Page 12 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke

But the emergence of that gossip had presented him with an opportunity. One that he could not pass up.

A courtship born from gossip. How poetic. How efficient.

And how very convenient.

All that hadnotgone to play, however, was how vividly he remembered the feel of her against him. The way her breath had caught when his hand settled at the small of her back. The rasp of her laugh, her faint rosewater scent.

She is not the plan, he reminded himself.

But his blood did not listen.

After playing the gracious host to perfection, Damien quietly took his leave, seeking solitude. As he left the Grand Hall and strode along the corridors of his abode, he became all too aware of quick footsteps behind him.

He did not turn.

“You followed me,” he said quietly.

The scent struck him first—rosewater and fury. Then the voice.

“I believe we can dispense with the niceties, Your Grace,” she said, each word sharp enough to draw blood. “Would you care to explain your actions earlier?”

He pivoted, slowly, like a man with all the time in the world. His gaze caught hers and held. “I take it then that wasn’t your desired outcome.”

“No, I have never sought marriage to any man. Least of all, a perfect stranger!” Emmeline replied hotly.

“And yet, you spread rumors to the contrary,” Damien finished. “Howcurious, the female psyche.”

Emmeline glared at him, and he marveled at the ferocity of her gaze. This was a woman of such strong will and courage.

But I must not fall under her spell. Focus on the plan.

“I cannot deny it. I apologize for using your name and reputation, but it was not to entrap you into marriage,” Emmeline finally confessed.

“Was it not? Then, pray tell, what was your objective?” Damien replied, stepping closer.

Now that she had admitted it, anger flared bright again—as the first time he had caught wind of the rumors. He realized that part of him wanted her to be innocent, to be separate from the scheming politics of the ton.

It seems she was not. She was just like them. How utterly disappointing.

“I...I... it is difficult to explain in a way you would understand,” Emmeline stammered.

Damien laughed, knowing that it sounded cruel.

“So, it was just the taradiddles of a rather impudent chit. Just as I suspected.”

He turned on his heel, but she caught his wrist, yanking him back to face her.

“Impudent chit?” she hissed, eyes ablaze. “You know nothing of me, and yet you think yourself worthy of passing judgment? Do you think I spread those rumors for idle amusement? You haven’t the faintest inkling of what I carry—what I shoulder for my family daily. I may not be heir to a Dukedom, but I am treated as though I am. I daresay I know more about balancing a statement of account than you do, Your Grace. That I am more expert in repairing a broken saddle girth or tending to a ewe in labor too.

“All while smiling prettily so the world doesn’t shatter around me!”

Damien found himself… staring. Wordlessly, at eyes dark and ferocious with anger, staring and drawn like a moth to a flame. He had moved closer to her against the will of his conscious mind.

Her eyes blazed, and her bosom flushed scarlet. Her chest heaved with her passion, and Damien suddenly thought that this might be how she would look in the throes of a passion of adifferentkind.

“And how else would you expect me to respond to being paraded about as your secret lover?” he demanded.

She did not flinch. “A better man would have laughed it off—or ignored it entirely!”