Taming the Beast by Heather Grothaus Page A

the Fortune 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.
    â€œLady 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.”
    â€œOf 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.
    â€œIt 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.
    â€œAre you all right?”
    â€œOh, 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.
    â€œThank 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.
    â€œPlease,” 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…”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œOh, 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.”
    â€œThis 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.
    â€œNo. I say that, in confidence, to you,” Alan clarified. “It is why I announced months ago that there is a