Page 17 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke (Marriage by Midnight #2)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
D amien glimpsed Emma's fleeting figure heading towards a stand of trees. A large cluster of young men leading horses crossed his path and he lost sight of her briefly. But she had been heading towards the north side of the park. Of that he was sure.
As the young men passed by, Damien saw a single figure striding towards him with a determined set to his jaw. He frowned, meeting the man's eyes, and experiencing a frisson of recognition. There was no question but the man was intending to speak to him.
“Good day to you, do I have the honor to address the Duke of Redmane?” the man asked.
“You do,” Damien replied with no little impatience.
He wanted to catch up to Emma but felt that he should recognize this man, though he was sure they had never met.
“I am Charles Montrose, Viscount Sherborne.”
“ Montrose ?” Damien echoed, momentarily startled. “But of course. I do not think we have met.”
“I was not introduced at the Redmane Ball and was... indisposed when you visited Montrose Manor for dinner,” Charles continued. “I wanted to take this opportunity as we are to be brothers, I understand?”
“Yes, quite,” Damien muttered restlessly, “but if you will excuse me, I must risk rudeness as I have rather urgent business...”
“Not at all, Your Grace,” Charles interjected, glancing over his shoulder, “I shall not… detain you any further. I have an appointment with my sister, Emma, for which I regret to say I am late.”
“Indeed?” Damien queried, sure he had seen Charles coming from the same direction as Emma only a few moments earlier.
“ Indeed . She and I were to take in the British Museum,” Charles replied airily, “she is meeting me there.”
“Say, old boy, I could have sworn I had just seen her…” Damien said slowly, eyes narrowing.
Charles grinned boyishly. “I would think not, Your Grace. She awaits me at the museum as we speak. I shall be in terrible trouble if I am much later!”
“I did see her,” Damien said flatly now, tired of the pretense, “so perhaps you can explain to me why she runs from the sight of me while I have you here. And why she runs from the modiste I have employed at great expense and very short notice to measure her for her wedding gown.”
The boyish grin vanished and Charles regarded him soberly. He sighed.
“In truth, Your Grace, I do not know why. My sister has become quite an enigmatic figure, since... well… she has changed.”
Again, he glanced over his shoulder. Damien smiled inwardly, recognizing a brother attempting to protect his younger sister.
“I think the bird has flown thanks to your timely intervention. But I am interested in the change in her. What caused it? You began to say but precluded yourself.”
“It is not my place, Your Grace,” Charles said finally.
“It is not? It relates to her sabbatical, from which she returned with a new ladies’ maid, I assume? Elsie . She is equally reticent to share information about why Emma was in her care.”
Now, Charles frowned. “In her care ? Whatever do you mean, Your Grace? I understood that Elsie was employed at the residence in which Emma spent some time and the two got along so well that Emma asked her to join our household. Of course, Emma had to pay her wages from her own allowance, but...”
He suddenly colored, turning bright red and clamping his mouth shut.
“I have said too much, as is my wont. I must ask you, Your Grace, to forget what I have just implied. My father would—”
“I am not concerned at the moment with your father’s reactions,” Damien interjected irritably at the sight of another barricade being put up by a member of the Montrose household. “As I said, I have pressing business which this conversation is keeping me from. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Damien did not smile, nor did he make his last words a question.
Once away from Charles, Damien found some open space and nudged his horse to a trot, scanning the area that Emma had disappeared into. No use following her into those trees, he could ride past her and not see her. Instead, he turned the horse to the north, heading towards the Oxford road. He would intercept her there if that was where she was making for.
And he was determined to get some answers from her this time.
He reached the edge of the park, doubling back and following the walls of Kensington Gardens. His strategy was rewarded as he saw Emma step out of the trees in front of him, looking back over her shoulder as though she expected pursuit. When she turned and saw him, she froze dead in her tracks.
There were fewer people in this part of the park. A couple hundred yards away was a group of children being marshaled by two governesses. A few promenading ladies and gentlemen walked arm in arm in the middle distance, the ladies carrying brightly colored parasols that made Emma’s fit look quite mute in comparison.
Still, she was a study in beauty and grace, and as Damien looked down at her, she glared back defiantly.
“Good day to you, Lady Emmeline,” he smirked.
