Page 12 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke (Marriage by Midnight #2)

CHAPTER TWELVE

D amien could see Emma only by the pale hue of her yellow dress. He moved instinctively, aware of the proximity of the uncovered well. As he reached her, he realized with sudden horror that she had run into the low wall and now hung over the dark hole, leaning precariously.

Without thinking, he seized her about the waist and pulled her away from the danger. He spun to put himself between her and the well. Emma was crying and thrashing in his grip.

“Be still, woman!” Damien roared, “Or you will have both of us over the edge!”

“Let go of me!” Emma cried, “Do not touch me!”

Damien immediately released her, stepping back. Emma tore open the gate which swung outward with a rusty screech. She ran out to stand on the cobbles beyond. Damien moved to the doorway, watching her. She was breathing heavily and clutching one hand to her side as though she was hurt. He wondered if she had bruised herself on the coping stones around the well or if he had hurt her in his haste to save her.

“Emma, if I hurt you I am sorry. It was done in haste, I feared that you would fall,” Damien expressed.

“I am... not hurt. I... apologize for my reaction,” Emma replied without looking at him, “and I am sorry that I have led you on. I should not have allowed the intimacy that has already passed between us. I gave the wrong impression.”

“I am sorry too. I did not set out to seduce or take advantage. I meant what I said about my intentions for this marriage. I swear that I will hold to my side of the bargain.”

Why am I so determined that it should be her? When she presents so many difficulties. When she is so resistant and challenging! There would be any number of women who would welcome marriage to a Duke. Even to me. Because of the rumors she spread?

Originally, it had seemed a fitting punishment for her. But after meeting her, there was something else. A magnetism drew him to her. It was an attraction that was frightening in its power. Frightening because it threatened all of his plans.

“I have… plans, which have been the entirety of my life since I became Duke. I have no desire to see those plans go by the wayside in favor of becoming a husband. So, I swear to you that I will abide by my own rules. And I will help your father. Silas Sutherland will be deprived of his power. This I swear.”

Emma slowly turned to face him. She was a pale nymph, skin like the finest porcelain. Her eyes were shadowed and mysterious. She seemed to be recovering her equilibrium, and Damien found himself admiring her self-control.

“Very well,” she breathed. “By that oath, I accept. I shall be your wife in name only, and my family will be free of Silas Sutherland.”

Damien nodded. Emma took a deep breath. The urge to go to her was almost overwhelming.

Damien wanted to hold her in his arms again. Her softness was an enticing memory. It quickly became a demanding ache. The sight of her brought the memory of her feminine delicacy to the forefront of his mind. To stand still while she stood mere yards from him was the battle of his life. He reached for the gate which was moving slightly in a breeze and took a firm hold of the rusting metal, squeezing tight to anchor himself.

“Please, may I ask that you wait here for a few minutes while I go back into the house?” Emma asked.

Because you are as drawn to me as I to you and will not admit it. You are afraid of what you might do when proximity works its erosion on self-control. Wearing it down like the sea against cliffs.

That was what Damien wanted to say. Instead, he inclined his head respectfully.

“Of course. Tomorrow, I will suggest to your father that you all accompany me to London so that a modiste can be summoned to measure you for dresses. While the women are so occupied, I shall discuss financial matters with your father.”

“Thank you. Rosie and Josie will be in their element. You will make them both very happy. I should like to be present in the discussion of monetary matters,” Emma replied.

Damien frowned. “That is not customary for a woman.”

“Will you tell me that I have a place which I must not stray from?” Emma said challengingly. “I have helped my father manage his business affairs for years.”

“Is that not Charles' role? As the eldest son, I mean?” Damien asked, confused.

“ I am the eldest son,” Emma replied, cryptically. “I will be present at the conversation with my father.”

There was steel in her voice and Damien sensed that this was a battle he did not desire to fight, that it would be defeat if he tried to.

But why did Charles Montrose not take responsibility for assisting his father in such matters? Why did Emma need to assume the role of eldest son? Was Charles so feckless?

It was a question for another time, but it reinforced his admiration for Emma. If only their courtship and marriage could have been conventional, born out of love. She was magnificent and would make a fine Duchess.

