Chapter 4
Maria stretched as sleep left her. Warm bedclothes covered her, and the air felt close with the gentle smolder of a low fire.
She winced as a sharp pain in her temple made itself known.
Lifting a hand, she encountered a bandage which produced another stab of pain when she pressed against it.
Fear opened her eyes, and when she saw the alien room, it became panic.
A young woman with dark hair tied back severely and wearing a servant’s uniform was sitting on a chair beside the bed in which Maria was lying.
Had been lying. She was now upright, heart racing and head pounding.
A wing-backed armchair faced the fire on the other side of the room.
Maria could see a pair of male legs stretched out from that chair, crossed at the ankle.
The bulk of the chair blocked her view of the rest of the man.
There was a man. He assaulted me. No, that is not him. He was an uncouth ruffian. Not the sort to have servants.
“Where am I?” she said, her voice overly loud in the silence that, until that point, had been broken only by the soft snoring of the servant.
Her head jerked up at Maria’s words. She had a clean, young and pretty face. A smile seemed to come easily to her, but quickly vanished as her eyes darted to the chair.
“How are you feeling, miss?” she asked.
“My head hurts. I don’t remember why. The last thing I remember is driving my trap to Bethlem Hospital. Oh my lord! Gilbert!”
Memory crashed into Maria’s head with the force of a lightning strike.
She flung the bedclothes away and stood.
Tried to stand. Her head spun, and her ankle screamed in pain.
Her leg gave way beneath her, and she would have crashed to the floor with just as much force as a falling tree.
But the man in the chair had moved swiftly to her side.
A broad shoulder supported her, and a muscular arm went around her waist. Air left her lungs in a great whoosh at the unexpected touch. The warmth of his body bled into hers and sent her pulse racing and her thoughts scattering.
“Do not be more foolish than you already have been. Driving about this district alone and at night!”
“The orphanage is in need of supplies. It is most urgent! I cannot remain here!”
“Be still!”
Maria’s head swam, and she realized she had been fighting him to no avail. He was a bear, and her struggles had no more effect on him than they would upon a statue. His voice was deep and commanding. He kept his head turned away from her, and in the dim light from the dying fire, shadows ruled.
As the man steered her back to the bed, she tried to see his face but only succeeded in viewing one half.
She saw a pale profile with a strong nose and jaw.
Dark hair tumbled to his shoulders, and a beard cloaked the lower half of his face.
There was a hint of oriental tilt to his eyes, narrowed above sharp, high cheekbones.
He might have been a villain from a novel, perhaps one written by Miss Radcliffe.
“What happened? Please, I do not…I cannot…?” Maria tried to marshal her thoughts, but they skittered away from her like frightened mice.
The man moved away, letting shadows swathe him.
“You were at the northern gates of my land, a little-used entrance to the estate. It was fortunate that my friend and I happened to be walking there when you were assaulted.”
“Assaulted?”
“Three men had cornered you. Opportunists rather than highwaymen, I fear. This far from London, the roads at night are not safe. What were you doing on your own in such a place?”
“I told you!” Maria cried, fear clenching her heart.
She could not concentrate her mind on any one thing for long. A pain thundered behind her eyes and pulsed in her ankle.
“You babbled about supplies and an orphanage.”
“They are just children. Innocents.”
“You are not making any sense…”
“Listen to me!” Maria cried. “I do not need to walk to drive the trap. If you can spare a servant to fetch and carry, I can be on my way to Bethlem and…”
“Do not interrupt me,” the man said in a tone of command that silenced Maria before she knew what she was doing.
“I am sorry to be rude, but… My intention is only to…”
“To insult your rescuer and host.”
At that moment, there was a knock at the door, which opened to admit a bar of bright light. Maria gasped when she realized it was sunlight, streaming into the room from a window opposite the door. It fell upon the man, and Maria saw that half of his face was covered by a red mask.
A flash of memory stole her sight. A face leaning close. Strong arms going about her. A red face. A word came into Maria’s mind and escaped her lips before she could restrain it.
“The Phantom!”
The fear that now gripped her was a wildfire.
It tore through her body, lending strength to her limbs and dulling the pain in her head.
