The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(28)
The moment they reached the paddock, Beatrice alighted from her horse with no assistance and ran towards the dimly lit house.
“Dream about me tonight,” Rhys called out to her fast retreating back.
Beatrice turned with a look of horror before spinning away and disappearing into the darkness.
Rhys waited till he heard the main door open and the butler, Mr. Watchman’s, shocked greeting followed by her stinging retort before leading both horses into the stable.
As far as he was concerned, it was an excellent start to their courtship.
Chapter Five
Beatrice let out a sigh as she eased herself into the soothing, warm bathwater, having sent her maid what’s-her-name away for some privacy. She didn’t appreciate all the curious looks she was receiving for her wrinkled attire and askew hair.
Inhaling deeply, she allowed the familiar scent of rose oil, her own special blend, to calm her. She used oil pressed from the Damask rose petal, loving the hints of myrrh, green grass and apricot which gave it a signature musky sweet fragrance. The very air was perfumed with its scent.
If only her thoughts were so easily soothed and calmed.
She thought back to her scandalous behavior earlier that evening in the lavender fields. It would be effortless to place the entire blame on the handsome stranger. He overpowered her. He forced her. He wouldn’t allow her to escape. Beatrice knew better. She was not some commonplace female and it had nothing to do with her wealth. She was intelligent and self-sufficient. Although her father would never admit it, she was the reason why the Arbot de Villeneuve perfumery had achieved such an exalted status. Her father was a success to be sure but it was her perfume recipes that were demanded by the royal courts of Europe. She ran both the estate and the perfumery during his absences of which there were many with increasing length since her mother passed.
Beatrice felt a pang at the remembrance of her mother’s death. It was the day everything changed.
Giving herself a mental shake, Beatrice forced herself to focus on the present. There was no point in dwelling on the past, it would change nothing.
The simple truth was that stranger was able to take such disgraceful advantage because somewhere deep inside she had wanted it. It was as if some force had risen that would not allow her to resist his mesmerizing pull. She thought again of the haggard gypsy’s curse.
You shall only know happiness through pain, will only find love through supplication to the beast.
Be forced to yield to the hand of your master or face your destiny alone!
“Stuff and nonsense,” she scoffed out loud to the empty room.
It wasn’t that ridiculous curse or the gypsy. If anything, it was her dream of the night before. Yes, that was it. The dream was to be blamed. Between the heated dream and her wild ride across the countryside, her blood was up. She was feeling wild and untamed. The stranger merely took advantage of her heightened state.
It was no matter. She would see he was dismissed in the morning. He would be gone, only a memory. But, oh what a memory! Beatrice’s cheeks heated as she closed her eyes and recalled the feel of his hand on her throat, the pulsing pain of his spanking, his scent, what he did with his fingers. Her hand closed over one full breast as she tried to imagine what it would have felt like if he had been able touch her there. Realizing abashedly she never learned the stranger’s name. It was absurd. Names had never been terribly important to her. The servants and villagers thought it is because she is self-absorbed. The truth was she was just plain rubbish at remembering names so she long ago stopped trying. Yet, somehow she longed to know his.
For now, Beast would just have to do, she thought with a secret smile as she sunk deeper into the water.
“As it so happens, your intended princess is quite a woman.”
Rhys raised an eyebrow at his faithful valet as he continued to brush down his stallion. He enjoyed the labor, never one to allow servants to bow and scrape and handle his every task. Rhys preferred to do things for himself.
He loved spending time in the stables. The shaded interior with its quiet hush made the chaotic world outside slip away. The only sound the occasional whinny from a horse or the metallic jingle of the tack. The fresh earth smell of clean hay and green grass. The simple order of things. Man…beast working together.
Gonsalvus met Rhys’ disapproving look with an unblinking stare of his own.
“Ahem…as I was saying, with all due respect, I think your father’s spies got a few things wrong,” he continued.
Rhys was not surprised. It was the very reason why he was here in disguise. He knew better than to rely on his father’s courtiers for such an important decision as who would be his wife and future queen. For one thing, it was almost certain they would be biased against a merchant’s daughter, even a vastly wealthy one. “Such as,” he asked Gonsalvus.
“Well, to be sure, her moniker among some of the villagers, is Beatrice the Beastly but I have found that is only among those who are fairly recent to the area. There are a great number of villagers who recall her demeanor before her mother’s death as being sweet and obliging. They remember her as an intelligent girl who was genuinely concerned for the welfare of the people on her father’s estate.”
“Is that so?”
“As it so happens, there is proof of her continued patronage throughout the glen. A new library for the school, repaired roofs on many of the homesteads, and one tale of her giving up the coin to replace a farmer’s entire flock when it was lost to a fever last summer. It is generally assumed these are done without her father’s knowledge or approval.”