Chapter 18
eighteen
“You’re very handsome,” Gretel quietly told Baz one evening.
I finished tying Baz’s tie and placed a kiss on his cheek. He’d shaved yesterday, but already shadows grew along his sharp cheekbones.
When I tried to step back, he dragged me in for a kiss on the lips. Quick and hard.
“You’ll both be all right tonight?” He smoothed his suit jacket.
He’d put off the Clinemell’s dinner invitation long enough. Tonight he’d go to their manor and enjoy dinner. Or at the very least, check this little task off his to-do list.
I half feared he’d do something. Burst into a tangent about men being brutes or make a witty comment that would give too much away. A glib comment would make Rufus suspicious of Baz and Blackwell Manor. It’d cause him to call in more often or to have his valet swing by unprompted.
Baz, of course, shared nothing about his opinions on the matter. He’d simply told us the day before that it had to occur, but that he already missed us. Gretel softened at his words, the lovesick girl, but I caught the tightness in her shoulders.
Baz strode toward her after kissing me and pulled her into his chest.
“Your suit will wrinkle,” I reminded.
Baz whispered into Gretel’s ear before kissing her.
“You’re trying not to attract attention,” I grumbled under my breath.
He whispered into Gretel’s ear again, both laughing. Most likely at what I’d just said.
And then Baz left.
The Manor, as much as I loved it, seemed unbearably large with his absence.
Gretel remained in the corner, eyes cast down.
I don’t think she was truly sad for herself but rather worried about Baz.
Either about his personal safety at the Clinemell Manor (though I doubted Rufus would dare lay hands on him, at least not with a crowd) or about what he would find out about the place.
All of us knew Gretel’s entanglement, and we never blamed her for the choices she made.
But I’d never seen such a serious, sad side to Gretel before.
With her hands clasped in front of her, she said, “Baz told me I could order you to do whatever I wanted.”
I lifted my brows, but I wasn’t shocked. Baz and I had discussed this earlier. About keeping Gretel’s mind off things.
“And what is it that you want me to do to you?” I asked.
I’ll admit I expected a cheeky grin.
Instead, almost shyly, Gretel said, “If it’s not too much trouble, really I just want to be held.”
I could’ve turned into a puddle of tears right then and there.
“Let’s go to the library,” Gretel suggested, pulling herself up the stairs.
“Hold on,” I told her. We stood in the grand foyer, and it’d be easy enough to get to the library. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else?”
She shook her head.
“I made you some sticky buns.” Drug-free this time.
Gretel smiled at that, but it still wasn’t the ear-splitting grin I’d come to love. “You’d really let me have sugar this late at night?”
An aggrieved sigh escaped me.
“You do care about me,” she said and escaped down the servants’ stairs to the kitchen.
My mouth opened and closed as I followed her. “I. . .”
She turned back, listening.
“I-I really do care about you,” I told her. My entire chest vibrated as I tried to steady my breath.
Gretel stayed still for a moment. Her face was devoid of any emotion. Then she stepped closer to me. And kissed me.
“I know you do,” she said. “And you know I’ve always loved you.”
My heart jumped into my throat.
I should give her credit for understanding how I always needed a moment to process things. So while she grabbed sticky buns and made us some tea, I gathered my heart back up. I pushed it back into my chest and realized that the fullness I felt wasn’t tight or uncomfortable.
And better yet—my chest was no longer hollow.
In the library, we settled on the floor in front of the fire. It was Baz’s particular spot, but it gave us ample room.
I read one of my utterly filthy books, as Baz liked to call them. Gretel sat in between my legs, staring at the dancing flames of the fireplace. Her head nestled between my breasts, and for a long time, the only thing we heard was the crackle of the fire and the clock ticking.
Occasionally, I’d stroke Gretel’s hair, trying to act normal but secretly desperate to know what was on her mind. She didn’t want to talk, though, so I didn’t press. At least not at first, but Gretel knew me well.
“Are you upset with me?” she sighed.
I peered down at her over the edges of my book. “Of course not.”
“You think I’m stupid.”
“I think Rufus is a horrible man.”
“But I allowed him to fuck me.”
“Yes, you did,” I agreed. “But he broke your boundaries.”
She wiggled where I held her. “You know I like pain. . . when we’re doing stuff.”
By this point, Baz had helped me understand how pain and pleasure walked a fine line.
“Did you like it when he whipped your skin to bits?”
She shuddered, and I regretted my harsh tone. But I wanted her to know it wasn’t her fault.
“Clinemell is the one in the wrong. There is no sex haze that dismisses the idea that he didn’t know he was hurting you,” I said.
She hadn’t been able to walk for days after.
“But you judge me for fucking Clinemell. I see it on your face.”
My dour expressions never had helped me. “That’s not true.”
She stirred, peeking up at me.
I told her the truth. “I wanted you to fuck me,” I admitted.
She blinked. And then a coy smirk stretched along her face.
I hid behind my book, and the fire crackled.
But then a few moments later, I felt Gretel’s hand on my knee as she turned to face me.
