"Now, why would I want anything at all from you?" Maddie pushed him away with the heels of her palms, crinkling her nose up like a schoolchild. "You've got nothing to give me."
He snickered in response, and spread himself out felinely on the divan in front of them. "Only a virgin would say something such as that, Maddie. Oh, but your fresh inexperience. My laundry lass, we could have great fun." He patted the seat beside him. There was not much available space on the piece of french furniture, but that was precisely the reason the Marquis offered the spot.
"I'm not going to sit down beside you, sir. I know what will happen if I do. And, I don't want it." Her arms folded over her chest in a subconscious gesture of protection. Madeleine felt as if she were ignorant and helpless, and turned up the notch on her refusals.
"Resistance is becoming harder. I see you straining against your urges," He teased, noticing her chest straining only against the corset stays. How he loved the clothing of the lower-classes. So sparce.
"You can imagine all you want, but please just write it on paper. Spare me your advances. They bore me terribly." Although, truth be told, the highlight of the laundry girl's day was her visit to the Marquis. He made her nervous, but he also excited her in ways she couldn't deny nor give voice or thought to.
"And, I shall write a story about you. About a fetching laundry lass who toiled all the day, and well . . .she didn't actually rest at night. Maybe, she takes a communion with the local priest. Would that make you happy, Madeleine?" Yes, he'd struck her where it hurt. He smiled at the blushing coming across her fair cheeks.
"You have no right. If you scribble something like that, well, I'll burn it, I will."
"And, you'll read it first, won't you?" He rose and went to his desk. Picking up a fresh black quill, he lit it to a piece of fine parchment, not actually writing anything of substance. The taunt need not be truthful.
"How dare you!" The girl scrambled over towards him, ripping the quill from his hand.
"You shouldn't write such filth."
"And, you shouldn't read it!" The Marquis calmly whispered. The lowering of his voice was the closest thing she would receive to an adequate apology. He lifted up the sheet he'd written upon and held it up to her. "There's nothing on this page, but my name, Mademoiselle."
"Well, then, I'm sorry. I must go. They'll wander where I've run off to. Goodbye, Marquis." She gathered up her basket of sheets and walked to the doorway. "I do hope that next time I come you will behave yourself." She stepped halfway to the other side of the door and waved.
"Goodbye, my girl." he returned the gesture and watched the door slam shut. Picking his quill up once more, he took a seat at his desk, muttering. "Now, why would I do something like that . . ."
He snickered in response, and spread himself out felinely on the divan in front of them. "Only a virgin would say something such as that, Maddie. Oh, but your fresh inexperience. My laundry lass, we could have great fun." He patted the seat beside him. There was not much available space on the piece of french furniture, but that was precisely the reason the Marquis offered the spot.
"I'm not going to sit down beside you, sir. I know what will happen if I do. And, I don't want it." Her arms folded over her chest in a subconscious gesture of protection. Madeleine felt as if she were ignorant and helpless, and turned up the notch on her refusals.
"Resistance is becoming harder. I see you straining against your urges," He teased, noticing her chest straining only against the corset stays. How he loved the clothing of the lower-classes. So sparce.
"You can imagine all you want, but please just write it on paper. Spare me your advances. They bore me terribly." Although, truth be told, the highlight of the laundry girl's day was her visit to the Marquis. He made her nervous, but he also excited her in ways she couldn't deny nor give voice or thought to.
"And, I shall write a story about you. About a fetching laundry lass who toiled all the day, and well . . .she didn't actually rest at night. Maybe, she takes a communion with the local priest. Would that make you happy, Madeleine?" Yes, he'd struck her where it hurt. He smiled at the blushing coming across her fair cheeks.
"You have no right. If you scribble something like that, well, I'll burn it, I will."
"And, you'll read it first, won't you?" He rose and went to his desk. Picking up a fresh black quill, he lit it to a piece of fine parchment, not actually writing anything of substance. The taunt need not be truthful.
"How dare you!" The girl scrambled over towards him, ripping the quill from his hand.
"You shouldn't write such filth."
"And, you shouldn't read it!" The Marquis calmly whispered. The lowering of his voice was the closest thing she would receive to an adequate apology. He lifted up the sheet he'd written upon and held it up to her. "There's nothing on this page, but my name, Mademoiselle."
"Well, then, I'm sorry. I must go. They'll wander where I've run off to. Goodbye, Marquis." She gathered up her basket of sheets and walked to the doorway. "I do hope that next time I come you will behave yourself." She stepped halfway to the other side of the door and waved.
"Goodbye, my girl." he returned the gesture and watched the door slam shut. Picking his quill up once more, he took a seat at his desk, muttering. "Now, why would I do something like that . . ."