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“Your cat,” he said, regarding the offending creature’s hiding place with suspicion.

“Luna,” she corrected proudly. “And I believe she has taken a dislike to you.”

“An opinion she might have expressed with rather more civility.”

“Oh, but surely the Beast of Griffin cannot be frightened of one little cat?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Who is afraid now, Your Grace?”

Ambrose looked back at her. “I had been inclined to dismiss the rumors about your witchcraft as idle gossip. But between that extraordinary laughter and your black accomplice, I am beginning to reconsider.”

“Then perhaps you ought to leave before I turn you into something unpleasant.”

“I should hate to discover what you consider unpleasant.”

“Would you? You seem remarkably determined to test me.”

He was about to answer when the clouds shifted.

A narrow beam of the setting sun broke through and struck him directly across the face. Pain flared through his eyes, sharp enough to make him recoil. He turned away, lifting his hat and settling it back upon his head to shield himself from the light.

“I must get inside,” he said and to his relief, she stepped aside and he entered. She shut the door behind him.

For several seconds, he concentrated upon the familiar discomfort, waiting for the worst of the sudden sting to pass.

When he looked at her again, her amusement had faded.

“Your Grace?”

“You see,” he said, adjusting the brim of his hat, “I am a peculiarity of my own kind. I cannot face the sun.”

She glanced toward the window, then back at him. Her expression changed from concern to thoughtful curiosity, and he braced himself for the questions that so often followed any glimpse of his condition.

Instead, she tilted her head.

“Are you a vampire?”

Ambrose stared at her before an unwilling laugh escaped him.

“A vampire?”

“Well, you wear an enormous hat, avoid the sunlight, and have appeared in my cottage just as evening approaches. I believe I am entitled to wonder.”

“Then perhaps it is only fitting,” he replied. “The Beast marrying the Witch.”

“I beg your pardon? I do not recall agreeing to marry you.”

“I believe you will.”

“Oh, really?” She planted her hands upon her hips. “And what makes you so certain?”

Ambrose regarded her for a moment. He had enjoyed their exchange more than he cared to admit, but he had not come merely to trade insults with a beautiful woman. There was a reason he had ventured beyond the walls of Griffin Manor, and it was time she understood it.

“I saw what happened outside your glasshouse earlier,” he said. “I sat in my carriage and waited for nightfall. The woman who threatened you, and the children who ran away.”

He hadn’t been able to hear everything as the carriage door had to remain shut. But he’d heard enough. More importantly he had seen enough. The carriage was equipped with heavy black curtains that did not let in any light, but he could peer out if he was careful, which is exactly what he had done.

Marina’s expression became guarded. “Then you know precisely how welcome I am in this neighborhood.”

“I know that you had every reason to be angry with those children. Yet you did not appear angry. You seemed far more troubled by the fact that they were afraid of you.”