Page 11 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke (Marriage by Midnight #2)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“ E mma, you are so blessed! To be sought out by a Duke to dance with, then for him to be invited to dinner with us. Now, you will see him again at luncheon. It can mean only one thing!” Rosie enthused.

They walked up Brimley Park's driveway; the three sisters arm in arm as they approached the house. It was a fine sandstone structure with three floors and a well-kept park in which deer moved contentedly in the distance.

“And what is that?” Emma asked distractedly.

Rosie arched a brow. “Emma, even you cannot be so blind. You must see it, surely.”

“The Duke means to ask for your hand in marriage,” Josie put in with a touch less enthusiasm. “Why else would he have spoken with Papa in private after dinner? A wedding to a Duke. Hmm. We will need an entirely new wardrobe, Rosie. We must begin planning at once.”

“That was three days ago, Josie,” Emma remarked, “and I have not received any word that the Duke wishes to marry me. Not from Papa, nor His Grace himself.”

Rosie looked scornful. “Emma, you cannot be so blind! It is coming as surely as Christmas!”

Josie nodded sagely. “And even our spendthrift father cannot deny that the sisters of a future duchess can afford to be outshone by other guests. Could we take the trap into Nettlebed tomorrow, Emma? I should like to browse Mrs. Spinnaker’s shop.”

“Josie, for shame, you think far too small!” Rosie scolded. “We require a French modiste from London for a marriage to a Duke.”

Josie clapped her hands together, eyes lighting up. “Oh yes, I was not thinking, but you are right! London it is. That would mean Papa will need to take a townhouse for a few weeks too!”

“The two of you are being particularly empty-headed,” Emma said with exasperation. “I must say. I have not been proposed to, and you do not know that Papa has been asked for permission. For all you know, the Duke wished to discuss business matters with Papa!”

The issue was that Damien insisted on speaking to their father alone after dinner. Why would he do that if not to discuss marriage? Emma wished it could simply be a desire to talk business, but she did not believe it.

“Then why exclude Sir Silas?” Rosie added smartly. “We all heard the Duke deliberately ask for time alone with Papa. It seems to me that men always wish to discuss business when there are two or more of them in one place, and the more the merrier.”

“Because they did not wish Sir Silas to know their private business,” Emma pointed out.

Her sisters scoffed at the notion. They had made their minds up.

“And besides, have you considered the cost of all your plans?” Emma added.

It is not my place to share the precarious state of Papa’s finances with them, and I would not dishonor him. It is not his fault. He is a good man. I will protect his dignity above all.

Therefore, she would not tell them of the work she had personally done and continued to do so that they would not discover these facts. Emma had given up her innocence a long time ago and had not been protected from it because her father so desperately needed her pragmatic mind.

I wish I could tell them the truth and rein in their decadent tastes, but I promised Papa I would not.

“We are not so naive as that, Emma,” Josie waved a hand. “We know that these things are expensive, but what else is money for? Papa will have been preparing for years for our marriages. Do not worry that your dream wedding will not pass because of something as tawdry as money. Papa is an Earl, after all.”

They reached a bright blue front door with a brighter brass knocker. Josie took it up with a degree of familiarity and greeted the servant who answered the door by name. They stepped into a cool hallway with a modestly high ceiling and a well-cared-for, highly polished wood floor. Damien stood halfway along the foyer, admiring a painting. He looked back as the ladies entered the room.

“Ah, good afternoon to you all! Your father told me briefly that you were walking about the park before joining us. I believe he and Sir Thomas are in the billiards room. Emma, may I have a moment with you in private?”

Emma could feel the cogs whirring in her sister's minds. This was confirmation, if needed, that the Duke intended to ask for her hand in marriage. She was both thrilled and appalled at the idea that her father had agreed to such a thing.

She felt the sudden urge for physical action. The idea of remaining, standing, or sitting in one place was anathema to her. She needed to be walking for what she feared was about to come. Emma led the way from the foyer as Rosie and Josie giggled and curtsied to the Duke.

As they crossed the hallway, she glimpsed the billiard room, where her father was speaking about his skill at the game before Sir Thomas, who listened intently. Silas Sutherland stood nearby, looking bored. His eyes met Emma’s as she passed the door. Emma hurried on before he could engage them in conversation.

“Where did you have in mind?” the Duke asked.

“Have you seen the stables?” Emma replied, knowing that he had not. It is something of a source of pride for Sir Thomas. And it is such a lovely day; better to be out of doors.”

“Quite. Lead the way. You know this house.”

“I have visited many times. Sir Thomas will not mind.”

“May I ask why Sutherland seems to be everywhere your father is?” Damien suddenly asked, “he was at dinner. Behaving obnoxiously. Now he is here.”

“I’m sure I have no idea,” Emma commented, feigning distraction.

