The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(18)
It was all nonsense of course, thought Beatrice with a shake. If she was alone, it was of her own choosing not some silly curse. She would kneel before no man. Accept no one as her master, never to be dominated. The thought brought to mind the far more disturbing aspect of her dream.
The beast.
Never before had she dreamed of such a creature. The recollection sent a shiver through her body. The beast in her dream was so powerful, so strong, and so masculine…as if it were more man than beast. The way it chased her down, holding her against her will under the weight of its body. She vividly recalled the sensation of feeling the beast’s warmth pressing down on her as if it were real and not a dream. The scent of cedarwood and moss from the forest lingered in her mind as if it wafted through the very air of her bedchamber. Beatrice closed her eyes, tilting her head back, remembering the feel of his rough tongue as it caressed along her collarbone. The heat of his breath against her neck. Her trepidation as it nuzzled against her stomach…and lower. The overwhelming sense of fear and yes…something close to desire for the forceful man-like beast.
As she brought to mind the strikingly real scene from her dream, Beatrice’s hand glided between her breasts. Raising her knees, her silk gown slid to bunch at the top of her thighs. Her fingers shifted further along her body, just skimming her hidden curls. As the barest tip of her fingertip slipped deeper, teasing her sensitive bud, there was a clamor at her bedchamber door.
A chambermaid walked in carrying an iron scuttle and small broom.
“You incompetent dolt,” screeched Beatrice as she grabbed one of the many small pillows which graced her bed and threw it at the poor girl’s head, angry at being interrupted at such an intimate moment.
The girl grimaced, bowing into an awkward curtsy as she dodged yet another pillow. “Sorry, miss!”
“Where the hell have you been? It is freezing in here! You should never have let the fire go out!” raged Beatrice.
“Yes, miss. Sorry, miss. It won’t ever happen again,” whined the girl as she fell to her knees before the fire grate, quickly sweeping up the spent ashes.
“I will make certain of it,” warned Beatrice, making a mental note to have the girl removed from her household chores and assigned the much harsher task of laundry duty.
Beatrice rose from her bed, crossing the polished evergreen marble floor as she swung a lush, purple brocade robe over her shoulders. She moved towards the large glass doors which led to a massive stone balcony. Sweeping past the billowing gauze curtain, she stepped into the chilled morning air and sunshine. Preferring to sleep with the door open to the warm night breeze, it had grown cold in the late evening from a northern wind. It was probably why the fire had gone out, not that Beatrice was going to let the little chambermaid off the hook for her negligence in seeing to her mistress.
Beatrice Victoria Arbot de Villeneuve was the very privileged, wealthy daughter of Frederick de Villeneuve, Europe’s most sought after perfumer. Her father’s estate was nestled in a fertile valley in the South of France. Beatrice’s gaze swept over rolling hills filled with roses and lavender. At the end of the valley, just beyond the ridge, there were narcissus, osmanthus and violets. Behind a large copse of trees, there was a small plot filled with sage, coriander, caraway and anise. All exceptional ingredients for making the most revered perfumes in Europe, coveted by the rich and royalty alike.
Beatrice breathed in deeply. The air always had a scent of spicy, sweet decay from the perfumery located down the road from the main house. Its stores were filled with dried flowers, fruits, leaves, resins, seeds and even stacks of various types of wood like birch, juniper and cedar. Despite all the luxurious aromas, the heady, rich scent of the luscious rose was still her favorite. Sparing a final look to see if the workers were in the fields pruning the bushes and harvesting the buds, Beatrice returned to her room.
“Is my father awake?” she asked the cowering maid.
The chambermaid choked out a barely audible, “Yes, miss.”
“Speak up, you ninny! Do not presume upon my time by making me repeat myself,” snapped Beatrice.
“Yes, miss,” she squeaked only slightly less loudly.
“Fetch my maid…what’s-her-name,” commanded Beatrice. She never bothered to learn the names of her lady’s maids. They never stayed in her employ for very long.
The chambermaid scurried out the room, leaving a trail of dusty footprints. Beatrice gnashed her teeth in frustration. Moments later, a harried looking woman of middling years rushed into the room.
“It is about time you decided to see to your duties. I have been waiting for ages!” complained Beatrice as she took a seat before her vanity.
“How would you like to wear your hair today, miss?” asked what’s-her-name, who was also called Dolores by her friends, family and people who bothered to learn her name.
Beatrice surveyed her reflection for a moment. She was blessed with very striking, almost feline features. Her long, narrow face was given presence and character by a pair of high cheekbones and full lips. While her lips and cheekbones were attractive, by far her best feature were her eyes. Large and almond shaped, they were a truly unique shade of bright amber surrounded by a thick, fringe of long, black lashes. Although despite their golden glow, there was a creeping coldness behind their depths, a growing bitterness.
Sweeping her heavy, tawny locks off her neck and above her ears, Beatrice turned her face from side to side looking at her reflection in the mirror. “Swept up into a chignon. I’m going riding later.”