Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(2)

Madeline kept her gaze on the ground before them. “Yes, thank you, my lord.”

“No doubt you have a desire to leave the academy, as your companions have done,” Clifton remarked. “Your parents kept you there two years longer than the other girls, at my request.”

“Your request?” Madeline repeated, startled that he had such influence over them. “But why—”

“I felt it would be good for you, my dear,” he said with a self-important smile. “You needed polish and discipline. A perfect fruit must be allowed to ripen. Now you are not so impetuous as you were then, hmm? As I intended, you have learned patience.”

Hardly, Madeline wanted to snap at him, but somehow she kept her lips clamped shut. Two extra years of the rigid confinement of Mrs. All-bright's Academy for Young Ladies had nearly driven her mad. It had allowed her rebellious, overimaginative nature the time to ferment into something wild and unmanageable. Two years ago, she had been too timid and easily led to have objected if her parents married her to Clifton. Now, however, the words “patience” and “obedience” didn't belong in her vocabulary.

“I have brought something for you,” Clifton remarked. “A gift you've been anticipating, I am certain.” He drew her to a stone bench and sat with her, his soft body pressing against her side. Madeline waited wordlessly, finally meeting his gaze with her own. Clifton smiled like some indulgent uncle with a mischievous niece. “It's in my pocket,” he murmured, indicating the right side of his brown wool coat. “Why don't you fish it out, like the clever kitten you are?”

Clifton had never spoken to her that way before. They had been carefully chaperoned on previous occasions. “I appreciate your kindness, but it isn't necessary for you to give me anything, my lord,” Madeline said, her hands tightly folded, fingers knitted together.

“I insist.” He waggled his coat pocket at her. “Fetch your present, Madeline.”

Stiffly she reached into the pocket, locating a tiny circlet. Her heart thudded in a sickening rhythm as she withdrew the object and beheld it. A small gold ring fashioned in a braided pattern, adorned with a tiny, dark sapphire. The symbol of her future bondage as Clifton's wife.

“It has been in my family for generations,” Lord Clifton remarked. “My mother wore it until the day she died. Does it please you?”

“It is attractive,” Madeline said dully, loathing the object.

Taking the ring from her, Clifton pushed it onto her finger. It was far too loose, and she had to close her hand into a fist to keep it from slipping off. “Now you may thank me for it, my pet.” His heavy arms snaked around her, and he pulled her hard against his short, barrelled chest. He had a foul, stale smell, like game birds hung out to ripen for too long. Obviously Lord Clifton believed frequent baths to be an unnecessary indulgence.

Madeline drew in a breath of suffocated misery. “Why must you refer to me as a ‘pet’ or a ‘kitten’?” she asked in a voice that trembled with defiance. “I don't like to be called such things. I'm a woman, a person.”

Lord Clifton laughed, revealing large yellow teeth, and she winced from the rush of his foul breath against her face. He squeezed her tightly as he replied. “I knew that sooner or later you would try to challenge me…but at my age, I know all the tricks. Here is the reward for your impertinence, my spiteful little pet—”

His blubbery lips pressed over hers, smothering and grinding her mouth in the first kiss she had ever been given. His arms were as tight as barrel stays. Madeline held silent and still, quivering with revulsion…using all her strength to endure his touch without screaming or crying.

“You will find that I am a very masculine sort,” Lord Clifton said, breathing heavily, appearing satisfied with his conquest. “I don't spout poetry or pander to women's ridiculous notions of what they want. I do as I please, and you will learn to like it exceedingly.” His pudgy hand stroked the side of her pale, strained face. “Lovely,” he murmured. “Lovely. I've never seen eyes the color of yours, like amber.” His fingers twisted in a stray wisp of her golden-brown hair, rubbing the silken strands repeatedly. “How I look forward to the day when you'll be mine!”

Madeline set her jaw hard to keep it from trembling. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him that she would never belong to him, but the sense of duty and responsibility that had been instilled in her from birth kept her silent.

Clifton must have noticed her involuntary shiver. “You're getting cold,” he said in a tone he might have used with a very small child. “Come, let us go inside before you catch a chill.”

Relieved, she rose with alacrity and stepped with him into the parlor.

As soon as Lord and Lady Matthews saw the ring on Madeline's finger, they erupted in smiles and congratulations—they, who made a point of never showing enthusiasm because they considered it unrefined.

“What a generous gift,” Agnes exclaimed, her normally sallow face glowing with pleasure. “And such an exquisite ring, Lord Clifton.”

“I think so,” he said modestly, jowls flapping with gratification.

Madeline watched with a faint, frozen smile as her father ushered Lord Clifton to the library for a celebratory drink. As soon as they were out of hearing, she tore the ring from her hand and flung it to the carpet.