Chapter 15 #3
Damien was silent, his gaze still fixed on the portrait. He went to the fireplace, tending the fire unnecessarily. Maria stood, following him. She stood just behind him.
“I am sorry to pry, but I must know something of the man I… am connected to,” she said, torn between curiosity and contrition, for the subject was clearly one which pained her strange husband. “The man whose house Gilbert will share.”
There! She had said it, stated her foremost concern quite clearly, so her husband could avoid the subject no longer. After this conversation, she would know without a doubt if Gilbert would be allowed to remain at the estate with them.
Damien turned, and Maria was once again struck by the full force of his magnetism. His eyes stripped away her clothes and then her body, exposing her very soul.
She stood naked before him, gazing into his eyes and trying to see beyond the walls he erected around himself. Her eyes fell to his lips, so manly and yet so soft and inviting. Their touch was surprisingly gentle, she knew that. Their taste was intoxicating.
She found herself wishing she could live off nothing but the taste of his lips, the feel of his body. Her fingers twitched at her sides, as she imagined curling them in his soft hair.
How much I would give to you if you were willing to give me just a little in return.
“My mother was an artist. A fine painter who filled this house with light and joy. Until I was born. My father saw my face, my curse. He blamed her. He did not want an heir who was cursed and deformed. He retreated into the bottle. Then one day he killed her.”
Maria gasped at the brutal simplicity of Damien’s words. His father had just…killed his wife? The words seem as though they came from far away. Her instinct was to deny them, for she did not understand how a man could be so horrid.
Slowly, the meaning sank into her, and in its place, pity bloomed and overtook her terror. How difficult it must have been for Damien! She put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, giving what physical comfort she could.
“I was unaware. I do not remember those days. I know of my mother from what I have been told her brother and by Mrs. Whitby and Mr. Philby, who were both members of the household in those days,” Damien continued.
“My father blamed me. He claimed it was the work of the curse. But the truth was, he could not bear that a child of his would be anything other than perfect. And he blamed her.”
“I am so sorry.”
“Why?” he scoffed. “People always say that, as if it is meant to be a comfort. The transgression was not yours.”
She bit her lip, considering what to say next. Maria had not known this about her husband, and she wanted to know him. There was no better opportunity than when he was so happy and pleased with her. “Do you have any other family? Siblings, perhaps?”
“I did not think so. For many years. I do not remember any, but… there is the possibility of a brother.”
He turned to her, and she put her arms around him, embracing him tightly. The embrace was returned, and she felt him bury his face in her hair. Warmth shot through her, Maria’s heartbeat quickening at the comforting sensation of his body pressed against her own.
“Then, there is the possibility of another who understands. That is a great hope,” Maria said.
“Hope is a stranger. I will find out if this brother exists or not. If he does, then he probably wishes to profit from the relationship.”
Maria wound her fingers through his hair, turning her head to softly kiss his cheek.
“That is an unnecessarily bleak outlook.”
“It is what the world has taught me.”
“Then let me teach you something new.”
Damien pulled back enough to look down at her. There was sorrow in those bright eyes and a set expression on his face.
“It is far too late. Concentrate on your boy. He is young enough to learn.”
“I will concentrate on both of my boys,” Maria said with a smile.
She felt a surge of compassion for him. He had hardened his heart against the world for so long, expecting nothing but sadness and melancholy. He surrounded himself with darkness and did not believe the world had anything else for him.
I will show him. We talked about shaping our husbands. I will show the ladies that it is possible, and I will help Damien find the light again.
Damien lowered his head to hers and kissed her.
It was nothing like flames or sparks, but unbearably tender.
Maria melted into him, responding to his feather-light touches, as he traced his fingers down her arms. His caresses were careful, as though he feared breaking her. Careful and maddeningly teasing.
She wanted those touches to continue, arousing her, but then denying her. She held her own desire in check, wanting to tantalize him as much as he did to her. Maria refused to be the one who succumbed first, who gave in to the inferno that slowly grew inside her from such gentle touches.
The kiss deepened as Maria felt the upwelling of desire, a flood that could not be contained. She tasted him and was giddy at the experience. His hands cupped her buttocks, gripping and pulling. A shameful groan escaped from between her lips, and her hips jolted forward without conscious thought.
She felt her loins grind against his, and the hardness she found there awakened every nerve. Maria arched her spine, eager to push her body all the most against his own. It was as though she was a closed flower, and at least, she was opening and blooming before the light of the morning sun.
“Oh, please!” she whispered. “Damien, I can bear it no longer!”
“Not here!” Damien whispered fiercely.
It took Maria a moment to understand what he was saying. Her reason returned, and she nodded, breathless.
“Where?” she asked.