The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(36)

Grabbing his breeches, Beatrice held them out to him. “What are you doing? Don’t lay back down! Put these on!” she beseeched.

“Only if you promise me a forfeit,” he teased.

“Yes! Yes! Anything you please! Just get dressed.”

“Anything?” he asked with a seductive tilt to his mouth.

Beatrice paused. Perhaps in her zealousness to get him out of her bed chamber she had been incredibly hasty. The man had a wicked mind. Who knew what kind of pleasurable torture he had in mind.

“Well…not anything,” she hedged.

Rhys laughed. “Do not worry, my love. It is an easy forfeit. I would like a tour of the perfumery.”

Beatrice perked up. Was that all? Ignoring the disturbing flutter of disappointment in her stomach that he did not request something more intimate, she readily agreed. “Of course. Of course. Meet me by the perfumery in two hours.”

Rhys stepped into his breeches and headed for the open balcony doors just as they both heard a clatter out in the hall.

“Hurry!”

Rhys snatched her about the waist and pulled her close for one scorching kiss. Finally releasing her, he stepped onto the balcony, tossing a saucy wink to her over his shoulder, he disappeared over the balustrade.



Beatrice was nervous. There was no other way to describe it. She was actually nervous about showing him the perfumery. It was silly really. She had chastised herself a thousand times in the hours since he left her bed. But there was no hope for it…she was nervous.

She was waiting by the large, wooden archway when Rhys appeared further down the path. He was respectably attired in a cream linen shirt, leather jerkin and boots. This time seeing him was different though. This time she knew the beast who lay under the trappings of society.

Rhys came to a stop directly in front of her. The tips of his boots touched the edge of her red velvet dress.

“I am ready for my tour, mistress,” Rhys said warmly. His eyes full of suggestive promise.

Beatrice blushed. Clearing her throat, she responded with deliberate formality. “Yes, of course. Right this way if you please.”

She turned but before she could place a hand on the large wrought iron handle, Rhys reached over her petite form to push the door open for her. Taking the close moment to whisper in her ear, “I love the color red on you, Bea. It reminds me of the color of your lips after you’ve been kissed.”

It was scandalous of course. Even more so when she reminded herself that she was the mistress of the estate and he the stable master. Still, she blushed at the compliment.

Proceeding through the door, Beatrice ushered him into the main open space of the perfumery. The entire place was organized chaos. Dozens of men paced from one side of the room to the next. Tending to the fires of massive, polished copper stills. Monitoring the presses. Tending to the stacks upon stacks of dried flowers, spices, wood and resins.

The air was perfumed with the very essence of Mother Nature. Floral, earthy, citrus, deep musk.

Beatrice watched him closely. She was very proud of her perfumery. Her father had never even commented on her hard work here. She long ago stopped seeking validation from him. Well almost. Somehow, things had shifted in the night. Somehow, she now wanted this virtual stranger’s validation. She wanted him to see what she had accomplished and appreciate it.

“We keep the stills burning virtually around the clock,” she explained. “We use steam to extract the fragrant oils. I find it gives a cleaner, more refined scent as opposed to applying direct heat as some perfumeries do. It would be easier and faster that way but I do not like the toasted almost burnt scent it adds.”

Beatrice stopped as one of her clerks approached.

“Miss Beatrice, I have the sample from the Al-Kindi batch,” the clerk offered with a hesitant look in Rhys’ direction.

Beatrice took the scrap of linen and brought it to her nose, carefully inhaling. “Too much coriander. Not enough myrtle and you forgot to add the bergamot.”

“Yes, Miss Beatrice,” responded the clerk who bowed to both her and Rhys before running off to follow her instructions.

“I am experimenting with some recipes from Al-Kindi’s Book of the Chemistry of Perfume and Distillations,” offered Beatrice by way of explanation. “It is from the 9th century and I thought it would make for a unique selection of perfumes.”

Rhys looked down at her eager, upturned face. It was hard not to love the excitement and true enjoyment that shone through her eyes. She had a real talent for perfume.

“I must say I am extremely impressed, Miss Beatrice. This is an amazing accomplishment. You should be very proud.”

As much as she loved his compliment, she was equally pleased at how he showed her the proper respect in front of the workers. It was difficult getting some of them to take orders from a woman and having the stable master treat her with familiarity would have made things harder.

“Thank you,” she acquiesced shyly.

Looking up, Beatrice internally groaned. Gaston was approaching. The man always gave her trouble. She would have preferred to avoid him but there was a matter of great import she needed to discuss.

“Perhaps you would like to take a closer look at the stills?” she offered. “I just need a moment.”

Rhys walked the few steps to the still but he was not fooled. He kept within earshot of Bea.