Page 27 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke (Marriage by Midnight #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

E mma watched the patterns of shifting sunlight on the woodland floor as the branches above wavered in the breeze. Her head lay upon her husband's chest.

My husband, in truth now, as well as name. Mine.

She smiled at the memory of what they had shared together. At the memory of the pleasure he had brought to her and she to him. For the first time since the fateful night when her innocence had almost been taken from her, she did not feel ashamed. Did not feel that she needed to hide herself away. Her body lay in the soft grass, naked next to that of Damien, and she gloried in it. His hand gently stroked her back, tracing a path along her spine.

“I did not intend for this to happen, but I am glad that it did,” Damien whispered.

“As am I. Is this the end of our marriage of convenience nonsense?”

“I think so.”

It was a reply that filled Emma with warmth.

“I am glad that I was finally able to bring you to your senses,” she said with a smile.

“Senses? I have always been in my right mind in this. It was a most careful plan we hatched,” Damien murmured.

“We?”

Emma lifted her head to look at him.

“My confidante and manservant, Wilkins,” Damien replied quickly.

“Oh. To marry in order to gain respectability among the ton?”

“Not exactly. That was merely another means to the end I wanted. You see, my father did not believe that he had an heir worthy of him. He entrusted the final decision on his successor to the Regent. In effect, he became Regent of the Fitzgerald house as well as the country. I had to prove to him that I could marry well and uphold my father's legacy.”

“Or he would take away your Dukedom?” Emma asked, disbelieving, “Surely that cannot happen.”

“It can when the title has perpetually been in dispute. My father was challenged for his title by his brother, a twin who maintained that he was the elder. King George settled that in favor of my father. I faced the same challenge from Jacob, the elder of Henry Fitzgerald's sons. My father had foreseen it and spoken to the Regent before he died. If I could not prove myself to the Regent, he would rule in Jacob's favor.”

“I see ,” Emma said, thoughtfully. “So marrying me was to protect your birthright. I thought it was simply your reputation. I see the stakes were much higher.”

“ Much higher.”

“But now resolved. The Regent seemed impressed with me, did he not? We have attended his ball and the Queen's Garden Party. We will attend Ascot in a couple of weeks.”

Damien turned to face her, and the pressure of his body against hers sent a thrill through her. His leg slipped between hers, his thigh pushing up until it pressed against her womanhood. His hand cupped her hips.

“Yes, you did. A most excellent job. I am both proud and impressed.”

“I feel your pride in me,” Emma said with a catch in her voice.

His pride was an inexorable and growing pressure against her, pressed between their bodies.

“Emma! Emma!” came Rosie's voice distantly.

Distant, but not distant enough.

“We are missed,” Damien murmured.

“We are married. We do not require chaperones.”

“Nevertheless, you have worked hard to make me respectable,” Damien chuckled.

Emma's arms held onto him fiercely, exploring his hard body while her hips pressed insistently against his. His words came in gasps.

“I would not undo all my hard work,” Emma whispered without releasing him.

Damien laughed, a soft, hoarse sound that came because his wife's hungry kisses denied him words.

“Emma! Where have you got to? We are leaving now!” Rosie called again.

She sounded closer. Emma released Damien, looking into his eyes for a moment.

“There will be plenty of time at Redmane,” Damien assured her, kissing her tenderly.

They dressed, concealing Emma's ruined petticoat beneath some bushes, and began to stroll back through the woods towards the sound of Rosie's voice.

“Will you tell me about the injuries you seem to accrue?” Emma asked.

Damien frowned. “I have.”

“That looks like a burn on your shoulder,” she pressed.

“It was an accident. Mills are dangerous places.”

Suddenly so evasive again. She had broken through his walls, but there was an inner keep that she could not breach. What secrets did he keep?

