Chapter 9
“Since the banns were read and published, the trespass has stopped. Within twenty-four hours.” Damien crowed.
He dressed before a full-length mirror, choosing a black jacket with an onyx pin glittering amid the folds of his cravat. His hair was tied back, barely tamed. Simon sat in an armchair, wearing his Sunday best in preparation for his friend’s nuptials.
“That is well. Do you think the fact of your marriage has stopped the ghouls?” he asked.
“Do you not? That was the reason for doing it, after all.”
“It does not exactly prove causation. It could be a coincidence.”
“I choose to believe it is a consequence. The ghouls realize that the Duke of Winterleigh is just a man after all. Not a phantom.”
He turned away from the mirror, satisfied with his appearance and slightly resentful at the lengths to which he had to go in order to conform to expectations. He did not care how he looked. He certainly had no desire to spruce himself up just for Maria Shelidan.
“Let us go to the chapel. She will be arriving within the hour.” Damien said.
They left his dressing room, and Damien led the way through the castle with the ease of one who had lived in it his whole life.
“You have chosen well, I must say. She is comely,” Simon said.
“She is beautiful,” Damien said, without thinking.
“Beautiful, is it?” Simon said.
When Damien glanced at him, his friend’s face was still and smooth. But he’d heard the smile in Simon’s words.
“Yes, aesthetically pleasing. I would not be saddled with some heifer.”
Those few servants that Damien employed were out in force. Dusting and placing doomed flowers in vases, the house was never allowed to be bright enough for flowers to last long. The two men made their way to the oldest part of Winterleigh.
The floor and walls were stone. Ancient tapestries attempted to soften the outline of hallways but succeeded only in adding the must of age to the air.
“Is your brother going to attend?” Simon asked.
Damien stopped, looking at Simon sharply.
“Unless you know something I do not, no. Do you?”
“Nothing for certain. Rumors.”
Damien stared at him, and he rolled his eyes.
“Very well,” Simon said, sighing deeply. “I debated whether to tell you anything at all about it. I heard that you received a certain letter, and I wondered if it might be true. You have said nothing to me about it, but I know that you are…a private man sometimes.”
“I am disturbed that you have heard of the letter,” Damien said. “As if I need more rumors swirling about me.”
“Then, it is true?” Simon asked, eyes widening.
“The letter? Yes. A brother? There is nothing confirmed for certain. Merely rumors circulating that there is a secondary heir to Winterleigh residing in Northumberland. A story about a branch of the family dating back to King Oswald. Nonsense, in all likelihood.”
“Yes, nonsense,” Simon agreed.
Damien inclined his head. “The letter was unsigned, which makes it impossible the guess the sender’s motivations or veracity. It claimed that I have a brother but offered nothing else. None of the investigators I have employed has found any trace of a brother or of the letter-writer.”
“Unfortunate,” Simon mused.
“Yes,” Damien agreed. “Where did you hear such gossip?”
“One of my patients,” Simon said. “You might be surprised what people will tell a physician.”
“I do not suppose you could learn where the rumor might have originated?” Damien asked, as they entered the chapel. “I had assumed that it was some unsavory individual seeking to ruin me. Or perhaps, someone who disagreed with my marriage to Maria. But if it is local gossip…”
It was attached to the house by a colonnade with an arched wooden roof, dark with age. Daylight spilled between the arches, causing Damien to slit his eyes and raise a hand to shield them.
“I will do what I can, of course,” Simon said.
Damien glanced at him. “Do not scrutinize me like some kind of curious specimen.”
“I cannot help it. I am a man of science, and you are a very curious specimen,” Simon said, laughing. “Even the scandals about you are strange! One day, I may write a book about you.”
“Do it, and I will burn the damned thing on your grave.”
Simon laughed. Damien felt relief as they stepped into the cool darkness of the small chapel.
Stained windows depicted saints, while side altars held the stone entombed bodies of his ancestors.
His father was not here. A priest stood at the altar, looking everywhere but at the groom.
Damien watched him run a hand across the top of the altar and grimace at the dust.
Yes, this place is barely used. The servants go elsewhere for their worship, and I have little use for a God who avoids the road I walk.
