Page 7 of The Villain
I’ve just sold my body to a monster.
The thought resounded through her mind, echoing as ominously as Adam’s voice had through his cavernous study. It caused her to grow numb, her limbs hanging uselessly from her body and her eyes growing unfocused. Perhaps it was not too late to renege on their agreement. After all, her virginity remained intact. However, returning to London would feel too much like failure without the answers she sought—without the money that could save her family.
I’ve just sold my body to a monster.But I did not sell my soul.
Resolved, she left the tub and pushed Maeve’s fussy hands away. Dismissing the maid and assuring her she’d do all right on her own, Daphne dried herself and slipped into the nightgown she’d been offered. The thing was prim and trimmed in lace; a bit at odds with the role she was to play, but she would not question it. The gown proved warm and comfortable against her freshly scrubbed skin, and the turned-down bedclothes appeared inviting.
Tomorrow, she would steel herself to come face to face with Lord Adam Callahan again. Tonight, she would rest so she’d have the strength to fight.
For fight, she must.
To guard her soul from the beast, to save her mind from the ruin his sharp words and foul deeds could cause. A body could heal … a broken spirit would never be the same.
As she climbed into the large four-poster bed in the center of the room, Daphne wondered where in the castle Lord Hartmoor slept in relation to her. Did he undress for bed down the hall, or even just next door? Or had he banished her to some far-flung wing, where she was to remain until he came to claim what she’d promised him—what belonged to him by way of their agreement?
Despite the anxiety caused by imagining waking up with him on top of her, she could not keep her eyes opened once she’d slipped beneath the bedclothes. No … Adam would never be so duplicitous. A man who so clearly stated his intentions would not skulk about in the dark and take what he wanted with the tapers snuffed out. He would come to her with every candle in the room blazing, so she would be forced to look upon him as he claimed her, defiled her, treated her like the whore he’d promised she would become.
She would need her wits about her when she faced him again, and that knowledge allowed her to slip into a sound slumber.
When Maeve entered her room the next morning, Daphne had already awakened. Having found a dressing gown draped across the foot of the bed, she’d pulled it on over her nightgown. Smoothing a hand over the heavy, rich fabric, she’d wondered who it had belonged to before her. The thought of some other young, unsuspecting chit in this room, wearing this same robe as she waited for Adam to come despoil her, had made her shudder. However, the frigid chill lingering in her room had kept her wrapped in the warm garment while she’d padded barefoot across the room to spark a fire in the hearth.
Once she had coaxed the flames to life, she had remained before the large fireplace, her back turned to soak up the warmth of the blaze. She’d studied her surroundings with curious eyes, grudgingly forced to admit she had been given a room fit for a princess. As prison cells went, one truly could not ask for better.
The large bed sat elevated on a platform in the center of the room, draped with blue damask curtains tied back to the posts with tasseled ropes. Thick rugs matching the curtains covered stone floors, and the lower half of the walls had been paneled in rich, dark wood. The upper half boasted blue wallpaper printed with a silvery filigree. She’d approached the wall to touch the paper for herself, marveling at its rich texture. No expense had been spared to refurnish and remodel this room, and she supposed it must be the same for the rest of the ancient castle. She had not been certain what to expect when setting out for Dunnottar, but it certainly hadn’t been paneled walls and brass sconces.
This was how Maeve found her, stroking the wallpaper. Pausing near the door, she smiled and curtsied as if she had been chosen to serve the queen instead of a woman contracted to act as Lord Hartmoor’s plaything.
“Good morning, my lady,” she chirped happily, moving to the large, ornate armoire located in the corner of the chamber. “The Master has requested your presence in the adjoining drawing room, where breakfast will be served.”
So, it would begin. Squaring her shoulders, Daphne nodded as the maid faced her with a gown draped over one arm.
“Very well,” she replied. “Might I ask whose clothing I will be borrowing during my stay here?
Allowing Maeve to help her out of the dressing gown, she studied the maid closely. The girl avoided her gaze.
“These are the only loaned items you’ll need to wear while you are here,” she replied as she unbuttoned Daphne’s nightgown. “The Master will have your measurements taken and garments purchased for you.”
Daphne scowled as the nightgown fell away from her body. Why extend such a courtesy, when his motives toward her proved the unsavory sort? Would it amuse him to dress her in rich garments only to rip them from her back before plundering her body?
“That is entirely unnecessary,” she protested while Maeve helped her into a pair of stockings and garters. “My stay here will be a short one, and a few borrowed garments will suffice.”
“Master’s orders, my lady,” the maid replied, her cheery tone never faltering. “You will find it easier to simply acquiesce to his wishes, and all will be well.”
Anger burned like a lump of hot coal in her throat, rebellion rising from her gut to fill her chest. Yet another person who expected her simply accept the dictates of the man controlling her fate. If she’d had enough of that from her brother and father, then she certainly would not tolerate such from him.
“Perhaps you do, but I do not,” she argued. “I shall address the issue with him myself over breakfast.”
Amusement pulled at the corner of Maeve’s mouth as she approached Daphne with the gown. The expression mocked her, seeming to warn that she might broach the subject with Adam, but should not expect him to bend. Well, the maid and her so-called ‘Master’ had another thought coming. Just because he had purchased the right to use her body for thirty days and nights did not mean she could not stand her ground on matters such as these.
Glancing down, she gasped, realizing that while her thoughts had wandered, Maeve had begun dressing her in the gown … with no undergarments beneath them.
“Is there at least a chemise I might wear beneath this?” she asked, feeling completely naked without the layers of her petticoats, corset, and drawers.
At last, Maeve’s demeanor faltered, her cheeks flushing crimson as she seemed to fumble for words. Finally, she managed to mutter something about “Master’s orders” and “no undergarments.” Daphne’s face heated as the maid finished the row of buttons running down her back, her ire at Adam rising even more.
“Another matter I shall have to address with Lord Hartmoor,” she declared.
Maeve’s smirk returned as she urged Daphne to sit at the vanity to have her hair brushed.
