Page 23 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke (Marriage by Midnight #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“ I have enjoyed this evening. Very much,” Damien uttered dutifully.

Emma smiled. “As have I. I regret its ending.”

They stood in the hallway of Redmane that led to Emma's rooms, Damien about to ascend the next flight of stairs to his own rooms.

“There will be many more.”

The hallway light was dim, and the house was quiet. The staff had retired for the evening. A lamp burned on a table by the wall, casting a golden pool of light against which the shadows pressed. Damien was on the edge of that shadow, and Emma stood at its center.

“I look forward to that. I enjoy dancing with you. Talking with you,” she said, hoping the hint of sincerity in her voice seeped through her husband’s frozen exterior.

Damien stepped into the light, smiling too. “I also enjoy your company. Perhaps if you do not speak of my father in the future, then these evenings will be more pleasurable.”

“I will not,” Emma replied curtly, looking away.

Once again, he issued arbitrary orders based on prohibitions that she knew nothing of. If he were more open with her, then she would know what she was permitted to speak of and what was taboo.

The very idea that she must be watchful of what she spoke of incensed her further. It was a restriction that she had never labored under before. Speech was always free in her father’s house. Emma’s mother had been a particularly free spirit, encouraging her children to speak their minds.

“Is something the matter?” Damien asked.

Emma thought she heard tension creeping into Damien’s voice. He did not like to be challenged or questioned. A symptom of living alone, answerable only to himself perhaps. He did not live alone now and should not expect to continue with that.

She tilted her chin and faced him squarely. “ Yes , now that you have asked. You cannot be cross with me for breaking a taboo I knew nothing of.”

Damien arched a brow. “I can . It is my house, and you are my wife…”

“And you, my husband. And this is also now my house. I am Duchess here, am I not?” Emma said, irate with his curt answer.

“In name only ,” he immediately amended. “I told you there would be restrictions and conditions to our marriage. I feel I have been open with you.”

Emma threw up her hands, scoffing. “How, precisely, do you imagine that? I know nothing of your history and only learn what subjects to avoid when they are broached and you make a fuss!”

Damien growled in his throat and made as though to walk away. After a single pace, he stopped. He sighed loudly.

“You are right, of course. I cannot expect obedience to rules you were not aware of. I… I apologize.”

It sounded as though the words were being dragged from him. He was unused to saying he was sorry for anything. This man was rough around the edges when it came to other people.

But I must do my part no matter how infuriating or frustrating he is, she reasoned inwardly. An overture should be accepted.

She sighed audibly. “It is quite alright—”

But she never finished the sentence.

Damien turned, crossed the space between them in a breath, and kissed her.

Not a hesitant brush of lips. Not the cool, distant formality he so often wrapped around himself like armor.

No, this was hunger. Controlled only just .

His hands were already in her hair. Her back met the wall in a rustle of silk and a gasp, his body pressing against hers, his mouth hot and demanding. Emma’s fingers clutched instinctively at his coat, the kiss stealing her breath, her thoughts, and whatever dignified parting words she had meant to offer.

“You have no idea,” he murmured against her lips, “how beautiful you looked tonight. Every blasted moment. How difficult you make it for me just by being in my presence. I couldn’t take my eyes off you—not even when I should have.”

She blinked up at him, breathless. His confession was dark velvet against her skin.

“Damien…”

He kissed her again, silencing her with his mouth, with the sudden, overwhelming press of his thigh between hers. She whimpered against him, startled by how easily her body betrayed her. Heat pooled low in her belly, a need coiling tight as his hands swept down her back to cup her buttocks.

“This gown,” he rasped, his fingers finding the fastenings, “has tortured me all night.”

In one motion, he worked the bodice down over her shoulders, exposing her shift beneath. She gasped, clutching at him, but he caught her hands in his and pinned them softly to the wall, his mouth descending to her throat, then lower.

His palm slid up over her shift, found her breast through linen, and molded to it possessively. She arched into him, a cry slipping free as he teased her nipple through the thin fabric.

“Damien,” she moaned, unsure whether it was a plea for more or for mercy, “someone might… see us…”

He took it as the former.

His free hand drifted lower, gathering her skirts and pressing between her thighs—firm, insistent. Even through the barrier of her underthings, she felt the shock of it, his touch precise and devastating.

Her hips jerked. “ Oh God —”

“It is not touching,” he rasped, his voice low and wicked, “if it is above clothes, is it? I want to hear you. Let me hear what I can do to you.”

She clung to him as sensation overtook her—unfamiliar and urgent. Her head fell back against the wall. Her body trembled beneath his touch. He rubbed her with increasing pressure, not fast, but with maddening control, his mouth never far from her skin, from her ear.

“ Christ, you are already so wet for me,” he whispered. “Just from a kiss?”

She whimpered, half-mortified, half-lost in the spiraling waves of pleasure building under his fingers. Her thighs tightened, her whole body straining as if something in her had to give way.

Her hips moved of their own accord, chasing his touch as he circled and stroked, coaxing pleasure out of her in waves. Her hands twisted in his grasp above her head, desperate to hold onto something, anything. She buried her face against his shoulder. Her soft moans fell muffled by fabric.

“You are exquisite,” he murmured. “Every part of you.”

Her thighs began to tremble again. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His lips brushed her ears. “Let go, Emma .”

And she did.

The release overtook her with sudden, shocking intensity. Her back arched. A cry escaped her lips despite herself, and she collapsed against him, all breath and heat and undone want. He held her through it, his hand slowing, gentling, easing her down.

