Chapter Eighteen

“H ow do you like the stew, love?”

The man across the table—no, she must think of him as her husband, no matter how distasteful the notion—tucked into the stew with gusto, shoveling it into his mouth.

She stabbed a piece of meat with her fork and bit into it. The texture resembled the soles of an old boot and presented a very real risk of loosening a tooth. Hunger overcame revulsion, and she swallowed, wincing as it slid down her throat. She followed it with a large gulp of water. She’d have preferred wine, but he’d said they couldn’t afford something so fancy, and she’d never stoop so low as to drink ale.

She lifted her fork for another bite, then set it down. One mouthful was enough.

“It’s your favorite,” he said, nodding toward her bowl.

“Then I dread to think what else you’ll place before me at the dinner table.”

He laughed. “Isn’t Mama amusing, children?”

The urchins watched her, wide eyed, as if she were some otherworldly creature they’d never seen before.

“It’s rude to stare!” she said.

“It’s also rude to not finish your meal, Bella, love, when there’s others less fortunate.”

She pushed her bowl aside. “Then the less fortunate—if such people exist—are welcome to that .”

“We’re unlikely to have this again for supper—cost me a packet, that did. But Ned said he’d send his Sophie round tomorrow with a bit of scrag end for you to cook.”

“Must you speak with your mouth full?” she said. “I can see everything you’re eating.”

He grinned and opened his mouth once more, revealing partially chewed meat. Her stomach churned and she looked away.

“Beast!” she hissed. But her retort was met with laughter.

When she’d taken in a deep breath and turned her attention to the table once more, she caught sight of three little mouths wide open, like chicks begging for food—only they, too, were filled with pieces of stew.

“Children!” the Beast cried. “Not at the table—you’ll upset your mother.”

His admonishment might have carried more meaning had his voice not been filled with laughter.

The twins closed their mouths and continued chewing, but their brother burst into a fit of giggles, spraying half-chewed food onto the table.

Bella leaped from her seat, knocking her chair over. “This is intolerable!” she cried, her eyes stinging with the weak tears she’d fought to control ever since he’d shown her that bedchamber earlier and made all those crude remarks.

“Quite right,” the Beast said. “Apologize to your Mama, Jonathan.”

The child shook his head and poked out his tongue.

“There’s no way I can be mother to that vile creature,” she said. “It’s the spawn of the devil—and the devil is you !”

The child’s eyes widened, then he started to wail. The twins began to protest, and the girl—or, at least, the one with the longest hair that claimed to be a girl—wrapped her arms around her brother. “Ignore her—she’s a witch.”

“Yes,” the other twin said. “She’s not our—”

“Stop that!” the Beast roared, rising to his feet. His eyes had darkened to the color of coal, but a spark of fury flashed inside their depths. He balled his hands into fists, the knuckles whitening.

He was a man not to be crossed.

And, as her husband, he owned her.

The girl regained her composure first. “Papa—”

“Get to bed, Roberta,” he said. “You too, William. Take care of your brother.”

“Yes, Papa,” they said in unison, and all three children climbed off their chairs and exited the kitchen.

The Beast closed his eyes and inhaled, slowly, as if composing himself.

Was he readying himself to beat her? Husbands beat their wives if they deemed it proper. And while it was most certainly not proper to beat her after forcing her to endure such a dingy cottage and a disgusting meal, he might think otherwise.

And he was so big—so strong—that she’d never be able to fight him off.

But when he opened his eyes, the anger had gone.

All she could hear was the sound of his breathing, punctuated by distant voices and the occasional sniff from the child she’d admonished.

No, not admonished—she’d called him a vile creature .

Vile he may be, but he was a child.

He was her child—even if she couldn’t recall him.

“I didn’t mean to call…” She made a random gesture in the direction in which the children had fled.

Dear Lord —he was her son and she’d forgotten his name again.

“Jonathan,” the Beast said.

“Jonathan. I didn’t mean to call him a…”

“A vile creature .”

Her words seemed harsher on his lips, and she flinched. “I’m sorry.”

“No matter—Jonathan’s a forgiving soul.”

“But I’m his mother.”

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. “That you are,” he said. “Now, it’s late and I’ve had a long day fetching you back. Time to retire. You can clear the table in the morning.”

He cocked his head to one side and stared at her, as if expecting a reply. As if expecting to be thanked.

Curse him! Couldn’t he take her apology with the good grace it demanded?

At length, he let out a chuckle.

“No matter—you can thank me later,” he said. “Come on. Bed. ”

Bed…

She caught her breath at the wicked pulse deep inside.

“The sofa in the parlor’s plenty comfy,” he said.

Relief flooded through her. While she’d relished the brief moment of tenderness in his arms earlier, the thought of his claiming her with that huge body of his was too much. What did husbands do with their wives? Would he mount her like a stallion took a mare? He must have done so in the past. He’d seen her… What had he called it? Her intimate area .

Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment at the notion of someone— anyone , let alone this beast of a man—seeing her naked body.

“Y-you don’t mind sleeping on the sofa?” she asked.

He threw back his head and laughed. “Heavens, love, no matter how you try my patience, I cannot be angry with you for long. No— you take the sofa.”

He pushed open the parlor door. “You’ve always found trouble gettin’ to sleep in the bed,” he said. “That is”—he grinned, showing his teeth—“when we’ve used the bed to sleep in.”

“Don’t be crude.”

“I’ll be as crude as I like in my home.”

“I won’t sleep on the sofa.”

“There’s nowhere else, love.”

“Then I’ll leave!”

“Where would you go?”

She opened her mouth to say “home” then closed it again. Like it or not, this was her home.

Grinning, he untied his neckerchief, then wound it around his fists.

“Your wanderin’s got you into trouble before,” he said. “I don’t want you falling into the river again. And I don’t want any more gossip in the village about your wayward ways.”

“My…”

“Yes, love,” he said. “What are people to think when a family comes to their village and the wife immediately runs off and returns half-naked in a gown that’s not her own? I’ll not have my good name—or yours—ruined by wagging tongues.”

“Y-you mean they think I’m a…”

She couldn’t bring herself to utter the word.

“What are folk to think? There’s plenty such women selling their wares hereabouts.”

“Are you calling me a whore?” she cried.

“You shouldn’t take such names to yourself, love,” he said, “but what’s a man to think when his wife runs off? Now, must I secure you to prevent any more nighttime wanderings?”

“There’s no need to bind me,” she said. “I’ll not leave.”

“There’s my good girl.”

“Don’t presume to speak to me in such a—”

“Now-now,” he chided, wagging his finger as if she were a child. “It’s best if you save your efforts for tomorrow—you’ve a busy day ahead.”

He took her hand, and she caught her breath at the crackle of need. Then he led her into the parlor.

“There’s a blanket over the armchair you can use,” he said. “You shouldn’t be too cold—but if you’d like me to warm you up, you only need come upstairs and ask.”

She withdrew her hand and snatched the blanket, wrapping it around herself as if to hide her body from his gaze. With a chuckle, he bade her goodnight, then exited the room. His footsteps creaked on the stairs, then a door opened and closed in the distance.

The exhaustion that had lingered in the background finally overcame her, and she sat on the sofa, sleep claiming her even before she lay back.