Page 63 of The Phantom Duke

“I am no chivalrous knight,” he whispered. “No matter the nonsense I told that sniveling child. I am no hero.”

He turned back to the bureau, picking up the next letter. It was from Simon, and it concerned the rumors of his brother. The contents troubled Damien. He had expected a flat denial of the rumors, a confirmation that he was alone in the world, the last of his line. But Simon had not said that.

“Damien?”

His head snapped up at the sound of Maria’s voice. It came from the window. He went to it, looking out at the oak. It was dark, its outline only visible where it crested the roofline of Winterleigh and stood out against the starlit backdrop of the sky. No flood of warmth from Maria’s window. No golden light.

“What?” he snapped to the night.

“I heard a crash.”

“You heard a door being closed.”

“Violently.”

“That is how I do everything.”

“Not everything.”

His mind returned to the steam of the bathhouse, to the warm water and the even warmer body he had pleasured. He thought of her writhing, moaning, sighing form. Of her vulnerability before his experience and expertise.

Did she think of what that signified? Was she jealous? Did she regret that she had married him? Worse, a small traitorous voice in Damien’s mind wondered if shewantedhim.

“Everything,” Damien said, preparing to turn from the window.

He could have closed his window and ended the conversation. He did not. He could not, and that made him angry.

I will not be weak!

“But you are!”Mocked a voice at the back of his mind.

“I can attest to that not being the case. I wanted to… I wanted to say…” Her words trailed off, stuttered and died like an ember cast from a fire.

“What?” Damien asked, voice softening as he moved back to the window.

“You were gentle with Gilbert,” Maria said quietly. “You seemed to care about him, that he was happy, and you had only met him.”

“It was nothing altruistic,” Damien said. “I was kind to him for your sake.”

“Because you care about me,” she said. “In your own strange way.”

“I may have spoken in haste when I said that… the boy could not come here,” Damien said after a moment’s silence.

“Yes?” Maria said, hope lifting her voice.

“Perhaps, in a few months. When you are comfortable with the house and my rules. When the grounds have been made safer. Perhaps.”

“I should be grateful. Most grateful.”

She managed to put a promise in those apparently innocent words. It was the kind of promise that made Damien want to vault the windowsill and climb down to her window.

“You should take care of how you speak. Your words have meaning I do not think you appreciate.”

“Do I not?” Maria replied.

Damien stood, and for one giddy moment, he was determined to go to her, whether by window or door. He tore open the door of his bedroom and saw himself in the mirror. That man mockedhim with his stained face. With his cursed disfigurement. Damien stopped.

“I still wish I could see you,” Maria said into the silence.