Page 9 of The Phantom Duke
At that moment, there was a knock at the door, which opened to admit a bar of bright light. Maria gasped when she realized it was sunlight, streaming into the room from a window oppositethe door. It fell upon the man, and Maria saw that half of his face was covered by a red mask.
A flash of memory stole her sight. A face leaning close. Strong arms going about her. A red face. A word came into Maria’s mind and escaped her lips before she could restrain it.
“The Phantom!”
The fear that now gripped her was a wildfire. It tore through her body, lending strength to her limbs and dulling the pain in her head. There was a gasp from the servant sitting next to Maria and from the old man who had just entered. Bushy eyebrows rose, and his eyes moved to the tall man with whom Maria had been arguing.
Maria propelled herself to her feet again, lurching across the room, desperate to escape. But her ankle was not up to the task. It gave way beneath her. The maid and butler both tried to help, all three falling in a tangle of limbs. A shadow fell across Maria then, blotting out the light which spilled through the open door.
She looked up into the dark face of the Phantom. His hair was a dark mane. A beard covered the lower half of his face; the mask hid the rest. His eyes were slightly tilted above high cheekbones. There was a savage cruelty to him.
Maria knew she should apologize. It was hardly courteous to refer to one’s host by a nickname given by the ignorant. But no words came out as he stooped to pick her up. His hands felt like steel as they gripped her, holding her roughly but securely. Aflash of memory came back, of an attacker being flung aside as though by a force of great strength.
He carried her back to the bed and deposited her there with less gentleness than he could before turning away.
“You show me how right I have been to avoid the society of others by your use of that ridiculous moniker,” he growled.
“I can only apologize and put it down to the injury to my head, which I still do not remember acquiring.” Maria stammered, putting a hand to her head.
“You fell from the trap and knocked your head against a rock. There was considerable blood left behind, so I imagine it was a hefty blow.”
He turned away with a dismissive gesture.
“It is no concern of mine. I acted rashly, more out of a desire to punish than to save and have now saddled myself with a reckless woman. What is it, Philby? Get up off the floor, for God’s sake!”
“Will Your Grace be requiring breakfast? Or your house guest?” the old man inquired in a tone that suggested either would be exhausting to facilitate. His expression was that of a surly donkey as he got slowly to his feet.
“I care not,” he said.
Maria fought for self-control, trying to slow her breathing. Fear gripped her in a vice, and she needed to conquer it. She forced herself to look at the towering figure and put aside the name, Phantom.
He is a man, real and physical. Not a ghoul or a spirit. Not what any of the ridiculous stories say. Concentrate on that.
A traitorous voice whispered to her that men were capable of being far crueler and more terrifying than any demon from a night-haunted fairytale. She tried to analyze his appearance, root what she saw in reality, and dismiss the fantasy. His physicality was undeniable. The memory of those arms and the strength they had as he had carried her produced a skip in her heartbeat.
She found herself catching her breath, flushing in the cheeks. Strong. Unyielding. Inescapable should he choose to hold onto her. He could do anything he wished, and she would not have the strength to resist.
No, I would not have the strength to fend him off, but I would resist. I would!
Her thoughts betrayed her because the thought of submitting to such a man sent a fearful but thrilling pleasure racing through her. He was so different from the Marquess of Landsdowne, whom she had been attracted to, once upon a time, despite everything her friends had said.
He had not inquired whether she would like breakfast. Maria had no appetite, though. She sat perched on the edge of the bed, hands braced beside her and wondered if she dared try for the door again.
Her eyes went about the room, searching for anything that might aid an escape or be a potential weapon with which to protect herself. But the thick shadows hid anything that the room might have offered, except for the illuminated bar that shone in through the door.
“I should like to leave,” Maria said, trying to stop her voice from wavering.
“You are in no condition, woman.”
“I am the daughter of an earl! Kindly…”
“So, you remember that much at least.”
“I am Lady Maria, daughter of the Earl of Sunspire,” she snapped, irritated by the duke’s arrogance.
“It means little to me. I am unfamiliar with the hierarchy of your society.”
“You live in my society too,” Maria shot back, flexing her swollen ankle painfully.