There was a gasp from the servant sitting next to Maria and from the old man who had just entered.
Bushy eyebrows rose, and his eyes moved to the tall man with whom Maria had been arguing.
Maria propelled herself to her feet again, lurching across the room, desperate to escape.
But her ankle was not up to the task. It gave way beneath her.
The maid and butler both tried to help, all three falling in a tangle of limbs.
A shadow fell across Maria then, blotting out the light which spilled through the open door.
She looked up into the dark face of the Phantom. His hair was a dark mane. A beard covered the lower half of his face; the mask hid the rest. His eyes were slightly tilted above high cheekbones. There was a savage cruelty to him.
Maria knew she should apologize. It was hardly courteous to refer to one’s host by a nickname given by the ignorant.
But no words came out as he stooped to pick her up.
His hands felt like steel as they gripped her, holding her roughly but securely.
A flash of memory came back, of an attacker being flung aside as though by a force of great strength.
He carried her back to the bed and deposited her there with less gentleness than he could before turning away.
“You show me how right I have been to avoid the society of others by your use of that ridiculous moniker,” he growled.
“I can only apologize and put it down to the injury to my head, which I still do not remember acquiring.” Maria stammered, putting a hand to her head.
“You fell from the trap and knocked your head against a rock. There was considerable blood left behind, so I imagine it was a hefty blow.”
He turned away with a dismissive gesture.
“It is no concern of mine. I acted rashly, more out of a desire to punish than to save and have now saddled myself with a reckless woman. What is it, Philby? Get up off the floor, for God’s sake!”
“Will Your Grace be requiring breakfast? Or your house guest?” the old man inquired in a tone that suggested either would be exhausting to facilitate. His expression was that of a surly donkey as he got slowly to his feet.
“I care not,” he said.
Maria fought for self-control, trying to slow her breathing. Fear gripped her in a vice, and she needed to conquer it. She forced herself to look at the towering figure and put aside the name, Phantom.
He is a man, real and physical. Not a ghoul or a spirit. Not what any of the ridiculous stories say. Concentrate on that.
A traitorous voice whispered to her that men were capable of being far crueler and more terrifying than any demon from a night-haunted fairytale.
She tried to analyze his appearance, root what she saw in reality, and dismiss the fantasy.
His physicality was undeniable. The memory of those arms and the strength they had as he had carried her produced a skip in her heartbeat.
She found herself catching her breath, flushing in the cheeks. Strong. Unyielding. Inescapable should he choose to hold onto her. He could do anything he wished, and she would not have the strength to resist.
No, I would not have the strength to fend him off, but I would resist. I would!
Her thoughts betrayed her because the thought of submitting to such a man sent a fearful but thrilling pleasure racing through her. He was so different from the Marquess of Landsdowne, whom she had been attracted to, once upon a time, despite everything her friends had said.
He had not inquired whether she would like breakfast. Maria had no appetite, though. She sat perched on the edge of the bed, hands braced beside her and wondered if she dared try for the door again.
Her eyes went about the room, searching for anything that might aid an escape or be a potential weapon with which to protect herself. But the thick shadows hid anything that the room might have offered, except for the illuminated bar that shone in through the door.
“I should like to leave,” Maria said, trying to stop her voice from wavering.
“You are in no condition, woman.”
“I am the daughter of an earl! Kindly…”
“So, you remember that much at least.”
“I am Lady Maria, daughter of the Earl of Sunspire,” she snapped, irritated by the duke’s arrogance.
“It means little to me. I am unfamiliar with the hierarchy of your society.”
“You live in my society too,” Maria shot back, flexing her swollen ankle painfully.
“Do I? I take that as an insult. I wish no part of it but must reside beneath a roof somewhere. I do not see why I should move myself just to avoid you. Better that everyone else departs.”
“That is just childish.”
The great head turned in her direction, face cloaked by deep shadow. Maria felt as if she were being scrutinized by a hunter. Weighed and measured. She winced at a pulse of pain from her head but decided she must make herself a more difficult opponent.
I will not appear weak and subservient before this brute.
She eased herself from the bed.
“I wish to be on my way. I have an urgent task.”