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Exhale.
My right cheek flattens against the table. My lungs fight to expand against the wood beneath my chest. The kitchen’s ugly, painted, paneled walls fill my sideways vision as I focus on counting my breaths. Walls that the lady insisted Char and I paint navy of all colors. It’s horrid, making the kitchen seem dimmer, smaller, and more suffocating than usual. Especially with its poor lighting and stone and oak furnishings.
“You are to apologize to Sir Dougrey.” Lord Edvin inhales sharply. “You are also forbidden from speaking another word for the rest of the evening, even if spoken to first.” When I don’t reply, the lord runs the end of his belt across my forehead, over my cheek, and down my neck in a quiet threat. I shudder involuntarily. “Do you hear me, Dolly?”
Acid burns in my throat at his nickname for me. I’m tempted to sass back, to ask him how I’m supposed to apologize if I’m not allowed to talk, but I keep my lips clamped shut. I’ve learned the hard way the lord likes it when I fight back.
“Yes sir,” I whisper, my face heating.
“Good.”
As he moves back to deliver my punishment, Lady Nilda steps into sight with her arms crossed over her willowy frame. Her face is overly powdered, drying out her pale complexion and making her appear older than her forty-odd years. She holds my gaze over the table as her husband whips me raw, not a sliver of guilt present on her face. I stare back into her vacant, feline eyes.
Tears of rage fill my vision, blurring the lady, but I refuse to look away.
“The girl deserves it,” she says smugly. “Release your aggression, Edvin. Take it out on her.”
I chew on my lip to keep from crying out as the belt strikes me, biting into my skin. When it lands, my breath hitches and a swarm of black dots swim through my vision. Knotted, ashy curls fall into my face, like a theater curtain closing, hiding me away.
Only, the show goes on.
With his next strike, I can’t help but flinch. My body tenses after the initial shock of pain subsides.
“Don’t move, Dolly,” Lord Edvin hisses. “Make a noise, move a muscle, and you’ll get more.”
Lady Nilda tilts her head to the side and laughs.
I imagine her chest is hollow, missing the rhythm of a beating heart. Perhaps that’s why she takes so many lovers behind her husband’s back—she’s desperate to borrow the warmth she’s lacking. Maybe if he was sober long enough, he’d catch on and she would be the one receiving his wrath for once…except I refuse to wish this on anyone.
Even Lady Nilda.
I tense my muscles, squeezing my arse tight and bracing myself for the next strike—
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
The music of the estate’s gold-plated knocker rings out. The chatter in the dining room ceases, and the lord pauses with his arm raised and ready to strike. He sighs with impatience as he pulls away, looping his belt back through his trousers with a swish and a grunt.
“The door, Nilda,” he says, annoyed.
“The other Tradeling will get it,” she spits back.
“The other one is tending the guests. Get to the damn door before whoever it is freezes their cock off.”
“Yes, husband.” She narrows her eyes at me before squaring her shoulders and trodding off.
I exhale in relief, thanking the gods for their timing.
Leaning forward, Lord Edvin pets my hair and lets his sour breath wash over me. “Clean up and get back to work, like a good little Dolly.” He pats my head aggressively, and I school my expression. “And no speaking, or I will find another use for that pretty mouth of yours.”
His pudgy thumb caresses my lip, and I swallow down the burning bile that rises. It takes everything in me not to flinch from his touch or knee him in the groin. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that it’s better not to react. I might not be able to control many things in my life, but I can control my reactions.
He spins, striding out of the kitchen with the confidence of a man who doesn’t believe in the word no. If his ego was a living, breathing thing, it would be larger than his entire estate—and that’s saying something.
Once he’s out of sight, I wobble to a stand, letting my serving smock fall to my knees. The skirt conceals the red textured stripes that surely now line my backside. I’ll be in pain for a few days as they turn to raised purple welts before healing, but this is not the worst the lord has done to me.
