Beau and the Beastess

Chapter Four - Beau

Feeling along the wall as he moved, Beau managed to get up the stairs without falling backwards. He'd gotten very dependent on his walking stick over the years, and found it frustrating to be without it. Still, he would rather be left to find his way around, than be manhandled as he'd been earlier.

Beau followed the scent of food, figuring he'd end up either in the dining room or the kitchen, where he'd be able to ask to be pointed in the right direction.

He wasn't sure of the time, but guessed if he could smell the food, then he must at least be close to accurate in his timing.

When he rounded a corner, he heard the lilting tone of his captor's voice.

"I see my assumptions were correct," she said, somewhat arrogantly, and he contained his sigh of relief that he'd arrived at his destination.

Although he couldn't see her, he'd felt her rage earlier, and he knew she'd be a formidable foe if he got on her bad side.

Beau was surprised, but tried not to show it, when he felt a rough hand touch his elbow, guiding him to a chair at the table.

"Thank you," he said softly, and heard her soft intake of breath.

He sat and waited. The woman had said he'd learn why she'd taken him at dinner, but he didn't want to anger her by being impatient and asking for an explanation again.

Beau heard the scraping of the chair legs against the floor, then the sound of her sitting and pulling herself up to the table.

Curious, he asked, "Will you tell me your name?"

"Haven't I already?" she asked, sounding truly surprised. "I'm so sorry, I was so excited by your arrival that I forgot my manners. I'm Annabelle."

Excited by his arrival? He really didn't understand this situation at all.

"I'd say it's nice to meet you, Annabelle, but I try not to lie if I can help it."

A startled laugh left her lips, and Beau wondered at the contrast of this woman. At times she sounded like a wild animal, while others, like a normal, even sweet, woman.

"I too like to be honest, so, like I promised, I'll tell you why you're here. You may not believe what I have to say, but I swear to you, it is one-hundred percent true."

Beau held his breath as he waited to find out why he'd been taken.

"I am not from this place," she began, and Beau had to admit, it wasn't a great start. He wondered if maybe she had a mental disorder of some sort. "Nineteen years ago, on my sixteenth birthday, I was a sweet, happy, young girl, ready for my first ball and set to meet my betrothed, when my Aunt Georgina put a curse on me. Jealous of my parents' love, she sought to hurt them by taking away the one thing they treasured most, me. She cursed me to this place, and transformed me into a hideous beast. In order for the spell to be broken, I have to find someone to love me, in spite of my outward appearance, by my thirty-fifth birthday. If I don't, I will forever stay here, in this land, as The Beast."

As he listened to her fairy tale, Beau felt the stirrings of familiarity, but shook it off and asked, "So, you kidnapped me in hopes that we'd fall in love?"

Annabelle cleared her throat, and he could tell his question embarrassed her.

"Yes," she admitted. "The Driver has been bringing men here that fit your description, since I realized that it was impossible for me to meet men as a normal woman would."

"Men that fit my description?" Beau prompted.

"Yes. Tall, slender of build, but strong, with handsome features and brownish hair."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because the photograph I saw of my intended showed him to look that way. I know it's silly, since he and I never had the chance to meet before I was sent away, but I figured if anyone could love me, it would be a man like my betrothed."

"But it hasn't worked?"

"No," Annabelle admitted. "So far no one has been able to see beyond The Beast."

"So, I was taken because I'm blind?"

"The Driver is the one who found you. I don't know why I never thought of it before—it's brilliant actually. You are the first man who may actually be able to see me for who I am, without my looks distracting you."

"But you're holding me against my will," Beau argued. "How could you think I'd fall in love with you under these circumstances?"

Beau knew he'd spoken too bluntly when he felt her anger hit him like a shield.

"Are you saying you wouldn't even try to get to know me?" she bit out, her voice trembling with barely controlled rage.

"I don't see how I can, not when you're keeping me a prisoner, and you've admitted that you've done the same with countless other men. When will you turn thirty-five?"

"In a month's time."

"A month?" Beau asked, incredulously. "You must be mad."

He felt something sail past his face then flinched at the sound of glass breaking against the wall. Beau reached his hand out, hoping to calm Annabelle down.

When he made contact, the strangest thing happened. Something shot through him like lightening, rocking him back in his seat. He'd barely had a chance to recover when he heard her roar and storm out of the room, but he was too startled to be shaken by her exit. When Beau's skin had touched Annabelle's, he'd felt almost a familiarity...a sense of déjà vu.

Beau turned in his seat, but knew it was too late—she was gone. Furious, and more than likely hurt, by his rejection of not just her hope of love, but of her fairy tale like story.

Confused by the feelings still shooting through him, Beau sat alone at the dining room table, and wondered what was going on.