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Wind screamed over the cliff, rattling the window panes with a phantom’s cold breath. Just the way he liked it.

Charles Hansard, Viscount Ashworth, swirled the brandy in his chipped glass, then swallowed it in a gulp. He’d had more than enough. It no longer held a taste. He waited in the darkened room for the clock to tick off several minutes. Let the girl squirm a bit before he entered, then she could flee in gratitude like the others before her.

He would not return to London this year, nor any other. He’d had enough of the ton’s whispers and glances. Nay, he’d not give them something else to discuss over tea or at their dreadful balls.

The cracked leather chair squeaked as he stood. It was time to set this next victim free. Despite his mother’s attempts at bribing girls with his wealth, Ashworth knew they feared him. He saw the terrified glaze in their eyes. No well-bred daughter wanted to marry The Monster.

He entered the rarely used parlor through the study’s adjoining door, expecting to find the girl trembling in the corner. That’s what they usually did. Hell, they all looked alike to him. Whether tall or short, dark or light, all of society’s debutantes paled at the sight of his hideous scar.

This one stood with her back to him, head angled up at a faded painting, the subject barely distinguishable. Instead of an expensive silk gown and fancy hat, this girl wore only a simple brown dress. Dark hair twisted down her back in a single braid.

“You may take your leave,” Ashworth said. He leaned against a column and waited for her to run.

Her spine stiffened noticeably, but she didn’t make a move for the door.

“Go on. Leave. I don’t take kindly to strangers.”

She wheeled around, her eyes, darker than a moonless night, challenged him. “And I don’t take kindly to self-pitying eccentrics. Have the marriage contract drawn up. I’m not going anywhere.”

He must not have heard her correctly. No one wanted to stay in this appalling, crumbling house. No one wanted to be near him. “I won’t hold you to my mother’s bargain. Go.”

Her olive skin flushed. “I will not go. I have agreed to marry you. Let us sign the contract so that the wedding can take place.”

Ashworth shoved a hand through his hair. Who was this girl and what the hell was wrong with her? None of the others had insisted on marrying him. Nay, they all ran like frightened kittens.

Something was driving her to desperation. Her curvaceous frame, obvious even in the plain clothing, did not appear to carry a bastard child. Her stomach looked flat and her breasts were full but not ripened for a babe’s hungry mouth. What brought her to him? Whatever the reason, it did not matter; he wouldn’t be the one to absolve her of her troubles.

He cleared his throat. “My mother fancies herself a grandmother. She will get those infants through one of her daughters. I do not wish to wed.” He went over and opened the parlor door, its creak echoing in the room. “Go.”

The stubborn girl stayed put. “From what I understand, you have no choice.”

“No choice? Certainly I do.”

She crossed her arms under her breasts, drawing his gaze. Ashworth looked away and focused on the clawed branches swaying outside the window. He wouldn’t be tempted by her feminine charms. She would not sway his stance. The Monster lived alone.

The girl lifted her chin. Did he detect a tremble of her lip? “You should have a talk with your mother.”

Icy fingers gripped his heart. She couldn’t do this to him. Yet, his own mother would use anything for her greediness, even an innocent child. Ashworth sucked in a deep breath of air, but his temples still pounded. “What did she tell you?”

The girl blinked, saying nothing. The clock ticked like a noisy heartbeat. Somewhere in the house a bell rang for a servant. At last, she wiped her hands on her skirt. “I only know that you must marry soon. I do not know why.”

Did she truly not know or just know better than to admit it? No matter, he could scare this girl away and then deal with his mother’s threat later.

Ashworth pulled himself up to his full height. Intimidation. Eventually this girl would submit to it, just like all the rest. Even the boldest antelope eventually fell to the mighty lion.

He crossed the room in long strides and stood within inches of her. She smelled of wild honeysuckle. He narrowed his eyes and scowled, deepening his scar to its most hideous. “You’ll not want to be married to me.”

She flinched, but only for the briefest moment. “Do not be so certain. What makes you believe you are different from any other man?”

Had she known another man? Is this what brought her to him? “I am not like other men. I have certain tastes. Odd preferences.”

“Living in an old decaying manor? Reclusive from society?” She lifted a rounded shoulder. “They do not bother me.”

He would learn what bothered her.