Page 42 of The Phantom Duke
A half-finished breakfast tray. An open window with the breeze stirring papers on the bureau. He walked over and looked down at the letters. He had not intended to read them but found himself drawn into their contents. The letters addressed to Maria, he skimmed quickly.
Frivolous thoughts from shallow people. I do not care what they think of me. Beast, am I?! By heaven, the infernal cheek!
He swept the letters from the desk but caught the unfinished one. He stared down at what Maria had been writing in reply to her vapid friends. After a moment, he sat, a weight settling on his shoulders. It was guilt, and it was unwelcome.
She is lonely. Missing her adopted child and her friends. Confined to this house because I have seeded the woods with traps for the unwary. Damnation! I did not want to care about her or anyone else! I wish I had never set eyes on her!
But that would have meant Maria being left to the mercy of the ruffians who had assaulted her. The idea of such a violation made him clench his fist in anger. He stopped himself when he realized that he still held the letter and tried to smooth it out on the bureau. Looking around, he wondered where she was.
Probably limping around the house to get some exercise. If I stay here long enough, then she is bound to be back soon.
But his eyes had fallen on the gown that lay on the bed. It had the look of a house gown, not the kind of garment a woman would wear to go outside. At the foot of the bed were the soft slippers Maria wore inside. With a sudden, sickening realization, he knew she had left the house.
And he had not toldherabout the traps.
Damien slashed at the heavy vegetation of the woods with his cane.
“Maria!” he bellowed.
The call was echoed throughout the woods by Philby, using Maria’s title. Greggs, Damien’s stable hand, called out from his other side. Then came the deep, booming voice of his gamekeeper, Langford, from somewhere behind. He had roused a group of servants to comb the dangerous woods for her.
Even I do not dare to stray from the path in these woods. The gamekeeper and I have made them stiff with traps to deter intruders. I warned her the land was treacherous. Damnation, but I warned her!
“Maria! Damn you, answer!” he roared.
Another death on the Winterleigh estate would seal his fate. There would be no end to the ghouls then. He would have to either endure their constant intrusion or engage his plan of last resort: liquidizing his assets and relocating to what had once been the colonies of America and was now a fledgling nation.
That is too much like running away! I will not be beaten! Where is she?
He lashed out at innocent brambles and ferns with his cane, snarling as he strode along paths long memorized. This was exactly the kind of inconvenience he had sought to avoid, and now here he was. What he didn’t want to admit to himself was the deep concern he felt for Maria.
My concern is for my own reputation. The woman is too much trouble!
But, underneath the bluster he cultivated was a deepening anxiety for her safety.
“Maria!” he cried.
Then came a reply. Faint. Weak but definitely a woman’s voice. Damien’s head swung to the right. It came again, and he charged headlong into the undergrowth, uncaring of the traps he himself had set.
He hurdled a tripwire at the last minute and triggered a vicious metal-toothed trap with his cane. The wood splintered as the ferocious device snapped shut. He ploughed on through the sylvan shade, knowing now which of the traps had caught his wife.
Ahead, he saw the pit. It was steep-sided and there were caltrops scattered at its base to give a nasty jab to anyone falling in. His heart stopped as he saw her lying at the foot of one steep slope. He didn’t hesitate, leaping down into the pit. His ankle twisted painfully, but he ignored it, falling to his knees beside Maria.
“You bloody reckless girl!” he whispered. “I told you not to come here!”
He ran his hands over her body, terrified at feeling the wetness of blood. A caltrop lay beside her, but she appeared to have just missed its upturned prong.
“Damien!” she whispered, eyelids fluttering, “I thought I had dreamed of your voice. Are you trapped in here, too?”
“Have no fear. I am the hunter, not the prey, remember?” Damien said.
He ran his hands over her body, feeling for injury or wounds. He could feel nothing. She opened her eyes again.
“I keep needing to be rescued by you. I must be such a burden,” she whispered in the tone of a drunk.
“Hush, you have struck your head,” Damien said, stroking her hair gently. “When you wake, you will be safe in your bed with all your friends around you. I swear it.”
I put this trap in place. I set it with glee at what it might do to a ghoul. And Maria could have died because of it. Hang it all! Things must change!