There had been few Duchesses in the past who could measure up to her heart and determination. To her beauty.

“Very well. If that is how the Montrose family conducts themselves, I have no objection. My own family is also… unconventional .”

“I should say so,” Emma replied.

You do not know the half of it.

Damien smiled and noticed Emma's head tilt as she watched him. He shifted slightly, leaning against the stone door frame. He knew that the stone lintel above him cast a deep shadow over his face.

Emma moved as though to step closer, her curiosity getting the better of her. Then she stopped.

“You are a peculiar man, Damien Fitzgerald .”

“I could say the same for you, Emmeline Montrose .”

“Oh, I am very peculiar. Though I am no man. You may regret your choice,” Emma said with a laugh that carried no little bitterness.

“I doubt that,” Damien replied softly, his words heartfelt.

“I must go and greet Sir Thomas and his family. I… will see you inside,” Emma finished at last.

She turned and disappeared.

Damien breathed out, a long, slow breath. He felt as though he had fought a duel, as though his body had been tensed for the entirety of the encounter, shoulders rigid. He ran a hand through his hair and stepped out of the well house. Then, he walked in the opposite direction, intending to take the long route back to the house and give himself time to recover his equilibrium.

When he had completed a circuit of the gardens, he felt the first spots of rain on his cheek. The spatter increased rapidly, pattering his head and shoulders. Damien sought the first door he could find that would lead into the house. He found himself in a small anteroom containing a large sink and stacks of brooms and buckets. Beyond was a narrow passage of dark green tiles with the taught ropes of a bell pull system running along the ceiling.

This must be the servant's quarters, he supposed.

As he walked, he became aware of voices further along the passageway. One of them was a woman and though he could not make out the words, her tone was one of fear.

The other voice was male.

Damien hastened his pace, following the voices until he reached a closed door behind which the voices seemed to be originating.

There came a scream and the sound of a slap.

Damien tore open the door. A young woman cowered from Silas Sutherland who stood over her with hand raised. She clutched her cheek and watched Sutherland with wide dark eyes.

Damien seized Sutherland's upraised wrist and spun him around. Then he struck Sutherland a solid blow on the jaw, sending him lurching into the narrow bed that stood against one wall of the small room. He rebounded from the bed to collapse to the floor in a boneless heap.

“Are you hurt?” Damien asked of the dark-haired girl.

The girl drew back in fear. “…No, Your Grace. A tickle to the cheek was all he managed, though he intended more. If… if you hadn't turned up when you had...”

“Where are the rest of the staff?” Damien demanded, “Why did no one come to your aid?”

“They are all occupied, Your Grace. Serving up luncheon. I am not a member of the household. I am ladies’ maid to Lady Emmeline.”

Suddenly, Damien recognized her face. She had—beyond all reason—invited him into Emma’s bedchamber a few evenings ago back at Montrose Hall.

“Well, this ends today. I will deal with this lizard,” Damien snarled, “What is your name?”

“Elsie, Your Grace.”

Damien nodded thoughtfully, staring down at the unmoving form of Sir Silas.

“Well, Elsie . If you could prepare a cup of tea for us both, I shall return in a moment and would very much like to have a conversation with you regarding your mistress.”

Elsie regarded him with large dark eyes for a moment. The look on her face had nothing of deference in it. Damien was reminded of nothing more than a watchful mother protective over her young.

“As you wish, Your Grace. I should tell you now that my loyalty is to my mistress, so I shan't be speaking of anything that she wouldn't want you to know. No disrespect intended of course,” she said, warily.

“And none taken. You are free to refuse to answer anything you wish. As long as you allow me to ask.”

“You can ask,” Elsie replied in a tone that had nothing of the servant in it.

She suddenly kicked Sutherland's unconscious form in the ribs, then swore at him in terms that would have made a sailor blush. Damien grabbed Sutherland under his arms and began to drag him from the room. He hauled him along the corridor and out into the rain where he deposited him in a growing puddle. Sutherland began to stir, then suddenly spluttered, and sat up, wiping hair from his eyes. He squinted up at Damien who stood above him.

“ You ! I mean, Your Grace! You... you struck me!”

He seemed torn between outrage and servility.

