Chapter 6 #2
His face was inches from hers, but she refused to sit back, refused to shy away.
He snatched the hat from his head, revealing the mask in full.
Maria felt the urge to look beneath it, wanting to see his face in its entirety.
One half was beautiful in the same way that Michelangelo’s David was beautiful.
Hard and aloof but still beautiful. His lips were terribly tempting.
“Allow me to think on it a while longer,” Maria said.
She needed to think, but she also needed to judge how much he needed to marry. Maria needed him to be desperate enough to agree to her terms, and perhaps, waiting would help her achieve her aims.
The duke stared at her, and she stared back.
Does he think I will shrink away from his mask? Does he think to terrify me with the threat of removing it?
“I am ready to be your savior,” he said at last. “But I will not wait long.”
“I hate to be the bearer of such news, my friend, but this dratted scandal sheet is worrying me,” Simon lunged with his rapier, seeing an opening in his opponent’s defense.
It was a mistake, the opening closed, and he found himself desperately defending against a counterattack. Damien’s rapier whipped and stabbed, seeming to be in more than one place at once.
“I do not care for the opinions of scandal sheets,” Damien said without any apparent exertion.
Simon was sweating and beginning to lose breath.
“For such a big man, you are very fast. It is rather unfair,”
“Less talk.”
Simon’s feet tangled as Damien’s attack intensified. He fell to his bottom on the hardwood floor of the ballroom. Damien’s blade came to rest against his chest.
“Do you yield?” he asked.
“Of course, I bloody yield! I’m on my backside,” Simon said, tossing his sword aside, “I do not know why I agree to these sessions. I have not beaten you yet.”
“There was that one time.”
“Oh yes, you had a fever and could barely breathe, but refused to admit you were ill.”
“Until you won the duel. Then I appreciated the severity of my condition.”
Damien did not smile beyond a tightening of his lips, showing teeth. Nothing about his face changed, what was visible beneath the mask. He sheathed his rapier and offered a hand, which Simon took. Damien hauled him to his feet without apparent effort.
“So, why should I care for this gossip rag?” Damien asked.
“Because it is read by thousands, and it has been particularly focused on the Phantom of Winterleigh for the last month,” Simon said.
“They even say that you have snatched people from the streets and locked them in a dungeon beneath your house. What possible use does a gentleman have for a dungeon?”
“The king has many.”
“You are not a king.”
Damien walked to a bench along one wall, stripping off his shirt as he walked and tossing it casually aside. He picked up fresh linens and threw one to Simon, using the other to dry himself.
“So, you do sweat,” Simon said dryly. “I will not strip off as you do for fear of embarrassing myself.”
Simon rubbed the linen across his face and over his hair. Damien moved to a sideboard where a ceramic jug stood. He poured a glass of cloudy, gray–green liquid.
“Cider?” he asked.
“I thought you didn’t drink.”
“It is not that kind of cider. Just the juice of pressed apples. Not fermented.”
“I’d rather have a crisp, white wine. But, yes, I’ll take one.”
“This is an old house. The Tudors built upon a castle constructed by the Normans who built upon Roman foundations. There is even a rumor that the Saxons had a hill fort here,” Damien said.
“And dungeons,” Simon said.
“How would they know unless they had been inside my house?” Damien said.
“Precisely, and trespass is a crime. So is kidnap. You are sailing close to the wind.”
Damien looked around the room. Thick curtains held out the sunlight except for chinks and cracks.
Dust swirled, disturbed the two men and their martial dance.
The chandeliers that once glittered and coruscated were covered with sheets and cobwebs.
Anyone seeing this ode to a long-forgotten era would judge this the abode of ghosts.
“I am aware,” he finally admitted. “I do not like having my actions dictated by others, especially the jackanapes of the gutter press. Even less the fools who share my status. But I know I am not popular. That I am feared, and as a result, hated. I have taken steps to rectify that.”
Simon sat on the bench with a groan, rubbing at the small of his back.
“I have discovered through the instructive medium of pain several muscle groups I did not know existed before.” Simon sighed deeply and fixed Damien with a weary look.
“You cannot hold men against their will. Not unless it is simply to hold them until the proper authorities can take them into custody.”
“I will hold onto my intruder until his fear has taught him a lesson.”
Simon threw up his hands in exasperation, throwing down the linen towel.
“If you disagree with my decision, you are welcome to leave,” Damien said lowly. “I do not control what you do.”
Simon shook his head. “When you do release the man, he will certainly tell everyone what you have done.”
“And admit to his trespassing? I think not. Besides, I doubt any constable or magistrate would give such a tale credence,” Damien said. “And if one did, I have bribed officials before. It would be but a small matter.”
Simon very admirably tried to hid his horror and mostly succeeded.
Damien took a sip of cider, considering the matter settled. Not that it mattered. He had no intention of relenting, regardless of what the old physician might say.
“What steps have you taken?” Simon finally asked.
Before Damien could answer, there came a rap at the door of the ballroom.
“Come in, Philby!” Damien roared.
The doors opened to admit the butler, who patiently walked the length of the room to where Damien and Simon had set up their dueling square.
“Your Grace, Lady Maria Shelidan of Sunspire is without and desirous of an audience.”
Simon arched an eyebrow, standing up with a groan.
“Send her in,” Damien said.
He had not expected that she would reach her decision so quickly.
It had been the night before that he had encountered her outside the orphanage and driven her to the home of the Dowager Countess of Thornwall.
Philby turned on his heel and commenced his slow crawl back to the door.
He did not have time to reach it before Maria appeared.
His gaze fell hungrily on her delicate figure, soft and womanly. Even though he had been close to her the night before, the night had not afforded him sufficient light to appreciate her appearance.
