Page 20 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke (Marriage by Midnight #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY

E mma tried not to look out of the carriage window as they drove along Regent Street towards the church of St George's in Hanover Street—and her ultimate fate. It was a sunny, bustling June Saturday. The air rang with the sounds of a busy, lively city but it might as well have been a necropolis for all the joy Emma took from it.

“Brighten up, Emma. You will soon be a celebrated Duchess and member of a respected and ancient family. Your future and ours will be secured.”

“Yes, Papa. As you say,” Emma replied absently.

Am I happy? Is it apprehension that makes my heart race and leaves me breathless? Is it excitement? I cannot tell if I dread seeing Damien or cannot wait. Do I want the driver to slow down or speed up?

“Your gown is simply spectacular. I am amazed at the speed with which Madame Rousseau produced it. You look radiant. Your mother would be very proud,” Duncan said, patting her hand.

That made Emma blush. It reminded her of how the measurements on which the gown was based were obtained.

By Damien, while I stood before him as naked as the day I was born. And I am not ashamed. I am... thrilled…

“It is beautiful. Quite the most beautiful dress I have ever worn,” Emma admitted.

“Then why so downcast?” Duncan persisted.

“Because this marriage is being forced upon me, Papa. I did not ask for it, nor to be the wife of any man. Yet here I am. Bound by my duty as a daughter and a sister,” she said plaintively.

“As we are all, Emma,” Duncan replied with a touch of irritation, “ we especially. You know from what I have taught you how many rely on our class. The farmers and workers who reside on our lands depend upon us to make the right decisions for them in our Parliament. Our duty to the Crown and to the country. Many demands.”

“Those I accept in exchange for the privilege of my status,” Emma replied, “the other I cannot. But I will continue for the sake of our family's prosperity. And I do not wish Rosie or Josie to suffer because of me.”

“That is noble, but I dislike seeing any child of mine so unhappy. If it is not your will to marry the Duke, then say the word and I shall have the driver turn us around,” Duncan said, reaching up with his cane as though to rap upon the roof.

Emma stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“I am sorry, Papa. Do not do that. Silas Sutherland would rejoice in having our family back under his power. We cannot afford to reject the Duke.”

The carriage was turning onto Conduit Street, momentarily halted by a number of other conveyances and pedestrians choking the paths. The church was nearby.

I will not fail my family. My feelings are immaterial. I do this for them but must conceal it better. Papa is more than capable of throwing caution to the wind and snatching me away if he thinks I am desperate not to be married. Then, matters will be significantly worse and without hope.

“I am simply in the grip of a bride's nerves. It has been the fate of new brides for time out of mind, I fear,” Emma said, smiling for her father's benefit.

“Quite,” Duncan returned the smile, squeezing her hand. “All will be well,” he murmured in an attempt to reassure her.

His merry smile never touched his eyes, however. They remained tight with worry. Emma squeezed back. The traffic lifted, and the carriage reached the end of Conduit Street, turning right onto Bond Street. Emma got her first glimpse of the church ahead of them and to the right. Crowds had gathered before the church, and brightly colored bunting had been hung across Bond Street partly in celebration of a Duke's wedding.

But mainly because the congregation will include the Prince Regent. I do not see Damien insisting on bunting.

The carriage came to a halt before the church's portico with its towering columns. Her father alighted and then helped her down, offering his arm as they ascended the steps. The doors were flung wide, and within, Emma could see the heads of the congregation turned to watch her enter. And at the far end of the church, standing before an imposing altarpiece depicting the Last Supper, stood her groom-to-be.

The organ thundered into life as they entered the cool interior and began to walk towards the altar. Damien stood with his back to her. He did not turn, but the Regent did. He stood as Damien's best man, gaudy in his opulence.

Why such interest in this marriage in particular? Surely, the Regent does not attend the marriage of every Duke of England and Scotland? Does not stand with the groom in church. There is something here that Damien has not told me.

Emma recognized her own family among the gathered guests. Rosie and Josie looked radiant and happy, bathed in the glowing light that fell through the stained glass windows. Charles had an excited look of anticipation on his face. She also saw the twins, Damien's cousins, on the other side of the aisle. Both had stony faces, exchanging glowering looks.

Why does he not look at me? I am here because of him. Is it because of what he has already seen? Does my scar so disgust him that he cannot bear to look at me now?

Her thoughts and emotions were tangled as she neared the end of her last walk as a free woman. When she stood beside Damien, she could not help but look up at him through the veil that she wore. With his fair hair and icy blue eyes, he looked every inch the foreign prince. He glanced at her, and their eyes met. She saw the tight control on his face and the rigid austerity of his features.

What was he thinking? Was he triumphant at conquering her and achieving her goals? Was he despondent at being chained to a married woman? Impatient to end the charade?

