Beauty's Cursed Beast Page 3

  “Are you expecting someone?” Henry asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

  Adam stood from his stool and moved toward the foyer. “No. Only you and Rory.”

  “Rory and Cord are out of town, raising funds for her Foundation.”

  Adam frowned. “I’m the largest sponsor for the Johnstone Foundation. Has she truly gone through all the money I donated?”

  Henry kept a pleasant expression in place, but his tone lowered to sadness. “She’s preparing, in case the fight between the two of you grows to the point that you pull your funding.”

  Frowning, Adam took a step back, affronted. “I wouldn’t do that to her. It’s important work she does, funding the education of literacy and basic education so the government doesn’t have to.”

  Henry shrugged. “A lot depends on her making sure the Foundation runs smoothly. She’s just hedging her bets.” Henry jumped onto a different topic to lighten the mood. “Her husband’s a trip. Can’t stand the corporate world, but will follow our girl anywhere.”

  Adam didn’t respond. He went to the door and thrust it open, squinting into the sunlight that violated his pupils. “What?”

  A mumbly man with salt-and-pepper hair had his hat in his hands, his wrinkled fingers twisting the knit cap nervously. It was positively icy outside, but Adam didn’t offer for him to step inside. “G-g-good afternoon, Mr. Fontaine. I w-w-was w-w-wondering if I might have a word with you. See, I hold a mortgage with your firm, and…”

  Adam’s puffy upper lip curled. “Do you have a working phone?”

  “Yes, sir. I do, but…”

  “Then I don’t see any reason why you’re bothering me. Call the main office with complaints. I don’t handle things like that.”

  “There seems to be a problem with the paperwork, and no one can help me. I’m sorry, I’m doing this all wrong. I’m Fabrice.” He paused as if waiting for a hello, but then rushed onward when it was clear no greeting was coming. “It’s my mortgage. I’m late for the second month now, but the sheriff...”

  Adam ran his hand over his face, tracking each deformity to be certain he still had ample reason to be cross with the world. “You people are getting more zealous every day. I mean, coming to my home?”

  The man had a roundish structure to his face, but his cheeks were sunken in from malnourishment. He had bags under his eyes, and his fingers were covered with torn knit gloves. His old jeans bore a rip across the knee, letting just enough of the chill into his pants that he shivered uncontrollably. “I’ve tried your mortgage hotline, Mr. Fontaine, but I’m not getting anywhere with them. We’re two months late, and…”

  Adam’s eyebrows pulled together as he fisted the side of the door to lean against it. He opened his mouth to speak, but just as he did, the howl of a wolf sounded in the distance. Adam stiffened at the warning. The pack was always coming around, reminding him that they were there – that they were his future. He’d angered them quite a few times over the years by setting traps to keep them off his property, so the howl was meant to remind him of his doom. Once he was one of them, he would not be welcomed into their pack.

  A cloud of anger replaced any curiosity that might have occurred. “It takes six months before the eviction process starts, not two. I suggest you bother the office then, and not my home.”

  Just when Adam was about to close the door, the old man held up his hands and did something so shocking, Adam merely gaped at him. Fabrice got down on his creaky knees on the snow-covered porch and clasped his hands in supplication. It was clear he feared the wolves by the dodgy glances over his shoulder, but his worry over losing his home was even greater than that. “There’s an eviction notice posted on my front door, but according to our contract, we still have four months to make up the late payments. When I called Sheriff Aston, he said he was expediting our eviction.”

  Adam’s nostrils flared, but Henry had heard enough. He pushed past his friend and helped the man off his knees, leading him into the foyer. “What’s this about the local law making its own rules? Do you have proof of this?”

  Fabrice’s wide, watery eyes took in the man who helped him inside. Henry was taller in person, and Fabrice looked small and stooped with the cold. Everyone had watched the young prince grow into the political leader beside his great father, King Hubert. “Prince Henry?”

