by Yasmine Nash
It was cruel but necessary, he told himself as he walked away, leaving his wife alone. He just wished the sinking feeling in his chest wasn’t making him doubt whether that was actually true.
* * *
The baron had left Amanda to fend for herself again today. At first, she had felt disappointed, but now Amanda decided she was grateful for the space. She needed some time to get her head on straight again. She had felt all turned around since last night and she did not much care for the sensation.
Nothing Amanda’s mother had said to warn her daughter had prepared her for the earth-shattering sensations she had felt last night. And although she had awoken sore between her legs, with blood spotting the sheets, the memory of her husband’s kisses against her skin had been enough to rid her of the discomfort.
But her mind was still all aflutter. She hadn’t expected to feel so vulnerable around her husband after that experience. They were still essentially strangers, after all. The two of them had only known each other for less than a fortnight!
Well, there was no going back now. She and Descamps were officially wedded. The thought didn’t make her as glum as it once would have.
Amanda spent the better part of the morning writing letters to her family and friends back home—although she was very careful to leave out any mention of the events of the previous night. Her parents would be pleased to hear that she was settling in.
Once she finished, the idea of how to occupy the rest of her day spread out before her. Amanda had no acquaintances here, and Descamps did not strike Amanda as the sort of man who had a wide social circle. Which would have suited her just fine, if not for the loneliness of being away from her family. Now, in the light of day, sitting alone in the castle’s cold rooms, she felt more exposed and vulnerable than she had last night.
If she had been at home right now, she would have been playing with her young sisters or out shopping with her mother. Perhaps feeding the chickens or milking the cows. But the baron kept staff here to handle all those menial tasks.
What did highborn young ladies do to occupy their time? Although she was a gentleman’s daughter, Amanda’s family had never had enough spare income to hire tutors. Amanda didn’t possess many of the accomplishments that society dictated a young lady should have. She couldn’t speak any foreign languages, write beautiful poetry, nor paint watercolors, but she could handle a needle with the best of them—although most high-born young ladies probably dedicated their skills toward sewing objects for the poor, not darning their father’s socks as Amanda had.
But she had learned to do more delicate work as well. Amanda’s entire trousseau had been sewn by her hand, begun when she was only a young girl. Perhaps she could bring down her sewing basket and take out some of the needlework she had been working on before her marriage.
She went to fetch it from her room, only to run into Sara tidying up. The maid looked up in surprise when Amanda entered the room. She quickly curtsied and turned her head away, but not fast enough for Amanda not to notice the tears streaming down Sara’s cheeks.
Amanda rushed forward. “Sara! Whatever is the matter?” she exclaimed.
Sara straightened and hurriedly wiped her cheeks on her gown. “Nothing, my lady. I apologize; I did not realize you had finished your meal already.”
“Sara,” Amanda said gently. “You wouldn’t be crying if there wasn’t something wrong. Now, will you tell me what it is? Maybe I could help?” She guided the maid over to the bed, so they both perched on the edge of the mattress.
“It’s nothing,” Sara repeated. “Just an argument with Mrs. Hughes this morning.”
“The housekeeper?” Amanda had known she didn’t like that woman. Now that she was closer to Sara, she could make out the bruises covering her arms. “Did she do this to you?”
Sara’s eyes filled with tears again. “I’m sorry, my lady. I never wished to burden you with this.”
Though Amanda was younger than Sara, she felt oddly protective of the woman. “Don’t worry about that now,” she told Sara soothingly, holding back her own fury. “Just tell me how this happened.” Awareness dawned over her. “Am I right in thinking this isn’t the first time she’s done this to you?”
Sara nodded. “She gets in these moods. She does it to all the female servants, my lady.”
“And what set her off this time?” Amanda asked, not bothering to hide the anger in her voice any longer. Any person in authority who would treat those lower than them in such a way was beyond despicable.
Sara hesitated, as though unsure whether she should say. “We got into an argument,” she said finally.
“About what?” Amanda prodded.
“About you, my lady,” Sara said apologetically. “Mrs. Hughes was insulting you and I told her to stop. So she twisted my arm until it bruised, then she shoved me to the floor.”
This had all happened because Sara had been defending her to that insolent housekeeper. If only Amanda had shown more authority with that woman from the start, perhaps she wouldn’t have dared to open her mouth and badmouth her mistress in front of the rest of the staff.
A thought suddenly occurred to Amanda. “Does the baron know Mrs. Hughes treats you in this way?” she asked, hoping not.
Sara shook her head. “I’ve never mentioned it to him. One of the kitchen workers says a scullery maid once told the old baron how Mrs. Hughes would treat the female servants and he boxed that poor girl on the ears for speaking to him.”
Amanda’s stomach curdled in disgust at the tale. As if she had needed any additional proof that her husband’s father had not been a good man. “My husband would never do such a thing though,” Amanda said with as much certainty as she could muster.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Sara said meekly, but she did not look completely convinced.
“I’ll tell him of this myself,” Amanda declared. Sara was horrified.
“Please don’t him I said anything, my lady! I would hate for my lord to think poorly of me. It was unseemly for me to come to you with this problem.”
