Page 63 of The Damsel
Despite the harshness of her tone, he grinned. “Never. I meant what I said last night.”
Her gaze faltered, landing the mask in his hands. She seemed determined to ignore this morning’s declaration, as well as the vulnerability he’d coaxed to the surface once again. It did not matter that she’d taken a crop to him first, forcing him to withstand the brunt of her anger. After that, he’d gotten the same glimpse of her he was always allowed when he submitted and gave her every part of himself.
Rather than press the issue, he decided to get to the most important matter. He held up the mask, turning it over in his hands and studying the gaping holes for eyes.
“You are the Masked Menace. I questioned you last night, when in my heart I already knew. You all but told me when I asked you what you loved, what you would fight for. Justice, you said.”
He paused, leaning forward and seeking out her gaze.
“The sort of justice you were denied until it was too late,” he continued when she said nothing. “The sort of justice countless other women are denied. You grew tired of being the victim, of being afraid and helpless. So, you decided to fight for people who cannot fight for themselves—in the same way you wish someone had fought for you.”
Her jaw flexed, her nostrils flaring as she seemed to fight against reacting to his words. Reaching across the space between them, he touched her knee, forcing her to acknowledge him. She flinched, but did not pull away from his touch. Her eyes burned with a barely contained fire, the silver streaks in her blue irises flashing like lightning.
“Will you at least tell me I’m right?” he prodded. “Tell me it’s true.”
She crossed her legs, prompting him to take his hand away. Settling more comfortably in her chair, she sighed.
“When Randall first came into my service, he was fresh out of mourning,” she said, her voice giving no hint to how revealing this must make her feel. “I had decided I’d had enough of theton’s pious judgment. With the trial over and Bertram dead, I wanted nothing more than to move forward with my life. But, you see, moving forward was all but impossible when my assailant seemed to be everywhere, all the time, haunting me. I saw him in the other men around me—some who might never have done me harm, but others who certainly would if given the chance. When I caught Randall weeping in the stables one evening, I asked him what the matter was. He confessed that while he was out of mourning, he still had not recovered from the crushing loss of his wife. When I asked him what happened to her, he did not wish to tell me at first. I think he believed it might have been difficult for me to hear given my own trauma. But, eventually I coerced him into telling me.”
Her words ripped him to shreds, despite the matter-of-fact way she delivered them.
“She was set upon by two men thinking to make sport of her,” she went on. “Because she was a servant, they saw her as easy prey. Apparently, she put up too much of a fight and one of them struck her. The blow to the head caused her death.”
Robert flinched, his chest aching as he thought of anyone suffering such a fate. Knowing what Cassandra had endured he found himself grateful that she’d survived, at least.
“Did Randall report what he knew to anyone?”
She snorted. “His former master was one of the men responsible for her death. He is an earl who Randall feared going against publicly. No one would believe a servant over a lord of theton, and he knew that. He resigned his post, and found himself in my service. I do not think he ever imagined that his new mistress would take such an interest in avenging his wife.”
He turned the mask over in his hands and imagined her wearing it, descending upon her prey in the dark with her eyes blazing through the slits.
“The Masked Menace was only a facade,” he whispered as the fragments of what he knew came together in his mind. “You used it to strike out at men who had harmed women.”
“I started with the earl, tracking him down along the road to Norfolk. Then, I found his friend a few nights later just outside Town. Taking their valuables only covered up my true aims … meting out punishment for the atrocities they thought they’d gotten away with.”
“How did you punish them?”
“With the only thing men like them seem to understand,” she hedged. “Threats and pain.”
Thinking of what Millicent had told him, he could imagine just how she went about delivering that pain. She’d learned to fight, to use a knife and a pistol. He doubted she was above using them when necessary.
“From there, I decided that I must take it upon myself to sniff out more secrets,” she said. “It is interesting, the things a person can hear when the world ignores them. I listened and I investigated, and I sought out the men who think it their right to abuse the women in their care. It was working … they were all afraid—so afraid that not one of them has revealed that the Masked Menace is really a woman. The papers do not even make mention of the things they suffered at my hand, because they are ashamed to admit what I did to them and why they deserved it—as well they should be.”
He stood, leaving the mask on the bed. “Cass, I understand—”
“How could you?” she exploded, coming to her feet as well. Her eyes flashed with lightning strikes of fury, hands balling into fists. “What do you know of my pain—you, with you perfect, pretty face, and your loving parents, and your idyllic life. The woman you loved tossing you over is the most tragic thing that’s ever happened to you, and it led you straight into my bed. Oh, how horrid that must have been for you!”
Her words fell on him like physical blows, their strikes effective. She wanted to hurt him, to push him away. It was the same thing she’d done last night, lashing out in an attempt at scaring him off.
Stepping closer, he took hold of her wrists and eased her back into her chair. She tried to fight him, but he tightened his grip, forcing her to go still.
“You think I don’t know pain?” he rasped, the ache caused by her words coming through in his voice.
He hadn’t meant to allow her to shake him this way, but her assumption rankled more than he care to admit. It had felt like an accusation, as if she saw his lack of anguish as some sort of character defect.
“You do not know what you are talking about,” he snapped. “You’ve no idea the pain I have felt, or the losses I have endured.”
Releasing her wrists, he went to his valise, which sat open on the other side of the room. He reached inside and took hold of the three miniatures he never left home without. He liked the idea of taking his brothers with him everywhere he went.
