Beauty's Beast (7 page)

I sighed in relief as I put the dress on. It sagged everywhere and hung on me like I was a child in my mother’s old gown, but I didn't care. It covered every inch of me, apart from my hands and face. The assault I had suffered at the hands of Gaston had made me uncomfortable in my skin. As if I was somehow to blame for his acting that way by leading him to believe that was acceptable behavior.

I knew it to be a falsehood, and yet I couldn't shake the terrible feeling. He had made me feel guilty for his sins.

I looped the ties around myself several times and then fastened them in a bow at my waist.

It would have to do.

A tall brunette with an incredibly slim build walked into the room. She blushed and winced when she saw my reflection. “Merde! What are you wearing?” she asked in an incredibly thick provincial accent. Her generous red lips and ample bosom had me wondering what her purpose was in the castle. I could have guessed, had I given the master less credit, but I didn't want to tarnish her without her first implying what she was.

Staring at her crossing the floor to me, it was easy to assume.

She wore a black dress, a black slip dress to be exact. Her thin body was completely visible in shape and contour under the trifle of material she wore. Her long, pale legs were completely observable with every step she took, and made longer by the ridiculous shoes she wore.

She wrinkled her long slim nose at my dress and plucked it with two slender fingers. “What is zis?” She scowled, narrowing her dark-blue gaze. She might have been the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, even with her scowl. “Why are you wearing zis terrible dress? I had many dresses put in zee room for you. My dresses are much prettier!”

My jaw dropped.
The clothing had been hers?

“You seem shocked at zis? You thought zey had appeared from nowhere?”

I shook my head slowly, not certain what to say. I had thought the master put them in my room intentionally. No wonder he had assumed I was there to service him when he saw my dress.

“Are you mute?”

“No, miss.” Was she a miss? She didn't look much older than me.

She stared at me, perplexed or angry, but then laughed and threw a hand into the air. “My name is Babette. You must follow me and allow me to dress you in zee fashion more suited to your body. It is what is best for everyone.” She offered me one of her pale hands.

I pulled back, almost a little afraid of her offer. “I was actually hoping to go outside and your beautiful dresses might be ruined by my walking outside and I might be cold.” The words were lacking confidence and rambling.

Her look didn't improve. “I see. Well, perhaps you will remember to change before dinner so zee master doesn't disapprove of your attire.” She turned up her nose and left the room, sashaying away.

I looked down at the baggy brown dress and wondered what it mattered to the master how I looked when a goddess like Babette was in the house. Her dark-red lips and silky brown hair had even me convinced she was too beautiful to be real.

Mrs. Potts’ dress seemed to suit me more so than anything Babette might have owned.

I hurried outside, hoping to savor some of the sunlight that I had been basking in while eating in the sunroom, but when I got out to the courtyard it was as if dusk had come early. Shadows danced about the stones and discomfort settled in my stomach.

“You should not have run.”

I spun, seeing the cloaked man I had come to know only as master. He was standing in the shadows, blending in as an obscure figure, but I knew it was
him
by the voice and tone.

“You should not have run,” he repeated himself, something he did often and usually in anger.

He intimidated me but I couldn't hold my tongue, “You humiliated me and then frightened me.”

“You provoke me intentionally I think,” he muttered and sighed, exasperated perhaps.

“No! I never meant to mislead you by wearing the dress. It was what I was given. I would have worn a cloak or a sack if I had been given it. And I just don't understand how you could have treated my father so poorly.”

“HE HAD NO RIGHT!” Again he snapped and again I jumped, ready to flee. But there was something that came directly after the fright. It was a weakness. I could see it in his stance and the way he breathed. Half a decade had been spent watching my mother die—I knew sickness when I saw it, and it was hard to fear him that way.

I stepped toward him, unable to control my feet. “He was trying to make Mrs. Potts a venison stew to thank her for nursing him back to health.” I stepped closer again. “And you treated him like a criminal. He would have died up there. He might have died in the forest on the way home, like an animal. And I will never know.
All for a deer—a stag?
It’s ridiculous.”

A tear slipped from my eye and I realized what I was truly afraid of.

My father was completely alone. He was scared, sick, and no doubt as worried about me as I was
him
. But in my coward’s heart I didn't want to go back to the village because if I did, it meant Gaston would have me forever. And that was a fate worse than any I had before me.

My sickly father wouldn't be able to fight that fate for me.

Before I could open my mouth and say another thing the master spoke, “Your father is well. He is worried for you but that is all. He is home.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

He offered a large hand, but I just stared at it, uncertain of what would happen if I took it. He reached it forward and snatched my hand in his, still not revealing his face out from under the cloak or the shadows, and pulled me to him. He stepped back, revealing a birdbath there in the recess of the wall. He swirled a hand over it, making it calm and flat. “Tell the water the thing you wish to see.”

I leaned forward, seeing nothing but my own reflection, even in the dim light. I glanced back at him to where he had sunk farther back into the shadows. “What do you mean?” He made me nervous to be so close to him and in such a dimly lit spot.

“Speak to the water.” He said it as if I were daft.

So I turned my face and whispered to the water, doubting his sanity more so than before, “I wish to see my father.”

The water began to glow, from the bottom of the bath. I thought it might have been the sun coming back or something else, but the light was blue—pale blue.

It was beautiful in fact and mesmerizing. I leaned in, closer and watched as it swirled and churned, like the open sea.

