He could hear her coming down the hall, slowly, already tired. Her call to the inmates one that brought her boredom and only the promise of more work to do. What a life, cleaning sheets for the insane for a mere pitance. Not exactly the ideal for a young woman who should by all rights be experiencing the nightlife of Paris, dressed in expensive silks and dining at the finest of restaurants. Or, at the very least, enjoying the company of sane peers.
"Your linens," Again, and if it were possible, Madeleine's voice had grown in exasparation. She was getting closer, now, almost to the end of the hall. Her feet sounded on the chill stone floors as she rose from her kneel. He imagined her straightening the folds of her modest dress so she might not trip over the skirts, or retrieving some stray cloth that had fallen from the weighty woven basket she hefted. Even, here in the asylum, as a prisoner, he couldn't complain that he performed manual labor. In fact, for the most part, aside from seeing that he more or less behaved himself, the Abbe de Coulmier and his staff left the Marquis to his own devices. And, he would not have it otherwise.
The Marquis moved towards his door, lounging out, coattails splayed across the stone, and waited for the laundry lass to make an appearance at his tiny window. He estimated it would only be a moment or so more. But, his patience was waning. It had been a dull morning. He'd found himself uninspired to write one more line of prose. It also did not help matters that he'd already perused every new book his wife had sent him. Several of them had been without meat, others overly concerned with turning a flowery phrase. Few held his interest. He couldn't understand why Renee had gone to the task of purchasing several tomes if she were going to offer him puritanical garbage.
"Your linens, please." Maddie was whispering now, her mouth almost touching at his door. The sound of her voice sent a faint thrill through his veins and he relished to hear it again.
Yet, he did not answer her, but instead, decided to see if he could prolong this visit.
"Your linens. . ." Maddie tapped a finger on the iron door, setting her basket beside her feet, and used a free hand to open the little window's gate further. The Marquis edged against the wall, just out of her small scope of vision through the hole.
"Marquis. . .Marquis. . ." My, she was growing ever insistant. And, if he did not dare to think it, even worried. This was becoming even more of a game than he had hoped.
Madeleine, hand quivering just a bit, fumbled in her skirts for a set of brass keys. Retrieving the sought after one, she forged it into the keyhole. "Marquis, I hope this is not some foolish trick. I have work to be done. . . . I'm coming in."
"And if it is," He chuckled to himself, too low for her ears, and scurried with the speed and agility of a feline to shadow himself in the curtains of his four poster bed.
The laundrymaid's steps were unhurried, tentative as she opened the heavy door and entered the large, fully-furnished cell. It wasn't that she had not ventured inside before, but in the previous visits, she'd always seen the Marquis sitting at his desk or on the chaise lounge, gazing at her expectantly as she made her way. A small fear pressed at her, glimmering somewhere behind her eyes. A warning, perhaps. Just to be careful. Often, in the Marquis' company, Madeleine Leclerc found herself behaving or speaking in ways not familar and comfortable, improper at best. But as the caution set in, so did the notion that yes, she could look after herself, and really had nothing to fear from the Marquis but a stolen kiss or two. He would never hurt her. No, for some reason she had not attained, he respected her far too much to cause her pain. Unless she asked for it. . .
"Marquis, please, it's no longer funny," Maddie had reached the edge of the bed, one hand poised to brush back the filmy drapes. "The Abbe will be quite upset if I do not finish my rounds on time today. You remember how he scolded me last time. . .said I was not to visit you ag-"
His hand formed to her waist from behind, the other roped loosely in the mass of her hair, applying only enough pressure to intimidate, or thrill. . ."Again." He finished her sentence, his voice mellifluous and dark, snaking into her ears as her breath stuck in her throat. The lass made a small effort to free herself and turn around, but gave up on the struggle almost as quickly as she'd begun. Curiosity was winning over any slight trepidation.
"Ah, Coquette, wouldn't that be a shame?" The Marquis took her earlobe between his lips as the last syllable unravelled, his hands dropping from her sides.