Page 46 of The Phantom Duke
“We discuss books and art, ostensibly. At least that was the idea. We use it as an opportunity to talk freely about whatever we wish. There are only two rules. No topic is off limits, and no rank is allowed.”
“How revolutionary,” Damien said.
Maria paused, trying to decipher his expression. Damien’s face revealed nothing, but she did not believe he was mocking her.
“It is the only way that we can have true freedom,” she said. “Thank you for inviting them. It was wonderful to wake and find them here.”
“I had hoped it would be. After the shock you’d had, I thought it appropriate.”
“Since I have done precisely what you advised against and aggravated my ankle, do you think it would also be appropriate to allow Gilbert to visit?” Maria asked. “Obviously not to stay, not until I am fully back on my feet. But to visit only?”
Damien studied her for a moment, lips pursed. Then, he shrugged.
“You may. He may visit you in the room I set aside for your friends. Or in these rooms, as they are yours.”
Another boon and another beaming smile from Maria. She felt as though a weight was lifting from her shoulders. Damien gave a smile in return, more expressive even than his previous effort. The effect on his face when he smiled was remarkable. His beauty deepened, his stern expression melting into one of true nobility and grace. It lifted his eyes, putting a light in them besides ferocity.
Maria felt her cheeks coloring as she realized she was staring at him. And was staring back. She felt breathless, the table feeling insubstantial as a means of separating them. He could cast it aside with one mighty sweep of his arm. In fact, she wanted him to. She wanted to be swept up into his arms, to cling to him, feel herself pressed against him.
“What thoughts do you have that make your face so red?” Damien asked with mischief in his voice.
“What questions do you ask to make it even redder?” Maria answered, her eyes widening in mock innocence. “Do you never think blushing thoughts?”
“I think the thoughts, but they do not make me blush,” Damien replied.
“Then what does make you blush?” Maria asked.
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Try me.”
Maria looked at him with a smile. She got up, leaning on her stick and making her way around the table to sit heavily upon his lap. His breath hitched, and Maria smiled victoriously.
“I did not realize how long that walk could be with a sprained ankle,” she said, breathlessly.
Then, she shifted her position, putting her arms around his neck. Damien’s thighs were hard and well-muscled beneath her, and although he was not yet aroused, she could discern the bulge where his manhood was. His arms went around her and drew her close. For an instant, Maria forgot what her aim had been.
When she remembered, her thoughts were heady with desire and a sharp awareness of the impropriety of their position.
“Your cheeks do not seem to be changing color,” Maria noted.
“Yours are even brighter,” Damien replied.
Maria deliberately moved and felt a response from the part of Damien that was beneath her. It would be so easy to reach between her thighs and stroke him. She laughed softly as a spot of color appeared on Damien’s face.
“Do not poke the bear unless you are willing to lull it back to sleep again,” he said, eyes bright.
“How does one do that?” Maria whispered, lips inches from his.
“It has to be quite exhausted.”
He kissed her forcefully, and Maria’s mind ceased to function, abandoning its reasoning capabilities in favor of pure sensation. His lips were firm against hers, but also soft. There was a heat in them that seemed to infuse Maria’s blood, setting it alight.
Damien’s arms tightened around her, enclosing her with bands of steel that were somehow comforting in their unyielding strength. She melted against him, giving herself to his power, to the sheer magnetism of his masculinity.
Emboldened, Maria reached for him and lightly grasped his manhood through his trousers. He crushed her against his chest, causing her bodice to become disheveled. Her breasts threatened to topple out of her stays.
