Page 14 of Tangwystle
I passed so close to his chair that I felt his fingers skim the fabric of my dress. “Good night, Tangwystle.”
five
The next morningcame bright and clear. The bitter winter had turned into a crisp spring.
I had gone from the woman who turned her nose up at servants falling into bed with their employers to. . .
Well, I wasn’t quite sure. Baz had made no move. There were teasing glances that warmed my skin. I enjoyed talking to him. I thought he said a lot of nonsense, but that was expected considering he’d grown up with wealth and privilege. For instance, he once asked me what I thought the clouds looked like.
“Clouds,” I replied from where I sat on my knees as I worked in the garden.
“Yes,” he said, squinting up at the sunshine. “But what do they look like?”
“Clouds,” I said again.
He made a noise under his breath. I’d heard it enough to categorize it as his sound of amusement. Not quite his full laugh, but a little snort when he still found something funny. “Yes, Tangwystle but what do?—”
“They look like?” I threw down the spade in my hand and stared up at the sky. “Like stringy fluffy things fighting for space with the smoke from the factories.”
He hummed under his breath. “Hmmm. . . do you suppose they’re at war? The clouds and the smog?”
“Stars above,” I huffed under my breath. “They’re clouds, Baz.”
His lips twitched. “You just called me Baz.”
“What?” I wiped my cheek, smudging dirt on my nose.
“You avoid saying my name.”
“No,” I argued. “I call you Master Coldwell.”
“Only when visitors come by. You make a big show of it.”
“I don’t think I make a big show of it.”
“Master Coldwell.” He waved a hand out, doing a terrible impression of me.
“That’s not how I sound.” I gripped the spade, half-heartedly raking it through the ground.
The breeze tugged at his black hair. It’d grown longer in the weeks since he’d lived at Blackwell Manor. “You make it sound majestic,” he said.
“I do not.”
“Like I’m someone really special.”
“I make it sound dignified. But clearly it’s going to your head.”
This time his true laugh did break out.
I didn’t always understand how we could go from frivolous, silly conversations to times where we stared at one another like a cord wrapped around us.
He asked me to come to the library again. Once again, the fireplace crackled, and I arrived to find a spread of various sweets left out.
“Another romance?” he asked.
I blushed, but he didn’t ask for a repeat performance. I was glad it didn’t become a thing, where I sat reading out dirty bits while his cock thickened in his pants.
Instead, we genuinely spent cozy evenings in the library.