“If you insist, I won’t say your name to him,” Amanda conceded, “but he must know of how Mrs. Hughes has been treating you all.”
Sara nodded miserably and left to tend to her other duties, even though Amanda tried to tell her to take the rest of the day off.
Secretly, Amanda wasn’t entirely convinced that her husband would care either. If Sara had been correct, Mrs. Hughes had been mistreating the servants for over a decade. Was it really possible her husband didn’t know this was happening?
She had to wait until the evening to find out. Shortly before the bell was due to ring for supper, she heard her husband’s footsteps in the hallway. He must be heading to his chambers to change for the meal.
Hesitantly, Amanda went over and knocked on the door connecting their rooms. Descamps opened the door, looking curiously at her. She had never had occasion to go near it before now.
“Can I help you, wife?”
“Do you mind if I come in?” she asked, motioning her head toward his room. Descamps stepped back and swept his hand up in a gesture of invitation.
Amanda wasn’t sure what she had been expecting from her husband’s bedchamber, but if she had had to make a guess, it would have come pretty close to this. The room was as cold and formidable as her husband himself. She wondered that he could stand to be in it for longer than a few minutes at a time. She shivered. The only nod to comfort was the large bear-skin rug underneath the huge poster bed on the other side of the room.
“Well?” Descamps asked calmly. He had resumed dressing while Amanda was gazing around like a simpleton.
Amanda stood awkwardly, trying not to let her eyes linger on her husband’s bare back as he changed. She had business to accomplish while she was here. She couldn’t let herself be distracted by the sight of Descamps’ muscled body.
She took a breath to steady herself. “What do you think of Mrs. Hughes?” she asked him innocuously.
He turned to her in obvious surprise. The expression humanized him. “You’ve come in here to speak to me about our housekeeper?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Was there something else you wished to talk to me about?”
He cleared his throat. “No,” he said. “Go on. What about Mrs. Hughes?”
“How long have you known her?” Amanda prodded.
“She’s been working here most of my life,” Descamps said. “She does her duties and she keeps the staff in line.”
“A little too much,” Amanda muttered.
“Speak up, wife,” Descamps said, looking irritated now. “Out with it.”
“I discovered that she’s been mistreating the female servants, my lord,” Amanda said in a rush.
Descamps stilled, his back still to her. “Mistreating them how?” he asked dangerously.
Amanda explained what she had learned, being very careful to keep Sara’s name out of it.
Without another word, Descamps strode from the bedchamber, although he wasn’t finished dressing yet. Amanda hurried to keep up after her husband. She followed him down the stairs, to what she assumed were Mrs. Hughes’ quarters in the basement. Descamps rapped once on the door, then opened it impatiently.
The housekeeper was sitting at a table in the small room, making notes in a ledger. She looked up in surprise. “My lord,” she said. “How can I help you?”
Amanda was interested to note that the housekeeper’s demeanor was polite and obliging—completely different than what had been displayed toward her during their previous interaction.
“I’ve heard tales that you’ve been hurting the women who are entrusted to your care, Mrs. Hughes,” Descamps said, in a dangerous growl.
“I beg your pardon, my lord?” Mrs. Hughes sputtered. “Tales from who?” It seemed that she spotted Amanda still standing out in the hallway just then, for she grimaced. “I see.”
“Is it true?” Descamps asked.
“My lord,” Mrs. Hughes said beseechingly. “I have to do it to keep the young things in line. They’ll act up otherwise. I had no idea you would disapprove of the practice.”
Descamps’ face went still. “What part of my history would make you think I would abide such a thing, Mrs. Hughes?”
Sensing a trap, the housekeeper kept her mouth shut.
Descamps made up his mind. “You are released from your employment here at Highmount, without reference. I will provide you with six months of wages to tide you over until you can find a new situation. I expect you to leave here by the end of the week.”
Mrs. Hughes looked up in shock. Then her face twisted with rage and she directed her gaze at Amanda. “You!” she screeched. “This is all your fault, you upstart nobody.”
“Silence!” Descamps roared, and Mrs. Hughes crouched against the desktop. “Do not give me another opportunity to regret my generosity,” he said in a dangerous tone. “I would happily kick you out of this castle tonight if you force me to.” Then he spun around and left the room, Amanda hurrying on his heels again.
Her heart was pounding. She had not expected to see a scene like that. She had almost felt bad for the older woman. It would not be easy to find a new situation without a reference. But Mrs. Hughes’ final comment had removed most of that sympathy from her.
All along the hallway, servants who had clearly been eavesdropping just a moment before ducked out of sight or pretended to be busy at work. Amanda thought she could detect a faint smile on the faces of some of the women they passed.
Descamps remained in a temper all through supper, barely touching his food. The expression on his face was so fierce, Amanda didn’t dare try to speak to him.
It wasn’t until later, after they had both retired to the drawing room, that Amanda dared to open her mouth. Descamps had poured himself a glass of brandy and was pacing back and forth in front of the fire agitatedly.