They waited in silence. Simon fidgeted, sitting and standing, examining the side aisles and the stained glass. The priest consulted his Bible when he wasn’t glancing surreptitiously at Damien. Or rather at his mask. Damien waited, impassively.
I never made the promise that Maria wanted from me. I could have been a blackguard and forced it from her. Demanded it as my price for taking on a whelp. Perhaps, I will.
Her face filled his mind. Her beauty went beyond prettiness, and he was amazed that she was unattached. Her lips had felt so soft and warm, and yet had firmed as her passion increased. Her body was slender and curving in the most feminine way, like a statue of Aphrodite.
I will not let myself fall under her spell.
I cannot be certain there is not a motivation for her besides the one she has stated.
An agenda that would be harmful to my interests.
I must be careful. Besides, despite her beauty, she is stubborn and willful.
It would be unbearable to tie myself to such a woman forever.
Philby cleared his throat from the door of the chapel. He had been lurking there like a gargoyle.
“Lady Maria Shelidan of Sunspire!” he announced into the still air of the chapel.
Damien jumped. He hadn’t heard Maria approaching the chapel. He caught Simon’s eye, saw a smile there. Simon had noticed and was reading into Damien’s reaction.
Read all you want. You are wrong. This is a transaction only.
Damien turned. Maria advanced into the chapel alone.
Her white gown glittered in stray beams of sunlight.
It seemed to catch what light there was and hold it in tiny jewels sewn over the gown.
Her hair was tied up in loose ringlets held in place by blue ribbons and clusters of small pink flowers.
Maria’s swanlike neck was bare. Damien was left with the impression of a woman bedecked with jewels when, actually, she wore very few.
The dress covered her chastely but hinted at nudity in its flowing over every contour and curve.
It covered everything and revealed everything all at once, reminding him again of Aphrodite, draped in magnificently flowing material but still emphasizing every line of her glorious body.
Damien felt his desire rise. It was a feeling he ignored most of the time, but it refused to be ignored now.
Maria seemed to have a that effect on him.
By God, but I want to insist on my marital rights. I want to possess her.
She stood before him, bestowing a secretive smile on him. He bowed formally, not trusting his voice, then turned to face the priest.
“Proceed,” he said.
The ceremony passed by. Damien gave the appropriate responses, and Simon and Philby stood as witnesses. Maria said her part. Then, they were married. The priest seemed relieved to have completed the ceremony, stepping away from the altar hurriedly. Maria turned to face Damien.
“Well, it is done,” she said, looking up at him.
“It is.”
This woman was his wife. Seized by a fierce and burning need, he kissed her cheek, chaste and brief. His body ached for more, but he mastered it. The kiss brought back maddening memories of her body atop his. The taste of her lips.
As he pulled back, she stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips against his.
Time slowed. Damien closed his eyes, found her fingers entwined with his own.
Then, the kiss was over. It felt as though night should have fallen while they kissed, as though they had stood there for an age, though only mere heartbeats had passed.
“I think we should agree to that being the last,” Maria whispered.
Should they? His body was an inferno, desperate to ignore all rationality in favor of pulling this woman into his arms and ravishing her there in the chapel, regardless of who might see! He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to rein in all his darker impulses.
Damien looked into her eyes and saw an opportunity. What he saw there was a bold woman, independent but out of her depth. Frightened, though trying to control that fear, keep it hidden.
I will need to divest myself of her at some point. The Phantom has finally been laid to rest. I am not saddling myself with this woman forever.
It was time to play on that fear, remind her of how precarious her position was and ensure she would not exploit him.
“I did not agree to that,” Damien said, allowing his lips to tug upward into a tight smile.
“You… you agreed…”
“To use your name, Maria. Nothing else. You are my wife now…”
He left the rest unsaid. Her wide, round eyes were locked on his and spoke volumes of her comprehension of his meaning. She snatched her hands from his, and he felt a stab of regret.
“I will not be taken advantage of,” she said as she turned away and marched down the aisle.
“Where are you going?” Damien demanded.
“To fetch Gilbert. As you agreed I could,” Maria called back. “Or did you forget that?”
He watched her go. Aware of Simon at his shoulder.
“I do believe you may have met your match,” Simon said.
“So does she. You are both wrong,” Damien said.