To Beguile a Beast (30 page)

The door opened and Abigail poked her head in.

Alistair straightened. “Oh, it’s you.”

“We wanted to say good-bye,” she said, her voice exceedingly serious for a child of nine.

He nodded.

She came in, and he saw that Jamie was behind her, holding a squirming Puddles in his arms.

Abigail clasped her hands in front of her, reminding him very much of her mother. “We wanted to thank you for coming to London to rescue us.”

Alistair started to wave this aside, but apparently she wasn’t finished.

“And for teaching us to fish and letting us dine with you and showing us where the badgers live.” She paused, looking at him with her mother’s eyes.

“Quite all right.” Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. “Your mother loves you, you know.”

Her eyes, so like Helen’s, widened as she stared at him mutely.

“She loves you”—he had to stop and clear his throat—“just the way you are.”

“Oh.” Abigail looked down at the toes of her shoes and frowned fiercely as if to keep from weeping. “We also wanted to thank you for letting us name your dog.”

He raised his brows.

“We’ve decided on Badger,” she explained gravely, “because he went with us to the badger sett. Besides, we can’t call him Puddles forever. It’s a baby name, really.”

“Badger is a very good name.” He looked down at the toes of his boots. “Mind you walk him every day and see that he isn’t fed too much rich food.”

“But he isn’t ours,” she said.

Alistair shook his head. “I know I said that Badger was my dog, but I really got him for you.”

She gazed at him with the same damned determined eyes that her mother had used on him the night before. “No. He isn’t ours.”

She gave a little push to Jamie, who was looking quite miserable. The boy came forward with the puppy and held him out to Alistair. “Here. He’s yours. Abby says you need Badger more than us.”

Alistair took the squirming, warm little body, completely nonplussed. “But—”

Abigail marched right up to him and yanked on his arm until he bent. Then she wrapped her skinny little arms around his neck and half strangled him. “Thank you, Sir Alistair. Thank you.”

She whirled and caught her startled brother’s hand and dragged him from the room before Alistair could think of a reply.

“Dammit.” He stared down at the puppy, and Badger licked his thumb. “What am I to do with you now?”

He strode to the window and looked down in time to see Helen help the children into the dogcart. Abigail glanced up once, he thought in his direction, but she hastily looked away again, so perhaps he was wrong. Then Helen climbed in, and the footman driving the cart gave the reins a shake. They all rolled away, out of the stable yard, out of his life, and Helen never once looked back.

His body urged him to run after her, but his mind chained him where he was. Keeping her would just delay the inevitable.

Now or tomorrow, he’d always known that Helen would leave him.

“Alistair Michael Munroe, have you lost your mind?” Sophia blasted at him.

He clutched the bedsheets to his bare chest like a startled maiden and scowled at his sister. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, dear sister?”

“To your own stupidity,” Sophia said promptly. “Do you know I met Mrs. Halifax on Castlehill in Edinburgh just yesterday morn, and she said that you and she had parted company?”

“No,” Alistair sighed. Badger had woken with the commotion of course, and the puppy came bumbling over the bed to lick his fingers. “Did she tell you that her name isn’t really Halifax?”

Sophia, who’d been pacing the room, stopped, her expression alarmed. “She’s not a widow?”

“No. She’s the former mistress of the Duke of Lister.”

Sophia blinked, and then scowled. “I thought she might still be married. If she’s left Lister, who she was before hardly matters.” She dismissed Helen’s scandalous past with an impatient wave of the hand. “What matters is that you dress at once and go to Edinburgh and apologize to that woman for whatever boneheaded thing you’ve said or done.”

Alistair eyed his sister, now vigorously drawing the curtains. “I’m appreciative of the fact that you assume the rift is my fault.”

She only snorted at that.

“But what,” he continued, “do you think I should do once I apologize? The woman won’t live here.”

She turned to face him and pursed her lips. “You asked her to marry you?”

Alistair looked away. “No.”

“And why not?”

“Don’t be a fool, Sophia.” His head was aching, and he just wanted to go back to sleep—perhaps forever. “She’s been the mistress to one of the richest men in England. She’s lived in London or near the capital all of her life. You should’ve seen the jewels and gold Lister gave her. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed, but I’m a disgustingly scarred, one-eyed man who is nearing his fourth decade and living in a dirty old castle in the middle of nowhere. Why the hell would she want to marry me?”

