Miss Abigail's Beastly Beau by Maggie Dallen (amazing books to read TXT) 📕

“Why do you look like you’re going to cry again?”

“I’m not going to cry.” She was. But she’d let herself wallow in self-pity after she got home and the children ran off and this giant beside her was nowhere to be found. She felt foolish enough for being such a watering pot without this man standing by as a witness.

They walked in silence for a few moments, but she should have known he would not let it go. One thing she’d come to know well after weeks of daily visits was that his gruff nature was only rivaled by his stubbornness.

He took a step forward and in front so he blocked her path. The children kept going so she did not even have their laughter and chatter to distract her from his very sudden closeness. He was so close that she had to tip her head all the way back.

It was uncomfortable, really.

But that discomfort was nothing to the unease that swirled within her. Or...perhaps not unease. She wasn’t sure what it was.

Something was fluttering in her belly and her heart felt too big, and far too enthusiastic.

She had to draw in a deep breath to steady herself against this sudden uptick in her pulse and the way her limbs felt too heavy and her body too warm.

This man was many things, but above all he was magnetic. Undeniable. Even her body seemed to know this. It responded as though she were a puppet and he her master.

She frowned at the thought. No man would be her master. Certainly not this man. He didn’t even like her. And he’d made it clear that he was not staying in their little town for long.

His fingers touched her jaw again. And just like the last time, she froze and heated to molten liquid all at once. And like last time, she knew it was useless to fight against him when he urged her face upward so her gaze would meet his.

If he’d used strength—if he’d displayed any of that brute force which his friend Marcus had said he was known for—then she would have fought it.

But he was not tough and other than his callouses, he was far from rough.

He was...gentle. Tender. He touched her as though the slightest caress might cause her to shatter. “Tell me.”

So simple. So gruff. Not an order, though. If he’d used his typical tone of command she might have been able to turn away with a laugh. But he hadn’t. He’d simply asked. There was a hint of a plea in his voice that made her heart lurch, and his eyes were filled with such sincere concern it made her lower lip tremble all over again.

“It’s nothing really, I’m just...” She drew in a deep breath. “Just lonely, that’s all.”

That wasn’t all, in truth. But it was the easiest to explain, even if hearing the words aloud did make her feel utterly pathetic. She couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his eyes, and the ringing sounds of children around her made her words feel even more ridiculous.

She took a step back so his hand was forced to fall away. His touch unsettled her, and it did not help her to think. Glancing around at anything but him, she hurried on. “It’s silly, isn’t it? Minerva only just left. And it is not as though Sally and Rebecca will be gone for long.” She started walking again, dodging the large body before her to catch up with the children. “And Hattie won’t be sick forever. Although the way that girl reads, it’s sometimes easy to forget she’s in the house at all. And then there’s Father, of course—”

“You’re lonely.” The words fell on top of her like a boulder as he fell into step beside her.

The way he said it sounded like an accusation, not a question. She shrugged. She supposed it would be difficult for a man like him to understand. “I suppose you enjoy being on your own.”

He made a noise in his throat.

Right, then.

She assumed that was all he had to say on the matter, so when he actually spoke, she started. “After a lifetime at sea, living in cramped quarters and surrounded by men, I wouldn’t say I relish being on my own, but I am enjoying having my own space for once.”

She tilted her head back so she could stare up at him as they strolled slowly up the hill that led to the old fort. The cliffs were on their right, while her home sat at the end of the path and to the left.

He glanced down at her with his brows drawn together. “What?”

“That’s just...” She cleared her throat. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at once.”

He let out a huff that she suspected held amusement.

When the silence threatened to stretch into awkward territory, she plucked at the fabric of her skirts and tried again. “You were not there the other day,” she said. “To see Marcus and Minerva off.”

He kept his gaze straight ahead, frowning after the children. Was he annoyed by them or worried about them running off out of sight?

These were the silly questions that nagged at her when she was with him. The more time she spent with him, the more she knew with utmost certainty that there was more to him than meets the eye. For all his grunts and growls, he had a kind heart. Of this she was certain.

Because of his grunts and growls, she itched to get closer. To get past all that.

But he did not need her anymore, as he’d so rightly pointed out. He did not need her, and neither did her sisters.

Which left her with the children from town, but they were growing quickly and soon Nicholas would start to work in his father’s shop, and then Edith would be expected to help with the cooking and household chores, and Polly would be next to go—

“What was that?” His voice was so brisk she glanced up