Page 25 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke (Marriage by Midnight #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

M ontrose Hall, the original and genuine Montrose Hall, had been neglected since the family had left. Rooms were locked, and their contents were covered in dust sheets. The household staff had been released from their jobs for the most part, as Silas Sutherland kept his own staff for Sedgefield. It looked neglected and on the verge of dilapidation.

“It is so sad,” Josie said, lips trembling.

“It will soon be brought back to life,” Sir Thomas assured her from his place beside her.

Emma's feelings echoed those of her sister’s. Rosie leaned on her, wiping her tearful eyes with a handkerchief. Their father cleared his throat and strode up the weed-choked path to the front door.

“Yes, once there is a staff once more, and the place is cleaned up, it will be as though we never left,” Emma said, one arm about Rosie's shoulders.

Josie followed their father, as Sir Thomas whispered words of comfort to her. He maintained a distance in deference to their father's presence, but his desire to protect Josie was evident. Emma felt a peculiar sensation of envy. Her heart ached for the love that Sir Thomas and Josie clearly shared, a pure and genuine affection.

I am being silly. My marriage to Damien brought my family to this, back to the home we did not think we would ever be able to regain. It has served us well.

But Emma realized that she wanted more. Using the arranged marriage to improve her family's circumstances was not enough. She wanted to improve her own. Those of her heart, at least. She looked to Damien, who stood to one side, perusing the park and then the house. His eyes looked critical, his face closed. Since the afternoon tea in the Queen's Garden at Buckingham Palace a week previously, he had acquired a new injury.

“How does your shoulder feel?” she asked, walking towards him.

“ Tolerable ,” he replied shortly.

“You are becoming accident-prone. I worry.”

Damien's eyes flicked to Rosie for a moment.

“You needn't. It is a temporary state of affairs.”

“Do you think Sir Thomas will ask for Papa's blessing today?” Rosie gossiped, “I have been aware that he has become increasingly nervous as the day has worn on.”

“Very perceptive, Rosie,” Emma pondered aloud, “I think he might. I have observed the same thing. But I am not sure that he has won father over yet. Even with the endorsement of the Duke.”

Rosie nodded somberly. “I have the same fear, though Josie believes in the sunniest outcome at all times. Papa is just not convinced that Sir Thomas is a man of enough substance.”

“Again, I would say very perceptive. Whenever did you become such a reader of people?” Emma arched a brow.

“You have your ability to organize and find solutions to problems. I have my perception. It is the gossip sheets that the skill comes from, they give you something of an insight into human nature.”

Damien snorted, and Emma glared at him. Rosie scowled, stepping away from her sister's comforting shoulder.

“You mock, Your Grace, but I should pay more attention to what the gossip sheets say, were I you.”

Damien looked at her askance. “I care nothing for gossip.”

“Then why the sudden and urgent need to marry my sister?” Rosie asked. “She is clearly not with child, and your relationship is just as clearly not based on love.”

“Rosie!” Emma gasped in horror.

“My relationship is not your business,” Damien said coldly.

“My sister is my business, Your Grace. I appreciate that it was you who spoke up for Sir Thomas and that it was your money that meant we are free of our debtors at long last. But I have seen my sister as happy as anything in your company, and I have seen her equally as miserable. Do not deny it, Emma.”

Emma listened, open-mouthed. She glanced at Damien. He looked irritated, but there was something else in his face—in the aversion of his eyes and the twitches of his stony expression.

Was that… guilt?

“I shall go inside. My perception tells me you are more suited to each other than Sir Thomas and Josie. If you would both open your eyes to it,” Rosie grumbled.

She walked away, dabbing at her eyes. Emma looked at Damien, who glowered after Rosie. Then he looked at Emma.

“Do you think there is truth in what my sister says?” Emma asked.

“I think she sees a mutual attraction between us. That has been there since the beginning, but it is not enough. We are both driven by motives that had nothing to do with love,” Damien replied.

“Does it not? Is it purely physical, do you think?”

Of course, it is. He is attractive, but he only sought me out because of the rumors I had been foolish enough to spread. He needed a wife from a respectable family, not because he wanted me in particular and certainly not because he was in love with me.

She told herself she was being pragmatic but was saddened by it. Part of her wanted him to deny that there was no love between them and could never be.

“It is, and, of course, a transaction. A business arrangement. You have gained the financial independence of your family and I have gained the respectable wife that I needed. It is an arrangement of mutual benefit.”

She wanted to tell him that such beginnings to marriage did not preclude the development of love. It did not need to be present initially but could come later if allowed. But she sensed it would be futile.

“You are right that there is a mutual attraction. A deep-seated one. I have felt it since the beginning, but I have denied its reality because I was so affronted at being forced into marriage and...”

“And because you are ashamed of your own body,” Damien said quietly.

Emma looked around quickly, but the others had gone into the house.

“Shall we walk?” she asked, wanting to be sure of no eavesdroppers, “I know the Eastwick Woods like the back of my hand.”

Damien offered his arm, but Emma hesitated to take it.

“Should I pretend when there is none to see me do it?”

