Page 24 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke (Marriage by Midnight #2)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
D amien winced at a twinge of pain in his right leg. Emma finally noticed.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked quietly.
They strolled through the gardens of Buckingham Palace, the newly occupied residence of the King of England. Trees ringed it, separating it from Green Park to the north and the growing reach of London around it. The verdant expanse had been designed to look and feel like an open country, and it succeeded.
“It is nothing,” Damien replied.
The previous night, he had attempted to destroy the jewel in the crown of his father's businesses. His wharf and warehouses at Wapping. The smoke had not risen to stain the skyline; he had been thwarted and only escaped with his life and, most importantly, with his identity kept secret. A musket ball fired by a nightwatchman had scored his thigh muscle. Wilkins had dressed the wound on his master's return, but Emma could know nothing of it. Enduring the pain, he forced himself not to limp.
“It seemed as though you were in discomfort,” Emma pressed.
“I am not.” He shook his head, erasing that fairly easily discredited line of thought, “I mean, I am. While at my club last night, I took an awkward step down the stairs and wrenched my knee. It gives the odd twinge.”
Emma did not seem convinced. She walked under a parasol, her dress a combination of white and pale blue, which enhanced the porcelain quality of her skin and brought out her pale, hazel eyes. She looked devastating this morning.
Damien regretted lying to her, though at every opportunity thus far, he had deemed it necessary. Previously, he had no qualms of concealing truths, but now, it felt as though the words had to be dragged out.
Lords and ladies had spread out across the rolling landscape of the gardens, basking in the sunshine on the verdant grass. A marquee had been erected at the far end, facing the magnificent palace. It was there that the Regent disported himself.
“You have seemed distracted this morning. Is it concern over continuing to impress the Regent?” Emma asked.
“ Impress him? Why, yes, the man is mercurial at best. One never knows which way he will go,” Damien shrugged.
“And it is important to remain on his good side?” Emma inquired.
Another twinge of pain brought irritation, but Damien controlled it. He offered his arm to Emma, who took it. Her closeness was a balm. He smiled as they walked.
“It is if I am to restore my standing. That work has been going very well since we married. I have you to thank for that.”
Emma blushed and smiled. “I did not relish the prospect of marriage, given the circumstances of our union. But, it is nice to be free of the man who shall remain nameless. Papa has heard not a word from him since he left Brimley Park so suddenly and unexpectedly. Do I have you to thank for that?”
Damien tilted his head. “I would be lying if I took any responsibility beyond the evening at the Donovan’s. Though I cannot speak of if my very presence has dissuaded him.”
Emma sighed, leaning against his shoulder. “It has been a dark cloud hanging over us. I am more grateful than you can know and would do anything to aid you in your endeavor.”
It was tough lying to her, indeed. She was always so earnest and willing to help. When he first gave her his ultimatum, she had been resistant and fiery in that resistance. But ever since, Damien had glimpsed her compassion and empathy. She was a woman a man would be proud to call his wife.
And I am using her.
“I say, Your Grace! Care to join us in a game of croquet? You and your lovely wife.”
The speaker was a young man with tight, blonde curls and a boyish face. A young woman with dark, silky hair accompanied him. He held croquet mallets while a servant set up the hoops.
“Yes, please do. We should so like to play,” the young woman gushed.
“Do you play?” Damien asked Emma.
“I have never played. But I will learn,” Emma replied.
The young man was introduced as the Earl of Winchester, and the lady as his wife. He handed the mallet to Damien, who swung it jauntily across his shoulder. He and Emma accompanied the young couple to the game area. As he did, Damien explained the rules, and Emma listened attentively. Her eyebrows drew down, and her forehead creased as she listened. After a moment, Emma looked up, and he realized he had been staring. She stared back, and Damien found himself lost to place and time.
Only when the Earl of Winchester spoke in an overloud voice was Damien recalled to the present.
“Well, why do you not take the first shot, Your Grace?”
Damien tore his eyes from his wife and saw the Earl and his Countess hovering rather awkwardly.
“I think I shall defer to my dear wife,” he smiled, offering her the mallet.
She took it clumsily and stepped towards the ball.
“I do not even know how to hold it properly. Is this right?” she whispered uncertainly.
Damien stepped up behind her and put his hands over hers, correcting her grip.
