Chapter 14
Despite having married Maria, Damien had not yet made the acquaintance of her father.
It did not seem as though the man was worth meeting, but Damien could not forget how Maria had spoken about her father.
She was a brave and stubborn woman, but her face had fallen when she spoke of her father.
Her trembling lips and anxious eyes haunted his dreams, and he knew that he had to act.
It was not as though he was fond of Maria—not at all—but a smoldering guilt burned inside his chest. He was the cause of her injury, from which she had only just recovered. The least he could do was ease this worry.
Shelidan’s butler entered the foyer and bowed deeply. “Lord Sunspire will see you, Your Grace.”
“Good.”
The man had left him already to wait for several minutes, while he seemingly considered the question of if he should.
Damien clenched his jaw. He hoped that the wretched man had spent every minute panicking.
The Earl of Sunspire might be influential, but Damien was of a higher rank.
If Shelidan knew what was best for him, he would comply.
“This way, Your Grace.”
Damien grunted in response and followed the butler across the foyer. He had only seen Shelidan on a handful of occasions, and those impressions had not been especially complimentary. The earl was a careless man, too fond of his cups.
The butler reached an open doorway and stepped inside. “Your Grace, my lord,” he said.
Damien did not wait for the butler to step aside before entering the room.
He remained in the doorway, letting his massive form fill the space.
Shelidan might feel comfortable threatening orphaned children and young women, but Damien strongly suspected the man would crumble when faced with another man.
Especially one as intimidating as he. Damien smiled thinly, a dark part of him reveling in the prospect of utterly terrifying such a weak-hearted man.
Gray-haired and hawkish Shelidan rose from behind his desk. “Your Grace,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Damien smiled thinly. “Pleasant, indeed? Regrettably, I cannot say the same.”
Without being bidden, Damien entered the room and stalked across the study floor. Shelidan’s smile wavered a little. “I assume that you have come on some urgent matter,” the earl said. “It is rather late.”
Rather than answering, Damien approached the sideboard and reached for the decanter of brandy, filling one crystal cut glass with the amber spirit, aware of Shelidan’s eyes upon his back.
Damien lingered for a heartbeat longer, letting the tension grow in the room.
Then, he turned back to Shelidan. Damien stormed across the room, letting his steps fall heavily.
Once he reached the desk, he moved deliberately too close to the earl, so the man was forced to crane his neck back to meet Damien’s eyes.
“For your nerves,” Damien drawled, placing the glass on the desk.
“Wh-where is yours?” Shelidan asked. “You should also partake.”
“I do not drink,” Damien said. “Alcohol turns some men into beasts, and I am ferocious enough without it. I suspect that you are a man whose worst qualities are emboldened by drink.”
Shelidan opened his mouth as if to protest, but at Damien’s withering glare, the earl’s mouth shut with a sharp click.
“But I suspect alcohol might be your only source of courage as well,” Damien continued, his voice full of mock pleasantries.
Without invitation, Damien lowered himself into the empty chair across from the earl.
“My nerves?” Shelidan asked.
“Yes,” Damien replied, smiling sharply. “I have a way of unsettling cowardly men.”
“I am no coward!” Shelidan’s hands shook, as he dropped into his chair. “How dare you come here unannounced and make such a baseless claim?”
“How dare I?” Damien asked, arching an eyebrow. “What would you call a man who delights in tormenting those weaker than himself?”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“I think you do.” Damien smiled sharply. “Drink, Shelidan, and perhaps, you will gain enough fortitude to survive this encounter with a scrap of dignity.”
Shelidan’s hand tightened on the glass. “You make many presumptions tonight, Archdall!”
“Your Grace will be sufficient,” Damien said. “And you say that you are no coward, but you have no qualms with threatening women and children. Why is that?”
For a heartbeat, Shelidan hesitated, and fear flashed in his eyes. Damien waited to see if the man would crumble, but Shelidan straightened his back and tipped his chin up. The earl took a defiant swallow of brandy, as if daring Damien to comment on his consumption.
“I have no notion of what you mean,” Shelidan said at last. “Where would you have heard such a thing?”
Damien shook his head. “Oh, I think you know precisely what I mean, and you deny it because you fear my wrath. And you should be afraid. I do not take kindly to men who threaten women and children.”
The earl’s nostrils flared. He took a sip of his brandy, as if that might give him the courage needed to survive his encounter with Damien. He doubted that there was enough brandy in the world for that, though.
“Do you wish to quarrel with me?” Shelidan asked. “If so, you may have no doubt that I will demand satisfaction for these egregious insults.”
“So be it,” Damien said coolly. “I am an accomplished marksman and a practiced swordsman. But we both know that you have no intention of challenging me. You are not willing to die for honor.”
