Chapter 16
“Thank you, Uncle Gabriel, for keeping my father from demolishing this place!” Damien called out to the ancient stone walls and the primal, bubbling water.
Maria marveled. Damien had led her down a stone staircase that descended through turn after steep turn until she thought they must be well below ground level. Then into a vaulted stone chamber with fluted pillars, mosaic walls and a large, steaming pool of water.
The pain in her ankle had settled to a dull, uncomfortable ache, but with the newfound fire coursing through her veins, it was readily ignored. She would endure if it meant that Damien would soothe the burning inside her.
“This place pre-dates the house. It was built by the Romans. My father wanted it demolished, but my mother’s brother persuaded him not to.”
They walked along the pool to a stone bench, and Maria looked curiously about her. It was a strange place to do all the things that she wished for him to do to her.
“What became of him? Your mother’s brother,” Maria asked.
“He died many years ago,” Damien said. “I come here to be free of this,” he tapped the mask, “and pretend I am a normal man.”
Maria took his hand, kissing it. His palm was so large that it eclipsed her own.
“I would not wish you to be a normal man,” she said softly. “They are so very disappointing. I will take the Phantom over a normal man.”
His lip twitched at the use of the name the gossips had given him. Damien’s shoulders seemed to relax a little, as though the confession had made him lose all the tension that he had carried for…a very long time, she assumed.
“Are we going to swim?” Maria asked with no little trepidation.
“That is what one typically does in water. Otherwise, one is prone to drown,” Damien said.
Maria rubbed suddenly sweating hands against her dress and licked her lips.
She had been anticipating something entirely different when he had asked her to come with him.
Was it possible that he had misunderstood her intentions?
Maria would certainly die of embarrassment if she was forced to correct him.
“I have no garments for swimming,” she said.
“Neither do I. I have my skin,” Damien said. “Is that not acceptable?”
She drew in a sharp breath of air, her mind readily supplying the image of her robust husband entirely nude. Maria’s inner walls clenched in anticipation, and she swallowed hard.
“It sounds wonderful, but…” Maria didn’t want to make the admission that was looming in their conversation.
Damien arched an eyebrow.
“I cannot swim!” Maria exclaimed. “It terrified me as a child, and neither my father nor my governess pushed me to overcome that fear.”
“I was much the same. My father threw me into a lake and refused to save me as I drowned,” Damien replied.
Maria gaped at him.
“You are not serious!”
“I never jest when discussing that devil,” Damien snapped. “I swam to save my own life. Dragged myself out of the lake to be cuffed about the head for making him wait.”
“Do not throw me in!” Maria said, urgently.
“I will not. But I will teach you.”
Maria smiled nervously, looking at the dark water.
It was as still as a mirror, but the shadows of the vaults hid its depths.
She clenched her thighs together in a vain attempt to soothe the ache in her core.
She supposed that the water would do that, at least. Damien stood.
Maria took a deep breath and then followed suit.
“Where do we start?” she asked.
“Unless you want to get your clothes wet, I suggest we begin by undressing.”
He let his coat fall from his broad shoulders, then unlaced his shirt and tugged it free of his breeches.
It came up over his head and was casually tossed aside.
Maria’s breath caught in her throat. She could not help but let her eyes roam over that magnificent physique, but they stopped at the leather that masked his shoulder and arms. She looked up at the mask on his face.
“Will you also remove that?” she asked. “And let me see you fully? I have seen your face, and there is nothing to hide.”
“It is not for fear of disgust that I hide it,” Damien said.
“Then what?”
“It is enough that I say it is so.”
“It is not enough.”
“It is enough!” Damien snapped, clearly unused to being challenged.
Maria stared at him silently. She wondered if he could see the fear in her eyes and the control she fought to exert over it. She did not give in to panic or being brow-beaten. It was not enough to shout and glower.
I am a duchess, not a servant. A duchess should not be so easily intimidated.
“Do not try to cow me,” Maria whispered. “It will not work.”
Damien caught the edge of a tremor in her voice, smiled, the barest upraising of his lips.
Does he think he has gained a victory over me?
“It will work. If you do not wish to be cowed, do not push me.”
