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

by Elizabeth Hoyt

“Come on, Jamie,” Alistair said. “Let’s go into dinner before they form a Society for Bossy Older Sisters.”

“I just think you should be more polite to the woman who oversees the making of your bed.” His eyebrows shot up. “Are you threatening to place toads in my bed, madam?” “Perhaps,” she said loftily, but her eyes laughed at him. His gaze dropped to her mouth, lush and wet, and he felt his loins turn to iron. He said low so no one else could overhear, “I would pay more attention to the threat were it something else you placed in my bed.”

So many think that bravery is a single act of valor in a field of battle—no forethought, no contemplation of the consequences. An act over in a second or a minute or two at most. What my brother has done, is doing now, is to live with his burden for years. He knows that he will spend the rest of his life with it. And he soldiers on.” She sat back in her chair, her gaze still locked with Helen’s. “That to my mind is what real bravery is.”

She stared at his face, at him, seeing both the handsome, clever man, and the scarred, sardonic recluse. The air felt thin in her lungs, and her chest labored to take in more, but still she stared, forcing herself to see all of him. All of Sir Alistair. What she saw should have repelled her, but instead she felt an attraction so intense it was all she could do not to rise and go to him at once.

“I want this,” he said. She opened her eyes to see him staring at her intently, his mouth hardened into an arrogant, flat line. His gaze flicked up to capture her own. “I want all of you.” Her mouth went dry. “Then take me.”

Alistair held the little girl like a father would. Except her real father had never held her.

She realized with a shock that she was falling in love with him, this angry, lonely master of the castle. Perhaps she was already in love with him.

And that was the moment she felt it: a loosening, a breaking free. Her heart slipped its traces and went racing away, beyond her grasp, beyond her control. Entirely free and racing toward this complex, vexing, and utterly fascinating man.

“You can no more change your face than she can change her past,” Sophia said. “They’re both there; they’ll always be there. You must simply learn to live with your scars as Helen has learned to live with her past.”

“I said if I ever courted you, I’d bring you wildflowers. Well, I’m courting you now, Helen Carter. I’m a scarred and lonely man, and my castle is a mess, but I hope someday that you’ll consent to be my wife despite all that, because I love you with all my poor battered heart.”