“Keep your eye on the ball and make your swing smooth with your hands going in the direction that you wish the ball to go,” he whispered back.
Emma nodded, glancing at him. His face was at her shoulder, looking down at her hands upon the mallet. Now, he looked at her and smiled with encouragement. She returned his smile. Suddenly, Damien was acutely aware of his close proximity to her. He stood with his body pressed against hers to position her hands correctly on the mallet. It felt wanton and reckless.
She is my wife! There can be nothing wrong with a husband standing close to his wife. At least in the eyes of all those gathered here, we are husband and wife. We know the truth.
Emma's bottom was in contact with Damien's thighs, and he became suddenly aware of how precarious their situation was, married or not. As she shifted her feet, it caused her hips to wiggle and her posterior to press against him in a way that was so pleasurable it was uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because he would need to hide the fact from any observers.
Emma swung the mallet but applied too much force, and the ball hurtled from the ground into the air. An elderly gentleman ducked the sudden missile, and Emma gasped in horror. The Earl of Winchester suppressed a laugh.
“I say! Blooming croquet balls flying through the air!” the man grumbled, glaring at the young people playing.
“I am very sorry. That was my first attempt,” Emma called out, flushing bright scarlet.
“I shall remove myself to the other side of the garden until you have mastered the game. The object is for the ball to pass through the hoops. On the ground .”
Damien was fighting back laughter now too, and Emma rounded on him in embarrassment.
“Do not dare laugh,” she uttered accusingly.
“I would not dare,” Damien replied with a straight face.
“I think you had better take over,” she said, offering the mallet back.
“Nonsense, this will not be the last time you play croquet,” he smiled disarmingly. “The Regent is mad about it, and so, of course, is the ton.”
“Oh indeed. We love the game, do we not, Isabel?” said the Earl of Winchester.
Damien turned away from the young man and gave Emma a significant look. She bit her lip, seeing the joke.
“Well then, I suppose I should try again.”
Once again, Damien took up position with a firmer hold on her hands. Again, Emma adjusted and performed an illicit act upon Damien's person. He could not suppress a grunt which brought her head around, eyes widening. He met those wide eyes openly, letting her see and feel.
Why did he fight it? She would not resist if he suggested casting down the barriers he’d imposed between them.
No! This is naked lust talking. I will not indulge in it and risk everything I have worked for. My brother depends on me. As does the entirety of the Dukedom.
Damien stepped back.
“There. Perfect, I should say. Just do not put so much force into the swing,” he said, rendering his voice cold and formal.
Emma giggled, once more taking a position in front of the ball. The wife of the Earl of Winchester was also laughing, but with Emma, not at her. Emma swung, and the ball remained on the ground, though it went far wide of the target. She seemed inordinately pleased at this achievement that Damien found his self-imposed reserve somewhat melting. She walked to his side as the Earl of Winchester took his turn and did a creditable job.
“It is harder than it looks,” Emma remarked.
“Easy to learn but difficult to master,” Damien nodded, “something to be learned for occasions such as this.”
“I think I can apply myself to that. For as long as it is required of me,” Emma replied distractedly, “Oh bravo, your ladyship!”
“Please, Your Grace, call me Helene,” the Countess replied.
“Then you must call me Emma , Helene. Let us not stand on formalities,” Emma beamed.
Damien saw Helene's face flush with pleasure and Emma's happy smile. He felt a swash of pride in Emma's skill at navigating the social currents, laying the foundations for friendship, and ensuring that he and she were becoming integrated into their society. It was everything that he had asked for and more.
“Well done,” he whispered.
Emma looked at him, puzzled. “For what?”
“For our first friendship within the ton,” Damien replied, “it will help us to be accepted and the Redmane name to be cleansed.”
The look Emma gave him could not have been more unreadable. She nodded, thrusting the mallet into his ribs.
“I prefer speaking to someone using their name, not a title. I have yet to think of your plan. I just want to be human.”
Damien took his place and knocked a ball through the first hoop. Winchester gave a hearty congratulations on the accuracy of the shot. Helene clapped. She had moved next to Emma, and they had begun to talk. He wondered at Emma's comment.
This has been my obsession for so long. Marriage was always a means to an end, and I ascribe the same motivations to everyone around me. Have I allowed this obsession to consume me? Did I remember what it means to be human at all?