Page 5 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke (Marriage by Midnight #2)
CHAPTER FIVE
D amien strode away, leaving Emma with the brutal finality of his words.
She must think me uncaring and cold. But, Lord help me, I do not know if I can maintain that facade in her presence. She is a witch! I am bewitched!
He could not return to his guests, though he knew he should. Instead, he made his way to the nearest staircase and ascended.
On the third floor, he walked past his private chambers, around a corner, and then to the end of the hallway. A doorway led to a staircase that descended. The sound of violin music reached him.
Ignoring the stairs, he pressed a panel in the wall just inside the door. It clicked and then swung inward, forming a door, beyond which was another stair, much narrower. The ceiling was slanted, and Damien had to stoop to pass beneath. There was no light, and dust was disturbed by his footsteps. No servants were permitted into this part of the house. The faint sound of music came from behind a door at the top of the staircase.
When he opened the door, the music grew louder. It was the single, sad song of a violin, played masterfully by someone who knew how to make the instrument sing a heartbreaking song of melancholy. A narrow spiral staircase rose before him. The narrow stone was lit at its summit by a glow of firelight from above. Another door was set into the far wall, recessed into an ancient stone arch.
Damien stepped up into a circular room beneath a conical roof in which he could see pigeons roosting. A man sat before the fire, dressed in a patched and frayed gown over an ancient shirt and breeches. His breath clouded the air before him, and the fire that cast its glow into the room was small and did little to give warmth. Damien rubbed his gloved hands together as the man looked to him. The violinist had clear blue eyes, and his thinning hair was pale gold.
“How can you play so nimbly with numb fingers?” Damien wondered aloud, taking a seat across from the man.
“Because, brother, I welcome the cold. Fire holds too many bad memories for myself. I do not regard it as an ally as you do.”
Damien's face was his but lined with complex years. His voice was also his but cracked by experience. Damien grinned, the grin of a hungry wolf.
“Fire has been a strong ally to me this last year, Harry.”
Harold Fitzgerald, known to everyone as Harry until his supposed death, carefully put down the violin and sat, his chair angled away from the fire.
“I would not have a fire in here at all, but I need the light and cannot abide the brightness of lamps. A candle and a small fire in the hearth is all I require. To see where I am putting my fingers on the strings.”
“I do not like the idea of leaving you locked away here, Harold,” Damien murmured, holding out his flat palms inches from the hearth.
Harry sighed. “A necessary evil. I do not wish the burden of the Dukedom. Its weight would break me. But if the world believes me to be alive, I will be forced to take on the Dukedom, or see the children of that villain Baron Hellesden challenge for it.”
“Our father was the villain,” Damien reminded.
“The Fitzgerald brothers were equal in villainy, though the world did not know it. We both bear the scars of our father's villainy. And our legacy bears the hallmarks of his obsession with only the strongest heir being allowed to inherit,” Harry said wearily, before waving a cavalier hand. “This is a conversation that has been had. I do not want to go over it every time I see you, little brother. It is corroding.”
Damien nodded somberly. “Sometimes it is harder not to tread past paths.”
He looked at his older brother, the rightful heir to Redmane. He was a shadow of the youth Damien remembered as a child. His face was haggard, and Damien knew that he couldn't stir far from the chair in which he sat—not unaided.
“I reside in this tower of shame because the world cannot yet know the truth. Be strong, brother. We have planned for this. I take it from your demeanor the ball progressed smoothly and you have spoken with the lady concerned?”
“I have. It does not sit well with me,” Damien muttered.
“She will gain a husband of stature and wealth. Her family will gain by association with ours. And we will secure our future.”
Damien sighed. “Yes, yes, I know all of that. It is just not how I believe a gentleman should behave.”
Harry raised a trembling hand to his gaunt cheek. Damien saw how exhausted he looked and regretted his comment.
“Another necessary evil,” Harry mumbled, “but you can end this plan now. Go down to the Montrose family and tell them you were angry and did not mean it. The scandal will brew, as they intended; it will poison our reputation, and the sons of our uncle will be waiting to claim what they believe is their birthright.”
Damien stared into the fire pensively, hands clasped behind his back now. “There is no other way?” he asked.
“Of course. You may seek another wife. You are a Duke, and many families will wish to ally themselves with you. But what is your plan? How will a search for a wife to comply with the terms of our father's will interfere with those plans?”
Damien turned suddenly, glaring.
“Nothing must interfere with that,” he said firmly.
“Then we must proceed with the plan we agreed on. Emmelline Montrose will become your wife and accept the marriage terms. Because she must do so if she wishes to avoid scandal for her family. That will prevent our cousins from claiming our birthright and leave you free to carry out your revenge.”