Page 6 of The Beast & His Beauty
Turning on my heels, I head to the front of the shop, the bay windows letting in more light than what’s offered in the kitchen. Back to real life where I’m just the baker’s helper and the candlemaker’s daughter.
After taking stock of what will need mending, I walk out the back door to the well. My flats are worn almost too thin, and every small pebble is felt under my feet. I pump water into a bucket on the ground beneath the spout. With the heavy bucket in one hand and a rag in the other, a sigh leaves me. It’s been three days since I last wiped everything down and it’s in dire need of cleaning already. There’s a small dusting of flour on every surface. It will take me all day. All day of silence, left alone with nothing but a mindless task and thoughts that refuse to let me sleep. If only I could tell someone. If only I could make the thoughts of the beast stop.
Just as I raise my hand to remove a basket of biscuits from the top shelf behind the counter, the front door opens with a groan and the ding of the bell. I turn to greet our customer with a smile, but my smile nearly falls as I see Lord Crawe giving me a cocky grin as his eyes travel down my body. I swallow tightly at his obvious craving.
Although he’s more than twice my age, Lord Crawe’s rather attractive. I suppose I’ve always been attracted to older men though. Something about the hint of silver at the temples and small wrinkles that form around knowing eyes, it just calls to me so much more than a smooth and charming appearance. The light stubble lining his strong jaw adds to his masculine appeal. The women are always gossiping—it’s really the only thing to do in this town—and they say Lord Crawe and the prince were the most handsome men in all the village in their youth. They looked so much alike, many would’ve sworn they were twins if they didn’t know any better.
He may be classically handsome, but I would never return his flirtatious tone. His sexual depravity is well known, and I do my best to steer clear of him. So much so that the dread I felt only moments ago returns fiercely, demanding my heart to race. He’s often taken advantage of many of his servants, letting them go once he’s had his fill. Only a few weeks ago he offered me a position paying almost double what the bakery pays me. But I kindly declined. I do not wish to be alone with him and there was no mistaking that his intentions were for me to be just that.
From what I gather in the years of whispers, Lord Crawe was the king’s regent and the prince’s closest confidant. If anyone has information on the beast, it would be him. When the village first rose against the beast, Lord Crawe put up a valiant effort in the name of vengeance for the prince, but he failed to kill the beast. It’s rumored the beast nearly ripped out the lord’s throat with his massive fangs, but the arrival of the townspeople sent the beast running for the castle, escaping with near fatal injuries. My eyes stare at the faint scar on Lord Crawe’s neck.
Or so the story goes…but with rumors and gossip and tales as old as the town itself, I’m not certain what is true, and I keep my curious thoughts to myself.
After he propositioned me, I was hoping to avoid this man, but in this moment a small part of me wants to engage in conversation with him. To question and pry…I want him to tell me about the beast. Anything that he knows and everything he’s willing to confide.
With my throat tight and my fingers twiddling in the fabric of my apron, I purse my lips at the thought. Lord Crawe isn’t a man that would do anything without something in return. And I’m unwilling to pay the price he demands of me. I keep my lips sealed tight as I make my way toward him, my footsteps padding against the wooden floor. I will find someone else to divulge the secrets of the beast and my enchantment with him.
“How are you, my lord?” I greet him with the tip of my head, steadying myself in front of the bucket and folding my hands in front of me.
“Elle,” is all he offers me, his tone deep and masculine. A heat of embarrassment flows over my skin as I wait for more, but nothing comes.
I haven’t told a soul what happened. I haven’t dared to admit that I was foolish enough to venture into the woods. That I let the magic weave into my mind and limbs, taking me closer to the beast. I’m not even sure if they would believe me, even with his mark on my skin. It’s unbelievable that I survived. And like I said, this town likes to gossip and I’m not one to seek out that kind of attention.
“What can I do for you today, Lord Crawe?” I ask as politely as I can, my voice slightly shaken. I’m still a bit resentful from the way our last encounter ended.
“Please, call me Gavin.” I’d really rather not, but I don’t want to be rude.
