Page 7 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke (Marriage by Midnight #2)

CHAPTER SEVEN

D amien chose to ride to Montrose Hall. The day was fine and warm, and he always preferred the freedom of the open air to the close confinement of a carriage. The house was modest in its proportions but showing signs of age and wear. As he dismounted before the house, he wondered at the flaking paint visible here and there and the overgrown state of the park.

Was this a reflection of Montrose’s means? Damien did not seek a dowry, but perhaps it was fortunate. He may not have the money to provide one. He must not allow that subject to be raised. It would dishonor him and may spoil the plan.

A servant took his horse to the stables and Damien was led into the house where he was greeted by Duncan and Emma Montrose. Emma's auburn hair was lustrous, falling in waves to her bare shoulders. Her skin was pale and pristine. Her verdant dress complimented her figure, clinging and hinting at what lay beneath. Her eyes, paler than her hair and alive with suppressed vigor, captivated him. After bowing over her hand, he had to force his eyes away from her.

My God but she is beautiful. Steel yourself, old boy.

“Will you join me in the library for brandy and a cigar before dinner?” Duncan remarked. “And we may discuss the business at hand.”

Damien was about to answer when he heard the door open behind him and a servant announce a new arrival.

“Sir Silas Sutherland.”

Emma looked to Duncan. Duncan Montrose looked beyond Damien to the newcomer. His face hardened. Damien turned. A man with dark hair and a long, pinched face was striding through the door towards them. He swung a cane with a jaunty flourish, looking for all the world like he owned the house he had just entered.

“Sir Silas, welcome!” Duncan greeted enthusiastically.

Now, Damien was no self-proclaimed reader of men, but had he detected a hint of unpleasantness in the man’s tone?

“Montrose, a pleasure as always. Lady Emma, an especial pleasure. Might Lady Josephine be somewhere nearby too?”

He ignored Damien and looked around as though expecting Josephine to be hiding behind the drapes.

“She is preparing for dinner,” Emma smiled.

“Excellent. I am particularly looking forward to this evening!”

Damien looked askance at Emma, then to Duncan.

“Oh, forgive my manners, Your Grace,” Duncan hastened to put in. “May I introduce Sir Silas Sutherland. Sir Silas, allow me to introduce His Grace, the Duke of Redmane.”

Sir Silas' eyes widened a touch at the name, then narrowed before being hidden behind a grin.

“Your Grace, an unexpected honor and pleasure. I assumed I would be the only guest to dine tonight.”

“As did I…” Damien intoned slowly.

There was something about this man that he positively disliked. It was utterly baffling that one man should have such a sense of proprietorship over another man’s home. Why did Montrose allow it?

“I should think that we have one or two private matters to hammer out before dinner, do we not, Montrose?” Silas sneered, nudging the Earl in the ribs.

Damien gaped at the gesture in utter confusion.

Montrose had the good grace to look uncomfortable at such brusqueness directed towards his other guest and the inappropriate use of his name. It was correct for Montrose's social equals or superiors to refer to him by his title alone. It was entirely unorthodox for an inferior to do so. Unless that inferior was quite supremely arrogant.

“Yes, of course, Sir Silas. Weighty matters,” Duncan replied with a nervous chuckle. “Would you perhaps excuse us, Your Grace?”

Startled, Damien bowed his head and watched as Montrose led his new guest away. Then he glanced at Emma, realizing that the two of them were alone.

Emma’s frown flicked to a smile the moment she noticed him observing. “Would you care for a tour of the park and grounds, Your Grace?” she hastened to fill the silence.

The park was unkempt, and the gardens were quite possibly not much better.

“Do you ride, Lady Emma?”

“Did we not dispense with the honorifics at our last meeting?” Emma furrowed her brows.

“So we did,” Damien replied. “Do you? Ride, I mean?”

“I prefer driving. I drive our trap and the carriage when we used to... and the carriage ,” Emma quickly finished, stammering over the last few words.

Damien did not miss the hesitation and wondered briefly at its significance.

She used to drive the carriage when? When they owned one? The implication was that they no longer did. This would be more evidence that Montrose desperately needed to marry off his daughters.

“A drive in the trap then,” Damien said slowly, “I would rather that than sit about waiting.”

What an enigmatic family.

Emma colored as if reading his thoughts. “I am sorry about that. Sir Silas is... well, he is quite insistent.”

“Who is he?” Damien asked matter-of-factly.

“An old... acquaintance of my father,” Emma said carefully before nodding. “Yes. I'll see if Josephine is free to join us. Rosaline shan’t be up for hours yet, but Josie should be free. We can go as far as the Nettlebed and back. It is a pleasant drive.”

