Chapter 11
Damien had dined in his rooms, as was his custom.
Afterward, he took up a book that he had selected from the library and seated himself in his favorite chair for reading after dinner.
The window was open, looking out over a quadrangle which nestled amid the spires and stone of Winterleigh.
A gnarled oak rose from its middle, defying the ancient house that had risen around it.
A bar of warm, golden light spilled out across the grass around the oak, almost reaching its fissured trunk.
Damien turned a page, but his eyes were drawn to that light when he saw a shadow.
With a frisson of pleasure, he realized that the rooms he had designated for Maria were directly beneath his own. The shadow was hers.
That was not a conscious thought. I chose those rooms for her almost thoughtlessly. Perhaps something in me was perfectly aware of where she would be at night. And where I would be.
He put down the book, watching the shadowed shape.
She stood with arms outstretched as though she had just flung the windows wide.
The silhouette she cast showed that she was in her nightdress.
Or perhaps her chemise. It hung from her arms, but he could see the delicate line of her shoulders. They were bare.
His breath quickened, remembering his promise to her at the altar.
A blasphemy, certainly, to be talking of such things in a holy place. But then I am unholy, according to my father.
She lowered her arms, and the silhouette collapsed for a moment, as though she were crouching.
When her figure reappeared, he could see the outline of her body.
She had stripped herself of the garment, and the light from her room outlined the curves of a female form. A perfect example of femininity.
Damien’s mouth was dry and his loins afire as he studied the curve of her hips. Then, as she turned, the proud outline of pert breasts.
She tantalizes me! Teases me!
But then she could not know that he was watching. She probably did not even know that his rooms were directly above her. She exposed herself to an empty quad and a tree.
But Mrs. Whitby gave her a tour of the house. Surely, my rooms were pointed out!
Suddenly, Damien laughed. Of course, she knew. He had challenged her in the chapel, attempting to sow the seeds of fear in her mind. And now she challenged him. To come and claim her.
Damien picked up his book, trying to take in the words, but he could not concentrate on them.
The image of her hidden nakedness was revealed so maddeningly through the medium of shadow.
So very revealing and yet showing nothing, just like the gown she had worn for their wedding ceremony.
Finally, he threw the book aside and stood, striding for the door.
Maria donned a silk nightgown to replace her usual cotton one. The silk clung to her. She was in a state of undress, but nothing inappropriate for a lady in her bedroom. The fine material flaunted her figure in a manner far more effectively than the gowns she wore during the day.
If Damien intended to visit her this evening, she was determined that she would be ready. The nightgown had been a present from Evelina, guaranteed to make a man’s mouth water, she had joked.
What am I doing? Behaving like a seductress is what I am doing! Theodora would be utterly horrified.
She sat on the end of her bed, trying to calm her racing heart.
Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, and she noticed that her nipples stood proud against the thin material.
At first, she covered them, but touching them brought a wave of pleasure that made her squirm.
She imagined Damien touching them, first through the silk and then lifting it to place his hand directly on her skin.
Her face bloomed scarlet at the thought, and she placed her hands by her sides. On impulse, she went to the sideboard and poured herself another glass of wine. It helped her fortitude. She gulped half the glass in one swallow when she heard the outer door of her suite of rooms opening.
He does not even knock!
“Damien? Is that you?” Maria asked, wishing that her voice did not tremble so much.
Damien let his footsteps speak for him as he approached the closed door of her bedroom. Maria raced to it and seized the doorknob, suddenly gripped by panic, the warm effect of the wine vanishing. It turned in her hand, and she tightened her grip, stopping it.
“I asked you a question,” she said.
“Yes,” Damien replied, “let me in.”
“No,” Maria said.
“Why?”
“I…I do not know,” Maria admitted.
“Because you are afraid,” Damien said.
His voice was low and unbearably masculine. It reverberated through her. She pressed herself against the door and heard it creak from the other side, as though Damien had pressed his hands against the paneling.
Suddenly, she became conscious that only the thin wood stood between her body and his touch. Her breasts were pressed hard against the door. She heard the sound of his fingers stroking the wood, an inch away from her tender and vulnerable body.