Later that night, Emma lay in Damien's bed back at Redmane, listening to the soft, deep breaths of his slumber. She was tired, her body worn out by their lovemaking, but her mind refused to accept sleep. The close physical presence of Damien meant that she was acutely aware of his scars and his latest injury. Scars could not be explained away as the dangers of a mill. Not unless he was actually working there, which was ludicrous.

Moonlight fell through a gap in the curtains in a cold, white bar. It provided enough light for Emma to find her dressing gown after she had carefully risen from the bed.

It was no use lying awake and letting the same thoughts bounce around inside her head. It would be a much better use of her time to walk and let physical exertion quell her mind. She had not yet fully explored Redmane.

Damien did not stir as she carefully closed the bedroom door behind her and stole through their apartments on the house's top floor. She opened doors at random, examining the rooms she found and working her way down. On the ground floor were the rooms she was more familiar with. The reception room, the dining room, the library, and the drawing room. As she stood in the Great Hall, surrounded by darkness, a faint sound reached her. She frowned, thinking it was her imagination. A clock chimed the hour somewhere in the house and the sound was lost.

That sounded like a violin. I must have imagined it.

The squeak of a barely suppressed scream coming from behind her made her jump. Whirling, she saw Elsie standing in the doorway leading to the servant's staircase. Elsie had a hand to her mouth and, in her fright, had dropped the candle she carried.

It caught the edge of a tablecloth, and Elsie squeaked again, rushing to the sudden flare-up of fire. Emma did likewise, and the two women smothered the nascent blaze with the fabric of their dressing gowns.

“Lady Emma. You gave me such a fright. Whatever are you doing up at this hour?” Elsie asked.

“I could not sleep and decided to explore the house some. What about you?” she answered.

Her maid smiled coyly. “I could not sleep either, because I indulged in some foolish talk over dinner about ghosts.”

Emma furrowed her brows. “ Ghosts ?”

“Aye, ghosts. I could not sleep, and then I heard a noise up here and decided to settle my mind by proving to myself that it was purely natural. Not a phantom. Nearly ended me when I saw you standing there!”

Emma shivered at the thought. “Let us not compound our frights by talking of ghosts here in this great dark hall. A hot, sweet cup of tea in the kitchen will settle us both,” she whispered.

She let Elsie lead the way down the servant's stairs and along the corridor to the kitchen. It was large and high-ceilinged but warmly lit with candles and lamps. Emma sat at the huge table in the middle of the room as Elsie busied herself, putting water on to boil.

“What is this talk of ghosts then?” Emma asked.

“Something the staff told me. They have all heard the sound of a violin being played in the dead of night. Somewhere… upstairs.”

“And they know it is not the Duke?” Emma questioned.

Damien had not spoken of a musical aptitude, but she did not know everything about him yet.

“They do. The music room is locked and has been since the late Duchess, the Duke's mother, passed away. The Duke has never played.”

Emma’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It is odd. I thought I heard the sound of a violin coming from somewhere before the clock chimed. I thought I must be imagining it. Who is the ghost supposed to be?”

“They believe it to be the Duchess, the wife of the former Duke. She was a lover of music and wished to teach it to her sons, but her husband would not allow it. That's what they tell me anyway,” Elsie shrugged lightly, bringing a teapot to the table. “She is supposed to haunt the music room as that is where the music is heard from, but it has been locked up since the old Duke's day.”

“Hmm. And where is this music room?” Emma asked.

“On the fourth floor.”

As Elsie poured two cups of tea, Emma gaped at her.

“The fourth floor? I thought this house possessed only three.”

“The fourth floor has been sealed except for a single stair that leads up into a tower,” Elsie replied.

Emma found herself quite stupefied.

Had she paid attention to the outside of the house, she would surely have noticed. Damien had never mentioned a floor above his rooms.

Our rooms. They are our rooms now.

That sense of proprietorship excited Emma. She sipped her tea, suppressing a smile but knowing that her cheeks were flushing. Then, her mind returned to the mysterious music she had thought she had heard.

Was it my imagination? If other members of the household have heard it, then it cannot be. But if so, then who or what is it?