Page 8 of The Phantom Duke
Her last conscious thought was of redness filling her vision.
CHAPTER 4
Maria stretched as sleep left her. Warm bedclothes covered her, and the air felt close with the gentle smolder of a low fire. She winced as a sharp pain in her temple made itself known. Lifting a hand, she encountered a bandage which produced another stab of pain when she pressed against it. Fear opened her eyes, and when she saw the alien room, it became panic.
A young woman with dark hair tied back severely and wearing a servant’s uniform was sitting on a chair beside the bed in which Maria was lying. Had been lying. She was now upright, heart racing and head pounding. A wing-backed armchair faced the fire on the other side of the room. Maria could see a pair of male legs stretched out from that chair, crossed at the ankle. The bulk of the chair blocked her view of the rest of the man.
There was a man. He assaulted me. No, that is not him. He was an uncouth ruffian. Not the sort to have servants.
“Where am I?” she said, her voice overly loud in the silence that, until that point, had been broken only by the soft snoring of the servant.
Her head jerked up at Maria’s words. She had a clean, young and pretty face. A smile seemed to come easily to her, but quickly vanished as her eyes darted to the chair.
“How are you feeling, miss?” she asked.
“My head hurts. I don’t remember why. The last thing I remember is driving my trap to Bethlem Hospital. Oh my lord! Gilbert!”
Memory crashed into Maria’s head with the force of a lightning strike. She flung the bedclothes away and stood. Tried to stand. Her head spun, and her ankle screamed in pain. Her leg gave way beneath her, and she would have crashed to the floor with just as much force as a falling tree. But the man in the chair had moved swiftly to her side.
A broad shoulder supported her, and a muscular arm went around her waist. Air left her lungs in a greatwhooshat the unexpected touch. The warmth of his body bled into hers and sent her pulse racing and her thoughts scattering.
“Do not be more foolish than you already have been. Driving about this district alone and at night!”
“The orphanage is in need of supplies. It is most urgent! I cannot remain here!”
“Be still!”
Maria’s head swam, and she realized she had been fighting him to no avail. He was a bear, and her struggles had no more effect on him than they would upon a statue. His voice was deep and commanding. He kept his head turned away from her, and in the dim light from the dying fire, shadows ruled.
As the man steered her back to the bed, she tried to see his face but only succeeded in viewing one half. She saw a pale profile with a strong nose and jaw. Dark hair tumbled to his shoulders, and a beard cloaked the lower half of his face. There was a hint of oriental tilt to his eyes, narrowed above sharp, high cheekbones. He might have been a villain from a novel, perhaps one written by Miss Radcliffe.
“What happened? Please, I do not…I cannot…?” Maria tried to marshal her thoughts, but they skittered away from her like frightened mice.
The man moved away, letting shadows swathe him.
“You were at the northern gates of my land, a little-used entrance to the estate. It was fortunate that my friend and I happened to be walking there when you were assaulted.”
“Assaulted?”
“Three men had cornered you. Opportunists rather than highwaymen, I fear. This far from London, the roads at night are not safe. What were you doing on your own in such a place?”
“I told you!” Maria cried, fear clenching her heart.
She could not concentrate her mind on any one thing for long. A pain thundered behind her eyes and pulsed in her ankle.
“You babbled about supplies and an orphanage.”
“They are just children. Innocents.”
“You are not making any sense…”
“Listen to me!” Maria cried. “I do not need to walk to drive the trap. If you can spare a servant to fetch and carry, I can be on my way to Bethlem and…”
“Do not interrupt me,” the man said in a tone of command that silenced Maria before she knew what she was doing.
“I am sorry to be rude, but… My intention is only to…”
“To insult your rescuer and host.”
