Chapter 6
six
Two days after I pressed my lips against Baz’s shoe (an event which equal parts mortified and enthralled me), he failed to come downstairs for breakfast.
The first morning after he had arrived at Blackwell Manor, I entered the kitchen and found Baz there, trying to work the stove and putting on the kettle. I’d subsequently started my mornings earlier, but Baz would still come into the kitchen, normally whistling and much too bright.
On this particular morning, I had pulled the morning's biscuit and jam out. The tea was ready, and yet still he never appeared. I even stood at the bottom of the servant stairs peering up. Listening and waiting to hear his tread or the little hums he constantly made under his breath.
An hour went by. I checked out the windows, wondering if he’d slipped out, off to see one of the businessmen in town.
I put one foot on the bottom stair and hovered there, debating.
Then I climbed, one foot in front of the others.
It was ridiculous how nervous I felt. I used these stairs every day to get to the bedrooms, which I cleaned.
But I crept forward on light feet, afraid I’d disturb something or worse—be called silly.
The master of Blackwell Manor could take his meals whenever he wanted. He wasn’t forced to eat breakfast with me every morning.
Except what if something was wrong? I’d be remiss in my position if I didn’t come to the aid of my employer when he needed help.
The floorboard outside his door creaked. I stifled my breath, leaning an ear to the door. Silence.
Knocking meant disturbing that silence. And maybe the Manor heard my hesitation because the door handle clicked, unlocking itself.
The original Blackwells had imbued their manor with magic for their protection. As a servant, I caught glimpses. The occasional pulsing of power. Lights flickering if Master Blackwell needed help.
Was this a sign that the Manor’s new owner needed something?
If that were the case, why didn’t the Manor grab my attention earlier?
I opened the heavy door only to find stillness.
I’d been in this room plenty of times. Both when it belonged to Master Blackwell and now to Baz. I’d changed the sheets only yesterday.
Yet, it felt different. It wasn’t just a room needing new linens. Baz breathed deeply, not quite a snore. But a sign of deep slumber.
My heart slowed, my shoulders slumping. I shot a furious gaze at the ceiling as if I had the authority to offer up a remonstrance to the Manor.
Unprofessional. It was entirely unprofessional of me to be in here. If I were a valet, maybe, but it wasn’t left to me to wake and dress Baz.
But then again, what if the Manor were on to something?
I stepped into the room, getting closer to the large four-poster bed. Baz was tangled in a dark blue satin duvet that cost a fortune.
He didn’t appear ill, but it didn’t matter. I froze when I saw his naked chest. Thank the stars the sheets covered his legs because I couldn’t tell if he wore any clothes.
I stared for an embarrassingly long time at his muscles and the trail of hair leading downward.
You must breathe, I told myself. Because yes, that’s how much the shirtless man affected me.
Scattered around him were journals and letters. I noticed a pen and inkwell on the nightstand.
Our evenings in the library had started to go longer. And Baz had started to help me with my tasks. I kept telling him it wasn’t needed, but he did it anyway. The fool should’ve been focusing on his own affairs.
He stirred, letting out a deep sigh. “Tangwystle.”
He caught me in the middle of his room—a place I shouldn’t be—while he slept naked in his bed.
“I-I’m sorry.” I wrung my hands, taking a tiny step back. “I was worried you were ill. Y-you didn’t come down for breakfast.”
He rubbed his eyes, letting out another tired-sounding sigh. “You’re fretting about me?”
“N-no.” I merely cared about my employer.
“You are fretting about me.” He pushed himself up, the sheets shifting, threatening to give me an eyeful of something I increasingly wanted to see.
I knew the horrible irony of this moment. If Master Blackwell had ever tried to come into my chambers while I’d slept, I’d feel the force of his will on the encounter. But the worst thing is I realized in that moment that if Baz tried it. . . I wouldn’t have been as alarmed.
But that didn’t mean I got a free pass for showing up in this manner.