“Because she loves you!” Sophia nearly shouted.

He shook his head. “She might say she loves me—”

“She admitted it to you and you did nothing?” Sophia looked scandalized.

“Let me finish,” Alistair growled. His head was pounding, his mouth tasted of the ale he’d drunk the night before, and he hadn’t shaved since Helen left. He just wanted to get this over with and go back to bed.

His sister pressed her lips together and waved a hand impatiently for him to continue.

He inhaled. “She might think she loves me now, but what future would she have here with me? What future would I have if she grew tired of me and left?”

“What future do you have now?” Sophia retorted.

He raised his head slowly and looked at her. Her expression was fierce, but her eyes were sad behind their round spectacles.

“Are you looking forward so much to spending the rest of your life alone?” Sophia asked quietly. “Childless, friendless, without a lover or helpmeet to even talk to in the evenings? What life is this that you’re protecting so desperately from Helen’s defection? Alistair, you must have faith.”

“How can I?” he whispered. “How can I when at any moment everything might change? When I might lose everything?” He traced his scars. “I can no longer believe in happy futures, in good luck, in faith itself. I lost my
face,
Sophia.”

“Then you’re a coward,” his sister said, and it was like a slap.

“Sophia—”

“No.” She shook her head and held out her hands to him. “I know it will be harder for you than most. I know you have no illusions left about happiness, but goddamn it, Alistair, if you let Helen go, you might as well kill yourself now. You’ll be giving up, acknowledging not that happiness is capricious, but that you have no
hope
of happiness.”

He drew in a painful breath. His chest felt as if shards of glass were buried there, breaking, shifting, cutting into his heart. Making him bleed.

“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 have learned to live with my face. It’s
her
I’m worried about.” He closed his eye. “I don’t know if she can live with me. I don’t know if I could bear it if she couldn’t.”

“I do.” He heard her walk closer. “You can bear anything, Alistair. You already have. I once told Helen that you were the bravest man I’ve ever known. And you are. You’ve had the worst happen to you, and you view life with no illusions. I can’t even imagine the courage it takes for you to live day to day, but I’m asking you now to find an even greater courage.”

He shook his head.

The bed dipped, and he opened his eye to see her kneeling by his bed, her hands clasped before her as if in prayer. “Give her a chance, Alistair. Give your
life
a chance. Ask her to marry you.”

He rubbed his hand down his face. God, what if she was right? What if he was throwing away a life with Helen out of pure fear? “Very well.”

“Good,” Sophia said briskly, and rose to her feet. “Now get up and get dressed. My carriage is waiting. If we hurry, we can get to Edinburgh by nightfall.”

She looked then and saw several paces away a young pretty woman fainting gracefully into the arms of a startled gentleman in a dashing dark crimson coat. To the side stood Alistair, scowling at the girl, who’d obviously taken dramatic fright at his face.

Alistair looked up and saw her, and for a moment his expression went blank. Then he was making his way through the crowd to her, his gaze never leaving her face.

“It’s Sir Alistair!” Abigail exclaimed, finally seeing him.

Jamie strained at Helen’s hand. “Sir Alistair! Sir Alistair!”

“What are you doing here?” Helen asked when he was in front of them.

Instead of answering, he sank to one knee.

“Oh!” She placed a hand over her heart.

He held out a bunch of sadly wilted wildflowers, scowling at them. “It took longer to get to Edinburgh than I thought it would. Here.”

She took the limp wildflowers, cradling them as if they’d been the finest roses.

He looked up at her, his brown eye steady and focused exclusively on her face. “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.”

By this time, Abigail was nearly jumping up and down with excitement, and Helen knew tears were in her own eyes.

“Oh, Alistair.”

“You don’t have to answer now.” He cleared his throat. “In fact, I don’t want you to answer yet. I’d like to have the time to properly court you. To show you that I can be a good husband and that I have some faith in the future.
Our
future.”

Helen shook her head. “No.”

He froze, his gaze fixed on her face. “Helen…”

She reached down and stroked his scarred cheek. “No, I can’t wait that long. I want to be married to you right away. I want to be your wife, Alistair.”

“Thank God,” he breathed, and then he was on his feet.

He pulled her into his arms and gave her a quite improper kiss right there on High Street, in front of God, the gaping crowd, and her children.

And Helen had never been happier.