Beast Of Italy

Chapter Twenty Two

The door creaked open, giving her access to the study. Yet, she hesitated by the door, her lips parting to let out a nervous breath. Afraid the tea in her hands would get cold, she finally forced her nervous legs forward, the sound of her sandals pounding against the wooden floors, alerting him to her presence.

Yet, he stood there, oblivious to her entrance, his tall frame nearly pressed to the window, his hands clutching tightly to the curtains. For a while, she stood still by the desk, watching his still form, wondering if she must pull him out of his reverie and alert him to the presence of the tea he requested.

“My–” She tore her lips apart briefly, and shut them again as his fingers tightened their hold on the white curtains.

Deciding it was best to leave the tray on the table and hope he attends to his tea before it gets cold, she made to turn around but was immediately forced to stand still when he turned suddenly to her.

She tightened her hold on the edges of the tray as his blue eyes locked with hers. Her eyelids widened and her legs wobbled and no matter how hard she forced her lungs to accept oxygen, they seemed useless. Her eyes instead perused his face; the haunted look in his eyes that bore a striking resemblance to a troubled sea, the weary lines that creased his forehead, the pulling together of his brows, his pointy nose, his clean shaven jaw, his lips.

She cursed her eyes for wandering further down the length of him and her cheeks for catching fire. She cursed her lustful mind and her wicked legs for holding her captive before him.

“Place the tea on the table. ” His command broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present and ultimately unfreezing her legs.

“For- forgive me, Lor- lord Hadley. ” The tray clattered in her shaky hands as she turned from him and clumsily placed it on the table. He was a lot more intimidating up close, than she had imagined. If only the housekeeper hadn't fallen ill, Ira would never have been forced to serve him personally.

Straightening, she turned from the tray and bumped into something hard. A yelp escaped her lips and she clawed at the hard figure to keep herself from falling backwards.

She must have screamed when something took hold of her wrists and her eyes locked with his once more. Still, her screaming did nothing to slacken his hold around her wrist and for some reason, she didn't slacken her hold on his chest either.

“My lord?” She breathed, confused as he held her captive.

“Why do you speak English?” His voice was cold, a great contrast with the warmth his closeness filled her entire body with.

“My-my father was English. I am the result of a love child between a maid and an English father... ”

“His bastard.”

She swallowed as his eyes searched hers. “He took care of us long enough to die and leave us with nothing.” She remembered her father, for she was thirteen when he died. But, she couldn't say she knew him or mourned his death. They were after all his best kept secret and guilt, rather than love, forced him to provide for their needs. Pride forced him to leave them out of his will. When her mother died as well, she had no choice but to become a maid in order to fend for herself.

He tore his eyes off of hers and slowly, his gaze ran down the length of her. She felt her fingers tighten around his shirt as he stared lustfully at her.

“You are a woman of rare beauty,” He breathed, lust dripping down every down. “And it is my plan to carry you to my bed and defile you, right now.” His lips tipped upward at the side in what she assumed was a coy smile.