Taming The Beast. Heather Grothaus

house. In this comfortable, loving routine, Michaela liked to imagine that she was the Lady of Tornfield, that Elizabeth was her daughter, and handsome Lord Alan was her own husband. She gave a heavy sigh as she came to a halt before her door, a reluctant good night on her tongue.

      “Lady Michaela,” Alan said before Michaela could speak. “Would you indulge me a few moments of your time before retiring? There is something of importance I would speak with you about.”

      “Of course, my lord,” she said immediately, her stomach aflutter at what could be so pressing that Lord Alan would retain her company after Elizabeth was abed.

      “It is rather private. Would it be terribly untoward of me to request we converse in my apartment?”

      Michaela’s hand slid off the door latch and she fell—hard—into the door frame. Alan’s arm shot out to steady her and a concerned frown creased his handsome brow.

      “Are you all right?”

      “Oh, yes!” She laughed. “I just…My hand slipped, is all.” She shrugged, and felt like an idiot. “We can converse anywhere you wish, my lord,” she said, trying to gather her posture and what was left of her pride.

      “Thank you. Shall we, then?”

      She followed him farther down the corridor to his door and stepped inside when he swept his arm toward the portal.

      It would have been obvious to any stranger who entered that these were the lord’s rooms by the masculine décor—dark burgundy draperies hung at the large window and around the bed, and rich fabric of that same hue covered the pair of tufted stools nestled under a small table along one wall. There were few frills, and the plush velvet seemed to breathe leather and musk. But Michaela did see a handful of signs that the chamber had once housed a female—a gilded hairbrush on a side table, a pair of dainty embroidered slippers at the foot of a painted wooden trunk—and her heart broke a little at the bittersweet feelings evoked by seeing such objects the husband had retained from his wife.

      Several candelabras had been lit by servants earlier in the eve in preparation for the lord’s retirement, and the fire crackled private secrets.

      A perfect setting, in Michaela’s mind, for what she hoped would be an intimate conversation.

      “Please,” Lord Alan invited, dragging one of the stools out for her and then setting the candlestick on the small table. “Forgive me if I seem a bit…foolish. I’ve not had a lady in this room since…”

      “I understand,” Michaela rushed to assure him as she sat. Thankfully, her bottom connected securely with the upholstered seat. “No need to apologize.” The lovely, lovely man…

      Lord Alan joined her at the table with a quick, boyish smile. It fled his face in a blink. “I want to tell you why Lady Juliette visited me this evening.”

      “Oh, must we talk about Lady Juliette?” The almost whining plea was out of Michaela’s mouth before she could stop it, and she was mortified, even when Lord Alan smiled charmingly. “I am sorry. Do go on.”

      Alan seemed to relax a bit then, and pulled from his belt the rolled parchment Michaela had seen earlier, and handed it to her.

      Michaela unrolled the missive and let her eyes scan over the thousands of tiny, intricate letters covering the page. It would take her an hour to read it in its entirety.

      Lord Alan took pity on her. “The gist of the thing is this: Lord Roderick Cherbon, my cousin, has a stipulation he must fulfill in order to fully inherit Cherbon demesne.”

      “This says that?” Michaela questioned, and her eyes went to the page. She thought it odd Lord Cherbon would want such a private matter served up to his people for gossip.

      “No. I say that, in confidence, to you,” Alan clarified. “It is why I announced months ago that there is a possibility that I could inherit in his place.”

      “Oh,” Michaela said, giddy that Alan considered her enough to confide this bit of close information.

      “The stipulation is that he must marry a lady of good family before his thirtieth birthday.”

      “Oh, my,” Michaela gasped, not really caring, but wanting to show Lord Alan that she found anything he said riveting.

      “The problem is in this missive, and is clear to anyone who would read it, especially in light of Lady Juliette’s information. Apparently, my once-sought-after cousin is finding the bride search a bit more of a challenge than he likely thought it would be. May I?” Alan took the missive from her, shook it open, and began to skim with squinted eyes.

      “Announcement this day of…yes, yes—ah! ‘Any unmarried lady of good, titled family who is in want of a husband should immediately report to Cherbon Castle. If Lord Roderick Cherbon finds such a woman agreeable after a period of no more than ninety days and can come to a mutual agreement of marriage, upon their wedding she will be legally granted one-fifth of Cherbon’s holding to use at her own discretion. Please see Sir Hugh Gilbert upon arrival.’”

      Michaela felt her eyes widen. “That certainly is strange,” she said carefully.

      “Don’t you see?” Alan said, leaning forward on his stool, and Michaela caught her breath at his closeness. “No one will marry him now—he’s a beast! He’s trying to bribe his way to the inheritance!”

      “A beast?”

      “A beast,” Alan reiterated. “He slinks about the castle with a walking stick and in a long black cloak, keeping his face hidden. He’s frightened away each woman come to court him since his return to Cherbon. This missive only proves how close he is to losing the demesne.”

      “I see,” Michaela said, although she did not. “What has this to do with me?”

      “Your parents’ taxes aren’t the only ones in the land which can not be paid, Michaela,” Alan said with a wry smile, and her heart stopped beating for an instant when he used her given name. “If I do not inherit Cherbon, Roderick will demand my dues and I cannot pay him. This manor—your parents’ land—will be forfeited, and Elizabeth and I will lose you.”

      “Oh my heavens!” Michaela gasped. “Oh, no! I can’t…” She stopped, took a deep breath. “What shall we do? You must inherit!”

      He gave her a smile that nearly made the shock of his dire announcement worth it. “I know. And I have come up with an idea that will allow you to stay with us forever, if you wish.”

      “Oh, yes! Of course, I wish! Do tell, my lord.”

      “I have already set in motion plans for a grand feast at Tornfield in one month, and after that night, regardless of whether my cousin is successful in his search or not, we will be safe.” He paused. “Do you trust me, Michaela?” His words were like a caress.

      “Yes,” she whispered.

      Alan leaned even closer to her over the tabletop. “Elizabeth can not lose you. I can not lose you. You do wish to stay with us, don’t you? Truly?”

      “I do, certainly, I do.” She leaned in as well, her bosom biting into the table’s edge, but she scarcely felt it. “More than anything.”

      His lips hovered a scant inch from hers. “As do I.”

      Alan’s head moved closer.

      Michaela leaned more heavily on the table and tilted her head.

      The table toppled onto its side, knocking both would-be kissers to the floor and spilling the candle onto the rug.

      Alan shouted, jumped to his feet nimbly, and stamped out the flames.

      Michaela wanted to die, right there on the floor.

      He helped her up with a shaky laugh. “Ah, well. Best not to get carried away in an improper manner, eh?”

      “Ha-ha! Yes,” Michaela agreed. No! she screamed inside