“I know you’re fretting, fairy,” he said, stretching his arms. The sheets shifted again, and I stood there, wringing my hands and averting my eyes. “You’re not wearing your pinafore.”
It still hung on its hook, downstairs in the kitchen. He teased me most mornings about wearing it. Especially, if he’d come downstairs too early and I was just tying it over my black dress.
“Can I get you anything, sir?” I asked, pretending like my cheeks weren’t scarlet. If he wanted me to bring a tray in, I could slip back down to the kitchen and put on my trusty pinafore.
He shifted, scooting closer to the edge of the bed, and held his hand out.
I went to him, my fingers brushing his. Not quite holding hands but definitely touching.
“Do I scare you, Tangwystle?” he whispered. A few seconds later, he added, “You can’t even look at me.”
And I really couldn’t. But my fingers wrapped around his, firmer. He pulled me closer, and I stepped in between his legs. I looked straight into his eyes, not daring to figure out how much the bed sheets did and didn’t hide.
“You were worried?” he asked.
“You didn’t come down to breakfast,” I murmured.
“I’m sorry.” He drew my hand closer, placing it over his heart. I swear his naked skin seared against my palm. “Will you forgive me?”
“It is not for me to forgive. I was worried.” The last words came out quieter.
“Fairy.”
I felt the weight of his hand over mine and took comfort in it. My heart skipped when he tugged it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my palm.
As much as I wanted to lean in. To give in to this beautiful, naked man sitting in his bed, I pulled my hand away.
His chest heaved, his eyebrows lifting.
We stared at one another, the silence pressing. I’m not sure if we both assumed the other would talk first. A stubborn corner of my mind urged me to put my foot down. To recall myself and my position.
“I am just a servant.”
He nodded.
“Do you sleep with all your servants?” I asked. I don’t think I could properly describe myself in that moment. I wanted to not care, to just get on with it. To spread my legs and let him fuck me.
But bile rose in my throat. I’d so adamantly sworn off finding myself in this position but now I feared his response.
I didn’t believe him to be like Rufus Clinemell, fucking his servants black and blue, but gentlemen can give parts of themselves away and never fear the consequences.
Never care about the damage. About the tears and heartbreak, because they get to go to the next ball and find someone else to dance with.
“No. No, Tangwystle.” Baz took a deep breath, his chest swelling. “I don’t sleep with most women I meet.”
I wanted that to be true. “Just those that you can trap?”
Little fairies that should’ve known better.
He frowned, his whole brow wrinkling. “Do you think you are trapped?”
“I have a contract.” It would be hard to find such good terms elsewhere.
He looked down, gathering his thoughts. And then in a hoarse voice said, “I’m sorry, Tangwystle, I. . .”
“Why do you not sleep with most women you meet?” I don’t know where this question came from, but I wanted to evaluate where I stood in the lineup. If he didn’t sleep with women, high or low born, I wanted to know why.
“Because I am very particular,” he said evenly, meeting my eye.
Me. On my knees. Kissing his shoe.
I understood. I just didn’t understand what it meant for me. The fact that I liked it. That I wanted more.
“My safety,” I tried my best to explain, “is due to this Manor. I cannot risk being thrown out.”
Out onto the streets with the other scavengers. Trying to find work where I’d break my back scrubbing while trying to protect my backside from wandering hands.
“And you think I’d throw you out?” Baz shot me another injured look.
“Men can do whatever they like.”
“Do you know my guardian, the one who was to inherit this manor from Master Blackwell?” I nodded and he went on. “He has a cousin. He was meant to inherit the Manor, but when your Master Blackwell passed and the lawyer found the paperwork in Blackwell’s desk the name read out my guardian’s.”
I remember the lawyer asking if I’d seen anyone searching among Master Blackwell's papers.
“The lawyer took it to mean the Manor decided on a worthier owner. I cannot,” he said quickly as if the Manor might be listening to him, “say that I am worthy, but it passed to me upon his death. And it’s not kicked me out yet because I try my best to be worthy of it.
