Page 43 of Maid for the Marquess

“We will go see her tomorrow. But I would like you to try no gloves in my presence. They do not offend me except that the person who inflicted the wounds should be punished. But not you.”

She hesitated, meeting my eyes in a silent plea. I nodded in encouragement. “Trust me, my wife.”

I waited until she peeled off her gloves, shutting her eyes as the warm air drifted over them. She lifted her hands, rolling them gracefully, allowing them to feel the sun and breeze for the first time in what I imagined was a long while. I smiled at the innocent tableau in front of me and marveled at her bravery in doing what I asked.

Then she picked up a jam puff and ate it, allowing herself to enjoy it. A hum of pleasure escaped her mouth, and I wondered what noise she would make when I kissed her.

I wanted to find out.

I moved closer, still holding her hands. “Will you tell me, Maddie? Why your father treated you as he did?”

She lifted her shoulders. “I do not know. He was never a warm or affectionate father. He never spent much time with me except to show me off at gatherings. I spent most of my time with my momma. But I didn’t fear him. They met when she was staying here, having fled Paris. From what she always said, he swept her off her feet, married her, and she stayed here in England. I thought they were happy. I remember balls and parties and Momma looking beautiful.” She paused, as if in thought. “About two weeks after she passed, I was pulled from my room and taken to the servants’ quarters. My clothes were changed, my life thrown into chaos. I was informed I was no longer the daughter of the house. I was a servant and would be treated as such.” She paused, a faraway look in her eyes. “My father punished anyone who tried to help or protect me. The servants did what they could, making sure to teach me everything I needed to know. Shielded me from some of the more difficult tasks when my father wasn’t around. When he was, he was the hardest on me. Any infraction was noted. I was punished often. My rations were always smaller than anyone else’s. At first, they all tried to give me more, but as time wore on and the servants changed, I simply became what he wanted. A servant with no name or dowry. No hope of a better life.” She slipped her hand into mine, the shock of her touch surprising me. “Until you, Alexander.”

I stroked her skin, feeling the scars on her flesh as if they were mine. Hating her story and knowing she wasn’t telling the entire truth. She was still afraid—or perhaps too traumatized by the past.

“Thank you for telling me,” I murmured, touching her cheek. “For trusting me.”

She smiled, the hesitancy of it once again bothering me. I wanted her to be free and open with me. I wanted her smiles, her laughter. With a start, I realized I wanted to give her mine.

She leaned into my hand, and I cupped her cheek.

“You are so beautiful, Maddie.”

“Father told me I was ugly.”

“Your father, as we determined earlier, is a cad and a bastard.”

Her giggle made me smile.

“Tomorrow, we shall go into the village and see the healer. And the dressmaker.”

“But I have new frocks,” she protested. “You purchased them for me when we were married. And you ordered Constance to procure some from London.”

I shook my head. “I did, but Constance convinced me to purchase only a few and that we should venture to London in the future and you will have a complete new wardrobe from the best modiste in the city. But I wish you to have everything you desire or need right now as well. I want you to have all of it. I want you to eat. Sleep. Relax. I want your body strong and healthy.” I paused. “Not right away, but we will want to entertain. When word reaches the ears of those in London that I have married, we will have guests. Perhaps a ball.” I smiled at her. “I will dance with my wife wearing a beautiful gown, only outshone by her own loveliness.”

She blinked and looked down. Then she raised her eyes to mine and studied me as if she was unsure how to take me. “You are a gift, sir,” she whispered. “One I am not sure I deserve.”

“You do,” I assured her. “And I am happy you are here with me.”

“Thank you.”

The air around us changed, grew warmer. My gaze dropped to her mouth. Her full lips I wanted to kiss.

Her breath caught as our eyes met and locked. Her mouth opened slightly, and I lowered my head, giving her the chance to move or protest.

She did not.

I pressed my mouth to hers, feeling the softness of her lips underneath mine.

She gasped softly as I wound my arm around her waist, pulling her to my lap and cupping her head. I kissed her again, tracing the seam of her lips with my tongue and sliding inside as she opened for me.

I teased her tongue, coaxing her to kiss me back. I felt a tremor go through her, and I held her, exploring her thoroughly. Licking deep into her mouth, smiling as she kissed me back, tentative and soft, then slowly responding to my ardor. She was sweet and perfect. She tasted of lemonade, jam, and pure Madeleine. She grew bolder, sliding a hand around my neck and playing with the hair on my nape. Her full breasts pressed into my chest, and I longed to lay her on the blanket and undress her, expose her to the fresh air and my mouth. But I knew it was too soon and it would overwhelm her. Frighten her. I had no wish for that to happen, so I slowed my kisses until I drew back, staring down at her, liking what I saw.

Her cheeks were flushed, the pink spreading down her neck and chest. Her breathing was rapid, her eyes shut. One hand fisted my shirt, the linen crushed in her fingers. She opened her eyes, the bottomless pools of blue filled with wonder and what I hoped was passion.

“You stopped,” she whispered.

“I had to, Maddie mine.”