For a long, agonizing moment, the only sound in the bedroom was the crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.
Beatrice stared at me, her sharp eyes searching my face for any sign of mockery. But I held her gaze with absolute, unyielding confidence. I wasn't just a trash noble anymore; I was a man who knew exactly what he was capable of, and I knew for a fact that what I had given Eleanor last night was nothing short of a revelation.
Eleanor, still clutching the fur blanket to her chest, looked frantically between her maid and her husband. "Victor, please! You can't be serious! Having her... having her watch us?"
"Why not?" I asked mildly, finally stepping away from the door and walking toward the desk to retrieve my blueprints. "Beatrice thinks I'm torturing you. The only way to prove to a stubborn, fiercely loyal guard dog that her mistress is safe is to let her see the process for herself."
I picked up the rolled parchment and turned back to the maid, who was still kneeling naked on the mattress. Even stripped of her uniform and her hidden blades, she projected an aura of deadly intent.
"I am not a voyeur, Baron," Beatrice hissed, her pale skin flushing slightly. "It is highly inappropriate."
"So is holding a skinning knife to your naked mistress while screaming about castration," I pointed out flatly. "Look, Beatrice. I actually respect your loyalty. You're the only person in this freezing, crumbling estate who actually gives a damn about Eleanor. But things are changing. I am changing. And I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure my wife is worshipped the way she deserves."
Eleanor let out a tiny, strangled squeak from beneath the furs, her face turning a shade of red I didn't think was biologically possible.
I walked to the door, resting my hand on the iron latch. "Tonight. After supper. You can stand in the corner and hold your little dagger if it makes you feel better. But by the time I'm done, you'll realize the only thing I'm breaking is her absolute lack of pleasure."
Without waiting for a response, I stepped out into the freezing hallway and shut the door behind me.
The courtyard of the Valerius estate was a miserable, muddy expanse of cracked stone and shivering servants.
I pulled my wool cloak tighter around my shoulders, my breath pluming in the crisp autumn air. The original Victor had spent his days drinking cheap wine and avoiding his responsibilities. As a result, the territory's infrastructure was decades behind even the basic medieval standards of this world.
I found the estate's head builder, a burly, bearded man named Silas, shouting at a couple of shivering apprentices trying to patch a leaking stone wall with frozen mortar.
"Silas," I called out, striding over to him.
The large man turned, his expression instantly dropping into a look of barely concealed disdain. "My Lord. Is there something you need? We are busy trying to keep the east wing from collapsing."
"I have a new project for you. A complete overhaul of the southern wing's ground floor." I unrolled my parchment on a nearby wooden barrel, pinning the corners down with loose stones. "We are building a bathhouse."
Silas stared at me like I had grown a second head. "A bathhouse? My Lord, with all due respect, we have wooden tubs in the servant's quarters. We don't have the coin or the magic to heat a massive pool of water."
"We don't need magic," I said, tapping the charcoal drawing. "We need physics. Specifically, thermal convection."
I spent the next twenty minutes breaking down the concept of a hypocaust system. I explained how we would build a raised floor supported by brick pillars. Outside the building, we would construct a large, enclosed furnace. The hot air and smoke from the wood fire wouldn't just vent out of a chimney; it would be drawn underneath the suspended floor, heating the stone tiles from below, before escaping through flues built into the walls.
"The heat radiates upward," I explained, tracing the airflow on the schematic. "The floor itself becomes a giant, continuous radiator. It warms the room evenly without filling it with smoke. And above the furnace, we place a massive copper boiler. The same fire heating the floors will continuously heat the water, which will feed directly into a sunken, tiled pool."
Silas was silent. He leaned heavily over the barrel, his thick fingers tracing the charcoal lines. For a man who had spent his life stacking cold stones, the concept of a self-sustaining, multi-purpose heating system was practically sorcery.
"The draft..." Silas muttered, his eyes widening as he grasped the mechanics. "The heat from the furnace will naturally want to rise through the wall flues... it will pull the hot air under the floor without needing wind."
"Exactly," I grinned. "It's entirely passive. It just requires precise masonry. Can you build it?"
Silas looked up at me, the disdain completely wiped from his face, replaced by the fervent gleam of a craftsman given the challenge of a lifetime. "It will take two weeks, my Lord. And we will need to source the copper for the boiler from the capital."
"Do it. Take whatever funds you need from the treasury." I clapped him on the shoulder. "When it's finished, Silas, neither of us will ever freeze in this miserable castle again."
The rest of the day was spent mapping out the estate's failing agricultural zones and reviewing the abysmal tax ledgers. By the time evening rolled around, I was physically exhausted, covered in dust, and ravenously hungry.
But as the sun dipped below the horizon, plunging the castle into darkness, a different kind of hunger took over entirely.
I washed up with a basin of freezing water, cursing the delay on my bathhouse, and changed into a clean linen shirt and trousers. My heart was pounding a steady, heavy rhythm against my ribs as I walked down the dimly lit corridor toward Eleanor's chambers.
I had issued a bold challenge this morning. I honestly didn't know if Beatrice would have the nerve to show up, or if Eleanor would have forbidden her from doing so.
I didn't bother knocking. I slid the heavy iron key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open.
The room was bathed in the warm, flickering glow of half a dozen thick beeswax candles. The heavy furs had been pushed to the foot of the bed.
Eleanor was sitting perfectly in the center of the mattress. She was wearing a completely sheer, white silk slip that clung to every curve of her voluptuous body, the dark pink of her nipples clearly visible through the thin fabric. Her silver hair was brushed out, falling over her shoulders, and her cheeks were already flushed with a heavy, nervous heat. She looked like a goddess waiting for an offering.
And standing perfectly still in the darkest corner of the room, arms crossed over her chest, fully dressed in her dark maid's uniform, was Beatrice.
The maid's face was an unreadable mask of stoic determination, but I saw the subtle tightening of her jaw as I locked the door behind me. The click of the iron bolt echoed loudly in the quiet room.
She actually stayed. A slow, predatory smile spread across my face. I looked at Eleanor, whose breath hitched the moment my eyes locked onto hers, and then I glanced at the maid in the shadows.
"Good evening, ladies," I murmured, my voice low and thick with anticipation as I slowly pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it onto a nearby chair. "I hope you're both ready. Class is officially in session."