Page 17 of Tangwystle
You must breathe, I told myself. Because yes, that’s how much the shirtless man affected me.
Scattered around him were journals and letters. I noticed a pen and inkwell on the nightstand.
Our evenings in the library had started to go longer. And Baz had started to help me with my tasks. I kept telling him it wasn’t needed, but he did it anyway. The fool should’ve been focusing on his own affairs.
He stirred, letting out a deep sigh. “Tangwystle.”
He caught me in the middle of his room—a place I shouldn’t be—while he slept naked in his bed.
“I-I’m sorry.” I wrung my hands, taking a tiny step back. “I was worried you were ill. Y-you didn’t come down for breakfast.”
He rubbed his eyes, letting out another tired-sounding sigh. “You’re fretting about me?”
“N-no.” I merely cared about my employer.
“You are fretting about me.” He pushed himself up, the sheets shifting, threatening to give me an eyeful of something I increasingly wanted to see.
I knew the horrible irony of this moment. If Master Blackwell had ever tried to come into my chambers while I’d slept, I’d feel the force of his will on the encounter. But the worst thing is I realized in that moment that if Baz tried it. . . I wouldn’t have been as alarmed.
But that didn’t mean I got a free pass for showing up in this manner.
“I know you’re fretting, fairy,” he said, stretching his arms. The sheets shifted again, and I stood there, wringing my hands and averting my eyes. “You’re not wearing your pinafore.”
It still hung on its hook, downstairs in the kitchen. He teased me most mornings about wearing it. Especially, if he’d come downstairs too early and I was just tying it over my black dress.
“Can I get you anything, sir?” I asked, pretending like my cheeks weren’t scarlet. If he wanted me to bring a tray in, I could slip back down to the kitchen and put on my trusty pinafore.
He shifted, scooting closer to the edge of the bed, and held his hand out.
I went to him, my fingers brushing his. Not quite holding hands but definitely touching.
“Do I scare you, Tangwystle?” he whispered. A few seconds later, he added, “You can’t even look at me.”
And I really couldn’t. But my fingers wrapped around his, firmer. He pulled me closer, and I stepped in between his legs. I looked straight into his eyes, not daring to figure out how much the bed sheets did and didn’t hide.
“You were worried?” he asked.
“You didn’t come down to breakfast,” I murmured.
“I’m sorry.” He drew my hand closer, placing it over his heart. I swear his naked skin seared against my palm. “Will you forgive me?”
“It is not for me to forgive. I was worried.” The last words came out quieter.
“Fairy.”
I felt the weight of his hand over mine and took comfort in it. My heart skipped when he tugged it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my palm.
As much as I wanted to lean in. To give in to this beautiful, naked man sitting in his bed, I pulled my hand away.
His chest heaved, his eyebrows lifting.
We stared at one another, the silence pressing. I’m not sure if we both assumed the other would talk first. A stubborn corner of my mind urged me to put my foot down. To recall myself and my position.
“I am just a servant.”
He nodded.
“Do you sleep with all your servants?” I asked. I don’t think I could properly describe myself in that moment. I wanted to not care, to just get on with it. To spread my legs and let him fuck me.
