by MJ Haag
“Then you should try to discover them. Or find new ones. How is it?” I asked after he chewed for several moments.
“Horrible,” he said bluntly, setting down the slice.
I laughed, stole his slice so I wouldn’t need to saw through the tartlet again, and took a small bite. It tasted fine, but the texture ruined it.
“This isn’t bad for a first try. I think we overbaked it or had the flame too high. Let’s try again.”
We made three more tartlets as the day progressed. The final one passed with both our approvals, though it was far from the fine dishes the beast could magic.
After finishing the last bite, I stood with a sigh. “We better start washing if we want to see our beds yet tonight.”
“Wash?” he asked, staring at me in partial dread.
“The pots, pans, spoons, and every surface in here. I think we spattered eggs on the ceiling.” I pointed up at a spatter I’d watch fly from the beast’s mixing bowl during our first attempt.
“No,” he said firmly.
“I understand.”
While cooking, his cooperation had been easily gained by asking for his help and praising his efforts. Earning his cooperation for cleaning would require more than a request for assistance and a word of thanks.
I bent and started unlacing my boots. My feet hurt from standing stationary for most of the day, and I wanted to walk barefoot on the cool stone floor. But mostly, I knew how it would look to the beast.
“If you don’t want to help, you won’t upset me; but I do ask that you leave so you’re not in my way.” I pulled off one boot then the other. “If you stay, I’ll put you to work.”
I stood with a stretch and felt his eyes on me as I went to fetch some water. He watched me put it on the fire to warm. Knowing I had his attention, I stood before the flames for a moment and lifted my underskirt to wipe my face, exposing a leg all the way to mid-thigh.
Behind me, the beast’s chair scraped against stone as he pushed away from the table. I dropped my skirt back into place. He hadn’t moved fast enough to see anything; but without a doubt, he knew he’d missed some sort of view.
“Are you helping?” I asked, turning to arch a brow at him innocently. “If not, you’re in my way.”
“I will help for a while,” he said reluctantly, glancing at my skirts.
I suppressed my triumphant grin.
We cleaned for a long while. When he did something especially helpful, I thanked him and did something innocently to reveal a bit of skin. In my mind, it was nothing he hadn’t already viewed when I’d spent the day naked in his presence. But the glimpses seemed to have an even greater effect.
A glimpse of my bare calf when I stood on a chair while trying to wipe the ceiling had him watching me inconspicuously afterward. He always watched me, but his attempt to watch me without being obvious called his regard to even more attention.
When I moved the hot water from the fire, I used my outer skirt to protect my hand and left only my underskirt to cover me. He stood washing the butcher block, and I knew the fire glowed through my skirts and outlined my legs.
“We never addressed the issue of my underclothes,” I said, turning toward him innocently. “Do I get them back?” I walked the water to the washtub and waited for his answer.
“They will be there when you need them,” he answered hoarsely.
I thanked him and kept working.
For the remainder of the night, I focused on not displaying anything else.
* * * *
The underclothes did not reappear the next morning, and I smiled as I picked out a dress to wear. Another plain one, though the wardrobe kept its usual variety.
Not wanting him to grow bored with any one task, I decreed we would try to discover some of his old pastimes. I knew what a few of those were and honestly did not want him to think about them once again, so I took him to the last place we would find them.
Connected to the library, a door led to the Lord’s study. We breached the dusty room on the pretext of looking for clues.
On the desk sat an open ledger. I glanced at it casually when I walked a circle around the small room. Many of the books that lined the shelves were past ledgers or family accounts of daily life. A feminine swirl covered the open pages of the most current ledger. The last number noted had been underscored with force. Thirty-seven gold. An astounding amount to me, but for a vast estate it seemed a bit sparse.
“How many servants used to live here?” I asked, coming back to the study door, leaving the room undisturbed.
“Twenty, at any given time,” he said, his eyes following me.
I caught a glimpse of something in their depths, but it disappeared quickly. It made me feel vulnerable, as if he knew my game.
I nodded, acknowledging his answer, but said nothing.
“Have you ever danced, Benella?”
“Yes,” I said, wondering why he asked.
“I want to show you something.” He reached for my hand and wrapped his fingers around my own.
Frowning at our joined hands, I followed where he led, to a large cavernous room with a polished wood floor. The curtains were pulled back and the windows thrown open. A pair of songbirds perched on the sill of one window and picked up a soft melody, and I added birds to the list of creatures who may have once been human. With a quick sinking dread, I thought of all the traps I’d set near the estate and hoped I’d never accidentally eaten someone.
The beast spun me about and caught me tight to his chest. I tilted my head back to look up at him as he swept me into a twirling dance that swirled my skirts around my legs. My feet skimmed the floor as he guided me through unfamiliar moves. The quick turns he executed made my head spin, and I laughed, which spurred him to twirl me faster. One of his hands rested on my lower back, its heat penetrating my dress until I could barely focus on the dance. I found the sensation...odd. Not disturbing, just different.
