Maid for the Marquess
Miss Maddie Smythe
My callous father wagered me to a brooding stranger during a hand of cards, leaving me terrified.
But Lord Wheaton was nothing like the baron who’d forced me into servitude and gave me away.
The handsome marquess was compassionate, honorable, and my only hope for a future.
I married him to save myself, not intending to lose my heart.
Never thinking of the danger that loomed, threatening to tear us apart forever.
Alexander, Marquess of Wheaton
The last thing I needed was an innocent to protect, but I couldn’t leave the frightened maid to her vile father’s mercy.
It didn’t take me long to realize Maddie was everything I never knew I needed, sweet and caring and lovely.
She made me whole.
When her villainous father tried to take her from me, I vowed to do everything in my power to save my wife.
Even if it meant sacrificing myself…
Excerpt from Maid for the Marquess…
“I will add one more thing,” the baron said abruptly.
I frowned at the unexpected offer.
“Which is?”
“A servant for you.” Something in his voice set my teeth on edge. He looked delighted, as if he had suddenly thought of a plan.
“I have no need of any servants.”
He waved his hand. “This one is special. Been in my house her whole life.” He paused. “Untouched. She will be yours to do with what you wish. In fact, I hope you use her then cast her aside when done.”
I was shocked at his callous tone. Horrified at his suggestion. I met the eyes of Edward, who also looked dismayed.
“I beg your pardon,” I snapped.
He held up his hand. “I mean no disrespect. I know you are a man who prefers experience. Consider this a gift. Whether you win or not.”
I realized he fully expected to win. That, in his twisted mind, I would accept a servant in lieu of funds, never suspecting his fraud.
“Bring her in,” he ordered his butler.
Once again, I met Edward’s gaze, a silent conversation flowing between us. Whoever this servant was, it was obvious Barnett despised her. Wanted her gone and wished for her to suffer.
Nothing prepared me for the young woman who was dragged into the room and pushed in front of me.
I automatically rose to my feet as any gentleman would do when a lady entered.
I had to grab the edge of the table to remain standing.
It was the chit I had seen scurrying away—the one who had captured my interest for some reason. Seeing her fully was a shock.
Draped in a gown that was threadbare and far too large on her small frame, she shrank into herself, as if used to hiding.
Her head was bowed, her shaking arms wrapped around her torso.
Small feet covered in torn boots peeked out from under the useless garment.
It did nothing to hide her form or protect her.
I wondered what the greatest motivation behind her trembling was.
Cold or fear?
I noticed how tiny her hands were that clutched her gown.
Surprisingly long fingers gripped the material—digits so slender they were noticeable even through the gloves she wore.
That oddity caught me off guard, making me wonder why she would have such heavy gloves on at this time of night.
Her arms were rail-thin—in fact, her entire body seemed more childlike than that of a maiden.
Unbound wild, dark hair hid her face. I crossed my arms, feigning disinterest.
“I have no need of a child,” I growled, furious.
Lord Barnett leaned forward, his voice dripping in anger.
“Show yourself, girl. Push that horrid mane behind you and look up. Or bear the taste of my displeasure.” When she didn’t move, he stood. “Your father is speaking!” he roared.
Another jolt of shock hit me.
This was his daughter? Why was she being treated as a servant?
Slowly, she straightened her shoulders, using one hand to push away the heavy tresses. She lifted her head, and our gazes locked. I stepped back in disbelief, barely able to hide my horror and shock.
The face she revealed was that of a beautiful skeleton.
White skin, beyond pale, stretched taut over high cheekbones.
A perfectly formed nose. Small ears. A swan’s neck.
In contrast with her paleness, her lips were full and red, akin to a slash of crimson on snow.
Hers was one of the loveliest faces I had ever beheld with my eyes.
Her hair tumbled past her slender shoulders, and my eyes were drawn to her bosom.
Her breasts were large, heavy. Far too large for her tiny frame. Even standing straight, she tried to hide them, obviously ill at ease.
Her trembling increased as I drew closer. Our eyes met, and I felt the stirrings within my chest as I took in her weary, ancient gaze.
Her eyes were blue—but not the simple blue of the sky or water. They were a shade I could not even describe, that of the ocean on a stormy day, blues and grays mixing and crashing together. Framed by long lashes, they were filled with pain and trepidation.
And pure, abject terror.
I had seen that terror in one other set of eyes. It was a memory I carried close to my heart—which after all these years still had the power to bring me to my knees.
I hadn’t been able to comprehend what I was seeing then, but I recognized it now. And I refused to turn my back on that emotion.
“She’ll do.”