Beastly Beauty

Forty-Seven

Beau shot through the open door.

Florian and Henri had made so much noise as they’d stumbled into the kitchen that all of the servants and court ladies had come running.

“This is all your doing,” Espidra hissed at Beau now as he carried a motionless Arabella across the room to the blazing open hearth where meats were roasted. “Where are you going? Take her upstairs to her chambers!”

“There’s no time,” Beau said. “Florian, how’s that broth coming?” he called over his shoulder.

“Almost ready!” Florian shouted back as Phillipe ladled rich yellow chicken stock into a mug.

Beau set Arabella on her feet. She swayed, then slumped to one side. It was like trying to stand a marionette up.

“Arabella!” He slapped her face lightly. “Wake up!”

Arabella jerked her head away with a mewl of protest. She tried to bat his hand away, but he grabbed her chin.

“Stand up. Raise your arms,” he barked.

Arabella complied as best she could, and Beau grabbed the hem of her sodden sweater, yanked it over her head, and threw it on the floor. Next, he unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off. A long row of buttons ran down the back of her skirt. He didn’t stop to fumble with them; he just grasped the waistband and ripped it open. The skirt fell to the floor.

“Step out of it, that’s it,” he said. “Move closer to the fire.” As she did, he kicked the sodden skirt away. “Where are the blankets?” he bellowed.

At that very instant, Claudette came running into the kitchen, her arms piled high with linens. Josette followed her, carrying a robe and slippers.

Beau snatched a blanket and held it up, shielding Arabella from her servants’ gaze. He averted his own eyes. “Get her underthings off.”

“Now see here, this is most indecent!” Hesma shrilled.

“Put a cork in it, gargoyle,” Beau said.

Hesma squawked like an angry hen.

“Hurry, ladies, hurry,” Beau urged the maids. “Are her things off?”

“They are,” Josette replied.

“Rub her down with the towels. Go easy on her ears, fingers, and toes. She might have frostbite.”

The maids did as he bade them, toweling the damp off Arabella’s skin and a bit of warmth into her body.

“Put the robe on her, and the slippers,” Beau said as soon as they’d finished. “Henri! Bring a chair over here. Lay a blanket over it.”

Arabella stood hunched over, hugging herself, still shaking uncontrollably. Beau guided her to the chair and sat her down. He grabbed the edges of the blanket and folded them around her. He draped another blanket over her head and shoulders, then knelt down and wrapped a third one around her feet. Florian appeared with a mug of broth and handed it to him.

“You need to drink this,” Beau said, offering the mug to Arabella. “Can you hold it?”

Arabella nodded. “Th-th-thank you,” she said, sloshing a bit of broth as she took the mug. She blew on it, then sipped it. Another shiver moved through her. “I can still see that thing,” she said. “It’s the last thing I remember. What happened after …”

“I jumped in after you, but Henri the monster killer saved the day,” Beau said, smiling up at the boy.

Henri grinned with pride.

“Did he?” Arabella asked. She turned toward the boy. “Thank you, Henri. I—”

“Where the devil is he? I’m going to tear him to pieces. I swear to God, I am!”

Valmont’s deep voice boomed into the kitchen. His body followed. He arrived at the hearth and his gaze moved from Arabella’s wet clothing, strewn all over the floor, to Arabella herself, hunched over the fire. He pushed his sleeves up, knotting one hand into a fist.

“It’s over for you, thief,” he growled.

Arabella stopped him. “Valmont, no,” she said. “It was my own fault. Beau saved my life.”

Valmont looked skeptical, but he lowered his fist. Beau stood up. He wanted to explain to Valmont what had happened. Instead, he almost fell over. Florian grabbed hold of him, steadying him.

“Beau, what is it? What’s wrong?” asked Arabella, alarmed.

“I’m not sure,” Beau said, looking down at his hands. His fingers were blue. His hands were trembling. From the second Arabella had plunged over the edge of the gatehouse and into the moat, he hadn’t thought about anything but saving her. Now his teeth were rattling in his head. His legs felt weak. His entire body started to shake.

“Give him a blanket. Hurry,” Arabella said to Florian.

As Florian wrapped a blanket around Beau’s shoulders, Arabella stood and made Beau sit down in her chair.

“Henri, stoke up the flames,” she said. “Help him get his wet things off.”

As Henri tugged at Beau’s boots, Percival hurried into the room. “I shall have your supper delayed, Lady Arabella, and have a hot bath drawn for you,” he said.

Arabella rose, clutching her blankets around her. She turned to Beau. “If you can forgive me for nearly getting both of us killed, I would like you to join me.”

Beau’s eyebrows shot up. “In the bath?”

Florian and Henri snorted laughter. The maids bit back giggles.

Arabella cleared her throat. “No, not in the bath. At my table. For supper.”

It was as if Arabella had shot off fireworks in the kitchen. Everyone in the room, all the servants, all the ladies, had collectively sucked in their breath as her words hung, glittering, in the air.

And Beau, who had jumped into deep, icy, gray water, who had faced down hellish monsters without so much as a single thought for his own safety, was suddenly afraid.

It was so stupid, what he’d done. Why had he done it? Why had he risked his life, his life, for a girl who wouldn’t even do him the courtesy of ever giving him an honest answer—about herself, her castle, the creatures in it? He didn’t know, and now he felt trapped. Everyone was looking at him. Do they think I should be dazzled by Arabella’s offer? Grateful for it? he wondered. Like some peasant invited to milady’s table?

Well, he wasn’t. He’d saved her life, yes, but only because he needed her. She was going to build a bridge for him. So he could get to his brother. That was the reason, the only reason.

Espidra was looking at him as if she suspected that he was more than dazzled, more than grateful. It felt as if her shadowed eyes could see into his heart, to the strange new feelings that had taken root there.

“No, thank you,” he said. “I’m not hungry.”

His refusal hurt Arabella. He could see that. Her eyes narrowed in a wince, but she forced them wide again.

“Of course,” she said smoothly, striving to save face. “I’m sure you’re exhausted from your heroic actions. I shall see you in the morning.” She stood then and left the kitchen. Her maids and ladies followed her.

The glitter in the air winked out. Beau felt the servants who were left in the room give a big, collective sigh, exhaling hope like acrid smoke.

Beau felt irritated by their expectations. It came out in his voice. “Any chance of a bath for me, Monty? Maybe some dry clothing?”

Valmont shook his head. “I’ll give you a bath, all right. I’ll throw you right back in the moat.”

Percival stepped in. “We’ll have one drawn for you in the servants’ quarters,” he said. “Stay by the fire for now or you’ll catch your death.”

Beau nodded; he pulled the blanket up around his neck. He was colder than before.

The temperature had dropped in the room.

To somewhere below freezing.