

Lady Merrick turned her attention to Bella, lowering her gaze to her feet, then following a line along her body—the dress covered with pieces of straw and the tangled mass of curls. Then she wrinkled her nose and looked away.

“Pretty little thing,” Sir Halford said. “And she hurt her head?”

“Aye, sir,” the Beast said. “She’s been known to wander off—but she always comes home.”

“A woman should remain at her husband’s side, Mr. Baxter.”

“She’s generally obedient, sir.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sir Halford said. “A husband should never be too free with his indulgences. A little marital discipline can work wonders in establishing a happy home.”

“I’ll remember that, sir, thank you.”

Who were these men to speak as if she were not among them? Couldn’t she—or any woman—be permitted to speak for herself?

Another nudge, and the Beast leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “Wife, you’re disrespecting Sir Halford, and embarrassing me. Where are your manners?”

Did he expect her to curtsey ?

The firmness with which he clenched his jaw spoke of grim determination. A ripple of fear—accented with a wicked hint of anticipation—threaded through her at the notion of a little marital discipline . How might he respond if she tested his patience?

But now was not the time.

“ Wife. ” The Beast’s voice came out in a low growl.

“Lawrence…” his friend said.

“No, Ned. She must learn.”

Bella gritted her teeth. There was no reason why she should curtsey to these people. In any case—how did one curtsey?

A memory flashed before her—a young woman in a dark gown covered with a crisp white apron, bobbing before her, down and up like a cork in a pond.

She bent her knees. The hem of her gown dipped into the mud at her feet, and she glanced up in shame. What they must think of her!

Her feet caught her hem, and she stumbled forward. Tears stung her eyes at the furtherance of her humiliation. Could life get any worse?

Then a strong pair of arms caught her.

“There, love! I’ve got you.”

She glanced up and met his gaze. Clear gray eyes stared back at her, a glimmer of desire in their expression. Then the desire was replaced by guilt. He righted her and resumed his attention on Sir Halford.

“Rest assured I’ll take good care of her.”

Was he trying to convince Sir Halford—or himself?

The squire nodded, then squeezed his horse’s flanks and continued on his way, his wife in his wake.

“Well, Ned, it’s time I took Bella home,” the Beast said.

“Aren’t you wanting me to drive you in the cart?”

“We can walk.”

“Suit yourself,” Ned replied, his voice wavering with what sounded like anger. “Mind you do the right thing.” He climbed onto the cart and drove it toward the inn.

“Come on, Bella, love.” The Beast offered his elbow. “Best we get you home. It looks like rain, and you’ll not be able to do your chores if you catch cold.”

Before she knew it, she’d slipped her arm through his, as if it had always belonged there, and they set off along the track.

“Chores?” she asked.

“Surely you remember your chores?”

“I don’t even remember you .”

“I’m your husband.”

“No—I mean—what do I call you? What’s your name?”

“Can’t you recall it? It’s Lawrence Baxter. But you usually address me as husband.”

“Usually?”

He grinned once more and flicked his tongue out to lick his lips. “Sometimes, when we’re alone, you call me sir—or master .”

She suppressed a shudder.

“You’re a beast .”

He laughed, and she fought the urge to slap the crudeness from him. “Beast I may be, love, but I’m your husband, and there’s been enough nonsense for one day. If you catch a chill, I’ve not the time to tend to you and the children, so it’s best if you do as I bid.”

What did he say?

“Ch-children?”

“Aye, that’s right. Perhaps you’ll remember your children, if not your husband.”

“I have children ?”

“Yes, love.”

“H-how many?”

“Why don’t we keep the questions until we get you home?”

“So, a wife’s supposed to be silent while the men around her discuss her and her fate? How beastly!”

Rather than the flare of anger she’d expected, he merely chuckled.

“You’ll see, Bella my love,” he said. “You’ll see.”