Page 11 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke

“Then allow me to regale you,Lady Emmeline,” he said at last, voice dark with purpose. “You and I have been romantically linked in London’s more…enterprisinggossip sheets. It would appear we are secretly in a passionate affair. With such secrecy, that evenIhad not been made aware.

“If I were, in fact, pursuing a courtship, such talk might be inconvenient. As it stands, I am not. But my name,Lady Emmeline Montrose, is not a toy to be passed around for amusement—or gain. Not without consequences.”

Emma saw the fury ignite in his visage and experienced a delicious thrill of fear. It was delicious because her entire body reverberated at his proximity.

“Consequences, Your Grace?” she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “That sounds very much like a threat.”

He tilted his head ever so slightly, not unlike a predator observing its prey.

“I would not be so crass as to threaten a woman,” the Duke returned curtly, “but I do believe in consequences. Whethersaidconsequences align with your original intentions… remains to be seen.”

Emma’s back stiffened. “Pardon?”

Whatever did he mean by such a cryptic remark?

Before she could prod further, the dance concluded, and the Duke bowed, precisely and without flourish. She curtsied awkwardly in response.

Then he offered his arm.

She took it feebly, and he led her across the room to where her father stood, a glass of claret in hand.

“Montrose,” the Duke greeted sternly.

“Your Grace!” Duncan exclaimed, the glass swishing to the brim as he spun to regard the pair.

Around them, the room began to stir once more. Instruments tuned for the second dance, the crowd swelled like a tide. Musicians changed sheets, partners exchanged places. As guestsflitted back to the middle of the floor, the Duke, Emma, and Duncan were left in a private space.

And the Duke did not wait for ceremony.

“I have something to share,” he said, voice grave. “Until now, we have kept it close, but the time has come for it to be known.”

Duncan blinked, his gaze shifting uncertainly between the pair. “Yes… of course, Your Grace. Please, do tell.”

The Duke twisted, just slightly, toward Emma. His hand still rested atop hers where it lay on his bicep—possessive without pressure.

“As you must have read in the papers, for the past months, your daughter has held my heart in her keeping. Today, I am pleased to announce, I intend to finally take her as my wife.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Damien Beaumont, Duke of Redmane, walked away from the explosion of whispered gasps and stiffened spines with the calm detachment of a man leaving the scene of an inferno.

He did not look back. There was no need.

Every meaningful gaze had been precisely where he’d intended—on her.

He moved through the throng with a smooth, gliding gait, not so much walking as slicing through the crowd. He stopped beside a lady without a partner—young, fresh-faced, hopeful. She’d never forget that he had chosen her. He would never remember.

“May I?” he asked silkily.

Her gasp of assent was all but unnecessary.

He danced. He smiled. He charmed, flirted, murmured little compliments, played the perfect host. And all the while, his awareness never shifted far fromher. Emmeline Montrose.

HisEmmeline now.

She stood stiff as a pin, delicious hazel eyes and auburn hair rendered even more striking by the paleness of her flush. But every time his hand slid around another feminine waist, he felt those eyes graze his skin like a brand. Even when she looked away, she was watching. That, too, had gone precisely to plan.

He had studied her far before this night. She was clever.Calculated. She had chosen him, of all people, to be the ghost haunting her scandalous fictions—and she’d thought him too unbothered to respond.