  Henry flashed one of his dazzling grins, Pulsing a touch of congeniality into Fabrice, so as to put the man at ease. Such was his Pulse, but when paired with his charming demeanor, one might guess that he scarcely needed magic to draw out amiability in people. “Adam, get your client here a blanket or something. Start up the fireplace. He’s frozen!”

  Fabrice’s teeth were chattering, and his joints were rigid with a deep-set arthritis that was exacerbated by the cold. The snow had started to fall only a week ago, but already Mother Nature was making her claims on the last vestiges of autumn. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to b-b-be a b-b-bother. I just can’t lose my home. I’m one year away from paying it off. I can’t lose it this close to the end.”

  Henry patted Fabrice’s arm. “Of course not. Adam will pull up your contract and see to it all right now. He wouldn’t want you to get torn apart by wolves. The Lupine can get quite hungry this time of year.”

  Adam opened his mouth to argue, but instead he stomped off in the direction of his office up the stairs. When Fabrice made to follow, Adam whirled on him. “You’ll not tail me and snoop around my home. You’ll stay right here, and try not to get my floors all messed up. I’ve got my mud stains exactly how I like them.”

  Fabrice looked down at his shoes that were in the last stages of decay, and grimaced with an apologetic bow of his head. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Fontaine. Thank you for looking into my case. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “You can start with never bothering me with this kind of thing again.”

  “Yes, sir.” Though Fabrice was easily several decades older than Adam, he didn’t hesitate to pay respect. He stood in the foyer, his clothes cold and wet as he shivered.

  Henry’s eyes tightened around the edges as he watched his friend’s ascent up the wide and winding staircase. When he turned to Fabrice, his smile was in full swing. “You’ll have to forgive him. He left his company manners in his other castle.”

  Fabrice held up his hands and shook his head. “Oh, no offense taken. I’m a stranger, showing up uninvited. I’d be cross, too.”

  Henry didn’t quite believe Fabrice was capable of such a thing as surliness. Fabrice had a congeniality to him that rivaled Santa Claus, and a lightness to his obviously burdened shoulders that reminded Henry of his own father, years ago before the kingdom was perched so precariously with too much division.

  Henry offered to take the man’s useless coat. It was too thin and wet to offer any sort of warmth. Just holding it over his arm gave Henry a chill. “Would you like a cup of tea while we wait?”

  Fabrice’s eyes lit up, and he rubbed his hands together. “I wouldn’t say no to that. The Prince of Avondale offering me a cup of tea? My daughter won’t believe it.”

  “Then you might have to lie and tell her it was the best tea you’ve ever had. I’m honestly not sure what Adam’s got in his cupboards.”

  Henry led Fabrice to the kitchen, apologizing for the state of the dusty and neglected home. He fished through the cupboards, which he hadn’t done in weeks. His heart sank when three of them were empty, and actually had a few spiders taking up residence where the spices and canned goods should’ve been. The fourth cupboard made Henry bite his lip to hold his reaction inside. Where the oatmeal and breakfast fixings should have been were several boxes of dry dog food.

  Henry’s heart sank, and he shut the door quickly, hoping Fabrice hadn’t seen that there was dog food, but no dog. Rory had been the one who’d made sure he was eating human food, but she’d stopped coming by earlier that year. Guilt flooded Henry as he donned the politician son’s smile for Fabrice. How long had Adam been living off of dog fo
od? Had he truly given up all semblances of a normal life? There was nearly half a year before his thirtieth birthday.

  The fifth cupboard had fixings for tea, though not many. Henry pulled down a teacup and ran water in the kettle, heating it on the stove. He searched around for the teapot, but couldn’t find it. He hoped that meant that Adam had at least been drinking something civilized.

  “Here we are,” Henry said when the kettle whistled a few minutes later. “I’m sorry there’s not food to offer you. Adam’s a bit swamped with work, and hasn’t had time to go to the store recently.”

  Fabrice waved off the apology. “My cupboards are every bit as scant. These are lean times. I just didn’t think they’d fallen on Mr. Fontaine, as well. Do you really think he can get this squared away?”

  “If it’s as you say it is, I don’t see why not.”