During moments like these, I liked the beast most. He seemed playful and earnest and willing to please.
The birds ended their song, and the beast guided me to a halt but did not release me. I looked at him expectantly, still smiling.
“I recall thinking dancing tedious,” he said slowly. “A social requirement. I believe I may have misunderstood it. It has so much more potential.” A small grin tugged his lips. “Especially when I know my partner isn’t wearing her underclothes.”
My brows shot up before I could stop myself.
Using the hand not anchored to the small of my back, he reached up and began to untangle my braid, reminding me he was no tame beast.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s been a month,” he said with a slight purr in his voice. “I can touch you now.”
My heart froze and panic claimed me.
“Breathe, Benella,” the beast said softly.
“Stop.” The word came out strangled, but I found the strength to push against him.
His iron grip tightened for a moment before he withdrew his hands. My release eased my fears a little.
“You will not use me like you did—” I took a calming breath. “If you abuse me, I will leave,” I vowed. “And no threat will incite me to return.”
The beast scowled at me.
“You have the ability to ruin a perfectly good day,” he said.
“How did I ruin it? I wasn’t the one contemplating forcing myself on another.” I glared back at him.
He growled at me then looked out the window, clearly frustrated but keeping his distance.
“You have Rose if you recall,” I said. “Save your attentions for her. I’m only your inspiration.”
“You haven’t been very inspiring,” he replied, referring to his last attempt.
“If I’m too inspiring, people get hurt.”
He had the grace to flinch, showing he truly regretted his actions. He needed better control. How could I teach him self-denial, though?
“What is something you find complete
ly uninspiring?” I asked.
He scowled at me and remained silent. I understood his meaning.
“If you can find something that uninspires you, something you can use to calm yourself and prove to me that it works, I will make an effort to be more inspiring.”
I left him in the sunlit room.
He absented himself from my presence the remainder of the day and the two days following. I kept myself busy in the library, reading a book I’d found about fishing and the various baits to try depending on the weather and time of day. Occasionally, I would feel as if someone watched me; but when I looked up, no one would be there.
Trays would appear beside me at random times. Looking at the dishes, I knew he had made several of them himself, and I fought not to grin triumphantly. Cooking did not indicate reform, but it did show progress.
* * * *
On the third morning, I discovered the garden fully weeded and walked back inside, confused. After that, I began an exploration of the manor and found several things changed. Poorly washed linens hung in the laundry, there was a large supply of firewood in the kitchen, and it smelled as if someone had scrubbed the floor in the main entry.
“Sir?” I called loudly.
The mist rolled along the floor almost immediately.
“What?” The clipped word and his volume spoke his irritation.
“I’m curious what you’ve been doing these last few days.”
He snorted.
“Trying to find something uninspiring.”
“Any luck?” I kept any trace of humor from my voice.
“What do you think?”
I ignored his sarcasm.
“Have you tried reviewing the ledgers of past Lords to determine what in that year made the estate profitable and what lost the estate money? I wouldn’t start with anything recent. Perhaps two generations back? Look for a pattern and try to determine what you would have done differently.”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he stalked off, taking his mist with him.
I endured another uneventful day.
* * * *
The beast woke me by barging into my room. He wore trousers and a mostly unbuttoned shirt.
“I’m ready to try again today,” he said.
I sat up slowly, letting the covers fall away. The gossamer gown left little to the imagination.
“The ledgers proved uninspiring?” I asked as I lifted the covers off my legs and slid from the bed.
The mist quickly gathered around him.
“Yes.”
I went to the wardrobe and picked out another plain gown.
“I’m ready to try again,” he repeated as if I’d not heard him.
Smiling over my shoulder, I nodded then turned my attention back to the gowns.
“You may be, but I require proof before prancing about you naked again. Please excuse me while I change,” I said calmly. “And no mist today,” I added when he moved to leave.
He growled and slammed the door, leaving me to dress.
A few minutes later, I emerged. He paced in the hallway, the mist completely absent.
I smiled in greeting.
“I thought we could play a game in the library.”
Not waiting for him, I moved down the hallway toward the library. His heavy footfalls sounded behind me after a moment.
When he saw me move toward the game board, he gave a slight growling groan of frustration.
“I tire of that game.”
Sitting on a padded chair, I looked up at him.
“But I do not. Please, sit,” I said, my tone more command than invitation.
His lip curled, but he sat. Several minutes into the game, I could sense his impatience boiling and decided it time to distract him. I’d selected the gown with care that morning. Most of the simple, appropriate gowns had two layers in the bodice, a finely woven soft underlay and a coarser overlay. The underlay, typically white, prevented the neckline from gaping if tied properly. I had tied it loosely.
Placing my elbow on the edge of the table, I leaned forward to rest my chin on my hand. After a moment, the beast ceased moving. I waited a heartbeat longer, then moved my piece with a satisfied smile before straightening.
When I looked up, his eyes studied the board intently.
