Page 75 of The Phantom Duke
“Suspicion?” Maria demanded, “How could it. Suspicion of what? Oh, for the company of a small child. Gilbert has not yet learned to lie or conceal his true feelings.”
“I am concealing nothing.”
“No, you show your thorns openly. Like a bramble!”
“If you do not care for thorns, then wear gloves,” he said.
“Gauntlets, from one of your suits of armor.”
Damien almost smiled. Almost laughed. He was enjoying the banter. Enjoying being this close to her, looking at her. The argument gave him reason to stare without looking away. “I do not think I would appreciate a woman’s touch communicated through cold steel,” Damien said.
His eyes darted to her gloved hands, and he imagined himself slowly, delicately peeling them down her arms until her hands were warm and bare in his own. Damien shivered, all thoughts of the earlier conversation dissipating like morning fog when he thought of her touching him, caressing his chest with those delicate hands.
“Would you not? Perhaps I should not give you the choice,” he said, lowering his voice. “It seems that when I give too much, there is always the risk of you bolting in the opposite direction.”
Damien seized her, holding her tightly against him, his embrace as firm as the grip of any knight encased in steel.
“Had you considered that I am the prisoner? Chained to you?” he asked.
Color rose to her face, down her neck and chest. Damien’s gaze snapped to her full bosom, her breasts practically heaving above the neckline of her bodice. His fingers ached to caress them with his hands and to make those rosy nipples pert between his fingers.
“I had not,” Maria replied breathlessly. “How can one be a prisoner when one holds all the power?”
“Do I? It is you who can come and go as she pleases. It is you who can be free with whom she sees and, more importantly, who sees her. It is you who has me so closely bound to you that I dare not push you too far lest you sever our ties and disappear from my life.”
“I will not disappear. I do not want to disappear,” Maria replied.
Damien gazed down at her, his eyes afire. His body seethed with desire for her, with the need to tell her everything and anything. To be naked before her, weak and vulnerable.
He was certain that she would treat him gently. Perhaps, even with reverence. Damien would be the first man she ever touched, the man who stole her maidenhood, and he would be just as careful with her body. Maria would bloom like a rose for him.
Hang it all! What use is strength in isolation?
But then there was the curse. Always the curse. He could not expose her to it. Could never live as a true husband. Could never drop the mask.
He hissed between his teeth and dropped his hands, so boiling with want that he feared he might be overcome with passion if she lingered even a minute longer. “You should return to your friends,” he said, forcing his voice steady.
Maria glanced to the window and sighed deeply. “I suppose I must.”
The air seemed to cool with the iciness of her disappointment, but Maria did not linger for any longer. She simply swept past him, and Damien watched the doorway long after she had left.
CHAPTER 20
“Are you sure this is wise, Maria?” Evelina asked as they were escorted through one of the main tea rooms at the White Conduit House.
The room bustled with the London elite who were the tea room’s patrons. Black-and-white-liveried servants moved among the tables with trays of tea sets, cakes, cheese or sandwiches. Chandeliers provided a glittering, liquid gold light over the proceedings. Maria and Evelina were escorted by a servant through the room to a staircase.
“I have nothing to lose,” Maria whispered, conscious of being overheard.
Evelina made eye contact with anyone and everyone, smiling here and there. Some smiled back. Others tutted and looked away from the infamous Dowager Countess of Thornwall. An unsuitable companion for a young lady, clearly. Evelina smiled all the more.
“As long as you are sure,” she replied.
They reached the staircase and ascended to the second main tea room, located directly above the first, skirting it and stepping through a door into a private room. It had been set up for three. A fire burned merrily, and a window overlooked the pleasure gardens below, in which top-hatted men and bonneted ladies were as ever present as daisies and dandelions.
“Of course, I am not sure,” Maria confessed when they were alone. “But I could not risk this man, who claims to be Damien’s brother, vanishing if I did not reply.”
She took a seat while Evelina admired the view.