As she walked, his eyes drifted downward, eyeing how the pale blue fabric of her gown shifted as she walked, revealing tantalizing hints of long, slender legs. Damien inhaled sharply, taking in the scent of orange blossoms and lavender.
“I heard, Your Grace. Forgive my precipitate action, but I wanted to speak to you urgently.”
She stopped as her eyes fell upon Damien’s half-naked body.
No clothing covered the flat slabs of muscle that made up his abdomen or the pectoral on his right side. His left was covered in more red leather, tied across his torso and around his back.
Damien watched her silently, warmth curling inside him at her scrutiny. Something hot and wild flashed in her eyes—maybe curiosity or desire or mortification—but it was gone in an instant. He knew which of the three he wanted it to be.
“Oh, I am sorry,” Maria whispered, her voice echoed by the acoustics of the ballroom, “I did not realize you were…”
She abruptly flared bright red and spun on her heel.
“That is what comes of having urgent business,” Damien said, approaching her and obstinately refusing to cover himself.
If she barges into rooms in someone else’s house, then she risks seeing things she should not.
And her reaction was…interesting. Amusing, but something else.
Damien drew his nails along the palms of his hands, imagining how it would feel to pull her flush against him and watch that color rise to her cheeks.
Maria was a fiery woman, and he suspected that she would be beautiful when in the throes of passion.
His loins stirred at the magnificent image that his mind had conjured.
“What can I do for you, Lady Maria?” he asked, deliberately making his voice low and husky.
Her breath hitched.
“I wanted to accept your proposal. Provided you are willing to accept, in turn, some conditions that I have,” Maria’s voice trembled slightly.
Damien could not help his own sharp intake of breath at her words.
I was not sure such a brave and indomitable woman would accept. It was always a gamble. By God, but this means she will be living here!
The reality of it came crashing in on him. His head filled with her scent, citrus and with floral undertones. He breathed her in, watching the silky shimmer on her hair, the delicate femininity of her figure.
“Simon, leave us,” Damien ordered.
“Ah, very well. Deprived of beautiful company. Such is my lot,” Simon said, bowing to Maria and leaving the room.
Damien did not take his eyes from Maria. The bounce of her curls was quite alluring and framed her delicate, fine-boned face in a way that he found he liked intensely.
“I offered no conditions, Lady Maria,” he said. “No, if we are to be married, I will call you by your name. Maria.”
He had already been thinking about her as simply Maria, but he had not really let himself hope that she might accept his proposal.
“You did not. But I am demanding them; you have not furnished me with your name. Am I to call you Phantom?” she said defiantly.
“I would not advise it,” Damien growled, stepping closer to her.
He could see the flush deepening in her round cheeks. Her eyes were bright, catching what little light there was. Her chest heaved. Damien allowed his eyes to wander to her soft, white bosom.
The modiste who had crafted that gown’s neckline knew her craft well, for Maria’s breasts were emphasized so nicely by the fabric’s curves and a froth of white lace. His mouth went dry, as fantasies of cupping her breasts filled his mind.
Maria cleared her throat, her eyes darting about, as if she sought escape. “Well, then.”
I will not lose control of myself and give away too much. Give away nothing, in fact. Her needs are greater than mine!
His needs ached within him now that he was close to her again. The two-hour ride in the carriage to Thornwall had been exquisite torture. She had the beauty of a courtesan to kings combined with an innocence that awakened a beast within Damien.
“What shall I call you?” she asked.
“Damien,” he replied.
“Would you hear my conditions, Damien?”
“Would you hear mine?”
She turned away as though to look around the room, but the tip of the cane slipped. Maria stumbled perilously. Damien’s hand was quick, catching her wrist as the cane clattered to the floor. His hand enveloped hers. She gasped, staggering slightly and bumping him.
Her bosoms pressed briefly against his chest. Damien bit back a wild groan, so the sound emerged like an awkward cough. His arm went about her waist instinctively, hand resting on the small of her back.
“Is it customary for you to manhandle your guests?” Maria asked breathlessly.
His own breath quickened, simply hearing that tone of voice. “Only when they’re about to take a tumble.”
She placed a hand on his chest, palm flat and fingers spread, as though savoring the feel of his pectoral muscles.
Looking up at him, she smiled, then pushed with all her strength.
Damien rocked on his heels, and Maria remained locked in his embrace.
She was warm and soft against him, and her show of defiance only heightened his desire for her.
Damien let his mouth curl into a slow, sly smirk. “I will release you when I see fit.”
This time, she kicked him in the shin. Pain stabbed his leg, and his lips pressed tight around a groan. She stepped away from him, snatching up the cane and prodding it into his chest.
“I will release myself when I choose.”
Damien grabbed the end of the cane and pulled, drawing her back to him until he was close enough that he could kiss her if he chose.
He let her think he was intending to steal that very thing from her, one hand half raised as though to cup her cheek, lips slightly parted.
His trousers grew tight, as his manhood hardened and pressed against the fabric.
He did not see fear in her eyes. At least, not just fear. There was anger, defiance and…something else. It would be so simple to tear that gown from her shoulders and to ravish her right there in the room.
Damien imagined too readily what her moans would sound like and how she would feel clinging to him, begging him for more. His heart raced, and it took every ounce of control not to show his desire, to externalize only his dominance and authority.
“Very well. Join me for dinner, and we will discuss your terms,” Damien said softly.
“I will return,” she said.
Damien released the cane, and she hurried out. He watched after her long after she had gone. Maria’s absence left a cold void within him, one at odds with the tightness of his cock. Damien hissed between his teeth. It had been far too long since he had indulged in any carnal pleasures.
Maria would provide him with a veneer of respectability. That was her purpose. But Damien’s body seemed to come alive for the first time in so very long when he considered what else a lovely wife might provide.