Lord Beast (24 page)

The encounters would haunt her
most during the night when sleep eluded her and Dani had no choice but to
listen to her mind play the words over and over to the extent that she would
shove a pillow over her face in an attempt to shut off the hurtful sounds.

For Rhys, the week could not have
passed quickly enough. The barrage of visitors that called upon him was
nauseatingly persistent and each time he would send them away, more would
suddenly appear. Grayson had taken his master’s advice on the subject and had
placed a scandalous note on the castle’s entrance doors. Even that did not
deter them and many still insisted on hearing with their own ears that the Earl
of Falmouth was
not
taking callers.

Rhys discovered that the number
of household servants at Falmouth Castle were slowly on the rise, much to his
disgruntlement. How that had happened, he wasn’t sure, but now he had instilled
a full kitchen staff, several gardeners and a grounds-keeper, two footmen and
maids, and a valet. Both Val and Grayson had insisted that the extra help was
needed to prepare for the monstrous wedding occurring at Falmouth in the very
near future.

His only reprieve was his
(chaperoned) visits with Dani. It brightened a rather bleak looking horizon,
knowing that soon she would be at his side for the rest of his life.

An exact week from the encounter
with Dani’s uncle, Rhys was hosting a picnic luncheon for the Sinclairs and the
Smiths for the sole purpose of seeing her again, and went about inspecting the
gardens to ensure that the preparations were going smoothly when someone called
out to him, “Lord Ashcroft!”

Rhys turned, reluctantly. There
were just some people he didn’t manage to avoid and unfortunately one of them
was walking hastily in his direction. He briefly considered hiding. He could
run fast, after all, and it would be no difficult feat to find a suitable
hiding place on the extensive Falmouth grounds. But the effort that endeavour
would cost him made him quickly discard the idea. Better to get the encounter
over with quickly and succinctly.

“Lord Ashcroft,” the woman panted
as she came to a halt in front of him. “I’ve been
dying
to get an
audience with you for weeks now! I’m so glad I finally caught you-”

“And you are?” Rhys snapped
impatiently, noting the unpleasant look about her in general. There was
something about her eyes, a maliciousness that caused premature lines to mar
the skin there as if she frowned too often.

“You do not remember me, my
lord?” she pouted, staring up at him imploringly. “Surely you must-”

“I do not. Now, if you have
nothing of import to say to me, I am a very busy man with significant things to
attend to.” He made to leave.

“I am Lady Patricia Pennyworth,
my lord.”

The name meant nothing to him but
it had been spoken as if it should.

Rhys turned to give the woman a
cold look. “State your business and then leave.”

The woman gave him a very hurt
glance that conveyed as much sincerity as a notorious gambler vowing that he
was about to play his last hand. “I am offended that you would not remember
me,” she told him petulantly. “Surely if you just
try
-”

“Lady Pennyworth,” Rhys gritted
out, his hands clenching at his sides, “as I said before, I am a
very
busy man. If you have something of import to say to me, then say it and be
done. Otherwise, you will excuse my rudeness as I leave you to your own
devices.”

She smiled, a conniving, guileful
twist of her lips that was unpleasant to behold. “My, the scars are quite
horrible, are they not?” she murmured quietly, reflectively. “I’m sure it must
have been terribly painful and all those years, alone and isolated. How awful
for you, my lord.”

Rhys muttered something
derogatory about menacing woman and began to turn away from her again,
intending to rid himself of her company when the damned Lady Pennyworth began
to walk after him.

“Isn’t it curious,” she pondered
aloud, panting slightly as she struggled to keep up with his wide gait, “how
Miss Carmichael succeeded where I did not? All those years between the accident
and now must have made you soft to the ways of a woman.”

What the devil was the silly
woman talking about? Rhys ignored her, or at least tried to, but her voice was
gratingly loud and it would take a deaf person not to take notice of the bitter
words that oozed from her lips like poison.