  “That’s hope I’ll hold tight in my pocket, then. My daughter, I… She does so much to take care of so many people. We can’t lose our home. I’m not saying we don’t deserve a reprimand, but the contract should be looked at when the alternative is throwing a man and his daughter out on the streets.”

  “Of course. What do you do, Fabrice?”

  “I’m a clockmaker,” he said proudly. “I make all sorts of trinkets, too. Right now, I’m working on a record player.”

  “Restoring it?”

  “Improving it,” he declared with a twinkle in his eye. He warmed his hands with the cup of steaming tea and sighed contentedly when feeling crept back into his extremities. “When I’m finished, it’ll play music while taking each song and synthesizing a painting based on the notes, instruments and rhythm.”

  Henry took a seat at the counter and leaned back appreciatively. “You’re making art out of music? Making art out of art?”

  Fabrice batted his hand dismissively. “No one cares about that, but I like it. I’ve won awards for my music boxes. Those, people like. Anything too off the beaten path scares the public, so that invention is just for my daughter.”

  “She likes music?”

  Fabrice nodded sadly. “She suffered from a high fever and an infection when she was just a baby. It took half her hearing in her right ear. She can hear well enough – no one even notices her leaning in – but sometimes music misses the beat for her. I thought she should be able to see music the way we hear it.”

  Henry picked up his teacup and blew on it, enchanted with the sweet old man. “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-seven. Though she’s always been an old soul. Takes care of me well enough.”

  Henry was enjoying his visit with Fabrice so much that he was taken aback by Adam’s grim presence in the entryway. “Did you want some tea, Adam? I was just getting to know Fabrice here.”

  “You should go,” Adam said with a menace to his tone.

  Fabrice set down his cup, his lips pursed before he spoke. “I can’t go until the matter about my home is settled. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  Adam shook his head. “Not you. Henry, you should leave. You don’t want to be involved in this.”

  Henry set his cup down with a heaviness that suggested he was either tired of Adam or humanity in general. “What is it?”

  Adam didn’t elaborate, only stood sideways and motioned to the foyer.

  Henry bowed his head to Fabrice, and moved toward the front door with a tight frown, not bothering to hold back his frustration with his friend’s lack of civility. Adam would not be moved, though, and practically shoved his last remaining friend out the front door and locked it.

  When Adam moved back into the kitchen to tower over Fabrice, he did nothing to stifle his imposing presence. Adam was tall. Six and a half feet would be intimidating on anyone, but with his beastly features and snarl that seemed nearly permanent, it was no wonder that Fabrice shook and took a step back.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find out about the warrant?”

  Fabrice’s mostly white eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “What warrant?”

  “The one on you for public disturbance. I phoned the sheriff, and Gabe himself said that you were to be detained here until he could come take you in.”

  Despite the anger radiating off Adam, Fabrice did his best to stand tall. “I’ve never been charged with anything of the sort. Sheriff Aston wants something from me, and he’s making my life miserable until I give it to him.”

  Adam cleared the gap between them and coiled his beefy fingers around Fabrice’s shoulder with all the inevitability of a boa constrictor. He jerked the old man forward, not caring if Fabrice was capable of keeping up with his swift footsteps and long strides. “Tell me the rest from your cell. If you think this place is dingy, wait until you see my dungeon.”

  3

  A Word from the Sheriff

  The creaky old thing hadn’t been used in at least a decade, and even then, it hadn’t been for the traditional purpose most would associate with dungeons. Adam’s gaze flitted over the first cell, where he recalled engaging in raucous sex with a woman whose name he couldn’t recall. He remembered the fire in her eyes when she’d asked about his dungeon, and her wild screams of ecstasy when she got to fulfill her daring fantasy. Before then, Adam supposed his great-great-grandfather had used the space for its intended purpose.

  The brass two-foot tall candelabra Adam carried lit the way, its tiny licks of flames casting shadows that made Fabrice jump with trepidation. Though Fabrice didn’t fight him, Adam didn’t lessen his jerky movements as he shoved the old man into the dank, cold cell. The grating sound of the door swinging shut set both men’s teeth on edge. “You should know better than to pull one over on me.”

