Beast of Beswick by Amalie Howard

Author:Amalie Howard
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Regency Romances;Historical British Fiction;Victorian Historical Romance;British Historical Literature;Historical Regency Fiction;Women's Historical Fiction;Amalie Howard;Entangled Publishing;Amara;Mass Market Paperback;Single Title Romance;Stand Alone Romance;Enemies to lovers romance;Opposites Attract romance;Beauty and the Beast retelling;fairty-tale retelling;Diverse Author;Duke;England;Accidental Marriage;Humorous Historical Romance;Moody Hero;Clever Romance
Publisher: The Marriage Bargain by Jennifer Probst
Published: 2019-09-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

“Fletcher,” Astrid called out, entering her husband’s suite via the shared connecting door the moment she knew the duke had departed the residence.

She’d deliberately waited after another silent meal—a repeat of their first horrid wedding dinner and each meal since—and overheard the duke talking to the valet about a midday meeting with the Marquess of Roth.

The duke had not made any overtures to her over the past few days, nor had he sought out her company once. He was scrupulously polite when their paths crossed, of course, but no more than necessary. The sudden and unexpected coldness had stung, but Astrid was determined to not let it affect her. Theirs was a marriage of convenience, after all.

He’d made that more than clear.

A part of her still ached for him, for what he’d endured in public at his club, but any further overtures or attempts at conversation had been harshly cut off. He was stony and cold to the point of cruelty. Enough for it to sting, enough for her to stop trying. Though he hadn’t yet left for Beswick Park, he might as well have already gone for the little she did see of him.

Astrid took in the minimalist decor of his chamber in the daylight. She’d barely spared it a glimpse on her wedding night, concerned with other things before he’d snuffed out the candle. Unlike hers, it was overtly masculine, with dark mahogany furnishings and navy and cream accents. It was spare, much like the man himself.

Astrid averted her gaze from the bed, however, which was massive and luxurious and the complete opposite of the rest of the room. Her brain might have taken the hint, but her body was slower to listen. The memory of them in that bed, joined together in the darkness, tied her up in knots.

Swallowing her emotions, she turned to the valet, who had stalled with a pair of the duke’s trousers over his arm and was staring at her expectantly.

“Has the duke received any recent invitations?”

The valet eyed her with interest. “Some, Your Grace.”

“Please, Fletcher, call me Lady Astrid, or Lady Beswick if you must, but I simply cannot abide by the constant Your Grace-ing.”

“You’re a duchess, Your…er…my lady.” She could scowl just as fiercely as Beswick, with much the same effect, as the valet backed away in alarm. “Culbert has the duke’s invitations.”

“Culbert?” she asked in surprise. “He’s here?”

“Yes, His Grace sent for some of the staff from Beswick Park as well as for his aunt. They arrived early this morning, and Lady Verne took straight to her room.”

He smirked, catching sight of the butler loitering in the corridor, and raised his voice. “You see, poor Culbert feels quite left out if he isn’t included in some menial way. Doesn’t think the duke’s life can go on without his constant supervision. And now you will endure the joys of being smothered as well.”

The butler spluttered, shooting daggers at Fletcher, and then bowed in her direction. “May I offer my congratulations, Lady Beswick.

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