Because at the end of the day, I am a guest in this Manor made of magic.
Tangwystle, have you never noticed how this Manor responds to you? ”
How daft could he be? That’s what I thought to myself, but he continued. “Have you never noticed how the windows open to let you hear the birds sing?”
No. I always shut them, thinking the latches were loose.
“The fires in a room go out as soon as you leave.”
The kitchen hearth was my main concern. And honestly, he couldn’t really believe a manor as wonderful as Blackwells took notice of little old me.
He tucked a piece of my dark hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering along my skin. “This Manor will kick me out well before it kicks you out.”
I know what you must be thinking, reader. Silly girl, here is a man telling you things to make you believe.
But the door shut, and I knew Baz might have magic, but it was nothing compared to the old, wizened power imbued in the Manor.
Baz could no more control this house than I could.
He might light the fires and use a bit of magic to help me dust, but he could never truly change the structure of the place.
And call me foolish, but I began to wonder. I’d treated this old Manor with its beauty and splendor, with care and respect. I’d polished the floors when others scuffed through. I’d washed the windows so light would shine through. I’d watered the garden and pulled weeds.
I’d given it all these things, not just because of a contract I’d signed as a servant. The home had provided shelter for me, and so I’d provided it with attention to detail. Master Blackwell loved his home, but he could no more keep up with it than a child knew how to tie his bootlaces.
“Tangwystle,” Baz whispered. “I do not take what is not mine.”
My stomach dipped. Yes, sometimes he ordered me to do things. But his stern voice did something to me. Fulfilled a craving I’d never wanted to examine.
I took a tiny step forward, my only response.
Tender. That’s how Baz looked at me. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his black hair messy from sleep.
I stood between his knees. I still couldn’t look down, though. I desperately wanted to admire him. To sink to my knees like two nights ago.
But I waited.
Baz’s hands smoothed over my curves, gliding down my black dress. They found the hem below my knees and lifted. Fingers skimmed along the backs of my legs, my breath picking up. Slow and smooth, Baz traced along my skin.
Then his hands were on my ass, fingers toying with the waistband of my panties.
“You don’t need to wear these anymore,” he said softly. “You never need to wear them, do you understand?”
I nodded, but he sternly looked at me and I shyly said, “Yes, sir.”
He dragged them down my legs, stickiness stringing from the fabric. The panties fell to the floor, pooling around my ankles.
“Thank you, sir,” I murmured, heat pooling in my stomach at the spark of something feral in his eyes when I said those words.
He went back to skimming his fingers across the back of my legs, feeling every inch of me. I stood on my tiptoes when he kneaded my ass, my hands falling onto his shoulders.
His forehead bowed forward, touching my stomach. Only his hands worked under the fabric, my dress keeping me perfectly covered.
He never moved to touch me where the wetness grew the most. Just traces along the backs of my thighs and the occasional kneading of my ass.
He lifted my leg, one foot stepping out of the panties, and then did the same with the other.
His hands gripped my hips, and he pressed a kiss to my belly through the fabric of my dress.
I waited for the word. To be told to drop to my knees, but it never came.
His hands retracted from under my dress, and he stood, the sheets falling from him.
I did not have time to inspect what I so desperately wanted.
Baz’s fingers pinched my chin, tipping my face, and his lips pressed to mine, unsurprisingly firm. He bit the corner of my lip, and when I gasped, his tongue slid into my mouth, his arm tightening around my waist.
Then he released me—breathless and disoriented.
“Go on, fairy,” he dismissed me, turning me and swatting my ass.
I jerked forward, dimly wondering if perhaps the Manor would like to keep me locked in here. After all, we were both primed and ready for it.
But the handle turned easily. I glanced back to find he’d already tugged a sheet around his waist.
“Fairy,” he warned as he gathered the journals and letters on his bed.
I turned and left, leaving my wet panties on the floor of his bedchamber.