“Oh, I suppose we all can’t be as
lucky as Miss Carmichael,” she sighed raggedly and Rhys was sure she meant to
sound wistful but the pace he had set contributed to the wheezing sounds coming
from behind him. “Or as smart, I’m sure. Not even the wiliest of tricks could
force you to the altar five years ago. Miss Carmichael must be quite a
performer-”

Being a man of bad temperament as
it was and having to endure a week that he had, the appearance of Lady
Pennyworth had frayed a thread that was already in a disreputable state. Now,
that thread seemed to break with an ominous twang as Rhys’s anger made the
blood pound in his temples. He whirled to face the troublesome woman, a wolfish
glower of ferociousness pummelling into her. “I suggest,” he ground out with
barely contained fury, “that you remove your person from my property before I
throw you into the sea.”

Lady Pennyworth stiffened notably
and frowned. “You don’t believe me?” she asked, astounded.

“Frankly, only an idiot would
believe the loathsome words you utter, madam.”

She gasped, offended, before
glowering at him so venomously, so hatefully, that Rhys thought her face might
have changed completely into a spectre he could not recognise. “You may not
remember,” she spat, “but I do.
I
remember the Earl of Falmouth who
would discard the women who crossed his path without blinking an eye, women far
more beautiful than Miss Carmichael.” She pointed her finger at him and Rhys
fought the urge to break it. “I only serve to warn you of your folly, of your
softness, to prevent you from making the mistake of marrying the deceitful
little-”

“Be careful what you say about my
wife,” Rhys barked, infuriated. “If you are not removed from my presence
in
due haste
I will see to it that you are escorted from it.”

Lady Pennyworth gave him one last
furious glance before turning on her heel and marching back towards the drive
where her elaborate phaeton was waiting for her.

Allowing a moment for his temper
to cool, Rhys watched her march gracelessly back to her transport. She was the
most unpleasant woman he’d ever had the chance to encounter and he sought to
eradicate the aftereffects of the meeting. She seemed to know him, from where
he wasn’t sure as he could not recall ever having met the unpleasant woman, but
back when he did the circuits he never put much credence into his interviews
with debutantes. A niggling worm of unease unfolded in his mind and Rhys
speculated whether there was any significance in her sudden presence. He made a
mental note to find out just who the devil Patricia Pennyworth was.

But the deed was done and the
seed had effectually been planted in his mind.

Dani, Victoria and Gabriel were
first to arrive.

Rhys noted that his intended
looked marvellously pretty in a gown of striped green, a sash of black around
her waist for propriety sake. The black in her attire was becoming less and
less the closer the day of the wedding approached and just the sight of her
made his mood improve and all the venomous things Lady Pennyworth had said
seemed to dissipate slightly with her appearance.

But she looked weary and
withdrawn today, her eyes lacking their usual spark of vivaciousness. Dark
rings were smudged under her eyes but she gave him a small smile when he
approached, having dutifully greeted his other guests first.

“You seem tired,” he remarked,
taking her arm and beginning to lead her in Vicky and Gabriel’s wake.

“I am.” She sighed plaintively.
“If I have to visit the blasted milliner one more time this week, I shall die.
I’m sure of it.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

Dani gave him a sunny smile, a
little bit of light re-entering her eyes. “It’s not. I’m rather sure it’ll be
worth it in the end.”

At that, Victoria spun around,
breaking from the grasp her husband had on her arm, and beamed spectacularly at
the approaching couple. “And you have me to thank for all of it, you know.”

Dani grumbled, “You were never
one for humility, Victoria.”

“Thank you for what?” Rhys asked.

Gabriel sighed patiently before
giving Rhys a wry look. “She has a worm in her head that without her
interference, you two would never have agreed to marry,” he explained.

“Well, she
did
insist upon
it,” Dani told her friend with a meaningful look.

