Laileen waited and waited, her senses tightly hanging on the edge of agony.
Certainly, he would demand intercourse from her. She was very aware of what most men wanted.
The hungry, aggressive looks he gave her led her to believe he wanted her. His brown eyes would slide over her body without any restraint, making her feel as though lines of heat had been raked over her flesh.
After the breakfast, as they walked together in his private gardens, hailing the neat rows of flowers, fruits, and vegetables, the duke had practically forced her hand into his elbow. Laileen felt like she was being dragged around, but she politely smiled at him. Whenever he told a joke, Laileen forced out a laugh. Whenever he handed her a flower, Laileen tested the fragrance with a courteous nose. When he complimented her appearance, she thanked him, but then she claimed that he must be trying to please her, because such intense flattery could only be false.
When the gardens seemed to lose their charm, Duke Bransted took her to the stable to admire the horses. They were mostly sweet creatures. Laileen petted the face and nose of a beautiful white mare named Rosemary. Rosemary's breath tickled her hand as she learned Laileen's scent.
"What a treat of a creature you are," Laileen cooed, unable to contain herself.
The large, only slightly rough hand of the duke came over hers, putting his heat onto her. Laileen thought he might scold her, but Duke Bransted only moved her hand for her, up and down. "She prefers this sort of touch. Don't grab at her nose."
"Oh. Thank you for telling me, Your Grace."
When Laileen felt that she should stop caressing the friendly mare, she tried to tug her hand away, but Duke Bransted's fingers tightened around hers. She turned her head aside, focusing on a rather smelly pile of something that had clearly come from a horse, more willing to look at that than any part of Duke Bransted.
She heard his breath rush out. Then she felt his hand slip away.
Then it was time for lunch. Salted ham, thick bread, and fried onion rings were served to them. Laileen loved the crunchy breading around the onions and the bittersweet softness underneath. She practically inhaled the ham. She dipped the bread into the juices that leaked out of the meat. Her body felt strangely lighter as she ate. She knew that feeling would change when she was done, but her joy was simply too much to ignore. Even though her life had become something surreal and foreign, there were still moments of delight.
After lunch was done, Duke Bransted took her to his library, and he pointed out all of his favorite books. Laileen didn't hate books, but she didn't think that his tastes were particularly engrossing. Still, she remained calm and polite, letting him think that he was giving her a fascinating tour of his book collection. When they left the room, he squeezed her hand as if she was a very close friend.
Then Duke Bransted led her around the hallways of the castle, pointing out several rooms and mentioning any interesting events that had taken place in the past. A bubbling, happy pride was in his voice as he told each story or pointed out a particularly luxurious piece of furniture. Uncertainty was filling her nerves again as she listened to him. She didn't hear or feel the calm earnestness she had noticed when he mentioned the fate of Mr. Kalen. What she sensed was something like a novel that had shallow, unrealistic, characters with a predictable plot and an obvious agenda that pandered to the most foolish readers.
There was a lovely dinner soon after that, and then Laileen retired to her room.
And she waited.
Wouldn't he come soon? Wouldn't he demand that she remove her clothing and uncross her legs?
Laileen sat on the edge of the bed for a while, unwilling to remove her gown. Her fingers clawed into her skirt. Her ears pounded in the silence as she tried to find any hint of footsteps coming near the bedroom door.
The minutes scraped against her heart slowly, uncaring of her mental state.
He didn't come.
So strange.
***
Duke Bransted explained to her that he wanted to wait for her bruises to heal until he took her to Henrisk. "And then," he had said with a wicked smile, "You'll have all the fun in the world."
She still waited.
One day, he took her to Osgarth. He held her hand close, parading her about as if she was the best thing since fire. He took her to various shops, and he would tell her to pick out anything she wanted. She never did so willingly. She'd only stare at some random thing, and when the duke noticed her possible interest, he would slide his fingers over some part of her, her nape, or cheek, or arm, or something else, and he'd whisper in her ear that he'd buy it for her. Laileen would shake her head, but the lord of the province could not be swayed.
Thanks to his stubborn nature, a courier was burdened with delivering many packages to Castle Bransted. There were two pretty vases, a few cosmetics and combs, a few hand fans, some hair ribbons and hairnets, a small clock with little sculptures of musicians framing the clock's face, an empty jewelry box that should have been called a piece of jewelry because of all the precious stones encrusted onto it, a very expensive sewing kit with samples for cross-stitching, and even a few modest pieces of literal jewelry.
