Chapter 6
From then on, Rose was in constant awareness of a number looming over her; every moment haunted by the concern of when it would grow. That number was how many times Mr Carvalho had abused her, of course, and her fear was as justified as it was useless. She was still a maid under his service.
Mr Carvalho continued governing her tasks with the same authority he had since his arrival. However, he added a new duty: whenever he got her alone--either by ambushing her during her duties or arranging a specific time in a room--she was to be his plaything. This meant enduring kisses, caresses, and the feeling of his hands and mouth on her skin. Many times, he forced her to her knees, his hand gripping her chin as he commanded her to open her mouth. Her protests, no matter how tearful or desperate, were always met with the same cold ruthlessness.
When the number three became five, then ten, then fifteen, Rose could no longer deny the dreadful realization that she was changing. Mr Carvalho was honing her as a loose woman, improving her ability to suck, touch, kiss, and caress him. Worse still was the betrayal of her own body. Her skin grew more sensitive, her nerves more alive to his touch. She hated herself for it, hated the way a glance from him--with those dark, piercing eyes--could ignite a fire beneath her flesh.
If, for a while, he had been a mystery, a coveted desire because of their distance, he was now painfully familiar. Rose knew the lines on his face, the dots on his skin, the pattern of his body hair. His smell, his taste, his texture. Nobody had prepared her for what it meant to be physically intimate with someone. To pass her fingers through the crevices of his body, to brush his hair, to inhale the scent of his sweat, to taste his mouth with her own. It was more than an invasion of her body; it was an invasion of her mind. His presence clung to her, wrapping around her like a shroud.
It was inevitable, then, that Rose regressed to her quiet timidity. When a secret takes so much of one's mind, it becomes impossible to talk about anything else, every conversation feeling like a risk of letting the truth slip out. Ms Silva noticed her change, but Rose blamed it on homesickness. What else could she say?
On a Saturday, Mr Carvalho brought her to his room and ordered her to strip until she stood naked before him, exposed to his gaze. He sat back, savoring her trembling, her fear. Rose clutched the sheets and bit back any sound as his hands came, opening her legs and holding her down. Her shame was complete. She was no maiden anymore, no innocent, no respectable person. All she had was her dignity and her sense of self, and both had been stolen away.
Yet... when she was deep in dread, when desperate tears welled in her eyes, Mr Carvalho didn't sneer or mock her. He held her close, pressing her back against his chest, and his warmth seeped into her body. His mouth brushed against her hair, his breath steady and calm as his hands enclosed her, circling her chest and arms, drawing her in as if to protect her from the very pain he had caused.
Her mind screamed at her to hate him, to pull away, to resist. But her body, exhausted and overwhelmed, let itself sag against him, too spent to fight anymore. And in the cocoon of his arms and his blankets, she felt the pain, old and new, settle down like a puddle after the rain. Still very much there, but subsided, toned down.
Marcus kissed her neck.
"Tomorrow is Sunday, your day off. What would my girl like to do?"
She lifted her head from his chest.
"Can I really take the day for myself?" Rose asked softly.
"Of course," he replied, tilting his head slightly. "You worked hard this week, my flower. You've earned it."
Rose looked up at him, her gaze hesitant as she searched his face for any sign of a hidden trap. His expression, however, remained calm, almost affectionate in a way that unsettled her.
"I think I'll just take the time to rest."
He raised an eyebrow, his hand resting lightly on her arm. "Don't you wish to go to town or have any sort of leisure? Surely you must want something more than rest."
Rose shook her head slowly, her fingers tightening on her chest. "No, Master. I... I just want to be alone." She paused. "I feel like a fabric stretched too thin, about to tear."
Marcus almost laughed, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. He had succeeded in grinding her spirit.
"What have I told you about my mood for mercy, Rose?"
"That it doesn't happen often."
"Yes. There might not be another occasion anytime soon when I'll be able to arrange any entertainment for you."
Rose blushed as she recognized the threat. "...Of course, sir. I'll..." She stopped, hiccuping mid-phrase as if her thoughts stumbled over themselves. Her voice lowered, quieter, shy. "Maybe... a stroll outside? Since it's not raining anymore?"
Marcus leaned back slightly, studying her with faint amusement. "Is that so? Just a stroll?"
Rose nodded, her cheeks flushing as her words came out quickly. "I want to sit outside, enjoy the view and sunlight. And... I used to love eating outside in the shade of the trees. I haven't had a picnic in years. Not since I became an adult."
The answer she gave surprised even herself. She credited that to her inability to lie on the spot. She had gone with a simple truth, something that wasn't a lie but wasn't important either. Sitting outside to have a meal was simple. Harmless. It gave him something to focus on and made her seem foolish. If he thought her foolish, he might underestimate her.
"Then I'll make it happen. A simple wish for my girl on her day off."
The warmth of his words and the promise of a small reprieve did little to untangle the knot of unease in her chest. "Thank you, Master."
Marcus watched her sweet smile diminish, burrowed by her cautious apprehension. She was less desperate now, but still so afraid of even his tiniest gestures. The people in her life, the ones who had hurt her, were mercurial, Marcus guessed. Not that he couldn't be, but he didn't believe in using that technique with Rose. Instead, he gave her both pain and care to nurture her insecurity and doubt, keeping her guessing, trying to figure him out. The same hand that eased her anxiety also pulled her hair and forced her to undress. The same voice that commanded her to her knees also asked if she needed anything and called her beautiful and precious. Soon, she would crave both as signs of his love.
They got up, and Marcus had her clean them both with the cold water from the jug, scrubbing their flesh. He took great pleasure in her small hands running over his body. Then, as she readied herself to leave, he grabbed her for one last kiss. Rose still trembled like a newborn bird. Oh, how he adored her.
On Sunday morning, Rose woke without any strength in her body. The stress she had tried to outrun finally caught up to her, manifesting as an unbearable heaviness that pressed her down, body and soul.
She slept until noon, but then Gabriela came to call on her. And Rose knew better than to say no. She washed herself quickly, got dressed, and carefully tied her hair into a neat bun, pinning her hat securely in place. Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she forced herself to take one step at a time. Gabriela waited at the bottom of the stairs, her hand extended in an unspoken reassurance. Rose hesitated but took it, their fingers intertwining as Gabriela guided her outside.
The air was chilly, but the sunlight was warm against her face. Waiting for them, perfectly polished as always, was Mr Carvalho. He stood at the center of the paved courtyard with a commanding presence, dressed in a long coat and a boater straw hat, his hair freshly brushed and gleaming in the sunlight. In one hand, he carried a round basket, enclosed with fabric.
Rose's stomach tightened. She didn't know what to expect from this outing, but Gabriela's presence gave her a small flicker of hope. Perhaps this wouldn't turn into one of his wicked games. She clung to that thought as they began their walk uphill, leaving the road behind and trotting through the tall grass. Crickets and flies scattered away from her skirts. Gabriela walked arm in arm with her.
