“Sir Beast.” Rose’s voice trembles, recalling us to the moment. “I don’t understand. They . . . they all told me this place was cursed, that you were cursed. But they said I broke the curse!”
Beast turns to her. “But . . . I am the Beaumont Curse,” he says, his dark eyes bright with sudden understanding. He glances at me again. “I was so little when it happened the first time, when I was first transformed. I didn’t remember. But the memory lives inside this body. And now that he is gone, I know it in every one of my senses.” He raises his paw again to stare at it. “This is what I am, how I was born. I am the true chevalier.”
“And far more worthy of the title than Jean-Loup ever was,” I say to Rose.
She nods slowly, frowning slightly. What must she think?
“I know this must be a terrible shock to you, Rose,” says Beast softly. “But I shall not force you to honor vows you made to another man.”
Rose peers at him with more resolution in her expression. “No, Sir Beast, I made my first promise to you,” she corrects him. “And our family keeps its bargains.”
We fall suddenly silent. Rose is Beast’s lawful wife, after all.
“But Jean-Loup is never coming back?” Rose asks. She does not sound displeased.
“Never,” says Beast.
Rose’s gaze falls to my hands still entwined with Beast’s paw. “And you are in love with him,” she says to me.
It’s too late now to pretend otherwise. “Yes, I am,” I confess.
“And you are in love with her,” she says to Beast. It is not a question.
“I am,” says Beast, closing his other paw gently over my hand again.
“So perhaps we can come to some . . . arrangement?” Rose says delicately.
Her plans may lie in ruins, but the merchant’s daughter is ready to bargain. I rather admire that she can remain so clearheaded in spite of everything. For my part, I can’t imagine what will happen now. One last chance to release Beast had been my only goal; I’ve given no thought at all to what might come next.
“My dear Rose,” says Beast gallantly, “in return for all you have endured, of course I am prepared to see you and your family provided for. What would you ask of me?”
Beast behaves as honorably as ever, and Rose considers his offer. I wonder what she will choose? A trunk of riches? Some sort of annual stipend to be shared from the profits of the seigneurie once Beast has lowered the taxes and rents and restored prosperity?
But no sooner do I have this thought than something far more disturbing occurs to me: How can we expect the people of the seigneurie to accept Beast as their new chevalier? All they will see is what Rose and her father saw at first, what all humans see: a hideous monster. How will they ever give him a chance to govern?
“Beast,” I tell him with sudden inspiration, “give this chateau to Rose!”
“What?” says Beast.
“What?” says Rose.
“Who better?” I go on. “Rose, you are now Lady Beaumont, the rightful mistress of the chateau. No one will dispute you.”
Rose looks surprised, but I can see she is thinking it over. It’s Beast who looks doubtful.
“But . . . this house, these things . . . Lucie, I have nothing else to give you . . .”
“I don’t want things! All I want is you. Safe and alive!” I tighten my grip on his paw. “Jean-Loup was nothing without his fine possessions. They are all that gave him worth. But you are different.”
Beast begins to nod slowly. “The seigneurie deserves a new sovereign,” he rumbles at last. “Promise me, Rose, that you will treat them well, after all they have endured — when Chateau Beaumont is yours.”
“I promise, Sir Beast!”
A commotion of servants startles us from out in the hall. Housemaids’ voices rise in alarm over the roaring they heard and wondering what’s become of Lord and Lady Beaumont; they are missed downstairs. Rose hurries to the door.
“Wait here,” she whispers to us. “I’ll send them away.”
As the voices move off, Beast raises his paw to stroke my hair with awkward tenderness. He leans closer, his breath warm on my cheek as he nuzzles my face, learning my new human scent. “But how can you want me like this, Lucie?” he murmurs. “How is it possible?”
“I might ask you the same thing,” I say, sliding my fingertips gently through his mane. How soft it feels. “There was no room in my heart for anything but revenge until you came along. I lost track of who I was inside. But I found myself again because you cared for me. You gave me a reason to open my heart.”
“And you gave me someone to come back to, Lucie,” he rumbles. “My faithful companion, my light in the darkness. My illuminator, who knows me better than I ever dared to know myself.”
I lean my cheek into the soft fur of his chest.
“I will make mistakes — I am only human, after all.” He chuckles softly. “But they will be my mistakes. Not Jean-Loup’s.”
I glance up again. “But do you not think after all we’ve endured together that we might encourage what is best in each other’s nature?”
Beast’s dark eyes shine with humor. “I think we might at that,” he agrees.
I close my eyes, but a shrill yelp startles them open.
“Beast!” a voice bleats nearby. “Monster! Murder!”
We look up to see Madame Montant quivering in the doorway in her sober black gown, fluttering a white handkerchief about her mouth. Although she was in the house the night Jean-Loup was transformed into Beast, she never actually laid eyes on him; witchcraft drove all the servants off in terror. Now her sense of duty wars with horror in her wavering expression, finding herself face-to-face with Beast.
“W-where is my lady Rose?” she cries. “I heard her voice! If you’ve harmed her in any way . . .”
“My dear Madame Montant, calm yourself,” Beast tries to reassure her in his most conciliatory tones. “No harm has been —”
“The Devil knows my name!” shrieks the housekeeper. “I am a marked woman! Oh, help! Murder!”
Beast is too dumbfounded to respond as both her hands fly up to her whitening face to ward off the evil eye. When he takes one anxious step toward her, she reels backward, half turns, and collapses to the floor of the salon in a pool of black skirts. Beast glances nervously back at me.
“By Christ and all His saints, am I so hideous a sight that people die of it?”
“There is nothing hideous about you,” I tell him firmly, squeezing his paw. “It’s her own fear that overwhelms her.”
Rose appears breathlessly in the outer doorway to the hall, pulling it shut behind her. “What has happened? I heard a shout —” But she freezes when she sees the figure sprawled on the floor. “Madame!” she gasps, raising wide eyes to us.
“Fainted dead away,” I tell her, trying not to smile at the notion of ferocious Madame Montant swooning like a girl. But more agitated voices from below sober me at once.
“They heard her shouting, too,” Rose says urgently.
Already we hear housemaids’ voices, crying, “Madame!” and “Lady Rose!” A clamoring erupts downstairs of servants and guards drawn by these alarms. No one is running away this time, not if they perceive their new Lady Rose to be in any mortal danger.
“Don’t let them find you!” Rose urges us anxiously. It may be that she’s merely protecting her interests as new mistress of the chateau, but I believe she really does care something for Beast. She would like him to be happy.
“She’s right, Beast. We must flee!” I exclaim. “I know where we can go, but we must go now!”
Heavy footfalls of a distinctly martial character on the marble floor of the entry hall below echo up the stairwell. Beast’s body tenses.
“Lucie,” he rumbles, “put on the ring! Go far beyond these walls, and I will meet you there as soon as I can.”