Bella and the Beast by Olivia Drake Read Free Book Online Page A

don’t know why women wear such impractical nonsense.”
    Bella had done so because she’d wanted to play the part of a well-groomed English lady. Lila had assured her that the straw bonnet was the very latest style. Bella disliked the wide brim, but Aylwin’s rudeness irked her into saying, “I thought gentlemen were trained to offer compliments, not criticism.”
    â€œI am no gentleman. Now, you really must take it off.”
    Before she realized his intent, his hand flashed out to yank on the ribbons tied beneath her chin. He plucked the bonnet from her hair, pivoted sharply, and dropped the hat onto the head of a tall stone goddess with the face of a lioness.
    â€œThere,” he said on a note of grim satisfaction. “Now I can see if you really are who you claim to be, Miss Jones .”
    Shocked, Bella reached up to pat her uncovered hair. She felt exposed and outraged by his imperious action. The place where his fingers had brushed against her throat burned from his touch.
    She checked the impulse to grab for the bonnet. How was she to retrieve it without looking like a fool? It was out of her reach, and anyway, she needed to remember that her purpose here was to charm the beast into employing her as his curator.
    Nevertheless, the audacity of his action made her seethe.
    With effort, she kept her voice modulated. “I am indeed Isabella Jones. Who else would I be? And I fail to see how removing my hat would prove my identity, anyway.”
    â€œThat remains to be seen. Come with me.”
    On that cryptic remark, Aylwin wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and pulled her deeper into the labyrinth of artifacts. Bella drew in a breath to object, but a whiff of his alien masculine scent warned her to be cautious. Aylwin was nothing like her openhearted brother or her mild-mannered father. By stark contrast, the duke had an intimidating nature that complemented his superior height and physical strength. In less than ten minutes, he’d proven himself to be harsh, dictatorial, unpredictable. His thoughts were as incomprehensible to her as the strange symbols chiseled on many of the stone relics.
    At least she’d had the sense to hide the dagger on her person. If he tried anything untoward, she would make him very sorry.
    But at the moment, he merely escorted her to the wall of windows and released her arm. Planting his hands at his waist, he surveyed her from head to toe and back up again. “Your hair is a middling brown,” he pronounced. “Hers was lighter than yours, almost blond.”
    â€œHers? Who?”
    â€œIsabella Jones. Sir Seymour’s daughter.”
    Bella blinked. How could he have known her hair color as a child? Understanding struck in a blinding flash. “Are you saying … you were in Egypt, too? At the same time that I was there?”
    He inclined his head in agreement. “I accompanied my father on the expedition and helped out at the work site. Whether or not you were the nosy little girl sneaking around the camp, peeking into everyone’s tent, remains in question.”
    She tried to absorb the news. How amazing to think that she’d met Aylwin already—although he had not been the duke then, only the heir. And she remembered the fragment of a scene that had come to her when Lady Milford had told her about the sojourn in Egypt.
    â€œI was too young to remember very much,” Bella said. “I only recall one incident. I was trying to dig a hole in the sand and it kept refilling. I remember hearing a boy laugh at my efforts. Was that you?”
    He gave a quick, impatient shrug. “I’ve no recollection of it. I’m afraid I’ll need better proof than that of your identity.”
    â€œHow do I know your memories of me are accurate?” she countered. “How old were you ?”
    â€œThirteen. And I shall conduct the questioning here. Tell me, why should I trust that you’re Sir