“Wystle,” she whispered. “What are you reading?”
I continued to hide my face.
“Is it a good book?” she asked.
“Yes.”
I heard the smile in her voice. “Is it making you wet?”
I almost flung the book down. “Why would you ask me that?”
She laughed as she got onto her hands and knees. “I can tell. Now let me take a look at what’s under your dress.”
I tried to swat her hand, but she laughed again. And then took me by the shoulder and pushed me until my back completely hit the floor.
“What are you doing?” I asked, wiggling.
She pushed my knees further apart. “I want to lick your pussy.”
I shot her a stern look. “I tell you when to do that.”
But something danced in her green eyes. “Not tonight.”
I groaned. Baz had said she could do whatever she wanted. I’d assumed that meant she’d want me to be doing the things to her and not the other way around. But Gretel so rarely took control, I could see where her temptation came from.
“Gretel—”
She tutted. “Stay where you are Wystle. Or else.”
There wasn’t much heat behind her threat, but it didn’t matter. My back arched when she sucked on my clit, not taking it easy on me at all.
But as fiercely as she started, her ministrations grew softer. Her licks gentler.
“Gretel!” I demanded.
Her breath tickled my thighs as she laughed.
I tried to sit up. “There will be payback.”
Stars. The sight of her sitting up, her bosom heaving and her cheeks red as she spread my thighs further brought a shot of want to my sensitive pussy. “Is that meant to be a threat?” she asked sweetly before diving back between my thighs.
And that’s how Baz found us. I was on the floor, my back arching as she teased my clit and speared her tongue into my cunt.
He cocked his head to the side, leaning against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. “No wonder no one came to greet me when I got in.”
Something obscene tore from my lips as I rode a crashing wave. Gretel popped back up, still looking like a goddess.
“Well done, pet. You made fairy’s eyes roll back into her head.” Baz chuckled and walked over to Gretel. He swooped down to kiss her, licking my arousal from her face.
She leaned into him, but, unusual for him, he didn’t play.
“What’s wrong?” I panted as I sat up.
Gretel’s brow wrinkled as she studied the man. “Something happened.”
He kissed the back of her hand. Calm and tender. “Not in the way you think.”
“What is it?” I asked impatiently, pulling my knees to my chest. He smirked when I smoothed my dress down, but I shot him a look telling him to get on with it.
Running a hand through his dark locks, he shrugged. “Please don’t hate me, fairy. But I’ve agreed to host a ball.”
My mouth tumbled open. “A ball? Here?”
Gretel had the audacity to squeal. She even clapped her hands.
“No!” I chided her. “No,” I told Baz.
Blue eyes smoldering at me, but I would not be swept away by his charm and handsome looks.
“A ball? Here?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Think of how lovely it will be,” Gretel said.
The fire flickered, the tips burning blue. That meant the Manor agreed, and I was seriously outnumbered.
“When?” I asked Baz. “Why?”
“Because the masses think it will be amusing. And because the masses must be amused,” he said.
“It’s not up to us to amuse the masses,” I retorted.
“It has to happen?” I asked. Master Blackwell rarely hosted dinners, let alone balls.
There’d be dancing and drinking. Carriages would need to be organized, and invitations would need to be sent.
There’d be the gossip before and the gossip after.
And the gossip after would most certainly be rating Blackwell Manor.
It wasn’t like Baz and I were jointly hosting the party, letting people into our home and wining and dining the fine women and men of the town. But I wouldn’t allow anyone who came into Blackwell Manor to find it lacking.
“I tried to put it off,” Baz admitted. “As amusing as people find me, I’m not prone to liking people in my home. But it came at the cost of appearing rude and the town is on the cusp of ravaging one another if there isn’t some form of entertainment soon.”
The savages. The rich folk of the town needed to be distracted from their oh, so tiring lives of boring teatimes in drawing rooms and the everyday amusements of the opera and theater.
Baz understood people, and he saw how the town urged for something new. Something fresh. It would ease tensions around business deals and bring gentlemen to the table as they watched their wives and daughters dress up.
Clever, as always, but it brought with it a laundry list of things to prepare.
And more importantly. “You’re putting Gretel at risk.”
Gretel frowned. “No.” She hurried on when she saw my face. “I will help you with everything. The cleaning, preparing the refreshments and helping with all the tasks you’re no doubt already compiling. Think of what we can come up with for the decorations!”
“And the night of the ball, you’ll actually agree to hide in the pantry the whole time?”
Disappointment creased her face. That’s all I needed to know.
“No, wait!” she cried out, scooting closer to me. “It could be a masquerade.”
“What?” I asked.
“If everyone wears a mask,” she said. “Then no one will discover who I am.”
“That’s still a huge risk.” I looked to Baz for support, but he appeared deep in thought.
She made a puppy dog face, and I sighed. He might not agree to it tonight, but he would soon.
“Fine,” I said, standing up and still doubting this undoubtedly stupid idea. “Let’s throw a masquerade ball.”