Page 93 of The Phantom Duke
“It is far from over.”
“Where exactly are you going?” Damien demanded.
“I do not know because this damnable house is kept so dark!” Maria exclaimed, stopping in her tracks.
She had been walking along a hallway into impenetrable gloom. Damien was behind her. Now he was pursuing her. She turned to face him.
“I know it is a frightening prospect…” Maria began.
Damien’s face went rigid, his eyes hooded. He took a step back, physically retreating even as he mentally withdrew. Maria went after him.
“It is bound to be, but it is the best way of showing the ton that you are a normal man. Not the Phantom. And that your face is simply a different color of skin, a mark from birth. Nothing more.”
A sound reached Maria from behind, muffled by walls and doors. It had been there as she spoke, and when she stopped, she had a brief moment of hearing it clearly. Or so she thought. It stopped. Silence lay over them like a thick cloak.
Did Damien react? I think he did. Just a twitch. I feel like I dreamed the sound. Was it really there?
She turned to stare into the gloom, waiting for the sound to repeat itself.
“What is it?” Damien asked irritably.
“I thought I heard a noise,” Maria said quietly.
“We have discussed this before. Old houses are like old people. They chatter aimlessly. It is of no consequence.”
Maria peered into the darkness, then she closed her eyes, listening for the sounds. She became aware of Damien’s presence behind her. It was like standing in front of a mountain or a towering oak.
His hands settled on her hips. The touch was as light as a butterfly but landed on her with the solemn weight of a promise to God. She lifted her head, arching her back slightly, unconsciously reacting to his proximity and his touch.
“I hear nothing. Not a click or a tick,” Damien said.
She almost stamped her foot. Just as he spoke, shehadheard something; voices, faint and human. But whatever they were vanished like mist under his touch. His hands traveled upward, tracing her sides with an aching patience. Her breath caught in her throat. “Do not tease me unless you mean to satisfy me fully,” she said.
“Oh?”
“Yes. You have touched me, but you have yet to give me what I truly want,” she said, her face growing so hot that she thought she might die of want and shame both. “I want you to take pleasure from me, too.”
One arm wound around her torso, just under her breasts, and pulled her against him. When Maria tipped her head back to gaze at him, she found that he watched her with a hot intensity.
“Do you know what you are asking of me?” he asked, his voice low and sultry.
It was then she felt it,him, pressed firm and unmistakable against her lower back. Heat pulsed through her veins. That he could still be so composed while so clearly affected thrilled her. Maria bit her lip, a rush of power coursing through her. She’d done this.She’dstirred the beast.
“Idoknow,” she said. “Now, give me what I want.”
His mouth descended on her neck, pushing her hair aside with no gentler courtesy than needed. His kiss was a distraction, hot and promising. She thought to resist, to question, to vex him just a little, but the idea skated away like a wisp of smoke. His lips had begun to move; sensation bloomed and chased reason into silence.
Her pulse jumped, and she pressed herself back against him, rubbing her body against his still-clothed manhood. A loan groan tore from her throat, as she imagined him sheathed inside her.
Damien’s lips returned to her neck, trailing hot and possessive kisses down the side off her neck. Maria let her head fall back, baring her throat as though in offering. Each featherlight graze lit up her nerves until she squirmed against him. His mouth shifted, firmer now, teeth barely grazing.
She smiled, bold and breathless. “I do not want a mark that all can see,” she whispered, “though I would wear such a thing with pride.”
“You do not get to choose,” Damien growled, low and dark, “If I wish every man to know I own you, then they shall.”
His hands seized her skirts and took great handfuls of them, heaving them up with reckless ease, and even as he bared her, he never slowed the kisses. Maria turned her face to his, her smile slow and devastating. “And who ownsyou, Your Grace?”
He stilled. His mouth curled into a smirk, but his eyes betrayed him. “I am your prisoner.”
