Page 38 of Maid for the Marquess

“Madeleine?”

She bobbed an awkward curtsy, and I had to resist rolling my eyes at her unneeded gesture. She was my wife, not my servant.

“Forgive me, my lord, for the intrusion.”

“What are you doing in my study?”

Her eyes widened and terror laced her voice. “I was not doing anything dishonest, my lord. I was trying to bring a little sunshine into the room.” She indicated the vase of flowers on the mantel.

I stared at them, blinking. No one had ever brought flowers into my study. Under my strict instructions, unless it was to clean the room under Edward’s watchful eyes, no one ventured in here.

“Who let you in?”

Her hands fluttered. “The door was unlocked.”

I scowled in frustration. Had I not locked it?

Her hands moved to her throat. “I have angered you. Displeased you, my lord?”

I looked at the mantel, unsure how to answer. Her offering was sweet, and I wasn’t used to gestures of that sort.

With a grimace, I turned back to the liquor, picking up my glass and downing the remaining contents. I supposed, as my wife, she would be allowed to go anywhere in the house, without question. I needed to remember that. A smile tugged on my lips.

I wasn’t used to having a wife either. I had just been bemoaning the fact that I hadn’t seen enough of her and there she was, and I was acting like an arse.

I spun around to assure her all was well, but she had disappeared. No doubt hurried away, upset by my silence. Thinking I was displeased, as she put it.

The flowers looked…nice on the mantel, the bright colors standing out in the otherwise masculine room.

I would seek out Madeleine and escort her to lunch. Assure her I was not angry. Otherwise, she wouldn’t eat, and I wanted her to get healthy. I withheld a sigh. I wanted her to stop cowering in alarm as well, but I knew it would all take time.

I was sitting at the desk, reading some correspondence, when Madeleine entered the room again. She shut the door behind her and approached the desk. Confused, I watched as she placed a small bundle of reeds on my desk along with a rose. Her words send shards of ice down my spine.

“I am ready for my punishment, my lord.”

For a moment, I was numb with shock.

Punishment. She thought I meant to mete out punishment on her for the infraction of placing flowers in my study. For attempting to add a little color in a place she did not yet consider to be her home.

I had to shut my eyes and count to ten. I unfurled myself from the chair and rounded the desk.

She stood, her head bowed, hands clasped, as always, in tight fists. I noticed for the first time ever, her gloves were not voluntarily on her hands. Her shaking fingers were even more delicate than I recalled from the brief glimpse I’d had on the day of our wedding.

“And what, pray tell, is your punishment?” I asked mildly. “I confess, I have little experience with matters such as this.”

A long, furious shiver ran through her body. She held out her trembling bare hands, opened her fists, displaying them palm side up. Her eyes were downcast, but I knew if I saw them, they would be petrified yet resigned.

“To be taught a lesson, sir. Not to overstep my bounds.”

I caught one hand in mine, lifting it closer for inspection. Thin white scars, multitudes of them, showed on her skin. Small puncture marks dotted the thin flesh. All healed over, yet telling a story so ugly, it made my stomach roll. I stroked the palm, feeling the thickness of the scars she carried, wondering how much deeper the scars in her mind were.

“Your father beat you with reeds,” I stated, keeping the fury from my voice.

“Yes.”

“And the rose?”

“I held the stem in my other hand and presented it to him when he was done as a gift.”