“Is your father beholden to him?”

They walked along a hallway carpeted in deep burgundy and decorated with oil paintings of horses and livestock. Windows looked out over a bed of climbing roses. Emma rounded on him there.

“What does that mean? What are you suggesting about my family?” she demanded, trying to deflect attention through pretend outrage.

“Only that your family is struggling financially, and I suspect Montrose Hall actually belongs to Sutherland,” Damien replied calmly. “I do not judge. Only a fool judges a man on his wealth. There are few people in my experience who combine good character and a healthy bank book. Typically, the two are mutually exclusive.”

Emma licked her lips and turned to lead the way once more.

“How very egalitarian of you,” she responded.

“You say that as though it is an insult,” Damien remarked.

“Does our society not regard such a word as a dangerous and radical concept?” she continued.

“It does. Which is why I have a healthy contempt for society and its rules.”

Emma scoffed. “Simple to say when you have the wealth and power to do as you please.”

But I pick a fight with him because I do not think I should be agreeing. Actually, what he is saying is what I believe. But I cannot bring myself to openly align myself with a man trying to force himself upon me.

She led them out of a small door and into a cobbled stable yard. It was quiet, with the horses settled and the stable hands at other work. A mare with a coal-black coat put her nose over the door of her stall as they approached and Emma stroked it gently. Damien made to do the same.

“Be careful. She has the temperament of a stallion with people she does not know. She will bite,” Emma warned.

To Emma's amazement, Damien whispered wordless noises and reached out a hand, palm down, towards Willow. She sniffed, ears twitching, then licked the back of his hand. Damien stepped closer, still whispering, and moved his hand to stroke behind Willow's ears.

“Well, she usually does,” Emma amended, furrowing her brows, “however, you seem to have a way with her.”

Damien grinned. “I have always enjoyed the company of animals. More than people for the most part. I keep a healthy stable myself, as well as hounds.”

“For hunting?” Emma said with distaste.

Damien looked at her. “My father was a hunter. I am not. Nor have I ever been.”

Emma twisted. She found herself gazing into Damien's sapphire eyes. Both had hands outstretched to the horse, who nuzzled and nodded, seeking attention from each.

As Emma reached for the horse’s mane, her fingers touched Damien’s. The touch lasted for the briefest of moments before Emma snatched her hand away. A brief moment but it felt as though it had lasted an hour. Emma’s breath quickened and she felt her face flushing. For a heartbeat of time, a sliver of a second, his fingers had stroked across hers. Caressed . The contact seemed to send a spark, like lightning, coursing through her.

“What did you discuss with my father?” Emma asked, suddenly breathless.

“I asked his consent to your hand in marriage. As you must have expected that I would.”

He was looking at her, his face two feet from hers, separated by the bobbing head of the mare. His eyes glinted sky blue and she found herself unable to look away.

Unable or unwilling? She did not want to look away. She wanted to be touched. But she could not. Must not.

“I did expect you to seek his consent. Mine is obviously irrelevant,” she muttered, putting irritation into her voice as a wall between them.

“Not so. It is vital,” Damien replied.

“Then it is refused. Seek another,” Emma said bluntly.

“Your behavior does not suggest to me that I need to seek another. I did not expect to be attracted to you but I find it is so. Can that not be an added and unexpected bonus?”

Emma felt a sudden urge to slap him. He was speaking so matter-of-factly about intimacy, as though it was purely a transactional matter.

“You make it sound as though you regard me as... as some kind of loose woman,” she accused.

Damien's eyes widened.

“That was not my intention! Nor was it my intention that any intimacy should ever occur between us. Let me make myself clear. You are to be my wife in name only. We will present the face of a married couple to the world. In private, we shall be separate individuals with lives that do not intersect.

“In time, I will help your father to free himself of Sutherland's clutches, and my position and rank will help secure favorable marriages for your sisters both. All will benefit.”

Emma lifted a suspicious brow. “And what of us ? Will you thrive in a loveless, passionless marriage of convenience? What manner of man does not seek the comfort of the marriage bed?”

Emma knew that she was contradicting herself, but she wanted to point out to him how ludicrous this proposal was. Try and make him see sense and allow her to slip free of the trap that she found herself in.

Damien glanced around the deserted stable yard as though fearing that they might be overheard. Emma realized that she had raised her voice, almost shouting, and immediately regretted it. She did not want to risk her sisters hearing her.

She thought she imagined a flitting shadow at the corner of the house, as of someone ducking out of sight. She took hold of Damien's arm and led him away.

Or tried to.

At first, Damien did not move. Emma's grip tightened instinctively and she became very aware of his musculature and the carefully controlled power therein. It reminded her of the times he had held her in those arms. Held her firmly. It made her heart skip and her stomach flutter with butterfly wings.

“Please, there is somewhere more private,” she whispered.