When the last of the tremors left her, she pressed her forehead to his chest. Her limbs felt boneless. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm, where her hand had come to rest. Her fingers curled there, unsure if she was grounding herself—or him.

She tilted her face up, flushed and dazed. “What… what was that ?”

He didn’t answer.

“I find that being with you...” Blushing furiously, she fell silent.

“Is exciting?” Damien finished.

Emma looked up with a raised eyebrow.

“Never let it be said that you lack confidence, good sir.”

He chuckled. It was a sincere sound that felt refreshing in her ears. “I was referring to myself, of course.”

“Oh...” she stammered, faltering. “I… don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. No words are necessary.”

“You can be so kind and tender to me at times,” she murmured, “and then so harsh without warning.”

Damien's grin was positively wicked. “That is usually the result of proximity to a beautiful woman.”

Emma slapped his chest at the awful jest but left her hand where it landed. She felt the powerful muscle beneath, the strength of that body. What it had done to her. Looking up, she saw the desire on his face, making it almost cruel in its austerity.

Desire drove the smile from his face, tightened his jaw, and narrowed his eyes. He was a Viking warlord intent on ravishing the fair maiden who had come to him as spoils. She wondered if the hammering of her heart was audible to him. She could still feel him through her palm.

They looked into each other's eyes for one long, glorious moment, standing isolated from the world in that golden pool.

Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed, and Damien stepped back. Her palm against his chest was the last contact to break.

“I must go,” he whispered, the shadows welcoming him back as he stepped out of the light.

“Must you?” Emma asked breathless, her heart hammering.

“I made a promise to you. And I have... a duty.”

Then he was gone.

“It was quite a magical night,” Emma sighed wistfully, “I did not expect it to be so.”

She lay in a hot bath that Elsie had drawn for her after her return from the Regent's Ball. An hour before, Damien had abandoned her in the hallway after setting her heart ablaze and her body thrumming with desire. Elsie sat beside the large bathtub behind a screen in Emma's bedroom. That room was large enough for two, but her husband had made his own quarters on the floor above.

Presently, Emma luxuriated in the hot water and clouds of steam.

“I am glad you allowed yourself to enjoy it, my lady,” Elsie smiled in earnest.

“However, Damien was… a little odd ,” Emma remarked, brows furrowing. “I mentioned his father, and it produced a very defensive reaction. He thawed throughout the course of the evening, but it was decidedly peculiar. I wish I knew what in his past he is so secretive about. Have you heard anything from the other servants?”

Elsie rose to take up a ladle from a bucket of steaming water beside the bath. She knelt by Emma's head and began to wash her mistress's hair.

“I have not, except for the fact that the staff did not care for the previous Duke. The whispers are that he was feared.”

Emma sighed again. “Perhaps he was a cruel man, though all who knew him in public seem to think otherwise. What of Damien's cousins? There is definitely bad blood there. He does not like them at all, but I cannot see the reason.”

Elsie thought for a moment as she massaged Emma’s scalp. “Other than the fact that—and, mind my words—they are deemed a pair of blackguards and rogues , it is generally spoken among the staff that there was some challenge to the Duke being the Duke. Some legal questions about who should inherit. I think they believe that one of them deserves the title.”

Emma closed her eyes as the water sluiced over her head. In her mind's eye, she saw Damien's face as she whirled about the dance floor with him—his blue eyes upon her, his hands on her body.

“When I was dancing with him, for the first time, I was not aware of how close a pair of hands were to my scar,” Emma said quietly.

Elsie clapped suddenly and sent splashes of water everywhere. “Very good! I told you that inhibition would fade with time.”

“No, it is still there… but it is less with him. How odd.”

Elsie scoffed. “Not odd at all, my lady. But love. You wish to be seen as you are with him.”

Now, Emma scoffed. “ Love ? I will not have that word spoken. I have never sought it and do not want it. This marriage is a transaction. My family's security for his restored reputation.”

“What rot! I have seen the way you look at him and the way he looks at you when he believes there is none to see. Love might be premature, perhaps. But lust is certainly in residence and the desire for love.”

“You are mistaken,” Emma said firmly. “Love would be a complication that neither one of us needs.”

“Very well. Deny what is obvious to any with eyes. I will not argue.” Elsie dabbed gently at Emma’s brow, a thoughtful look in her eye. “If you’ll pardon me saying so, my lady, you might consider turning in early tonight.”

Emma cracked an eye open. “Why? Have I somehow exhausted you?”

Elsie gave a dry little chuckle. “Not I. But you’ll want rest if you’re to be strolling through the palace gardens tomorrow.”

Emma sat up slightly. “ Palace gardens ?”

“Buckingham,” Elsie confirmed, matter-of-fact. “Word came down through the footmen. His Grace made arrangements for a promenade. Heavens, you must tell me all about it when you return.”

Emma blinked. “He didn’t say a word.”

Though there was hardly time with his lips pressed against hers, and his hand pressed elsewhere, for so long earlier that night. The very memory sent a frisson of pleasure through her she did well to conceal.

“Perhaps he meant it as a surprise,” Elsie said with a shrug, already gathering towels. “Or perhaps he knew I’d tell you anyway.”

The never-ending cycle of socials would ordinarily have been mind-numbing. But over the past week, it was the only time Emma so much as glimpsed her husband. So perhaps it wasn’t so bad after all.

She settled back into the warm water, heart humming.

“I’ll lay out something proper,” Elsie added from behind the screen. “Understated, but memorable.”

Emma closed her eyes again, steam curling around her. Above her, somewhere on the next floor, Damien’s rooms lay quiet. She wondered if he, too, was lying awake—thinking of the same moment as she.

And wondering what tomorrow might bring.