Chapter 13 #2
“I am sorry,” he snapped with ferocity, “I had not thought that you would be so absurd as to try wandering through the forests with a sprained ankle. I assumed I would have sufficient time to remove the traps or warn you of where they were. But you are inquisitive, and I should have recognized that.”
He seemed to soften as he continued speaking, as though the edge of his initial anger was blunting.
“And I am sorry, too. I was so desperate to prove myself,” Maria said. “I did not listen to you, and I should have. You were right. I did need to rest.”
Damien nodded. There was an awkward moment of silence. Maria did not want the conversation to end, for silence to reign between them. She floundered for something to say that would encourage Damien to talk. Unexpectedly, he came to her rescue.
“Your friends are exactly as I imagined them to be. Utterly improper.”
The lack of a smile as he spoke made Maria’s heart sink. Then it came, his mouth turned up at one corner, a lopsided grin.
“I quite approve,” he said.
Maria beamed in relief, taking a sip of water.
“We have a sort of club. Like you gentlemen do in town. We call it the Corset Chronicles Club,” she said.
Damien’s eyebrow arched. “A fascinating name. What does this club do?”
“We discuss books and art, ostensibly. At least that was the idea. We use it as an opportunity to talk freely about whatever we wish. There are only two rules. No topic is off limits, and no rank is allowed.”
“How revolutionary,” Damien said.
Maria paused, trying to decipher his expression. Damien’s face revealed nothing, but she did not believe he was mocking her.
“It is the only way that we can have true freedom,” she said. “Thank you for inviting them. It was wonderful to wake and find them here.”
“I had hoped it would be. After the shock you’d had, I thought it appropriate.”
“Since I have done precisely what you advised against and aggravated my ankle, do you think it would also be appropriate to allow Gilbert to visit?” Maria asked. “Obviously not to stay, not until I am fully back on my feet. But to visit only?”
Damien studied her for a moment, lips pursed. Then, he shrugged.
“You may. He may visit you in the room I set aside for your friends. Or in these rooms, as they are yours.”
Another boon and another beaming smile from Maria.
She felt as though a weight was lifting from her shoulders.
Damien gave a smile in return, more expressive even than his previous effort.
The effect on his face when he smiled was remarkable.
His beauty deepened, his stern expression melting into one of true nobility and grace.
It lifted his eyes, putting a light in them besides ferocity.
Maria felt her cheeks coloring as she realized she was staring at him.
And was staring back. She felt breathless, the table feeling insubstantial as a means of separating them.
He could cast it aside with one mighty sweep of his arm.
In fact, she wanted him to. She wanted to be swept up into his arms, to cling to him, feel herself pressed against him.
“What thoughts do you have that make your face so red?” Damien asked with mischief in his voice.
“What questions do you ask to make it even redder?” Maria answered, her eyes widening in mock innocence. “Do you never think blushing thoughts?”
“I think the thoughts, but they do not make me blush,” Damien replied.
“Then what does make you blush?” Maria asked.
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Try me.”
Maria looked at him with a smile. She got up, leaning on her stick and making her way around the table to sit heavily upon his lap. His breath hitched, and Maria smiled victoriously.
“I did not realize how long that walk could be with a sprained ankle,” she said, breathlessly.
Then, she shifted her position, putting her arms around his neck.
Damien’s thighs were hard and well-muscled beneath her, and although he was not yet aroused, she could discern the bulge where his manhood was.
His arms went around her and drew her close.
For an instant, Maria forgot what her aim had been.
When she remembered, her thoughts were heady with desire and a sharp awareness of the impropriety of their position.
“Your cheeks do not seem to be changing color,” Maria noted.
“Yours are even brighter,” Damien replied.
Maria deliberately moved and felt a response from the part of Damien that was beneath her. It would be so easy to reach between her thighs and stroke him. She laughed softly as a spot of color appeared on Damien’s face.
“Do not poke the bear unless you are willing to lull it back to sleep again,” he said, eyes bright.
“How does one do that?” Maria whispered, lips inches from his.
“It has to be quite exhausted.”
He kissed her forcefully, and Maria’s mind ceased to function, abandoning its reasoning capabilities in favor of pure sensation. His lips were firm against hers, but also soft. There was a heat in them that seemed to infuse Maria’s blood, setting it alight.
Damien’s arms tightened around her, enclosing her with bands of steel that were somehow comforting in their unyielding strength. She melted against him, giving herself to his power, to the sheer magnetism of his masculinity.
Emboldened, Maria reached for him and lightly grasped his manhood through his trousers. He crushed her against his chest, causing her bodice to become disheveled. Her breasts threatened to topple out of her stays.
A low growl rumbled from Damien’s chest, and his teeth teased her lower lip. “Oh!” Maria exclaimed, her hips jolting forward.
He broke the kiss and gazed hotly at her. “Be careful doing that,” he said. “I might be unable to resist you any longer. I might be forced to take you right on this table in front of everyone.”
Maria rubbed him again, and his hands grasped her hips.
He pulled her in for another fierce kiss, and Maria clung helplessly to him as he kissed her again and again.
Her entire world was narrowed to him, to the scent of his cologne and the tang of his sweat.