“What can I do for you, Gavin?” My cheeks blush involuntarily. I’m sure he’s used to hearing those words from his servants, and the moment I realize that, I wish I could take them back. The handsome bastard has the nerve to widen his smile and lick his lips. Some women would swoon over the look he gives me; at this very moment it makes me want to run. He’s a predator in every sense of the word. And I’m his prey.
He leans across the table, too close for my comfort, and lays his hand palm upward, brushing my fingers. I inwardly cringe, but I force my body to stay still. “You would make a beautiful wife, Elle.” My name lingers on his tongue and it doesn’t feel right.
I pull my hand away and fiddle with my fingers behind my back. I can’t meet his eyes, so instead I stare at the smooth hand still open on the table. Wife? I have far too much respect for myself than to be married to someone as debauched as Lord Crawe. I part my lips to speak and attempt to harden my features, but his words stop my protest before it begins.
“I’m sure your father would agree to my proposal. Would he not?” I meet his questioning gaze and falter. He is quite handsome and I would never have to worry financially, but it would not be love. And I hope when I marry, my husband would be faithful to me. I purse my lips in response. I will have to tell my father immediately that I’m not interested, that I cannot be wed to a man who treats women as he does. Surely if I tell him I don’t want to be married to Lord Crawe, then he will respect my wishes. Wouldn’t he?
I give him a tight smile and clasp my hands in front of me. “I thought you were interested in taking me on as a servant, Lord Crawe? My father didn’t think highly of that proposition.” In truth, I hadn’t told my father of the interaction or offer. I was mortified and I knew my father would be upset by the proposal as well.
“I asked you to call me Gavin, Elle.” He admonishes me with a cold tone and narrowed eyes while removing his hand. “I’ll speak to your father to clear up that misunderstanding.” His eyes linger on my breasts as he speaks. I just barely resist the urge to cover them. All the while my heart races as if it’s trying to escape and my body begs me to move. To be anywhere other than in this room with him. I pray he doesn’t speak with my father before I return home tonight. I need to make him fully aware that I don’t want to be given to Lord Crawe. Fear pricks along my skin at the realization that he’ll most likely see my father before me. I push the apprehension down and square my shoulders.
“What was the misunderstanding exactly?” I ask.
The sly grin appears on his face once again. “I realize you’re far too beautiful to let slip through my fingers. I hope I didn’t offend you with the job offer.” He waves his hand in the air. “It was merely an attempt to get to know you better.”
I raise my brows at his ridiculous response. I’m sure he wants to get to know some of me better, if his returning gaze to my breasts is any indication. I’m not certain what to say in response so I decide to simply ignore it. I place my splayed hand across my chest and clear my throat. When his eyes find mine, I give him a tight smile and ask, “Is there anything I can do for you today, Gavin?”
He smiles and nods. “Biscuits. A half dozen, if you’d be so kind.” His baby blue gaze rakes my body the entire time he speaks. With my teeth clenched together, I squash my need to huff and turn my back to him while I gather the biscuits in a freshly cleaned cloth.
“Anything else I can get you from the bakery?” I ask with my back still turned to him. I breathe in sharply and jump at the firm touch to the small of my back. My body goes rigid.
He lets out a low, rough chuckle at my response and leans down to whisper, “Not today, Elle. But soon.” The hot breath at my neck isn’t welcomed. Neither is the threat. I turn quickly and press my back against the wall, pushing the biscuits into his chest.
“Ara!” I call out, nearly breathless. “We need more biscuits!” My heart pounds in my chest, but my face is devoid of emotion. I won’t let him see how frightened I am of him. I can’t be his wife. I won’t. He laughs at my efforts and takes the biscuits from my hands, brushing my fingers with his as he does.
“I’ll speak with you soon.” His eyes search mine, but I don’t offer him a response. As Ara makes her way through the kitchen, he leaves two silvers on the table, turns, and leaves with purposeful strides. It’s only when the bell chimes that I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. The kitchen door opens with a telltale creak and Ara observes the shelf, nearly full of baked goods still.
“Are you sure? Have we sold all two dozen already?” Ara glances at the shelf above my head before shaking her head. “Are you holding these for someone?” She questions me while pointing to a basket full of biscuits, but I’m finding it difficult to respond. My heart feels like it’s falling and uncertainly swarms me.
He wants me to be his wife.