Chapter 14
ALEXANDER
Iclimbed the steps, feeling tired. Another problem had pulled me from Maddie, and I had missed dinner.
Mrs. Dougall informed me Maddie had taken a tray in her room and offered to send up one for me, but I refused.
The hour was late, and I wanted only to see my wife’s face and hear her voice.
The day had been an emotional one for her, and I was worried.
I was also furious, the hatred I was feeling for her father a living, crackling flame in my chest. Hearing how he mistreated her, seeing the scars he left behind—both those that I could see with my eyes and the ones Maddie kept hidden deep within—would keep that hatred and need for revenge burning until he himself was extinguished.
I had gone to Cliffwood to win back the land my mother loved so much, but the truth was, saving Maddie was more important.
And I knew my mother would approve of those feelings.
In my chamber, I dismissed my valet after having him draw a bath.
I slipped into Maddie’s room, but she was asleep under the coverlet, her hands clutching the edge of the heavy fabric as if not finding the rest she sought in sleep.
Even after the pleasant hours we had spent together in the afternoon, no doubt her emotions were still raw.
I left her, sliding into the bath and sighing in relief. My shoulders ached from the work, and I was weary. For someone who remained aloof of others’ problems, seeing my wife so vulnerable this morning had done something to me. Broken something within that made me feel.
I wanted to fix it. Fix her. Heal her in any way she needed. Be the haven from whatever storm she faced and protect her at all costs.
I shook my head, realizing that my father had not accomplished what he had set out to do all those years ago. With her sweet ways and loving heart, Maddie showed me I was capable of feeling more than I thought possible.
More than I was able to grasp—even now.
I rose from the warm water, patting myself dry and donning a banyan.
Although expensive and deemed excessive by many, plumbed heated water within the house was an addition I wished never to be without again.
My kitchen ran smoother, the house was cleaner, and the water closet and bath a luxury I did not regret.
In fact, I wished to add to the plumbing, and I had meetings coming up soon with a planner to do so.
It was worth the chaos, expense, and repairs that followed.
I had just stepped into my chamber when I heard it. A low, keening sound. I stopped to listen, frowning when I realized it came from Maddie’s room. I heard another noise and the sound of a muffled sob.
Instantly, I was in her room, hurrying to her bedside. Her cheeks were wet with tears, one hand clutching the coverlet, the other reaching out beseechingly.
“Please, Father, no. I beg of you. I will do better. Please!”
She winced as if feeling the sting of a reed or the slap of a hand. I slipped my hands under her shoulders, shaking her gently.
“Maddie, darling, wake up. It is only a dream, my love.”
Her eyes snapped open, meeting mine. The terror I saw wrecked me.
“You are safe, Maddie mine. I am here.”
“Alexander,” she sobbed, flinging her arms around my neck. “I was there, back there…”
“Hush,” I soothed, rocking her. “It was but a bad dream. You are safe here with me, and nothing shall harm you. You will never be anywhere but here with me.”
She gripped me tighter, and I stood, taking her with me. In my chamber, I slid her onto the bed, keeping her close as I followed, pulling the thick counterpane over us and holding her tight.
“I am here,” I crooned. “Nothing shall harm you.”
I ran my hands along her spine, feeling the delicate ridges of the bones under my fingers. I soothed her with my voice and touch, sifting my fingers through her hair that felt like silk. Slowly, she calmed, and I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I have you.”
“Safe,” she whispered. “With you.”
“Always.”
“Must I leave?”
“No, stay here with me. I will open the curtains in the morning, and you can see the sunrise with me. I will watch over you tonight.”
“I should like that.”
“Then so be it.” I bent and pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth. “This is where you belong. With me.”
Her eyes drifted shut, and she sighed. “I like belonging with you.”
I liked it too.
MADELEINE
My father raged at me, spittle flying from his lips.
“What a worthless girl you are. Slothful and stupid. A waste of flesh.”
I bowed my head, knowing it was best to accept his insults rather than defend myself. “Yes, Father.”
“Did I give you leave to speak?” he snarled.
I shook my head, knowing his ire would only grow. He hadn’t. I had only meant to show that I would obey, but nothing I did was ever enough.
“Time for your punishment,” he announced. “Hold out your hands.”
I did as he asked, hating to, knowing what was coming, trying not to whimper.
