spoke quietly. “Whatever you want me to say to get rid of them, you should reconsider. I am not a good liar. I advise you to stay and face your guests. If you run, they will follow.”
He already knew as much. “What servants work in here today?”
“Why?”
Tomás clenched his jaw.
Nuncio sighed. “Those you already see.”
He waved Nuncio away. If Beatriz worked in the dining hall, she’d be here daily, during meals. Tomás wouldn’t have to hope to run into her while she tended the chambers or wait endlessly until she dusted his study.
A talk with Señora Cisneros about Beatriz’s duties would easily change matters.
* * * *
Beatriz dusted a second floor windowsill overlooking an expansive lawn. Mulberry and cork trees bordered the clearing, along with countless flowers in an array of types and colors. White carnations, bluebells, roses, red-and-white striped lilies. Their exquisite scents perfumed the air.
At any other time, she might have smiled at the beauty. Not today.
A gentle breeze carried laughter and converse from the señoritas who surrounded Tomás, each vying for his attention. The one in dark green silk with a matching caul danced around trying to get closer to him. The one in red with a white flower in her hair elbowed past another girl. Those in gold and bright yellow were even less demure, pushing into each other, speaking loudly, far removed from how a lowly servant had to act.
Especially to please Nuncio.
How dare he make her solely responsible for a man’s carnal moves? Beatriz had no control over anyone’s passion except her own. Thus far, she’d failed miserably at quelling her desires.
Despite what Nuncio had said, she still ached to feel Tomás’s heat and strength, to have him imprison and possess her. No threat in the world would change her longing. However, she wasn’t foolish enough to act on her attraction. Poor man already had enough trouble.
His broad shoulders were slumped, mouth turned down. She wanted to make him smile. To have him stand as the noble lord he was, magnificent in his dark blue robe and doublet, his hose snug to his sinewy thighs and calves.
Several young women spoke to him at once. A señorita in a bright yellow gown touched his upper arm. The girl next to her, clad in vivid orange silk, touched his jaw.
Jealousy heated Beatriz’s face and throat.
Tomás drew back until the young woman groped air, not him. He faced the window, his gaze touching Beatriz, his dark brown eyes flooding with warmth, bronze complexion deepening.
Weak with desire, she leaned against the sill for support.
The señoritas gestured to him, talking endlessly, their words too garbled to understand.
Whatever they said, Tomás ignored them. He studied Beatriz’s eyes, then her lips and lingered there. She was smiling without realizing it. He answered with a broad grin and stepped closer.
A young woman gripped his sleeve and tugged him away. He gave her a hard frown.
Beatriz leaned forward to catch what else he’d do, and her hand slid off the polished stone. Startled, she jerked back and dropped her cloth. The linen drifted on the breeze, coming to rest on a fat bush, marring the area’s perfection.
No, no, no, no. She willed the air to blow the cloth behind the vegetation to hide the stupid thing.
The linen stuck there, flapping in the breeze for everyone to see. Particularly Nuncio who might guess she’d spied on Tomás.
The señoritas babbled loudly. Two held his hands, pulling him across the lawn. He looked back at Beatriz several times, his expression yearning.
She would have leaned out the window to keep him in sight but feared falling to the ground. As it was, she needed to wait until he and the others left before risking a trip to retrieve her cloth.
When she could neither see nor hear them any longer, she left the window and froze.
Rufio blocked her. Of average height, he had broad shoulders, powerful arms, and large hands, perfect for hauling heavy trays