  With arthritic fingers, Fabrice held tight to the bars as he brought himself to his feet. “Please, Mr. Fontaine. Sheriff Aston does stuff like this all the time. He’s angry that I won’t give him what he wants, so he abuses his power to try and twist me.”

  “Save your stories for someone who cares.”

  “You should care!” Fabrice cried out when Adam turned his back. “You should care because it’s your business that suffers. The sheriff makes up fines and takes money we don’t have. Then we’re late on paying our mortgage to you. If it doesn’t affect your conscience, then you should at least be upset that he’s gouging your bottom line. How many homes have you foreclosed on in the past year in the West Village?”

  Adam paused, and turned his chin to glance at Fabrice over his shoulder. “Too many. But I always abide by the contracts. I wouldn’t force an eviction on your home if you were only two months late. No sheriff would enforce it if I did.”

  Fabrice nodded, now that it seemed they were finally getting somewhere. “Yes, but a notice was posted on my property, and you’ll see I was only two months late. And we wouldn’t have been late if we hadn’t had to pay four thousand dollars in an unexpected bridge tax this year. No one can keep up. As soon as we pay the tax, another comes. I’m telling you, many are losing their homes and their reputations because the sheriff is taking money that’s rightfully yours.” Fabrice’s fingers tightened on the bars. “I’ve only been able to keep up because he didn’t give me the newest tax. Everyone else in the village had to pay, but we didn’t.”

  The dungeon breathed fresh life into Adam’s childhood anxieties of swallowed by the dark, but he turned to face Fabrice and folded his arms over his chest, resolving himself to hear the man out. “And why is that?”

  Anger flashed in the old man’s eyes, causing Adam to take a step back. “Because Gabe Aston wants my daughter! He’ll do anything, including throwing me in jail, to get at her. When the newest fine came about, she went to him without my knowledge and agreed to take him up on his bribe.”

  “What bribe?”

  Fabrice’s voice shook with palpable pain. “He said he would drop the tax on our family if she agreed to go away for a weekend with him.” Fabrice cringed as he gripped the bars, his eyes squinching tight. “I value her more than anyone else in the world, and that swine of a sheriff
treats her like trash and trinkets to be traded. Do you know how that feels?” He sniffed, his wet nose running and red. “The eviction notice was just to scare me. The false charges for arrest are truly dangerous, though. If he takes me away, then my daughter will have no one, and he’ll win.”

  Adam gaped at the old man, wondering how he’d stumbled into such a tangled web that had apparently been going on right under his nose. All he’d seen were the numbers. The annual household income, and the average mortgage price. He hadn’t understood why the people in the West Village couldn’t pay their rent. On paper, it certainly looked like they had the means. He’d assumed they were lazy, uneducated or frivolous, but apparently it had been something else entirely.

  For the second time that day, Adam’s doorbell rang. “That’ll be the police. Faster than I was anticipating. Stay here, and I’ll get it all sorted.” He pointed at the old man with a menacing finger. “Never come to my house with this much drama again.”

  It was the humble, “yes, sir,” that made Adam cringe. Had Fabrice been petulantly silent or begged for more time to make his case, Adam would’ve felt justified in his own gruff behavior. Adam clenched his fists but didn’t say anything. In fact, just for the man’s sweetness, which had no real place here, Adam shut the door without turning on a single light, taking the candelabra with him, and shrouding the old man in blackness.

  Adam stomped up the stone steps. The chill in his house was far more unforgiving in the basement, making the drafty main floor feel like a heated sunroom by comparison. He stalked over to the front door and flung it open. “Sheriff,” he greeted the dark-haired officer, but didn’t invite him inside.

  From a single look, Adam had a hard time finding holes in Fabrice’s story. He’d never seen a cop wearing fine leather shoes before. Gabe’s black, coifed hair was perfectly done, and his face was shaved so closely, it looked like he’d just come from the barber. He wore four gold rings, each of them shiny, jeweled, and begging to be gawked at.