Chapter 25
Damien stared at the dark, wrought-iron key. It was as long as his hand, crafted more years ago than he had been alive. But the key and the lock that it was made to fit were still effective at their purpose.
“I should have made use of you when it first occurred to me to do so. Released the fellow. He has surely been frightened enough by now.”
Damien tried to push aside the thoughts that kept surfacing, but his gut told him that the prisoner, Moss, was part of a conspiracy against him.
He strode through the door to his bedchamber, swinging the door shut and blocking the sight of the mirror. A door in a corner of the room disguised as a panel led to the secret staircase and the cellars.
He would go immediately and release the man claiming to be a poacher. There came a rapid series of taps at his bedroom door, then it opened. Damien smiled. Only Maria would knock and then consider permission to enter given. She was the only person he wanted to see now.
Slipping the key into a pocket of his dressing gown, he stepped towards her. She came to him, holding his forearms and gazing into his eyes. Her forehead was creased with concern, her eyes shadowed with anxiety. Damien stroked her face, cupping its delicate fragility with his strong, broad hands.
“I know about the prisoner in the cellar. I have seen him,” Maria blurted. “How could you do this?”
Damien felt ice settle upon his skin, frost blooming around his heart. His hands froze, fingers a breath from her skin.
“How?” he asked.
It was the wrong question. Maria took his hands in hers, pulled them from her face and stepped back from him.
“You cannot deny it.”
“I have not tried to.”
“Then, tell me why?” she said plaintively. “Why are you doing something so horrible!”
Damien tightened his grip on Maria’s hands, seeing the gulf yawning between them and refusing to let her cross the chasm.
“Am I doing anything different from the magistrates of the Old Bailey? They deprive men of their liberty for transgressing the law.”
“You are not a magistrate! You are not a judge or a law-maker.”
“I am on this land. I have the authority to do as I please!” Damien snapped.
“Once. But we live in a different age. These are not the days of the Norman barons. Of absolute rule with anyone not born to nobility born to serfdom. We are a civilized people.”
Damien felt his frustration grow at Maria’s inability to see the truth. It underwent a process of alchemy within him, transmogrified into anger which bubbled blackly.
“They are not civilized!” he barked, tearing his hands from Maria’s, or trying to.
“But we are!” she snapped.
“I will hear no disagreement,” he said through clenched teeth.
She closed the gap, holding on tenaciously, then wrapping her arms about his waist.
“No! You do not get to escape from me behind your high walls. You will face me, and I will see the man behind the mask. The man I…”
Her words stalled, the thought so monumental that she seemed to hesitate to speak it.
Damien knew what she had stopped herself from saying.
It shocked him. That she had almost spoken it aloud.
That it was so close to being spoken, to being real.
The alchemy wove its magical tendrils through his soul, and the dark, choking smoke of anger transformed into resignation. Acceptance.
So, here we are. The pass I did not want to be holding against her. That I do not think I can defend.
He ran his hands down her back, possessing her with his touch. He marveled that she didn’t shy away.
She is not afraid of me, even now.
“My reason for offering you a marriage of convenience was to civilize my name. To dispel the myth of the Phantom,” he said lowly.
“But there was an unspoken reason. There are those who sought to find out about the Phantom, to prove their own scurrilous gossip… Even to take things from Winterleigh as souvenirs.”
He paused, his voice tight with frustration.
“I wanted to stop them, so I laid traps in the woods around the house. It did not deter them. One penetrated the house itself.”
Maria’s brows drew together. She reached for his hand without thinking. “Is this why you’ve been so guarded?”
Damien met her gaze, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. “I could not countenance the threat to my staff should he have been intent on harm. Drastic action was needed.”
She looked aghast, and Damien supposed that he ought to have anticipated the reaction. While his wife was remarkable in so many ways, she was still a lady and of a delicate disposition. “You began imprisoning them?” she asked, putting a hand to her chest. “Taking the law into your own hands.”
“I discovered the cellar, bricked up for years. And inside, I found the cages, more than one. I do not know which of my ancestors used it as a dungeon or why. But it served my purposes.”
“He has been a prisoner for weeks! How long were you going to hold him?”
Damien frowned. “He has not been held for that long. A few weeks at most, and that is but a small penance for his crime, regardless of what the man may say. How did you come to discover the cellars? The stair leading there is kept locked.”