“ Good day to you , Your Grace. Are you returned to the formality of titles then?” Emma bit back.
“Not at all. Not for my sake, anyhow. But your recent behavior has made me wonder…”
“Recent behavior?” One brow shot up.
“You pointedly refused to allow my modiste to measure you for your wedding dress,” Damien declared bluntly, “the finest in London. Formerly of Paris. Most brides-to-be would welcome the opportunity to wear a Rousseau for their wedding. What is your objection?”
Emma colored wild crimson and Damien stamped on the instant flare of attraction he felt.
I do not wish to be blinded by beauty. She is radiant though, by heavens she is. How that natural radiance would be magnified by a gown made by a master crafter…
He regretted at that moment that the marriage was to be one of convenience only. Her exquisiteness would make him the envy of mankind. Make any man the envy. How had she not been snagged off the marriage mart yet?
“I...I...” Emma stammered, “I simply do not want to be measured for a dress. I have enough that are perfectly serviceable.”
Damien swung down from the saddle and walked toward her, leading the horse.
“You cannot marry me in a perfectly serviceable dress, Emma. You must look the part,” Damien reproached gently. “The Regent shall be in attendance, as will the entire ton. There is no way that this can be done quietly. Not if it is to achieve the desired effect.”
“So you wish me to wear a new dress simply to impress the Regent,” Emma said flatly.
“No!” Damien responded at once. “Because you will appear seraphic. Even more so than you already are, and that is considerable. I want you to look a study in elegance. A vision in grace. A perfect example of English womanhood that every other lady present shall envy for eternity.”
He was breathless by the time he finished and felt his own cheeks coloring. It had been far more than he had intended to say.
Emma blinked, lips parting slightly. “Oh my. You have never been… so emotive.”
Somehow they had moved closer as they spoke, though Damien had no conscious memory of doing so. The scent of her lily soap—soft, floral, maddeningly innocent—wafted towards him in a stray breeze. It dizzied him and he could not refrain from inhaling deeply.
“It is not typical of me,” he said gruffly, “but you always seem to drag the words from me against my will.”
“I am sorry that they had to be dragged, but grateful that they were there in the first place,” Emma replied with the ghost of a smile.
“I am not an ogre,” Damien chuckled lowly. “I realize that this marriage is not what you had planned, but alas, here we are. You stand to benefit from it, as does your family.”
Emma looked away. Damien thought she looked disappointed.
“Yes, I can see that. It is my duty to them. I realize as much,” she murmured in a dispassionate voice.
“But I hoped that being married in a celestial gown, surrounded by beauty, and being the envy of every lady in London, would be at least the most feeble form of compensation…” Damien began.
“Rosie and Josie would adore it. I care little for the thoughts of the ton,” Emma sighed wistfully.
“Nor I. But I understand the power they wield. Impress them and your sisters will have doors opened to them that previously would have been closed. Impress the Regent and you will have avenues of opportunity to achieve anything you desire. What are your ambitions?”
Damien found himself keen to know. He told himself that Emma's character did not matter, nor did her wishes or desires. All that mattered was the wedding and the appearance of marital bliss, to stave off his cousins—to put into motion his artfully crafted plan. But he wanted to understand her more, he realized.
“I simply wish to make a difference in this world,” Emma breathed at last. “I do not yet know how, but I do not want to be a lady of accomplishment when those accomplishments consist of singing, playing pianoforte, or needlepoint. I want to have the same impact that you take for granted.”
“Admirable,” Damien inclined his head.
They were closer still and Damien had ceased to be aware of anyone else in the park. They stood alone for miles around as far as his heart was concerned. She peeked up at him, biting her lip and swaying slightly as though she wanted to step back but fought her own instincts.
“It is?” she whispered, her eyes on Damien's.
“Of course. There is depth to you that I rarely find in others. It is almost enough to...”
As though emerging from icy water, he lifted his head, breaking the eye contact and inhaling deeply.
“ To ...?” Emma prompted.
“Perhaps if I were to take the measurements instead of an entourage of strangers. I am sure that I could capture the information needed for Madame Rousseau. Would that be acceptable to you?”
It is utter nonsense. Why would she accept me when a professional woman is unacceptable?
Emma swallowed, then looked down, face scarlet. When she looked back, her eyes were bright gold, and Damien was entranced by them.
“Yes.”