To Beguile a Beast by Elizabeth Hoyt Page A

cleaning his filthy dining room. A woman not used to fending for herself but who had still managed to push her way into his home and his life. Interesting. What motivated her? What life had she left behind? Who was the man she was hiding from? Alistair watched Mrs. Halifax, trying to see the expression in her harebell-blue eyes, but the night shielded them from him.
    “What do you want to know about me?” she asked.
    Her voice was even, almost masculine in its directness, and the contrast to her extremely feminine form was surprising. Fascinating, actually.
    He cocked his head, considering her. “You’ve said that you’re widowed.”
    Her chin lifted. “Yes, of course.”
    “For how long?”
    She looked away, hesitating for a fraction of a second. “Three years this fall.”
    He nodded. She was very good, but she was lying. Did the husband still live? Or did she run from another man? “And what did Mr. Halifax do?”
    “He was a doctor.”
    “But not a successful one, I take it.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “If he’d been successful,” he pointed out, “you wouldn’t have to work now.”
    She lifted a hand to her forehead. “Forgive me, but the topic distresses me.”
    No doubt he was supposed to feel pity for her at this point and give up the chase, but he had her cornered, and his curiosity urged him on. Her distress only made him more eager. He stepped closer, so close that his chest nearly touched her shoulder. His nose caught the scent of lemons from her hair. “You were fond of your husband?”
    Her hand fell and she glared up at him, her tone tart. “I loved him desperately.”
    His mouth curved in a smile that wasn’t very nice. “A tragedy, then, his death.”
    “Yes, it was.”
    “You were married young?”
    “Only eighteen.” Her eyes dropped.
    “And the marriage was happy.”
    “Extremely happy.” Her voice was defiant, the lie transparent.
    “What did he look like?”
    “I…” She wrapped her arms about herself. “Please, might we change the subject?”
    “Certainly,” he drawled. “Where did you live in London?”
    “I’ve told you.” Her voice was steadier now. “I was in Lady Vale’s household.”
    “Of course,” he murmured. “My mistake. I keep forgetting your vast experience in running a household.”
    “It’s not vast,” she whispered. “You know that.”
    For a moment, they were silent and only the wind whistling around the corner of the castle gave voice.
    Then she said very quietly, with her face still turned away, “It’s just that I… I need a place to stay right now.”
    And something inside him surged in triumph. He had her. She couldn’t leave. It made no sense, this feeling of triumph. He’d been urging her to go ever since she’d arrived, but somehow the knowledge that she had to stay, and that as an honorable gentleman he had to let her stay, filled him with contentment.
    Not that he let it show. “I confess, Mrs. Halifax, that I am surprised by one thing.”
    “What is that?”
    He bent closer, his mouth nearly brushing her lemon-scented hair. “I would’ve thought a lady of your beauty would be besieged by suitors.”
    She turned her head, and their faces were suddenly only inches apart. He felt her breath brush across his lips as she spoke. “You find me beautiful.”
    Her voice was curiously flat.
    He cocked his head, eyeing the smooth brow, the lush mouth, and the fine wide eyes. “Devastatingly so.”
    “And you probably think beauty sufficient reason to marry a woman.” Her tone was bitter now.
    What had the mysterious Mr. Halifax done to his wife? “No doubt most men do.”
    “They never think of a woman’s disposition,” she muttered. “Her likes and dislikes, her fears and hopes, her very soul.”
    “Don’t they?”
    “No.” Her beautiful eyes had grown dark and tragic. The wind blew a curling lock of hair across her face.
    “Poor Mrs. Halifax,” he mocked softly. He gave in to impulse and raised his left