Page 88 of The Phantom Duke
But there was not a flicker or a twitch from Ezekiel. He stepped aside as Damien strode from the room and down the hall to the study. He indicated a chair for Maria and then took his customary place behind his desk. He stood with hands clasped behind him. Ezekiel stood before him, ignoring a vacant chair.
“So that is the infamous stain?” he said, suddenly.
Damien’s hand went to his face before he had even thought about his action, covering the left side in place of the mask. With chagrin, he slowly lowered the hand, regaining control of his reactions. The mask lay somewhere among the twisted, snake-like roots. Somewhere out of reach, and he would not go scrambling for it as though in panic.
“It is.”
“As deformities go, I have seen much worse,” Ezekiel replied, finally sitting.
Damien narrowed his eyes, remaining standing.
“It has been said that looking too long has a detrimental effect,” Damien said. “It was whispered that my Uncle Gabriel was taken by it; his heart stopped in his chest.”
“Our uncle,” Ezekiel corrected. “I remember him well.”
“Indeed? Describe him,” Damien pulled out his chair from the desk and sat, looking up at Ezekiel as though the other man was a supplicant.
“Damien…” Maria began.
Damien raised a hand with the sharpness of a knife, cutting her off. He glanced at her, demanding silence with his razored eyes. She glared back but did not say more.
“A man in his late fifties. Our mother’s older brother,” Ezekiel said. “Round in the stomach and prone to gout. Red, cheery face and fair hair like his sister and me.”
“Is that a description of Gabriel?” Maria asked.
“It is,” Damien said. “He was here a week before he died. I am surprised that he did not mention your existence.”
Ezekiel made to sit, but Damien stopped him with a raised voice.
“I did not give you leave to sit in my presence, Master Ezekiel!”
Ezekiel froze, then smiled thinly. “While I hold no title, not even a courtesy title and no inheritance to speak of, I am your brother. I am not a peasant farmer who comes to beg for an indulgence from the lord of the manor.”
He sat. Damien’s hand slapped the table like thunder.
“It remains to be seen who you are!”
“In your mind only. As to your question regarding Uncle Gabriel, it was decided to keep mother’s pregnancy from our father. She was planning to escape with her child and her unborn child and start anew. As it happened, she could not wrest you from him and was forced to leave before it became too obvious that she was carrying me.”
A maid arrived with a trolley of tea things, accompanied by a selection of light bites. Ezekiel attacked both with gusto, then stopped, glancing at his host and at Maria. Flushing, he put his plate and saucer aside.
“My apologies. I have been without food for two days; my funds were exhausted bringing me to London.”
“But I met you at a tea room,” Maria said.
“And it was a monumental effort of willpower to resist the lovely food that you laid on, Your Grace. But I wished to focus on our conversation. I am, however, rather hungry.”
Maria looked at Damien, eyes imploring. He rolled his eyes and gestured to the trolley.
“Do not stand on ceremony, Master Ezekiel, please satisfy yourself.”
Ezekiel tucked in.
“I have always believed that my mother was murdered by my father,” Damien said, carefully ensuring he chose single, personal pronouns, not the inclusive plural that would bring Ezekiel into the family.
“Uncle Gabriel feared that very outcome. He helped our mother escape after she discovered she was pregnant with me,” Ezekiel said.
“Pregnant by whom?” Damien said bluntly.
