Page 21 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke (Marriage by Midnight #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“ A re you aware of what your brother might be getting up to?” Damien asked as he strode into his now-shared drawing room of his Curzon Street Residence.

Emma peeked up from the book she had been reading alone, as she had been wont to do the past week during her private time in between invitations and socials. The couple had not talked much outside of that, owed to Damien’s nightly errands and his promise to keep their connection impersonal.

Presently, he stopped at the center of the room, finely dressed and shod, hair falling straight back from his temples like a Norse chieftain, dressed for the eighth social of the week.

Emma calmly set the book down and rose.

“I am not. I have not seen nor spoken to Charles for more than a week. Not since the wedding breakfast, in fact.”

Damien held a rag of a gossip sheet in one tight fist, found for him by Wilkins. Emma's eyes snapped to it. They were bright and intelligent but also tense. Damien felt the same tension; it made him irritable.

“What is that? Something to do with Charles?” Emma asked.

“Obviously,” he replied shortly.

“It is not obvious unless it is explained,” she said, putting out a hand for the paper, “and whatever he has done, it is beyond my control.”

“Rumors of gambling and debts,” Damien muttered. “I mention it only as it undermines what I am trying to achieve in marrying you. Undermines what you are trying to do for your family.”

“I am no more happy with the effort we have gone to here being wasted than you are. What would you have me do?” Emma said, sounding exasperated, “Lock him up?”

“When I decided to marry you, it was because of the position and reputation of your family. Even then, but more so now, I find that there are secrets that were kept from me.”

Emma put her hands on her hips.

“You forced your way into my family, need I remind you. You insisted on marrying me. You would not be in this difficult position otherwise.”

Damien knew this to be the truth but was too angry to accept common sense. He turned away.

“I could write to him,” Emma called out, sounding as irritated as Damien felt, “but I do not know where he is staying. I will speak to Papa this evening. I'm sure there will be an opportunity.”

Damien turned back to her and found himself glaring into his wife's hazel eyes. She had tiny diamonds scattered seemingly at random through her hair. They caught the light like stars but could not compare to the glow of her eyes. Radiant was a poor word to describe her, but it was the only one that came to mind. She was dressed in silks that complimented her coloring and seemed like the meanest rags next to the soft perfection of her delicate skin.

I must control myself. This is a weakness, and it will not do. There is a plan in place, and stirrings of the heart will only interfere. I have managed well for the past week—now to see it through. I must be strong.

But Damien had not known how strong he would need to be to resist the siren call that Emma did not even seem to be aware of. Under his unabashed stare, Emma blushed, and Damien looked down hurriedly.

“Yes, that would be acceptable,” he said hastily, “a quiet word for Charles to curb his excesses.”

“Did your business in the north go well?” Emma suddenly asked.

Damien glanced up, eyes immediately narrowing. “Why, yes. Well .”

A mill burned in Lancashire. A fund was created for the men put out of work and lodged with the local priest. Wilkins would ensure the money was fairly distributed according to need. So, yes, exceptionally well.

“I am glad. This past week, outside of societal duties of course, has been rather dull for myself. I... thought perhaps I might accompany you on your next trip?” she suggested diffidently.

There was naked hope in her eyes as she looked up at him. It took Damien by surprise.

“Quite out of the question,” he said quickly and in a harder tone than he had intended. Emma glanced away and nodded.

“Of course. I apologize for asking; it was not part of our agreement. I just thought you might appreciate the company on your journeys.”

Damien made a vague gesture. “They are quite tedious and long. I should not undertake them, but... duty demands it.”

“Of course, we each have our duties. Papa has been corresponding with the new owners of the original Montrose Hall, and we shall be visiting the place soon. The girls are most excited at the prospect of repurchasing our childhood home. Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“You are most welcome,” he replied.

Emma smiled coyly as she thanked him, sending a pleasant, warm feeling through him.

Damnation, but he liked being smiled at by her, especially when it was genuinely felt. Oft-times, he found himself wishing he could make her smile more often that way.

But then, the duty of his plans weighed on him like chains. At Redmane Manor, his brother waited for news of their revenge, of their quest to destroy their family’s legacy utterly. His presence was a weight on Damien's back, as heavy as a mountain.

“We should be going,” Emma broke through his musings, “are you ready?”

“I am. Yes, it is high time we were on our way. It would not do to be late for the Regent. We shall take the carriage back to Redmane on our return trip.”

He offered his arm, and Emma took it. Damien led them out of the room and to the front door, which Wilkins held open. A carriage waited outside on Curzon Street.

“You do look rather lovely today, by the way,” Damien remarked off-handedly. “That is one of the dresses that Madame Rousseau fashioned, yes?”

“It is. And your Dutch jeweler furnished the diamonds for my hair. I feel quite ridiculously overdressed, I must say.”

“We are going to a ball hosted by the sovereign of England. I would have had you wear far more jewelry, but...”

“But?” Emma asked as Damien hesitated.

“But now that I see you, I realize you do not need it.” He coughed, then strode forward a few steps ahead of her.

A footman stepped from the rear of the coach, but Damien waved him back. He opened the coach's door and took Emma's hand to help her ascend. She had not yet donned her gloves, and her skin was smooth and warm against his fingers. Their eyes met as she stepped up, her lips quirked into a delicate smile that made her eyes shine. Damien’s heart thundered to rival the sound of the carriages and cabs that rumbled along Curzon Street in the June dusk. He joined her in the cab, taking a seat next to her. The carriage began to move, making its way to St James' Palace.

“You always choose to sit next to me when we share the carriage,” Emma noted absently, “instead of taking the empty seat opposite.”