“Are you going to miss her?” she ventured. Perhaps Mrs. Hughes had been a motherly figure to him as a child, which was why he was reacting so strongly to her dismissal now.
Descamps scoffed. “She was a vile shrew. I shall be glad she’s gone.” He took another swig of brandy. “The only reason I kept her around was because she did her job with discretion.”
“Although I imagine she’ll spread whatever gossip she can about this household now that she’s no longer employed here,” Amanda said glumly. “I am sorry.”
“Don’t worry. People will have already heard much worse about me than whatever Mrs. Hughes can have to say,” Descamps said darkly.
“Then what is it?” Amanda asked tentatively. She disliked seeing her husband like this. He was usually so unflappable.
The baron downed the rest of his glass. “I’m angry with myself.”
Amanda, shocked by his admission, could only remain silent.
He went on. “As a child, I vowed never to be the kind of man who takes his anger out on those around me. I wanted to be as different from my father as possible. I had thought I wasn’t that sort of man. But now I find I’ve blindly been allowing that same behavior to carry on around me for years.”
“How could you have known?” Amanda protested, feeling strangely protective of Descamps.
He brushed this aside. “You knew. You’re a stranger here, yet you knew.” He stared at her face for a long time and Amanda had to resist the urge to turn away. “You’re special. I’m starting to see that now.”
Her husband was a very handsome man, Amanda remembered suddenly. She had nearly forgotten it because he so often hid behind that dour temper. But now, he was looking at her openly, for perhaps the first time in their marriage. She was surprised to look into his eyes and see vulnerability there.
Just as quickly as it had come, the expression was gone.
7
Chapter 7
Her husband came to her again the following night, and Amanda found that she was looking forward to his knock. Just as before, Descamps started off with kisses while letting his hands roam along her body. And just like last time, Amanda reacted immediately to his touch.
When the baron made to remove her gown, however, Amanda flinched.
“Sorry,” she said, face blooming bright red in the darkness. “Perhaps we could leave this on?”
She felt incredibly exposed at the idea of baring her body to him. Amanda knew she wasn’t a beauty—that fact had been made clear to her after many years of being neglected and overlooked by all the young men of her acquaintance. So she cringed at the thought of the baron seeing her completely naked.
It was bad enough that her face was so plain, but she knew her thin and gangly body was not something men longed for. And, thanks to her conversation with her mother, Amanda knew that the baron likely had seen plenty of other (much more attractive) unclothed women that he could compare her to.
Descamps looked at her and Amanda couldn’t make out the expression in his eyes. Her husband was so difficult to read in the best of times, and now, with his eyes clouded by desire and shadowed in the dark, Amanda did not know how to interpret what she was seeing there.
“You would prefer I left my seed in you and walked away, like a perfunctory duty? Perhaps you are not enjoying this?”
Amanda shook her head. “No, it’s not that. I…am. I do like it. I just don’t want you to…”
“To what?”
Amanda was unable to respond, she was too embarrassed. She squeezed her eyes tight and pushed her face against the pillow underneath her.
“To see your body? Is that it? Maidenly modesty?”
She nodded, hoping he could see the faint movement of her head through the dark.
“You don’t need to look to couple with me, right?” she asked, her voice muffled.
He snorted. “It’s not strictly necessary, no. But a man likes to stare upon the body of the woman he is making love to.”
“If she’s beautiful, perhaps,” Amanda muttered, rolling over onto her back. “But it’s just as well that you
don’t look at me.”
Descamps’ demeanor changed, and he seemed almost angry now. “And what gives you the right to make that decision? I can decide whether something is beautiful for myself. And I think I’d very much like to look upon the body of my wife.”
Amanda was still frozen in embarrassment, so Descamps leaned in close.
“Besides, all this fabric is getting in the way of me doing this,” he said. Then he bent his head and laid a warm kiss on the top of her breast, which was exposed by the nightgown. “And this.” His head moved lower, the roughness of his stubble drawing new sensations on that delicate flesh. He nipped at her breast, causing her to moan in surprise.
This time, when Descamps made to remove her nightgown, Amanda was happy to oblige him. Anything to let him get closer to her skin and satisfy the growing need inside her.
When she was finally naked in front of him, he paused and took in her body in the flickering candlelight Amanda felt the beginnings of embarrassment rise again at the thought of him seeing her laid out like this. She knew she didn’t have the kind of body that drove men wild, but the baron didn’t seem to care much.
Before the embarrassment had a chance to grow too strong, he had resumed his ministrations, except now that he was touching her bare skin, the feelings he elicited were stronger than ever. As his warm wet mouth engulfed her breast, and his tongue ran along her nipple, Amanda writhed, wondering in the growing sensations filling her body.
* * *
A while later, Descamps had finally had his fill of his wife. He had taken great delight in the new sounds she was making each time they lay together. As a matter of fact, he had formed a silent resolution in his head to see how many times he could get her to cry out in a single session.
Although he normally would have taken his leave by now and returned to his chambers, something was holding him back. After making love to Amanda tonight, Descamps had felt a great protective urge to wrap her in his arms. She was now slumbering beside him, her soft, naked skin brushing his own. He had worn her out this evening.