“Yes, you worm. I struck you and will do worse. Return to your home or I shall horsewhip you next,” Damien grated.

“My carriage has returned to my house,” Sutherland said, getting to his feet.

“ Walk ,” Damien commanded.

“It is raining...” Sutherland began.

Damien seized the rogue by the lapels of his coat, putting his face close to Sutherland's.

“Walk in the rain or I shall call you out and you will be dead within the hour,” he hissed.

Sutherland's mouth went slack and his eyes bulged.

“You cannot… I mean to say... would not...”

“I am the Duke of Redmane . Are you not aware of the stories that are told about me? They do not cover a tenth of my infamy. You spoke of my reversal of fortune, the fires...?”

“I...I...” Sutherland stammered, clawing at the grip that had now shifted to his throat.

“That was no unfortunate accident ,” Damien whispered, his face inches from Sutherland’s now. “Those fires were set deliberately .”

He let the words land in Sutherland's mind.

“I will... I will... you will not...” Sutherland tried to speak around the constriction of his throat but could manage no more than a choked stammer.

“You will say nothing or you will wake up one night choking on smoke and roasting in your bed. Your games here are done. Leave and do not return. You shall be hearing from my solicitor concerning the Montrose's but you will never return to Montrose Hall.”

He shoved hard and Sutherland fell backward, splashing to the ground and scrambling away on all fours.

“But it is my house!” he screeched.

“Get you gone!” Damien roared, taking a threatening step.

Sutherland turned, scrambled to his feet, and took off running into the rain. Damien waited until he could no longer hear the panicked footfalls, then he went back inside. He reached the kitchen to find Elsie sitting at the table with her hands around a steaming mug. Another mug sat on the table opposite her. Damien made to sit but she pointed to his soaking wet coat.

“Remove that, if you don't mind, Your Grace. The scullery maid has a hard enough job without you dripping water everywhere.”

Damien shrugged off the coat and laid it next to the sink where its drips would drain harmlessly away. He took his seat.

“Yes, your ladyship,” he replied wryly.

Elsie pursed her lips.

“I haven't had much practice at being a servant. It don't come natural. And besides, you want something so I think I've got leeway.”

Damien sipped his tea. “You are correct. You do have the upper hand in that I want something and have already given you leave to refuse me. For the record, I find your candor refreshing. I can see why you were chosen by Emma as her maid. And why she considers you so indispensable that you travel with her to a luncheon not far from her home.”

“Who says I was chosen?” Elsie arched a brow. “As to the other, I have friends in service here and she knew I would enjoy an opportunity to have lunch with them while the toffs eat upstairs.”

Damien took a deep breath. Time to set his cards on the table. “ I say she chose you. You are no employee of Silas Sutherland, else she would not be so trusting with you. The Earl is rather spendthrift, and by his loose dress code, has not even bothered to hire a permanent valet as part of his skeleton staff. Therefore, you are most likely paid by Emma with her pinmoney. Ergo, she asked you to be her maid.

“Concerning the vague circumstances surrounding her sabbatical and the fact she has not confided in many since returning to Hertfordshire, I would also wager you were hired before or during her sabbatical too. She chose you.”

Elsie gaped, wide-eyed for a moment. Then shrugged. “I don't know what ergo means, but yes, she asked me during her sabbatical and I accepted. I didn't have much as a nurse, and...”

She closed her eyes, putting a palm to her forehead. When she opened them again, she was glaring at Damien.

“You were a nurse. Emma was unwell? A patient during her sabbatical?”

“I will not speak to that. I was a nurse. I met Lady Emma and we became friends. I chose to accompany her when she was ready to return home.”

“And you will tell me nothing of why she was a patient?”

Elsie stared at him flatly and with lips firmly sealed. Damien returned her stare, sipping his tea.

“Lady Emma has been through a helluva’ lot,” Elsie said, fiercely. “And she goes through even more. For everyone but herself. She deserves to be happy with a man she loves and who loves her. I can't speak plainer than that.”

“Indeed not. I cannot promise love. But she and her family will be content and free of their troubles. That I promise,” Damien nodded.

“To replace them with troubles of your own making,” Elsie murmured, almost beyond Damien's hearing.