Page 10 of Tangwystle
I’d never thought of Master Blackwell as a lonely old man, but perhaps he was.
“Who should I watch out for?” Baz asked, twirling his spoon in his mug again. It clinked against the porcelain. He didn’t add anything to his tea, but he continued to fidget.
Clinemell.
Hair fell into my face. “I am but a servant.”
He frowned. “Yes, but you’re not an idiot.”
He appeared sincere. I couldn’t tell what game he was up to by being so nice.
“You’ve run Blackwell Manor all these months, by yourself,” he said. “I imagine you kept things in order for years before that. You are not stupid, Tangwystle. And I do not bite.”
My stomach tightened at his final words. If he meant them to be reassuring, then I’m not sure why his dark voice skimmed over me in the way it did.
I listened closely, slightly desperate to hear what else he would say.
“You will not offend me. As my housemistress, I’m going to be looking to you for advice at times.” He lifted his mug to his lips, and I watched him take a drink. His broad-shoulders were relaxed, and I found myself staring at the column of his neck. He must’ve felt my stare because he swiftly looked over.
Stars above. He only drank some tea and spoke politely. Yet, I couldn’t look away.
Caution, a part of my head cried out. It would not do to look like a fool in front of an attractive gentleman.
An attractive gentleman who could very well turn out to be a beast.
I would not be the servant who flipped her hair over her shoulder in the hopes she’d find favor with her employer in bed.
Or worse, end up dragged to his bed.
No. Baz Coldwell might’ve seemed nice right then, but only time would tell. I decided I’d move my dresser in front of my bedroom door that night.
“Jam?” Baz asked. He scooped some onto the scone I took earlier. After a moment, I realized he was waiting to see if I’d actually eat it.
“Thank you,” I murmured, cramming it into my mouth. It had the opposite effect of trying to appear polite in front of him.
The corner of his lips twitched. “You. . . here.”
His thumb brushed against my mouth, and warmth spread in my chest. I should’ve been more embarrassed at how I’d smeared jam all over my face.
He wiped it away and, as if it were the most natural thing to do, his tongue licked his thumb. There had to be a napkin somewhere, but no. He licked away the sticky, sweet evidence and then smiled, back to business.
Baz leaned over his own scone, completely oblivious to my inner turmoil.
Other than Gretel’s body pressed against mine, I couldn’t think of a single instance of being touched.
Now is not the time to analyze your constantly touchless state, I sternly told myself. I compiled a list of things that needed to be done. Wash the floorboards and the windows. Make up the beds with fresh linen. Ensure the pantry was well stocked.
“You think a lot don’t you?” Baz asked, pulling me from my reverie.
“I’m sorry.” The words came automatically.
He slid my book toward me and replied, “I’m not.”
four
Master Blackwell didn’t takemy silence to mean I was deep in thought, but rather that I contributed to the peace and quiet he wanted in his household.
And I suppose, I did just that because where else would I find an employer who so completely left me alone?