“I merely want to know you. To know something about you. By your choice, we are chained together. I live in your house, and my future depends upon you. I think it’s my right to know something of my…”
“Captor?” Damien said, wryly.
“If you will have it so.”
“I will remove the mask, and you will close your eyes,” Damien said.
She saw the quickening of his breath, the slight widening of his lips. He frowned deeply, and she could see his apprehension but also his excitement. He stood on the verge of revealing himself to another human being after so long in the shadows.
Strangely, the prospect of him being so vulnerable and revealed to her eyes was enough to make her core pulse with neigh unbearable need.
He would not penetrate her, would he? Thus far, Damien had chosen not to consummate their marriage.
Could it be that he had changed his mind? Did she want him to?
“How can I learn to swim with my eyes closed?” she whispered.
“I will support you in the water.”
The suggestion nearly undid her. Maria had to stifle a little groan before it could escape from her.
“Do as I tell you, and all will be well. I do not believe that any good comes from the sight of my stain. My scar,” Damien said. “Nothing good has come of it thus far.”
“In other parts of the world, no one would look twice at a birthmark. It’s only here that people cling to appearances.”
“Well, here, a child born with red stains across his face is called cursed. Disfigured. And sometimes… that mark alone is enough reason to let him die,” Damien said.
“Die?” Maria said with surprise.
He could not really mean it, could he? Her chest tightened.
She thought of Damien’s mother and his assertion that she had been murdered by her own husband.
Maria’s mouth was dry. Was it possible that Damien had also been threatened, been harmed, by such a wretched man?
Had the father ever threatened to murder his son?
“Forget I spoke. This has been a mistake,” Damien grated, beginning to turn away.
The threat of his absence was a slap of cold wind against her heated skin. “No!” Maria cried, clutching him to her.
She kissed him with all the passion she could muster, entwining her fingers through his hair and pulling it tight.
He started just a little, hesitated only a heartbeat before devouring her.
Maria drank him in, tongue probing into his mouth and his into hers.
She bit his lip and gloried in the sharp intake of breath that was his response.
Her fingers slid over the leather cords holding the mask in place.
She tugged at the knot, and his hands engulfed hers, forcing her still.
“Do you care nothing for your child?” he whispered, desperately.
She inhaled sharply, her body and mind a mess of heady desire mingling with icy dread. “More than I care for my own life.”
“Then, leave the mask where it is.”
But why should he ask for that?
“No,” she said.
“I am cursed, but that curse has nothing to do with touch. Only sight. Close your eyes,” Damien said.
Maria did not want to deny herself the sight of his eyes. Wanted desperately to show him the fallacy of his notion about a curse. But her core pulsed with insistent need, silently begging her to do anything to please him.
I must take what little victories I can. I want him. Oh, Lord. How I want him! If it must be blind, then so be it!
She obeyed and closed her eyes. The sound of the leather hitting the stone floor made her want to open them, to look upon him, but she resisted. There came the sound of fabric ripping, and then something was wrapped around her head tightly. She reached for it, but Damien moved her hands aside.
“Open your eyes,” he ordered.
Maria was blindfolded by a strip of white cotton. She realized that he must have torn it from his shirt. Under the lower edge of the blindfold, she could just make out his nudity. She gasped, tantalized by the indistinct nude image.
Maria ached to see him fully, unimpeded by the cloth, but her imagination was extensive.
She could imagine well enough his broad shoulders and muscular chest, which would narrow to a trim waist. His thighs were muscular and well-formed, and when she squinted, Maria could just barely discern the dark cloud of curls above his shaft.
“Now it is your turn,” Damien growled lowly.
“Will you close your eyes?” she asked.
“Do you wish me to?”
“No,” Maria breathed, the idea sending her pulse racing.
She began to undress, letting her gown lie where it fell, stepping out of it. Then she rolled down her stockings and removed her stays. One garment remained between her nudity and his hungry eyes. She gathered the hem of her chemise and lifted it up and over her head in one swift movement.
Then, she turned and leaped into the water. It engulfed her, warm and welcoming. But she had no notion how to orient herself or keep herself afloat. There had simply been an uncontrollable urge to cover herself in the dark water, to hide herself.