“Do I have a reason to be afraid?” she asked.
“Are you a maiden?”
“Of course, I am! What manner of question is that?” Maria demanded. “How dare you impugn my honor?”
In her anger, seeing insult in his question, she wrenched the door open. He stood with one hand out, which had been pressed against the door where her breasts had been. Maria swallowed, lifted her chin and faced him with as much dignity as she could muster.
Even though I am barefoot and almost naked before him. Even though my breasts might as well be bare, and if I turn, this gown will not leave much to the imagination. Oh, Evelina, you have a lot to answer for, giving me this dratted garment!
The nightgown had not seemed quite so scandalous until she was alone with her husband. Now, it was as though she wore next to nothing!
Damien advanced into the room, swinging the door closed with an idle sweep of his hand. Maria backed away until her heel touched the bed.
“Did you know your shadow could be seen through that window?” he asked.
Maria looked to the open window and the bar of golden light that spilled out.
“My…shadow?” She imagined herself standing there, stripping naked, confident that no one could see but the tree.
“Why? Were you spying on me?” she demanded.
“Sitting innocently in my room reading,” Damien replied. “My room is directly above yours.”
“Reading? Was my shadow projected across the pages then?” Maria replied, trying to recover her equilibrium.
“It distracted me from the book,” Damien replied, “and once distracted, I could not look away from your…performance.”
There was the ghost of a smile on his face.
He was close enough that she could smell the soap he had used when bathing.
A clean, woody scent clinging to him. The leather of his mask.
It was an intoxicating blend that made Maria’s head spin.
Like everything about him, it was so very masculine.
It spoke to her on a deep level, setting off a resonance at the heart of her womanhood.
“I did not perform. For you or anyone else!” Maria shot back.
“Then, you have quite the talent. To put on such a show without meaning to. What might you do when you are conscious of your actions?”
Maria’s lips twitched in what might’ve been a smile, though she wasn’t sure why. His words felt more like a taunt than a compliment. She bristled, unsure if she ought to be flattered or furious. Was he truly suggesting she’d ‘performed’ to tempt him? That she knew what she was doing?
“Is that why you’re here? To taunt me and—”
“You rendered me helpless,” he cut in. “And I don’t like it. I am not used to feeling this way.”
Helpless? Him? The Phantom—
No, not the Phantom.
Damien, my husband.
And to her shock, Maria realized he felt it too. That same helplessness.
When she opened her mouth to say something, he kissed her. The contact was so sudden and shocking that all her thoughts scattered, making it difficult to summon a rebuttal or refusal. It snatched the breath from her, as he kissed her with bruising force.
Instinctively, as his arms went around her, she pressed her hands against his chest, pushing him back, except he didn’t move. It was like pushing a cliff, and Maria could not have even said if she wanted him to move. His strength appalled and excited her.
If he did not wish to release her, then there was nothing she could do to release herself. If she wanted, she could tell herself that. His tongue, warm and wet, brushed against her lips. She gasped, and then, his tongue was in her mouth.
The sensation was so strange that it shook her to her core. She curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, holding on as if her life depended on it, while he ravaged her mouth.
Damien’s hands swept downward, squeezing her buttocks.
She cried out in surprise, the sound muffled by his mouth against her own.
He squeezed harder, and her core pulsed with hot need.
Maria’s hips jolted reflexively forward.
Something hard pressed against her stomach, and it took her a heartbeat to recognize it as his manhood.
He swept his hands down further still, gripping the back of her thighs and prying them apart. Damien broke the kiss, and a high-pitched whine of need sprung from between Maria’s lips. She panted for air, as he stroked the inside of her thighs, his touch like a branding through the thin material.
“Is this what you were hoping for when you displayed yourself like a common jade?” Damien asked.
“How dare you?” Maria cried, her breath coming in shudders.
The place between her legs was hot and wet, her body coming to life all the more from the degrading question. She would think more through the implications of that later, preferably when he was gone.
Maria flattened her palms against his chest and pushed once more, desperate to maintain some measure of pride.