“Is that a request?” Damien asked.

“An observation ,” Emma corrected.

“Do you wish for more room? I will happily move.”

Damien had not even realized the habit he had formed. Truthfully, he enjoyed the proximity that sitting next to her gave him. What a tangled mess—a marriage of convenience finally achieved and put at risk by him wishing it were more than it was—or could ever be.

He made to rise, but Emma put a hand on his.

“Please, Damien. Don't,” she said, and the naked plea in her voice gave him pause.

He sat close enough that contact could not be avoided between them. He put his hand on hers in an entirely appropriate and formal way but allowed him to feel her skin. The memory of that touch would warm him during long nights alone, plotting the arson of another of his father's businesses.

He watched the familiar landmarks pass by on their short journey to St James' Palace, still the sight of the Regent's formal occasions even if the official residence of the royals had moved to Buckingham Palace. He wished for an errant flock of sheep to be driven into the road and delay them.

His finger distractedly traced a gentle path on Emma's knuckles. He felt her fingers open slightly and her hand turn. Devonshire House passed by as they drove east along Piccadilly. He thumped the roof.

“Take Regent's Street!” he called to the driver.

“Right you are, Your Grace!” the driver called back.

They rumbled past St James Street, the Palace visible at the end.

Too short a journey. I must be mad, but I want more time alone with Emma. Not mad, just weak. Or bewitched!

His thumb touched the inside of her wrist, stroking up her forearm to the limit of its reach. Emma's hand lay limp atop his thigh, palm up. Burlington House went by on the left as they continued along Piccadilly towards the Circus. Damien stroked his fingers against the palm of Emma's hand, closing and unclosing his hand. The skin was soft and perfect, so smooth it made satin seem like the roughest burlap. Emma's breath caught, and when Damien glanced at her, he saw that she was biting her lip, looking away with flaming cheeks.

The carriage slowed as it approached the busy confluence of thoroughfares where Regent Street and Piccadilly met. He was dimly aware of the driver shouting a curse to make way and felt the carriage stop and start as it wound its way around other conveyances, riders, and pedestrians. Damien traced his fingers along Emma's forearm to the elbow, feeling her shiver at the touch and finding the reaction arousing. Her hand turned so that her palm rested on his thigh. He felt her fingers tighten there.

Another thump on the roof made Emma jump.

“Haymarket!” Damien called, ordering the driver to continue on Piccadilly to the next turning after Regent's Street, prolonging the journey further.

Emma's hand squeezed his thigh, which became the epicenter of every nerve and sense that Damien had. Her head leaned towards his. To the outside world, it would appear that she was simply tired and resting on the shoulder of her husband.

Damien turned his head to hers, inhaling deeply of her scent, feeling the warm tickle of her hair against his face. He breathed her in, and something cold and hard was sucked past his lips and almost into his throat. He clamped his teeth hard on the foreign object and made a choking sound. Emma looked up. Exploring the object with his tongue, Damien realized that his teeth held one of the diamonds that Emma adorned.

She saw it and reached for her hair, beginning to laugh.

“You might have choked,” she giggled.

Unable to reply due to the precious stone between his teeth, Damien reached to pluck it from his mouth, but Emma stopped him. She pushed his hands down into his lap firmly. Then she leaned in, and her lips parted. Damien felt them press against his, and her tongue slowly entered his mouth. It curled around the diamond and withdrew, taking the stone with it. She sat back, the diamond now glinting between her teeth. She smiled around it.

“That is mine,” Damien murmured, “I paid for it. I will have it.”

He leaned towards her, planting his hands on either side of her head where she reclined against the side of the carriage. Before his mouth could reclaim his prize, though, the carriage lurched around a bend. The driver yelled at someone, and Damien was thrown back into a corner. The diamond popped from Emma's mouth and flew past Damien and out of the window.

“Look where you're going, man!” Damien roared.

“Sorry, Your Grace! Someone just turned off Coventry Street like he was blind! Almost hit us!”

“Well done, driver,” Emma called out, humor in her tone, “very quick reactions!”

The driver sounded grateful for her praise. Emma was laughing, leaning over Damien to look out of the window. He joined her, conscious of the strange sight they must have made, a lady and her gentleman, laughing and leaning out of a carriage amid the bustle of London.

“It is gone. I cannot see a glint of it,” Emma grinned.

“ Damnation ,” Damien said as Haymarket flowed by towards the Opera House, “it will not stay lost for long.”

He glanced at Emma. The wind of their passage was turning her cheeks rosy and throwing back her hair. Her eyes gleamed, and her smile was joyous. He thought of the worry and sadness he'd seen on her face over the last few weeks, which had been caused principally by him.

“What would your father think of his son and heir hanging out of a carriage having just lost a perfectly good diamond?” Emma giggled.

Damien sat bolt upright, straightening his hair back and pulling his coat free of creases.

“He would not have been amused,” he muttered.

Emma sat back opposite. Her hair remained windswept, glistening from the diamonds still present. She frowned.

“I did not mean to be disrespectful of your father. I'm sure he was a great man.”

“We will not talk about my father. Or my past. I should like to sit in silence until we reach the palace, in fact,” Damien declared, his voice hard and unemotional now.

He could see that his words struck her like physical blows.

Why did you have to mention my father? Why open that wound? God's Wounds, but I have been too weak and indulgent. It is time to return to the letter of our plan. I do not want this woman any deeper into my heart than she already is.

“I am sorry to offend,” Emma whispered, folding her hands in her lap.

Damien did not trust himself to answer. The carriage rode along Pall Mall and the Palace, and its passengers did not speak further.