Damien nodded, still curious about Sir Silas but equally keen to be more amenable than he had been on his last meeting with Emma. He remembered to smile and received a thrill when it was returned. Emma's smile truly shone, making her eyes sparkle, and displaying a dimple on each cheek. Damien reminded himself that this woman and her family were manipulating him or trying to through judiciously placed gossip. Despite that remonstrance, it remained difficult for him to resist that smile or those pretty dimples.

He waited while Emma went to fetch her sister, whom Damien understood to be the youngest of Duncan Montrose's three daughters. Presently, Emma returned with a slightly younger woman who smiled shier and curtsied deeper.

“Your Grace is a most excellent dancer,” she said, blushing, “I caught you and Emma dancing. It was very graceful.”

“I can assure you, Lady Josephine, that I am surprised. I am more than a little out of practice. It has been several years since I danced. I certainly am not up to your standard. You were very elegant in your dances with Sir Thomas Donovan.”

“You take an interest in your guests,” Emma commented.

“My duty as a host,” Damien replied smoothly.

“Thank you very much for the invitations, Your Grace,” Josie blushed.

Emma smiled at her, and Damien felt slightly warm at the notion that he had made both of them happy. It did not last long. He could not escape the knowledge of what he was planning and how it would affect the lives of the Montrose family.

A few brief moments later, they were all three in the trap. It leaped from the stable yard under what Damien judged to be expert hands. Josie fell back in her seat, clutching her bonnet. Damien found himself swaying as Emma drove them around looping bends, up and down a dale.

Every so often, a bend left Damien leaning against his driver. He steadied himself with a hand to the seat behind Emma and another on the footrest in front. His body pressed against Emma's in those moments. He was acutely aware of her gentle warmth, the soft scent of her soap and perfume. Her hair wafted in the wind of their passage, occasionally drifting onto Damien's shoulder.

She was looking ahead, eyes fixed in concentration, brow furrowed. Her profile was quite extraordinarily beautiful. Never before had he seen a woman so charming. She glanced at him as the road straightened, running down a gentle slope with the town of Nettlebed in front of them, nestled among the Chiltern Hills. It was only the briefest of glances; she was far too accomplished a driver to look away from the road for too long. But it seemed to Damien to last entire minutes.

Indeed, she sees the effect she has. Sitting this close, how can I conceal my attraction? I should not have agreed to this.

Emma's cheeks colored, though Damien supposed it might have been the rushing air against her face. She softly bit her lower lip, and it almost felt like she was leaning into him when the trap turned in his direction. Then, the moment passed. She was looking ahead again, and their furious passage slowed. They crossed a humpback bridge over a brightly chattering river and entered the town.

The High Street was lined with an assortment of businesses: shops, a bakery, a butcher, a smithy, and an inn. At the end of the cobbled High Street was a church, square towered and proud. A green stood before the church with a well and a gaggle of ducks waddled across to the stream beside it.

Emma received various people with cheery greetings before pulling the trap into the inn's stable yard. Damien alighted, then turned to help down the two sisters.

“You handle it well,” he said, adjusting his coat. “Fast as the devil, too.”

“Riding with Emma always feels like a wager with fate,” Josie said with a grin, her cheeks pink from the wind.

Emma laughed. “Shall we show His Grace something of the town?”

Josie nodded studiously. “It is a lovely place, Your Grace. Do you know it?”

Damien swept a glance around the comely pasture of cobblestone. “No. Can’t say I have explored this district to any degree.”

Emma frowned over at him. “But you were raised here, were you not?”

They left the stable yard onto the High Street, facing the picturesque church.

“I was, indeed,” Damien replied simply.

He was reluctant to go into any great detail of his childhood. When such conversations arose, he became acutely aware of those marks marring his back and of his brother’s, who had been rendered an invalid by their tyrannical father.

“Should this not be the district you know best of all then?” Emma persisted.

Is she needling me? I have given her cause to wish so, though I regret the necessity. But necessity it is. I can afford to think of little else but my revenge.

He glared at her, and her cheeks flushed. Quickly, she looked away.

“It should be. Perhaps I will take the opportunity of my inheritance to become acquainted with the county and the area of my home,” Damien said, “A guide would be most useful.”

He looked to Emma again, who did not look back this time. Damien felt the lack of response keenly. He wanted her to look, liked the feel of her eyes upon him. Those pale, hazel eyes were like a physical touch, a caress. That brought memories of her kisses and her touches. The feel of her hands upon him was something he found himself craving. The recollection of it almost brought the physical sensations with it.

