He remained as he was, grave and unsmiling. “They call me Beast.”
It was a name he’d earned, unlike Theodoric Augustus St. George, the hated appellation of his birth.
“Beast,” she repeated, her tone steeped in disbelief.
He inclined his head. “Yes, my lady. Beast.”
“I cannot fathom what Ridgely could have been thinking, inviting such a rogue into Hunt House.” Her voice possessed the chill of winter ice.
And she wasn’t wrong. Hewasa rogue.
“It would not be for me to guess at His Grace’s thoughts,” he said simply, humbly, mindful of the man he was now.
Even if there was something about Lady Deering’s hauteur that made him wish, for the briefest of fleeting moments, that he could tell her who he truly was. Or rather, who he had been, what seemed as far away as a lifetime ago now. But then he recalled all the reasons why he had left that world behind him, the dangers that were never far, and the instinct faded quickly.
“Why are you wandering about and entering rooms unannounced?” Lady Deering demanded to know.
Her suspicions almost amused him. But neither Beast nor Theo had ever had much use for levity.
“I was tasked with protecting Hunt House and its occupants,” he answered simply. “I cannot do so if I am not inspecting the chambers and familiarizing myself with the house’s plan.”
She was frowning, brow furrowed. “Where are you from, sir?”
He kept his expression carefully blank. “London.”
Her chin went up. “Before London. Your accent is unfamiliar to me.”
No one had remarked upon his accent in years. He’d thought he had lost all traces of his native language, for he had been raised to speak both English and Boritanian. That this woman detected suggestions of his past gave him pause.
“London,” he repeated anyway, undeterred.
She tilted her head, considering him in a way he did not like, a way that made him feel as if she sawintohim, plumbing his very soul for his many dark secrets. “Why do you lie?”
Because he had to. Because lying about who he was had become as instinctive as breathing. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—tell her any of that.
Theo bowed again instead of answering her question. “I dare not linger any longer. If you will excuse me, my lady, I must continue with my task. I bid you good day.”
“You haven’t answered me,” she pointed out.
He had already pivoted and was making his retreat, holding his tongue. The truth would serve neither of them.
“Wait,” she called after him. “Don’t go just yet.”
And, fool that he was, he paused, casting a glance at her over his shoulder. The sunlight caught in her hair, granting her an ethereal glow, and he had never seen a woman more lovely or tempting than the Marchioness of Deering, barefoot at half past three in the afternoon. Theo had a sinking feeling within that of all the perils he would face in his role as Hunt House bodyguard, none would compare to the maddening heat unfurling within him now, the undeniable danger of desiring a woman who was forbidden to him.
He clenched his jaw against a rush of longing he had no right to entertain. “What is it, madam? I’ve a duty to attend.”
He’d had far more duties once. Vast duties to his kingdom, to his family, to his people. Enough to last an eternity. And he had shed them all when he had been banished from Boritanian soil. Despite the viciousness of that farewell and all that had come before it, he found himself thinking about it now, standing before a beautiful stranger. Hellfire, what was it about the woman before him that so stripped him of defense that she had his mind traveling back to those lost years? Had it been nothing more than the wheat-gold of her hair, reminding him of the rolling fields he had once known?
“What manner of name is Beast?” she asked, tilting her head, curiosity flickering in her glistening eyes.
She was bold, Lady Deering. He liked it. Something about her felt familiar. Called to him. Not just lust, but a need far stronger. Deeper. One a man felt to his marrow. There was a name for such a connection in his native tongue. He didn’t know an English equivalent. Perhaps there wasn’t one. It hardly mattered.
“It’s the name of a man who hasn’t much left to lose,” he answered honestly.
Anything of value he’d once possessed had been taken from him. He had coin now, earned rather than inherited.
Her brow was furrowed, her expression softening, a hint of shadows and sadness in her moonlit-sea eyes. “I understand what it is like to lose everything.”
