Page 35 of To Love a Beast

Timens bristled, at a loss for words. He held his ground, though, refusing to abandon Callista. Good man. Time for Everett to join the party as well.

Discounting Timens as no threat, Batton turned his disgustingly handsome face back toward Callista. "I heard your Sunday morning escort met with an unfortunate accident earlier this week. Such a shame." He made a tsking sound that lacked even a hint of genuine concern as he gave his head a wag. "A stray bullet, people are saying. Probably from an incompetent hunter. I hear your friend might lose an arm."

"You hear wrong," Callista snapped. "The doctor has assured us that Mr. Lightfoot will make a full recovery."

"But he won't be able to drive your buggy to church for you, will he? I know how important attending church is to you, and I would hate for you to miss even one service, so I'll be here bright and early on Sunday to drive you myself."

Everett stepped over the threshold and marched straight to the stairs. "That won't be necessary."

Batton turned, his scowl dark until he spotted Everett. He jumped back slightly, his foot falling from the step as his brows arched and his square jaw hung agape. "Great Scott, man. What happened to your face?"

"Probably the same thing that happened to your manners."

Batton's expression hardened, a spark of challenge lighting his gaze. Good. They understood each other. Everett strode down the stairs, placing himself between Batton and Callista.

Batton smirked. "You really are an ugly son of a gun, aren't you? I heard talk of a local monster in these parts. Thought it was just a bunch of kids exaggerating. Guess I was wrong."

Everett raised his left brow, refusing to rise to the bait. "Seems you're wrong quite often."

That wiped the smirk from his face.

"Miss Rosenfeld?" Everett kept his gaze locked on Batton. "Would you please take Spartacus into the house and keep him in the entry hall until after our guest has departed?" Everett figured she'd not want to leave if she believed the dog still in danger, so he'd send them both inside.

Timens's gasp and hurried footsteps told him breakable items currently residing in the entry hall would be gathered up with haste.

"Right away, Mr. Griffin." Callista moved behind him. "Come, Spartacus."

The furry beast jostled Everett from behind, and an odd look crossed Batton's face.

"Your name's Griffin?"

What did his name matter? Everett folded his arms over his chest and nodded. "It is."

Batton's gaze carved its way through Everett's face again, lingering over the eye patch. Then it traveled behind him, where canine toenails echoed on entryway tile and a certain beautiful woman likely peered out as she closed the door.

"Interesting." In a blink, Batton's expression switched from contemplative to cheerful. "Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Griffin." He tapped his hat brim then retreated to his horse and mounted in a smooth, practiced motion. "I'll be seeing you."

He gave a salute then reined his horse around and rode away, leaving Everett with a pit in his stomach that he couldn't quite explain.

Callista placed her latest finished volume into the book press and twisted the handle to tighten the overlarge screw that closed the iron plate on top of the book to ensure the newly-pasted leather cover learned its proper shape. After securing the press, she turned to view the fiction shelves behind her. Nearly full.

It had been almost a week since that awful visit from Ambrose Batton. A week full of tea times with Mrs. Potter, informative historical discussions regarding tapestries and ceiling frescoes from Mr. Timens, and daily visits to the library by Mr. Lightfoot, with his inexhaustible supply of amusing anecdotes. Unable to accomplish many of his duties with his arm in a sling, he'd alleviated his boredom by popping in on her, a happenstance she enthusiastically encouraged—for both their sakes. Yet, as each day passed, the end to her magical time with these dear people drew nearer.

How she would miss them! In the few short weeks she'd lived at Manticore Manor, they'd become like family. And Mr. Griffin—Everett—he'd become the dearest of all.

He hadn't needed her to sit for him any more after the first week of working on the portrait, but they still shared luncheon together every day up in his studio. He'd told her more about his family. His father the investment broker, and his brother Alex who'd followed in their father's footsteps. His mother's love of watercolors and her obsessive desire to be part of the top tier of New York society. Callista told him of her father's love of tinkering despite his laughable lack of skill with mechanical things. Of how she'd often wished she'd had a sibling to play with when growing up. Of how books had offered her escape and solace after her mother passed.

Things had been progressing so well between them that she'd even gathered the courage to ask about the circumstances surrounding his injuries. He'd been slow to respond at first, but he didn't shut her out. He eventually poured out the entire story. A beautiful woman with an ethereal voice. An innocent portrait sketching session that deteriorated into shrieking violence. A young woman's mental instability, and her family's desperation to cover it up.

Throughout the telling, she'd felt his regret and an occasional tinge of bitterness, but the pain that she'd witnessed in his artwork had been absent from his recitation. The wound was no longer open and bleeding. Any infection had been cleared away, leaving new skin to grow. A scar of could have been lingered, marking the place where his life had taken a drastic turn, but he was healing, and she praised God that she'd been able to play some small role in that process.

If only she could get him to stop hiding himself away. Yes, people could be cruel, but they could also be kind once they realized they had nothing to fear. She'd been thrilled when he'd offered to drive the household to church last Sunday, but he'd insisted on staying with the carriage. He'd kept his coat collar turned up and his hat brim pulled low while standing guard from the churchyard shadows, on a mission to protect her from Ambrose Batton. Who hadn't even put in an appearance, thank the Lord.

She'd longed to introduce Everett to the Poindexters, especially Wade. Show the boy that he had nothing to fear from the master of Manticore Manor and show Everett that friendship with the community was possible. But she'd sensed that Everett would balk, so she kept her introductions to herself. Perhaps Mr. Lightfoot could convince him to take that step after Callista left.

Her posture wilted. She didn't want to leave. But she had no choice. Papa needed her, and she missed him terribly. If only there was a way for her to have Papa and Everett in her life at the same time.

A knock on the library's door drew her gaze from the bookshelves to land on the man dominating her thoughts of late. Instantly cheered, she smiled in welcome and hurried forward.