Shelidan’s jaw clenched. “How dare you!”
The earl was becoming rather repetitive. “My wife told me the most interesting story,” Damien said. “You threatened to purchase and close an orphanage if she did not do what you desired.”
Shelidan audibly gulped. “She is my daughter. I had every right to instruct her in proper behavior.”
In a quick, sudden movement, Damien stood. He planted his hands firmly on Shelidan’s desk. The man jumped, and his eyes darted to the door, as if in search of rescue or escape.
“Your butler has long gone,” Damien said lowly, “and as you have said, the hour is quite late. I imagine most of your staff will already be gone to bed, and even if they have not, do you imagine they would intervene if some disagreement were to arise between us?”
“D-disagreement?”
“That is right.”
Shelidan grasped his glass of brandy so tightly that his knuckles were white. “There is n-no disagreement. I do not know what you mean! Why are you here?”
Doubtlessly, the man already knew and only feigned ignorance in the hopes of making Damien’s resolve waver, but Shelidan had no idea what Damien was capable of. Nor did the earl know precisely how far Damien was willing to go for her, for Maria.
Damien did not care for her, of course, but he was willing to concede that he felt the slightest spark of fondness for the woman. Admiration, even. And the thought of this wretched creature causing his wife even a little distress was enough to set Damien’s blood boiling.
“Maria might be your daughter, but she is my wife now. She answers to only one man, and that is me,” Damien said, eyes narrowing. “And you should be aware that I am a possessive and vindictive man. Some might say territorial, even. I do not like to share what is mine.”
“I—I did not consent to this marriage.”
“Nor did you object,” Damien interrupted. “Whether you like it or not, Maria is my wife. If you meddle with her, you meddle with me, and I am a vengeful and quick-tempered man.”
Shelidan nodded, his eyes wide.
A shiver of revulsion traced along the path of Damien’s spine. How had this cowardly man sired such a brazen creature as Maria?
“So you are going to leave her be,” Damien said. “You will not threaten Maria or her friends. And you will not meddle in that orphanage on Willow Street. Do you understand me?”
“I—I understand.”
“Good. If you cause any difficulty with Maria or me ever again, you will regret it.”
Shelidan swallowed, the sound audible. “I—I understand, Your Grace.”
Damien smirked, dark satisfaction filling him. It was no major victory cowing such a cowardly man, but a small part of him, one which he often fought to acknowledge, delighted in seeing this man—the one who had caused Maria so much grief—brought to heel with just a few words.
“Good,” Damien said. “I trust this will be the last time we speak.”
Damien seized the decanter and filled the man’s glass again, aware of how Shelidan’s eyes darted about the room, as though anticipating violence.
Good. Let the man fear me! He is fortunate that I am unable to lock him in a dungeon, as reprehensible as he is!
Perhaps, some time spent with trespassers would teach the accursed man some humility.
“I—I understand,” Shelidan said. “And I agree. No further conversations are necessary.”
With a final glare, Damien stormed from the room, leaving Maria’s father to wallow in the aftermath of his fury.
That was one matter settled, then. Oh, some men managed to regain their courage after facing Damien’s anger, but he doubted that Shelidan would be one of them.
Damien imagined that the wretched man would drink to excess, hoping to banish the memory of their encounter from his mind.
Hopefully, Shelidan would regret that decision, too.
The butler met Damien in the foyer and cleared his throat, offering a bow and a hesitant smile. “Are you leaving so soon, Your Grace?”
Damien sensed a hint of curiosity in the man’s voice and chose not to humor it. His lips thinned. “I am.”
Without waiting for any more courteous farewells, Damien threw open the door and walked into the night. A spring breeze swept across his face, its gentleness at odds with his tumultuous mood. His footman waited beside the sleek, black coach.
Seeing Damien’s approach, the man snapped to attention and bowed. “To Willow Street,” Damien said. “I want to visit the orphanage there.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The footman stumbled over his feet in his haste to open the door. Damien grimaced but said nothing. Sometimes, it was simpler to do things for oneself.
He seated himself against the black, cushioned seat, and his thoughts turned to Maria. Damien dug his nails into the palms of his hands. He had done something kind for her.
Two kindnesses, in fact. She ought to be pleased.
His wife did not detest him, which he supposed was better than he might have anticipated from her.
Damien could not say for certain why he cared that she was pleased, but he did.
A small, shameful part of him roared to life, wondering if Maria might feel gratitude enough to express her delight in a mutually satisfying way.
The footman shut the door to the carriage, which jolted into a sharp and sudden motion. They were not a great distance from Willow Street, so he turned his head towards the curtained window and tried not to think at all.