“I should be glad to serve as your guide, Your Grace,” Josie said brightly, “though no one in our family knows the roads and byways like Emma. Rain, wind, or shine, she is out and about, and I daresay she knows every track and footpath for miles.”

Damien smiled politely and watched Emma's reaction from the corner of his eye. When he and Harry formed this plan, Damien thought sparing his wife's feelings would be irrelevant. She would be a Duchess and live a life of comfort and wealth. Now, he wished he could turn back the clock and approach Emma more delicately. To not have been so forceful and arrogant.

Is it too late? But, of course, it always has been. I must be steadfast, though it means hurting her feelings.

“I should be very grateful,” Damien charmed.

“I will, of course, do everything I can to cooperate,” Emma muttered.

Josie looked at her sister with a frown and then turned back to Damien with a smile. Damien felt the frostiness in Emma's response and knew that Josie did not understand it. She had not been privy to the events at Redmane Manor four days ago. They reached the church, where the road split into two. One ran up a hill crested by trees, the other between two rows of neat, terraced cottages and wound out of sight.

“The churchyard is lovely, especially in summer!” Josie exclaimed. “Shall we take a turn around it?”

“Or should we climb Windmill Hill to show His Grace the view from the top?” Emma suggested.

Emma's face now had a smile and a hint of mischief in her tone. Josie looked at the hill, her smile slipping somewhat. Damien noticed a horse tethered to the church's lynch gate just inside, munching contentedly at the grass. Josie kept looking at it.

“Oh, but the hill is far too steep in this weather. I think the churchyard would be much cooler. Far better. Don’t you think, Your Grace?”

There was such hopeful eagerness in her face that Damien could not help but agree. Emma was smiling broadly until she caught Damien's eye. It melted away, and she became stony-faced once more. Damien suppressed a smirk.

They went through the lynch gate and Josie made a fuss of the horse, a brown mare, calling it by name. Then she looked towards the church door where a man was stepping out.

“Oh, look! It is Sir Thomas Donovan!” she cried, “what an unexpected coincidence.”

She hurried away to greet Sir Thomas, who responded in kind, a broad grin splitting his face.

Emma rolled her eyes. “I think that Josie has hoodwinked us both.”

Damien tilted his head. “This gentleman is a… particular friend, isn’t he?”

“Very particular ,” Emma intoned. “Papa would disapprove for Sir Thomas does not possess a title. So, Josie meets him in secret whenever she can.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Emma looked like she wanted them back. Her cheeks colored, and she looked away with a sharp twist of the head, folding her arms. Damien recognized some of her physical traits and deduced this one was anger.

“I should be glad to speak to your father on Sir Thomas' behalf,” Damien put in.

Emma frowned for a moment. “I should not have even mentioned it. It is our business, not yours.”

“But you did mention it, and I should be glad to assist,” Damien added.

“Do you imagine your title would influence my father?” she asked.

“It has to be useful for something,” Damien shrugged, “perhaps if I vouch for the fellow—”

“But you do not know him,” Emma replied challengingly. “Or us. So why are you really doing this?”

Now, she faced him, and Damien met her gaze squarely.

“I should like to know you better then,” he said, “and for what it is worth, I am sorry that our first meeting went... the way it did. That is not how I would have had it happen. I am trying to make amends.”

“By forcing me to marry you?” Emma scoffed.

“By avoiding scandal . I did not begin the rumors,” Damien reminded, his tone mirroring Emma's unconsciously.

“And I don’t anticipate those rumors requiring such an outcome,” Emma replied.

“Perhaps you should not have begun them then?” Damien muttered hotly.

“Is it my fault that a woman cannot choose to remain unmarried without facing pressure from her family and her peers? Without being regarded as an oddity for choosing to be a spinster? That is why I went to the extraordinary lengths that I went to!” Emma grated in a hushed tone.

They had stepped closer to each other as their conversation spiraled into another overblown argument. Damien found himself ensnared by her eyes even as he was enraged by her words. Anger mixed with a desire to form a potent, passionate brew within him.

“That is hardly my fault either,” Damien retorted, “if you only knew...”

“Well then, tell me! If it explains your extraordinary behavior, then I have a right to know, do I not?”

Damien drew breath to tell her of his enemies. Of his revenge. Of his brother. But he clamped his mouth shut, clenching his fists in frustration.

Emma suddenly looked around.

“Where are Josie and Sir Thomas?”

Damien looked too. The young couple had quietly slipped away.