Beautiful Torment *Book One of the Beautiful series*

2) The Man Servant

The night was cool and damp with a misting spring rain that clung to everything in sight. Granston House stood just outside Ashbourne, the sprawling capital of Westwend. It was in close enough vicinity to service the gentlemen who lived in the city, but private enough to not make a spectacle of itself. Avoiding the eyes of the law.

Outside the grand house was a small stable where Lucy spotted the Duke's fancy carriage waiting, outfitted with four magnificent black horses. Struck by their beauty, she faltered for a moment to admire them. How their dark coats gleamed under the soft light of the carriage lanterns.

Drawing closer, Lucy found herself memorized by their power and in awe of the extravagant leather straps of their harnesses. The black material was studded with gold rivets. Two of those little bits of precious metal would be worth more than what she made in a year's time.

Shifting the mug of ale to the crook of her arm that held the plate, the young girl brought her freed fingers up. She only wanted to graze the lead horse's flank when suddenly a strong hand caught her by the wrist, spinning her so quickly that ale sloshed down the front of her dress.

"What are you doing?" His deep voice growled.

A startled cry ripped from Lucy's throat, and she dropped the plate of food. The mutton squelched into the mud, beans scattered, and the dinner roll tumbled, spinning like a top before it came to rest against the toe of the man's dark boot. They both paused to stare down at the muck covered delicacies.

"My dinner, I presume?" He asked darkly.

Lucy's heart thundered in her chest, slowly pulling her gaze up the man's tall, formidable frame. The hood of his black cloak sat low on his brow, but she could make out the traces of ebony stubble over his chin and feel the weight of his eyes trained on her face.

Burning with shame, she lowered her gaze and stammered out, "I-I am so sorry, sir. It was an accident."

"I should say so." His hand still clamped around her wrist sent an unnatural heat through Lucy's arm. The warmth traveled down her body to surprising and unwelcome places. Realizing she was still within his hold, the manservant released her and backed off. "Was the ale spared?" He asked.

Lucy felt herself shivering as she peeked into the cup still tucked between her arm and chest. "Mostly," she trembled out.

The man nodded and turned on his heel. "Come," he commanded, treading toward the small stables. "Out of this rain."

She hesitated, not wanting to follow the daunting stranger to a place so out of sight from the eyes of the grand house. But she felt as though there was no other option after what she had done. Grasping his ale in one hand and her skirts in the other, she followed his tall silhouette through the night and into the warm, dry stables.

"Do you plan to leave the horses out in the cold rain all night-" Lucy started to ask but fell short, releasing a small gasp at the sight before her.

He had pulled his hood away, uncovering what had to be the most handsome face she had ever seen before. His thick, raven-black hair was striking, swept neatly back from his forehead. His obsidian eyes were soft, offset by high, angular cheekbones and a sharp, square jaw. Pale skin was a sharp contrast to his other dark features.

This was the type of man the harlots fought over. The type some of them would even have a go with for free. He paused under her scrutiny but only for the briefest of moments, likely used to such a reaction. With his teeth, he bit the tip of his riding glove, tearing it off to tuck beneath his arm before using a long finger to beckon Lucy forward.

Stunned, it took her a heartbeat to realize he was waiting for his ale. In her hurry to deliver, the rushing air from her movement caught the cloak's hood, sweeping it back from her face as she carried the remainder of his drink to him. A flash of something she could not quite identify fell over his face, but vanished just as fast. Lucy was quick to press the tin cup into his hand and retreat to the relative safety of the stable entrance.