“Ezekiel discovered it.”
“How did he open the door?” Damien asked.
“I do not know. It was open when I got there.”
“It was locked when I left it.”
Icy dread crept through his veins. He knew that the door had been locked, and Ezekiel had not been given a key. How had the young man managed to open the door, and why had he tried? It was impossible for Ezekiel to have expected to find something behind that locked door, wasn’t it?
“This cannot continue, Damien. You do see that? Do you?”
Damien’s answer was drowned by a man’s scream. His head whipped towards the door, and he moved to put himself between her and the door. The sound of a scuffle reached them, two people struggling. Glass broke. There was an angry, sounding grunt, a thud.
“Stay here!” Damien barked, running from the room.
But Maria refused. He was aware of her close behind him as he tore open the door to his rooms. Ezekiel lay propped against the wall, holding his forearm, blood leaking between his fingers.
“Ezekiel!” Maria cried, trying to run to his side.
Damien seized her arm in a steely grip. She struggled to free herself, but Damien was more concerned with the obvious threat.
A man lying bleeding alone in a hallway did not reach that point without the intervention of another.
He could see no one in either direction, but could hear the sound of someone running, fleeing. He knelt beside Ezekiel.
“Who did this to you?” he asked.
“The prisoner in your cellar. He freed himself and attacked me with a knife,” Ezekiel said.
“How did he free himself?”
“I do not know. I turned my back for a moment and heard the key in the lock. Then he was on me. I ran, and he pursued.”
Maria ran back into Damien’s rooms, gathering up quantities of linen. She came back and selected a piece, pressing it around Ezekiel’s arm.
“You must leave,” Damien said, also going back into his room. “And alert the staff. I will not have anyone left in this house with a dangerous man on the loose. Particularly when I was responsible for making him dangerous.”
“I will not leave either of you.” Maria insisted.
Damien unlocked a cupboard in a corner of his study. Reached inside and came out with a rifle. He grabbed a satchel containing charges and powder and began to load the weapon.
“You will do your duty,” Damien said. “Protect the households that rely upon us for their life and livelihood. Wake them and have them leave the house until I tell you it is safe to return.”
“I cannot leave you!” Maria cried, going to his side, but the rifle came between them.
“Maria, I can protect myself, but the household staff cannot. They need protection from their duke… and their duchess.”
She looked stricken but nodded. “I understand. Ezekiel, come with…”
“I will stand with my brother,” Ezekiel said, getting to his feet, wrapping the linen around his arm.
Damien nodded, reaching into the cupboard and producing a pistol. He handed it to Ezekiel.
“Do you know how to use this?” Damien asked.
Ezekiel nodded, grabbed a ball and proceeded to load and cock the pistol competently and with surprisingly little awkwardness despite his injury. He met Damien’s eyes and nodded resolutely.
“We will face this together,” his brother said.
Damien led the way as they moved through the dark house. Damien held the rifle to his shoulder, sighting along the barrel. When they reached the servant’s quarters, Maria hugged him, eyes wide and frightened but face firm with determination.
“You are a fine Duchess for Winterleigh,” Damien whispered. “Fierce and brave.”
“Come back to me,” Maria’s voice trembled.
She ran to Philby’s door, knocking loudly and then disappearing inside. A sound reached Damien from above. Breaking glass.
“He’s still here,” Damien said.
Ezekiel nodded. “I will never forget the look in his eyes. He was like a rabid animal. I fear his imprisonment has maddened him.”
They stalked the sounds of the intruder. Heavy footsteps. Breaking glass or furniture. Even laughter. Damien moved through the cloak of night with the confidence of a man used to darkness. He heard Ezekiel behind him, but his attention was all on the shadows in front and what they hid.
“It sounds like he is moving back towards the dungeon,” Damien whispered. “Why would he do that? Why not simply take his freedom?”
“Perhaps you were right about him. Perhaps his purpose in coming here was more than just to poach your game,” Ezekiel said. “Something far more destructive. Perhaps he came here for you.”
They were descending the wooden stairs to the dungeon, hearing the man below them. There was an odd note in Ezekiel’s voice. Damien risked a look up the stairs towards his brother. Ezekiel stood at the top of the staircase and had levelled the pistol at Damien, pulling back the hammer.