It grew cloudy and dark and then stopped all at once. The water became flat and a vision appeared.

It was my father.

He was at home, soaking his feet and sipping a tea. Gaston was nowhere to be seen in the image. My father looked weak, not frail but sick. His eyes were red and tired. It made me sad to see. He ate some soup he must have made himself and sniffled into a handkerchief.

He was still unwell but he was alive.

As I lifted my face to say something to the master, I forgot my words the moment I saw his eyes.

Here in the shadows he might have succeeded in hiding himself from me but with the glowing light of the bath and its magic, I saw him clearer than I might have in the sunlight.

He was beautiful.

Hard and fierce, and yet vulnerable and frightened.
His blue eyes and heavy brow drew me in. I didn't know what to think of him, but I liked seeing his face. It made my captivity much more reasonable to bear. There was something about him I couldn't shake. It was like being in a book where the lovers meet for the first time and their eyes are stuck in each other’s gaze.

I didn't see him as a master or a monster or a beast. He was suddenly something else.

His eyes widened. “Are you satisfied?”

I shook my head. “No, but thank you. I needed to see that.”

“Come as often as you like, see him as often as you need.”

I swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” His words were a whisper, “I am glad to see you found a dress more to your liking and less tempting for me.” His eyes trailed down the front of my baggy gown.

“I did. It’s one of Mrs. Potts’ dresses but she didn't seem to mind.”

He blinked and his eyes focused on my neck. He stepped back into the shadows and then I was alone. Because he moved so much faster than I did, when I hurried after him I realized he was already gone from the courtyard completely.

The sun crested the forest, peeping out from behind the clouds one last time before setting completely.

I shivered a little from the cold and hurried inside.

When Mrs. Potts came to my room to call me to dinner and to offer more of Babette’s clothing, I turned her down. I followed her into the dark hallway, wearing her own old gown with my hair tied back.

I sat at the long table, not fighting the fact I was ordered to be there.

When a cool wind blew through the dining room I wasn't surprised by the fact he was suddenly there, his shadow dancing in the flickering light of the fire and few candles.

He didn't speak, nor did I.

I sipped water and wine and ate bread, pretty much alone.
As did he.

Cogsworth, Mrs. Potts, and Lumier delivered our food on silver trays and drinks in fine goblets, but they didn't speak to either of us. Their nervous behavior around him was back, as if they were tiptoeing over glass.

The meal was gourmet but it might have been grass and dirt for all I cared. Sitting across from him was worse than being near him. He was intriguing in the way a cat that wanted no affections was.

When I was done I was stuffed, more full than I had been in a long time. I got up, not thinking, and walked to the fire. I sat on the rug in front of the flames and sighed.

It was not a bad evening, even if he didn't try to talk to me. He didn't explain how he was a monster and a man and which one he preferred being. He didn't tell me why he held me captive for such a ridiculous offense.

He sat in his chair and I sat on the floor, both of us in tense silence.

I blinked and
yawned,
turning to see that he had left at some point. I had been lost in the flickering flames and the crackling wood so I missed it. I had also missed the meal being cleared away and the table looked as if neither of us had been there at all.

So I got up and left the room, walking slowly through the grand hall. A small light across the floor, leading in a direction I had never been, caught my eye.

I followed it, curiosity getting the better of me.

My insides tightened as I neared the door and a sound rippled from the small space. I knew that sound and yet I didn't turn away. I walked closer, pressing my ear against the door.

The sound grew louder.

I lifted a trembling hand to the knob. I had to know. I didn't know why but I did. I turned it slowly, listening for any difference in the noise. But it remained steady—some grunting followed by moaning. I knew the sound well enough to suspect what was beyond the door.

I leaned forward as I turned the knob and opened the door a crack. There was a large room behind the door, big enough that the massive fire burning in the middle of it created light and shadows in every corner. A woman hung from the high ceiling, suspended by ropes and harnesses. Her legs were spread wide, tied that way.

I had never seen anything so ghastly, and yet I couldn't tear my gaze from it if I had to.

It was insane and creative and yet disgusting.

She lay on her back, swinging as the master stood in front of her. His huge hands cupped her ass, holding her in place so that when she swung away from him she slid along his cock. He swung her back, meeting her body by thrusting himself forward, slapping his hips against her body. She cried out, writhing and moaning and completely unable to move.

I wasn't certain if she was a willing participant until I noticed it was Babette.

The room was vast and beautiful, a mahogany study for a powerful man. But
the apparatus hanging from the ceiling and the large chests on the floor with whips and ties puddled around them made me think it wasn't just a study
.

She clung to the ropes that tied her hands, rocking her body in the swinging motion, helping him along.

His taut ass clenched as he met her, with both of them making noises I found arousing. Again, just as they had when he was cupping them, my nipples hardened under the rough dress.

The way I moved, leaning more forward to see better, my nipple dragged across my hand, sending a tightening sensation through my body. I moved my hand, brushing my knuckles again over the buds I had created.

The sensation was wild, one I hadn’t felt ever.

It stirred things inside my stomach that I wondered at. I lowered my other hand, watching him thrust and her writhe. I lifted my skirt and touched the hot lips of my sex. What had Gaston called it again?

My pussy.

I slipped my middle finger inside the lips, brushing them in the moisture I had made in my excitement.