Victoria plunked her hands on her
hips with a satisfied smirk. “Without your summons,” she said to Dani, “I might
not have found you in time and then where would you have been? If Rhys is
anything like Gabriel, he’d take
years
to propose!”

“Summons?” Rhys repeated thickly.

Dani looked at him strangely for
a moment before answering him. “That day in the gallery- I sent Victoria a note
to join us. She was to act as chaperone, after all.”

His body went cold.

“Rhys?” Dani asked warily,
staring up at him as if she feared for his health. “Are you alright?”

No, he was
not
alright. He
had been cuckolded by an incredibly deceitful little actress and as much as he
loathed admitting it, Lady Pennyworth had been astute in her assumptions.
Danielle Carmichael had succeeded where others had not: she had arranged a
carefully constructed assignation and devised a means in which they would get
caught; effectively securing his hand in what she hoped would be fortuitous
marriage. He used to be careful with the women of the ton, safeguarding his
person against threats of marriage that were downright cunning. Yet Dani had
found a way to get to him. He wasn’t sure how, but she had succeeded and now he
was forced to marry the deceitful bitch-

“Rhys?” she squeaked concernedly
from beside him.

Realising that her fingers were
resting lightly on his arm, he jerked out of her grasp, the merest touch
infuriating him. He couldn’t stand the sight of her, the way her wide blue eyes
stared up at him with an expression of worry. Lying, deceitful eyes. Oh, she
was
good
. He hadn’t once suspected her of trickery and with the promise
of her enticing body he’d been blinded by the pure need for her, unable to
think logically about the situation at all.

The way she had gone about it was
exceptionally clever and he’d grant her intelligence, but other than that
Danielle Carmichael was just like the rest of them- a conniving, power-hungry
little wench thirsty for blood.

“I’ll not be party to this,” he
rasped savagely at Dani, before turning on his heel and storming back towards
Falmouth.

“Rhys!”

He ignored the way the sound of
her voice sent waves of hurt and fury spiralling through him. It was enough
that she had deceived him, that she had succeeded in tricking him into marrying
her- and he had played right along with it. All the times he had thought he’d
seen genuine affection in her eyes, the words that she had spoken, it all came
back to him with vivid clarity that made the bile in his stomach churn with
cold hostility.

“Rhys, wait!”

He ignored her. He
couldn’t handle her rationally. He needed time to compose his raging emotions.

“
Rhys
!”

Having rounded the
other side of the castle, his boots crunching on the gravel drive; he spun
around to face her. “Leave,” he growled.

“What’s
wrong
?”
she urged, holding her hands out imploringly. “I don’t understand.”

He had to grit his
teeth. Every muscle in his body was taut with rage and the sight of her, the
look of concern on her face, nearly sent him over the edge. It was too much to
bear. “You’ve got what you wanted,” he told her coldly. “You can be assured
that I will keep my end of the bargain. I’ll trust you to extricate yourself
from my property as soon as possible until the day of the wedding.”

Those blue eyes were
hurt, wide and confused, but she did not cry. Her chin tilted up proudly a
notch and she looked for all the world the martyr. It sickened him. “I don’t
know why you’re doing this,” she told him in a painful voice, “but I wish you’d
stop. I haven’t done anything wrong-”

“Like hell!”

She blanched at the viciousness
of his tone but resumed her stoic pose almost immediately, looking him directly
in the eye when she repeated, “I haven’t done anything wrong, Rhys.”

“You,” he told her disdainfully,
“are an excellent liar.”

And because the pain in her eyes
made him loathe her even more, he turned and left her standing there on the
drive, unable to face her or her lies.

It had been so easy to be
deceived by her but her ploy had worked devastatingly well. He’d played along
stupendously, and he had no doubt that he was partly at fault. He could have
resisted her better, not been so eager to indulge in clandestine embraces in
enchanting galleries. He’d practically thrown her the opportunity to arrange
such a compromising rendezvous.