Desire coiled inside her body, and she felt him growing harder beneath her.
The sound of footsteps shattered the moment.
At that moment, Sally bustled into the room with the soup course.
She almost dropped it as she tried to spin herself to face away from Maria and Damien.
For her part, Maria leaped from Damien’s lap as though scalded, putting too much weight on her ankle and doing her utmost not to show it.
Damien looked from the two scarlet-faced women, threw back his head and roared with laughter.
Sally seemed just as surprised as Maria at the sound and the open grin on Damien’s face.
Maria wobbled back to her seat, sitting gratefully.
She looked at Damien, merriment shone in his eyes, and she smiled.
Her core pulsed with aching need, but Maria only barely noticed the sensation, for she was so startled by the wondrous sight of her husband smiling and joyful.
“I am glad to see that you can smile,” she said.
“When the occasion demands it. I find it rarely does,” Damien said.
“A child in the house can give cause for much laughter and joy,” Maria said.
Damien’s smile slowly faded as the soup was served.
“I have agreed to the visit.”
“Yes, I wasn’t…”
“I know what you were doing. Gilbert may visit once, but he will never live here.”
Ice filled her veins. “So, you are going back on what you agreed.”
“I do not believe so. I made no promises.”
“I beg your pardon, but you did,” Maria said, her mind racing with a cleverer rebuttal.
Someone, likely her father, had made an anonymous offer for the orphanage, and Damien had just announced his intention to go back on his word. What was she to do?
Sally left, and they ate in silence. Maria barely tasted the food. She felt a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had pinned so much hope on Gilbert being able to live with her at Winterleigh. Now she was faced with the impenetrable wall of Damien’s mercurial mood.
It had felt as though she had won a small victory, then been reminded of how much still needed to be fought.
She could not give up. If she could find no clever argument, she must try the obvious one.
The meal continued that way until Maria suddenly said, “Gilbert was always part of our arrangement. I made that clear and have complied with your requirements. I have asked nothing…”
“You have done nothing but ask.”
“That is not true! I have been very accommodating of your dark moods and your rules.”
“If you dislike my nature, then you are not a prisoner.”
“I am a prisoner, just not at your behest.”
There was a moment of silence.
“At whose, then?” Damien asked.
Maria slammed down her soup spoon, angry at the disbelief in his voice.
“Why should I confide in you about my life prior to this moment when you have confided nothing to me?”
“I do not wish you to confide. I do not need a confidante. Why do you?”
“Because I am human!”
Maria regretted the impulsive choice of words. It was too close to calling Damien the Phantom. Silence descended like ash.
“Why did your engagement end?”
Maria was taken aback by the suddenness of the question.
I will take it as another victory. If he was utterly ambivalent towards me or even openly hostile, he would not have asked. Does he regret his anger and mine? Is this an overture from a man who simply does not know how to offer peace?
“I discovered that he had been… no, that is not right. That he was being unfaithful and had been from the beginning. He was unapologetic and seemed to think that I would simply accept it as a natural part of marriage. One of my friends, Anna, does that very thing. Her husband does not bother her, and she is content. I could not be.”
“It is a world made by men. I can see how it must be difficult for a woman. If she commits adultery, she is vilified. If a man does the same, it is a sign of his prowess. He is lionized.”
“Yes, very unfair. And I found myself the brunt of my father’s anger. He took it as a personal insult.”
“Fathers are a tool for forging us into adulthood. At least for a son. I cannot speak for a daughter. I would not be the man I am if it were not for my father.”
“In a good way?” Maria asked, innocently, wanting to draw more out of Damien.
He scowled. “Certainly not. I made myself strong because of the example of his brutality, which I could not counter when I was young. I did not want anyone to have that advantage over me again. But apart from that. No. He was the very devil.”
“I am sorry.”
“Why?”
“For the pain you obviously suffered as a child.”
“It is past. It does not matter,” Damien said dismissively.
“I think it does. It shapes us. It has shaped you. But…”
Damien stood abruptly, tossing down his napkin. Maria inhaled sharply, knowing at once that she had pushed too hard and too quickly.
“I thank you for your company this evening. It has been… mostly enjoyable. I hope you sleep well.”
As he turned to leave, Maria hastened to her feet. “I understand!” she exclaimed. “I do. My father is—he can—he can be unkind, too. He threatened to purchase the Willow Street orphanage, so he can destroy it.”
Damien halted and cast her a sharp glance over his shoulder. “Why would he wish to destroy an orphanage? Is your father, perhaps, the villain in some lady’s romance?”
“I wish he was,” Maria sighed. “But he is vexed with me. I disobeyed him, and he wishes to—to destroy something that I love in return. I have received word that an anonymous benefactor agreed to buy the orphanage, and I had hoped that it might be you. But if it is not…”
She stared helplessly at him, aching for comfort, but none was forthcoming. The damage caused by her words seemed impossible to erase, and Maria lowered herself into her chair, unsteady and afraid that she might have made everything worse.
“He has sworn to haunt me forever,” Maria said. “And I fear he means to make good on that threat.”
Still, he said nothing until, with a final, lingering glance, Damien left the room.