“ Pretend ?” Damien asked.

“That we are a husband and wife. We are in the eyes of the law, but not in the eyes of God, and certainly not in the eyes of each other.”

“He sees the truth in our hearts. Our reasons,” Damien muttered, “and if he does not, then he can go hang,”

Emma made to roll her eyes, but he took her hand and threaded it through his arm with purpose.

“So yes, you should, because I enjoy having you close to me.”

Emma took a shallow breath, unable to contain the genuine smile that this enigmatic man seemed to so simply draw from her—at the strangest of times.

They promenaded around the house, following a gravel path that moss had invaded. The borders were equally as wild, flowers mixed with those seeded themselves. Beyond was a gate set into a stone fence and then trees, which reached over the walls to almost brush the house's exterior.

“I am ashamed of my deformity,” Emma admitted candidly.

“There is no need—” Damien began, but the sincerity in her eyes gave him pause. He fell silent and let her speak her mind.

“I… I have always felt it made me less of a woman,” she continued, summoning all her courage to say it so openly. “That I did not deserve anything intimate, and this was fate’s way of making that decision for me. It was why I never wished to marry, why I avoided courting like the plague.”

They stepped through the gate and began following a path between tall birch, elm, and ash. Sunlight filtered between interlaced branches, dappling the ground.

“Yet, you say there is no need to be ashamed. And you have seen me... without my clothing. You have... touched, and...”

“Gloried in your nakedness,” Damien finally finished for her.

She looked at him, seeing the upturned corners of his mouth and the fierce desire in his eyes.

“Yes. But your words are just that. Words . We find it easy to speak of things we do not feel, don't we? When they suit best our interests. I have seen you do it too many times for the rest of the ton first-hand. How can I know it is all not the same?”

Damien pondered for a moment. “You are correct in your assertions of my behavior. There would be little I could say or do that would change your mind. All I can say is, on this matter, I speak the truth. From the moment I laid my eyes on you first, no woman has compared to your beauty.”

Emma tightened her grip on his arm and pressed her body against his. She saw his eyes close for the briefest of seconds. Half of a heartbeat. Saw the shiver that ran through him.

Pleasure or revulsion?

His cologne was musky with a hint of spice. The soap he used mingled with it, as did the fragrance of his laundered clothes, to produce something entirely and uniquely him . Emma had become accustomed to it, when she dined with him, when she walked arm in arm with him, on those few occasions when his reserve appeared to break down and desire flooded through, those occasions when he held her in his arms. Those moments haunted her dreams thereafter.

She colored prettily. “And yet we do not share a bed. We have shared moments of intimacy, sparingly so, but you always become cold afterward. It is as if you are at war with yourself. Allow yourself moments of weakness and then become angry at the weakness. At yourself,” Emma said, fearing his reaction to such openness.

Damien stared at the ground, brows furrowed. His eyes stared through the bluebells, the moss, and the tree roots to something that Emma could not see—to a place she could not follow him to.

“I thought that… given the forced nature of our marriage, the least I could do would be to free you from any worry of being obligated into marital relations that you did not want. I have made it clear why I sought our marriage. You have made it clear why you accepted. And you seemed content with the arrangement.”

“Because I did not believe that you desired any more from me,” Emma said breathlessly. “And because I desired the touch of no man—none at all. But now, the idea still leaves me wanting to run away, but if the man is you...”

“Any feelings you may believe you have for me are based on a fallacy,” Damien interjected curtly.

“And what is that?” Emma asked.

“You believe that you know me. You do not.”

“Then enlighten me!” Emma cried, “I am your co-conspirator in this plan to fool the ton and the Regent and restore the reputation of your name. Or our name, for I am now a Fitzgerald, too! Trust me further and tell me what I do not know!”

Damien tried to pull away from her, but Emma would not allow it. She clung to his arm, placing herself before him, seeking his eyes. Damien looked away, and there was open war on his face.

Fighting the desire to tell her all.

What held him back? What secret did he have that he could not utter? She did not know how much longer she could bear living this lie. To want so much and know that she would always be outside the wall he surrounded himself with.

“I swore an oath to one that I would not, can not betray,” Damien said, brokenly, “and if you knew the full truth, you would wish that you did not.”

“An oath? To whom?” Emma pressed.

“To my brother,” Damien whispered.

“But your brother is at rest. Passed away. It is laudable that you wish to keep your promise, but surely he would not ask you to hide it from your...”

“No!” Damien snapped, “You do not understand what you ask.”

“Because you will not explain!” Emma groused. “I cannot simply lock away a part of myself and live a lie. I thought I could for the sake of duty and my family, but I cannot!”

“We will continue as we are,” Damien uttered, but Emma could see the emotion he held viciously in check. Water swelled in his eyes, and he could not bring himself to look at her.

“ We will continue as we are . Living a lie and denying the desire of our own hearts. To what end? I cannot continue like this,” Emma whispered.

“We must,” Damien replied stonily.

His face was closed, and his eyes were hard again. Emma flung herself away from him, tears blurring her vision. She turned and ran, letting the trees envelop her.