In seven moves, the play had shifted to the far side of the board. I wanted to laugh at his wit. He could have ended the game but played his pieces for another purpose. I gave him what I knew he hoped for and stood slightly, bending at the waist to make my next move. He made a small noise, and I quickly looked up, a true frown on my face.
He met my gaze.
“Sir?” I questioned softly.
“Go eat,” he said.
I looked beyond him and saw a tray on the table.
“We will continue afterwards,” he said.
Only once I stood and moved away from him did I realize his growl had been missing. When I looked back at him, he was gone. Through the doors to his study, I caught a glimpse of him as he sat at his desk.
I grinned.
* * * *
The bed dipped, waking me enough that I rolled over. The beast’s hand smoothed my hair from my face.
“Sleep,” he whispered.
Instead of sinking back to sleep, his voice roused me further. He sounded sad.
“Restless dreams?”
“Yes.” He pulled me close to his side with a sigh.
I snuggled in, resting my head on his shoulder, and my hand on his chest. I gently patted him as I fell back to sleep.
* * * *
I debated over what to wear the next day and decided for normal. I’d tempted him enough with a bit of skin the day before. Today, I would try to tempt him through words.
Twisting my braid, I pinned it up in a knot at the back of my head then opened my door with a smile. The beast waited for me just outside, dressed again in trousers.
“No games today,” I promised.
His mouth turned down in a slightly disgruntled expression, and I quickly turned away to hide my smile.
In the kitchen, I set about making breakfast and asked him to help in little ways: starting the fire, fetching a bowl, stirring the eggs. He did it all without complaint. When we sat to eat, I gave him a large portion and thanked him for his help. He said nothing in return. We ate in silence for several moments while I contemplated flirting and the sisters’ advice. I struggled to find something to say.
“You’re unusually quiet,” he said, studying me closely.
“As are you.”
He looked back at his food.
Aryana’s recommendation to be myself made me want to wrinkle my nose. I decided on an honest compliment.
I reached over and lightly touched his arm.
“I think I’m starting to like living here,” I said quickly and sincerely. “Without your growl...well, I like spending time with you.”
His gaze bored into mine as if trying to find some hidden meaning.
“Do you?” he asked softly, but his tone hinted at anger.
I tilted my head with a frown.
“Was it wrong of me to tell you so?”
“Why are you telling me?”
My lips twitched at his suspiciousness, but my amusement quickly faded when a rumble started in his chest. I slowly withdrew my touch from his arm.
“How can I expect honesty from you if I cannot give it myself?” I asked, confused at his reaction. Instead of holding his gaze, I looked down and took another bite.
He continued his soft growl as I chewed and swallowed.
“Have you thought of any of your prior pastimes, yet?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“In fact, I have,” he said with a purr.
Before I realized his intent, he pulled me to my feet and sat me in his lap. I didn’t react other than to glance at him. For some reason, telling him I liked it here had annoyed him. I didn’t understand why but understood that his volatile mood couldn’t be trusted. I reached for a misshapen
biscuit and pinched off a bite, calmly eating it as if I were sitting in my own chair.
The pastime he’d recalled currently bruised my backside. I wondered what exactly I’d done to cause it. Whatever the issue, I did not intend to remain to see where his current mood led.
I pinched off a larger portion and met his hungry gaze.
“Open your mouth,” I said softly.
Surprise lit in his eyes a moment before he did so.
Instead of putting the large bite in his mouth, I shoved in the remainder of the biscuit. He grunted then loosened his hold to cough into his hand. I quickly slid from his lap and stood by my chair, watching him warily as he continued to cough and sputter.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
“Hardly. But I am trying to reason out why I angered you.”
He stood with menacing slowness, and I grabbed my plate of cold eggs and threw the contents at him.
“Would you stop throwing your food at me?” he roared.
The frustration in his tone eased some of my fear, and I laughed at my own audacity. His eyes narrowed. I squealed and scrambled for the outer door, barely closing it behind me. Something heavy thudded into it. I sniggered.
“I can still hear you,” he bellowed.
He was truly angry, yet something possessed me to laugh again. It was an open challenge, and I took off at a sprint, barefoot through the weeds. Behind me, the door crashed open. I laughed louder and ran faster. A path around to the front of the house opened before me. Behind me, I heard it close and the beast’s angry bellow as he tore through it.
“I recall a pastime from my childhood,” I called, slowing. “I was fairly good at it. Let us see if I still am.”
He roared in response, obviously still angry.
Moving forward, I burst into the front yard and onto the gravel drive. The stones bit into the soles of my feet, but I didn’t slow. On the other side, the male wood nymph waved to me. I smiled and ran his direction. He pointed the way to another open path.
“Thank you. Warn the others to stay out of his way and to keep the path open, please.” He nodded as I ran past.
I ran until I found a large tree right on the path, which I quickly climbed. Seconds later, the beast ran under the limbs, and I grinned at the egg that still clung to his fur.