Damien relented and followed her. Emma led him away from the stable yard. Behind the stone building that housed the stalls, there was the well-house. It was a dark, brick structure with a conical, tiled roof and a rusty gate in one wall.

Emma pulled the gate open carefully and went in, Damien following. In the middle of the room was a low stone wall with a pulley, rope, and bucket suspended over it. Emma put her finger to her lips. Damien nodded, looking around the room with interest.

Presently, the clicks of shoes on cobbles reached them. Emma saw a shadow emerging from around the corner of the stables, as though peering. Then it disappeared and the sound of footsteps receded.

“Whom do you suppose that was?” Damien whispered.

“I would say that it was Sir Silas Sutherland and that he is trying to find out what lies between us,” Emma replied.

Damien nodded. “Because if we were to marry, then your family would cease to be in thrall to him.”

Emma turned to look at Damien. His face was masked in shadow. She bit her lip, wondering how much she should acknowledge to be true. Her father would be mortified if his financial dire straits were to become public knowledge. But for Damien to offer help, he needed to know.

“Yes,” Emma said, finally.

It was a wrench to admit, but pride must be secondary to her family finally freeing themselves of Silas Sutherland. The name sent a chill down Emma's spine. The thought of the man, the very presence in the same room gave her a sharp twinge in her side at the precise spot that was now scarred.

“Then allow me to help. As a dutiful son-in-law,” Damien smiled charmingly.

“But you would not be a son-in-law. You would not be a son to my father, because, by your own admission, this is to be a marriage of convenience. We show the face of a happy couple to the public and live separate lives in private.”

“Yes, and if it makes the pretense easier for you to bear, then I will do everything I can to ease the burdens on your family and your father,” Damien replied.

He stood close to her, both whispering in case of eavesdroppers. She could smell his cologne, musky and intensely masculine. If she lowered her head, it would be resting upon his broad chest. A lift of her hand would leave her fingers brushing against his. The proximity of him was intensely exciting. She tried to think of anything else. Tried to push him from her thoughts. To think of him as the brutal, arrogant Sultan of her dreams who commanded and expected to be obeyed in everything.

“I will not be commanded,” she whispered, “you will not be lord over me. I am free.”

“You are as free as I am. Free to choose. Choose me, and both you and your family will have the liberty that comes with rank and wealth. Choose to reject me, and you will be slaves to your landlord. To poverty. Look at those in our society who have nothing. Are they free?”

Emma turned away. “I cannot deny the rightness of what you are saying. It feels wrong, like I am being tricked, but I cannot see the trap you are laying. I cannot deny the logic of your words.”

“There is no trap. I understand the battle you are going through,” Damien began.

“You understand ? You think you understand, you mean. Have you ever been forced into marriage in order to save your family? Has anyone tried to—”

“Yes!” Damien suddenly hissed, anger lighting up his words. “Yes, goddamn you! Do you think I chose you simply because you are beautiful, and intelligent, and strong-willed? Simply because you shine among your fellow women like a diamond amid glass? I am forced to seek marriage! For the sake of my family, my name .”

Emma was stunned. She had not considered that the Duke's hand was being forced.

Who could force him to do that which he did not wish to do?

“I cannot believe that the infamous Duke of Redmane can be coerced into actions that he does not wish to do,” she retorted, “that there is a man strong enough to bend you to his will. A circumstance that you cannot dominate and control. You could choose any woman, a princess would thank her maker for a glance from you. And yet...”

“And yet, I choose you. If I must marry. And I must . Then it is you that I wish to marry,” Damien said, softly, but with molten heat underlying each syllable.

Emma felt the proximity of his lips. They had moved closer during the heat of their argument. The slightest shift of her toes would lift her lips to brush against his. She realized that she wanted that more than anything. She wanted the clocks to stop, the moon to freeze in its position in the sky, and the stars to cease their whirling. For everything to stop so that she could savor this moment forever. This glorious moment of anticipation with his warm breath on her mouth and his hands brushing her waist. His fingertips gently touching her, moving up her body.

“If this is to be a marriage of convenience to save your name, why do you touch me?” Emma whispered.

“I cannot help it. I know I should not. I have given you my rules and I must hold to them myself.”

But his grip on her waist firmed and Emma realized how much she craved it. His right hand touched the spot that was her secret shame. The symbol of her degradation at the hands of the worst of men. She froze for a moment and it was as though he was before her again, leering, promising ruination for her family if she did not comply. Emma shoved hard against Damien's chest and he staggered back.

“ No !”

The sound shocked her.

It was a piercing scream that echoed and reverberated in the enclosed space. She could not believe that sound had come from her.

She spun away from him and ran, blind in the dark until something slammed into her stomach. Breath surged from her and she doubled over, suddenly finding herself suspended over a yawning chasm.