The service passed in a blur of words until she felt the cold of the ring upon her finger and the veil being gently lifted by Damien. He stepped close to her and lowered his head to kiss her.

The touch was gentle and tender.

It lingered, feeling as though it lasted for long minutes, but Emma knew it could not have been more than a second or two. A heartbeat.

Nevertheless, it was more than the ceremony required.

She breathed in sharply as she felt the passion within him. Felt it in the firm pressure of his lips, pressing where he should have been pulling away. Demanding more until he hooked himself under control. Suddenly, the cruel stoniness of his features seemed something different.

If Emma was to guess, he was keeping himself under control because he did not trust himself. He did not trust his passion and did not want to reveal it to her. He wanted her to believe that his wish was nothing more than a marriage of convenience—a marriage in name only.

And what do I want?

The surge in her heart gave her the answer to that question. The thrill along her veins as her lips were held by his. His fingers touched hers, and she felt the awe-some strength of his body against hers. She could not help but smile against the kiss; her heart lightened for the first time in a week. As Damien drew back, he looked at her questioningly, one eyebrow twitching.

“It is expected that the happy couple appear... happy,” Emma whispered, for his ears alone.

Damien smiled broadly. He turned to face the gathered guests. The Regent bellowed his congratulations wordlessly, and the rest of the ton who had assembled followed suit. For a moment, they stood before the wave of noise before the organ began to play once more. Damien offered his arm and led her back down the aisle.

“The wedding breakfast will be held at my house in Curzon Street. Then, you may have your liberty for the rest of the day if you wish it. Our public duty will be over until the evening,” Damien said, quietly.

“And what are your wishes... husband?” Emma asked.

But Damien did not reply.

She glanced up at him, hoping that she looked like an adoring bride admiring her husband. His face was stony and closed behind the facade of a happy smile. It did not touch his eyes, and he did not look at her.

I have done what was expected of me. My family will be safe from Silas Sutherland, and Charles will be safe from himself. I must now settle myself to my new life as Duchess of Redmane and wife in name only. A prisoner to duty. And to the yearning of my heart...

As they stepped out into the sunlight, a shower of brightly colored petals fluttered down around them. The crowd that had assembled on the pavement outside the church cheered raucously. As Damien led her to the carriage, Emma tried to fathom the feelings that stirred within her: desire, excitement at the prospect of being wife to Damien with all that should entail, and sadness at knowing it was all a sham.

“I must ask, as we have not spoken much this past week…” Emma began once they were safely alone in the carriage.

“ Ask away ,” Damien replied, gazing out of the window.

Emma took a deep breath. “You made clear that we would not be man and wife in the physical sense. That this marriage served only to solve your... problems and mine. But we have shared intimacies. Have, I flatter myself to say, enjoyed those intimacies. Have experienced mutual attraction, and you have even seen me as bare as the day I was born...”

“It will not be repeated. That I swear,” Damien said, firmly, “and I am sorry that I put you in that position to begin with.”

“I helped you put me there,” Emma coaxed, “by going part of the way myself. I seem to remember sharing your passion when we kissed and when we touched. I was the one who stripped naked for you.”

“In order that I might accurately measure you for your dress,” Damien pointed out.

“That was the only thought in your head at that moment?” Emma furrowed her brows, frustrated with her own confusion and Damien's iron exterior.

“Of course not!” he snapped, passion breaking through his barrier at last, “I am not made of stone.”

“You do an excellent impersonation at times.”

“I am simply saying that I am not a ravisher of women. I take no pleasure in having power over you and will have no power other than expecting you to behave in a certain way in public,” Damien said.

That brought back memories of the dream in which he had taken the role of a Sultan and Emma had been one of his harem. That recollection made her blush, not entirely out of shame. The idea of being helpless before Damien's unshackled desire made her head spin. Suddenly, the carriage was very hot, and Damien was very close.

“Good,” Emma said faintly, “I am glad to clarify that.”

Damien nodded mutely, looking away again. He sat next to her rather than opposite; his hip pressed against hers.

“You look beautiful and behaved demurely,” he murmured presently. “The Regent was mightily impressed with you. Thank you.”

“You are most welcome. It was a lovely ceremony and a very pretty church,” Emma replied.

Damien's hand strayed to hers as the carriage swerved to avoid something in the road. She clasped it instinctively. For a brief moment, the motion threw them together closer. Damien's arm went around her protectively, and he thudded his fist against the roof.

“What the devil are you doing, man!” he called to the driver.

“I'm sorry, Your Grace, an urchin dashed across the road in front of me,” he replied.

Damien looked down at Emma, who nestled in his arms. She looked back, and their eyes lingered. Then he released her, pushing himself away as much as the carriage would allow. She felt her face flush and regretted it when his hand released hers.