The jewelry was possibly the most embarrassing things for the duke to purchase. He had made a bit of a scene, telling Laileen to try on every piece possible, loudly announcing to every person in the general area that he, the great lord of the province, was purchasing a few necklaces, earrings, rings, and brooches for his new friend. The uncertain stares of the other people had Laileen blushing. It was a good thing that the jewelry consisted of fairly simple pieces, and could be acquired immediately. The most ornate pieces would have to be commissioned beforehand, and Laileen had a feeling that the duke wasn't in a patient mood.
The last place they stopped at was a dress shop that Laileen was not familiar with. "We have enough time before your face turns prettier," Duke Bransted told her, patting her arm. "I think we should order two pretty little gowns."
Laileen couldn't remember the exact time she had last been a customer at a dress shop. She had forgotten what it was like, but she was fairly certain that this particular experience was not normal. The duke actually fondled parts of her body, explaining to the bewildered seamstresses what he thought would look the most beautiful against her flesh. Laileen didn't even give her input. All the decisions were made by the duke.
When they were finished, they returned to the castle and had a pleasant meal that had Laileen smiling again, even though she didn't really want to smile. She tried to eat quickly, and when she was finished, she asked to be excused.
Duke Bransted's fingers seemed to crack as he made a negative gesture. "Could you please wait?"
Laileen nodded, but she pulled the length of her black hair over her shoulder and fiddled with it, even though it was a bit rude to do so at the table. She even braided, loosened, and braided it again and again.
Soon, the duke finished his meal, and then he rose. The fabric of his coat stretched over his shoulders, and his eyes were acute. His fingers flicked upwards at her, and he said, "Why don't you take me to your bedroom for a few moments? I want you to model your new little treasures for me."
Didn't she already do that at the jewelry store?
Was he bored?
Laileen didn't think she could refuse him without earning his anger.
She gave a biddable nod and left her seat, lacing her fingers and holding them near her abdomen. They left the dining hall and silently walked the fairly long distance to her bedroom. Laileen didn't want to chat on the way, and the duke seemed content to let her have her thoughts.
When they were inside the room, she watched the duke close the door, and when he locked it, she ground her teeth together. Laileen stood roughly in the center of the room as she watched Duke Bransted walk over to a plain, yet functional vanity area, where a few packages were placed. He opened one up and picked a simple little necklace of white pearls.
His tongue swept across his lips, and he gave her a hot, conniving look. Laileen knew not to trust it.
"Jewelry is much prettier on a nude woman."
That statement, that heavy, choking statement, pressed down on Laileen. Her eyes widened. Her stomach seemed to wring itself, dripping out fiery liquid in the process. Pain came to her knuckles as her quivering hands pressed into each other. Her nose tingled and she had to sniff her emotions up.
It was time. She knew that resisting wasn't a wise idea.
Laileen lowered her head. Her trembling little fingers slowly rose, moving to the stomacher of her gray dress. Her fingertips picked at the small pins keeping the jacket-like portion of her bodice attached to the stomacher. Her boots tapped the floor slowly as she backed up, making her way to a cushioned ottoman.
Duke Bransted didn't give any more words. She wasn't looking at his face, but she knew he was staring at her.
The pins were dropped onto the ottoman. She tugged the stomacher up and away, putting the triangle of fabric on top of the pile of pins. Not a single word came from her as she reluctantly shucked away the rest of the bodice. Her eyes focused on her fingers untying the waistband of her skirt, which soon joined the stomacher and jacket on the ottoman.
Alright.
One line had officially been crossed.
She was in her undergarments.
Laileen didn't want to see Duke Bransted's face. She knew she would cringe at the desire in his eyes. She might even faint.
She put her hands behind herself so she could untie the laces of her cream colored stays. She felt her muscles expand a little as they were freed of the garment. Her breasts lowered from the loss of support. To the ottoman the stays went.
Her foot went to the edge of that ottoman, and she unbuttoned and removed her boots. Then she untied the ribbon keeping her stocking up. She pulled it down. The same treatment was applied to her other leg. Soon, her bare feet were against a slightly cool stone floor.
The bum-roll was next. It was a fashionably wide object that supported a skirt nicely. There were some recent rumors, though, of foreign devices, usually made of wood or metal and covered with petticoats, that seemed to support an oval shape instead of a smaller, circle-like shape, with the flatter parts of the ovals on the front and back of the wearer. A few foreign dolls had been placed in dress shops showing off the interesting concept.
The chemise was all that was left. It was the only barrier she had. The duke had seen her in nothing but a chemise once, but that had been an extenuating situation. The context here was indecent.