It didn’t matter that my skin was toughened from the harsh work of being a housemaid or the layers of scarring.
The pain was always as sharp as a blade, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
Sometimes until the coppery tang of blood invaded my mouth.
Strike went the reed, that same old pain surging through me.
I cried out, twisting, trying to get away from him. I wouldn’t let him strike me this time. Why was he here? I was married now. Alexander would protect me.
“Alexander,” I tried to call out, struggling to escape my father, but my voice ceased to work. I couldn’t seem to make a sound, no matter how hard I tried.
My father’s fury only grew. He swung the reed harder, striking my wrist.
“No!” Hands were on me now, seizing me, gripping hard.
Pain streaked through me. He was angrier, his eyes blazing with fury. I had to escape. I had to—
“Maddie, it’s me.” The grasp was gentle, tender. Not like my father’s.
I awoke with a jolt, aware of the darkness surrounding me, the faint ethereal glow of the moon on the ceiling. The heat and strength of a comforting, familiar body.
“Alexander,” I murmured, my voice returning to me along with wakefulness.
“Hush, my darling.” He pulled me into his protective embrace, tucking me against him and kissing my crown. “You’re not in danger. You’re here with me. You were having another dream.”
It hadn’t been real. Relief washed over me. I wasn’t with my father. I was forever beyond his reach. I was safe. Alexander had me in his arms, the steady and reassuring thud of his heart beating against my ear.
His hands traveled in smooth, steady caresses up and down my spine, soothing the panic from me with each pass.
My own pounding heart slowed. The fear was gone.
My father couldn’t hurt me here. I was the Marchioness of Wheaton.
The title, though it belonged to me, still felt somehow as if it would have better served another.
There was only one title of import to me, and that was being this man’s wife.
I shivered, but it had naught to do with being cold.
“Are you chilled?” Alexander asked, his tone solicitous. “I can fetch another counterpane.”
I shook my head. “I am perfectly well. Don’t go. Please.”
I couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving me alone in the bed, of returning to those bad dreams. Already, I had come to rely on Alexander, but this sensation inside me was different now, twisting, almost desperate. He couldn’t leave my side. I needed him here.
“You needn’t worry, darling. I’ll stay with you.” His voice was soothing.
My frantic heartbeats calmed. Gratitude filled me. How many cold, dark nights had I risen in my little attic garret at Cliffwood, wishing myself somewhere else, starved for compassion, for someone who cared? More times than I could count. But never could I have imagined someone like Alexander.
His familiar scent curled around me, shaving soap and lemon with a hint of leather. I burrowed closer into his chest, seeking the comfort I knew I’d find there. He held me. He had me. The tension filling my body ebbed. I was safe. I was in his arms.
“Thank you,” I murmured through the thick silence hanging between us as the air began to shift.
I became intensely aware of our bodies intertwined. Although he was wearing a banyan and I had on my night rail, there was an intimacy in the way my softness melded into his hard, stern angles and planes. He made me feel more than safe and protected. He made me feel cared for.
But he made me feel other things too. He made me aware of my breasts crushing into him, the way one of his long legs had come to tangle with mine. The differences between us. The warmth.
A liquid jolt of yearning flared to life deep within me, blossoming outward. A new but not unfamiliar desire.
I wanted this man, my husband. I wanted him to claim me as his wife. Not just in word, in vows we had recited on our wedding day, but in deed as well.
Slowly, gathering my courage, I tilted my head back to drink in the sight of him, his cheekbones bathed in silver moonlight, his dark hair unbound and falling freely around his face.
The light played over his stern nose and compressed lips, lips I had felt against mine and very much wanted to feel again.
“You saved me from him,” I whispered, running my foot along his calf beneath the smooth weight of his banyan.
I heard his sharp inhalation of breath and felt the way his body stiffened against mine. Was it shock? Had I been too forward, touching his limb with my foot? I was yet new to being married. To yearning for a man’s touch, to the marriage bed. I hoped I wasn’t shocking or displeasing my husband.
“I woke you from a bad dream,” he countered softly, still sweeping his palms up and down my spine, from the small of my back to the place between my shoulders where I carried so much tautness from years of laboring.
Without saying a word, his knowing fingers found those sore muscles, massaging them and helping to quell the lingering strain. “That was all.”