Page 8 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke (Marriage by Midnight #2)

CHAPTER EIGHT

E mma and Damien hurried across the churchyard and into the church. It was calm, dark, and quiet inside, with no sign of the young lovers. By the time they stepped back into the sun, Sir Thomas' mare had also disappeared.

“It seems they took the opportunity of our arguing to escape their chaperones,” Damien drawled.

“Papa will be furious if he finds out they went alone!” Emma wrung her hands in panic. “Josie has always been headstrong and somewhat reckless.”

Damien suppressed a snort of laughter inadequately. Emma shot him a level look.

“Did you find something amusing, Your Grace?”

“After that ride in the trap, I think recklessness must run in this family,” Damien chuckled.

Emma glared at him. “Your pardon, Your Grace. But I am not reckless.”

“There was not one part of you that enjoyed the thrill?” Damien asked, “Or the excitement of an illicit kiss?”

Emma colored, making her eyes stand out beautifully.

“That would make you equally reckless,” she said quietly.

“I am,” Damien agreed, thinking of recent events of which Emma knew nothing.

I bear bruises and burns from my recklessness. Cuts that will leave scars. New scars to join the old.

He looked at Emma, who stood just a few feet away—close enough to reach out and touch. Suddenly, the urge to do just that was almost overwhelming. He even raised his hand from his side before recovering his self-control and running it through his hair instead.

“I think they will have decided to walk up Windmill Hill. There are many secluded spots in the thicket atop the hill,” Emma nodded sagely, “Yes, we should begin our search there.”

She blushed again. “If you are happy to help me look for them, that is.”

“I was allowed a say?” Damien teased, and Emma rolled her eyes.

As they left the churchyard, Emma was struggling with something.

Finally, she blurted out, “Oh, and thank you for your offer. To intercede on Josie's behalf with Papa. You do not know Sir Thomas yet, but you were willing to vouch for him to help someone you have just met. That was very kind.”

“I am not the brute that I presented myself as when we first met,” Damien replied, “nor do I wish to argue with you or be detested by you. Quite the opposite.”

“Let us not talk of it, please?” Emma asked plaintively, “It will only lead to an argument, and I do not wish that either.”

Nor I. But I must guard against the ridiculous feeling of happiness I experience when you tell me you do not wish to argue.

They were beginning to climb the hill, which was steeper than it looked. Mossy stone walls enclosed the road, and fields were to either side. The sun quickly grew hot, and Damien found himself anticipating the generous shade of the trees at the top.

“May I ask why you are so against marriage?” he put into the silence.

He noticed Emma's right hand going to her side at that moment. She caught his eye, and her hand dropped away again.

“I simply do not wish my entire existence to be dedicated to finding a husband. I am not against marriage per se .”

Damien kept his gaze forward. “I tend to agree. I became Duke three years ago and have been urged to find a wife and produce an heir. I was not ready to do either.”

“Young men are afforded the freedom to do as they wish, which young women are not,” Emma noted, though not argumentatively.

She was puffing as she climbed, as was Damien.

“I have not been wasting myself in sport,” he remarked, “I just… have a purpose beyond simply perpetuating the Fitzgerald line.”

“And that is?” Emma asked, somewhat breathless.

Damien shook his head.

Once again, I am bewitched. I gave up words I did not intend to speak aloud in her hearing. It is unfair that she has this effect on me while she remains safe within her armor.

They reached the summit of the hill and the blessed shade of the trees atop it. To one side of the road, the woods were thick, and to the other, the sails of a windmill were visible. There was a gentle breeze up here, as the sound of the creaking sails combined with the gentle swaying rush of the mingling tree branches.

There was no sign of their quarry, however.

Emma pointed to a trail that led into the trees through a gap in the wall.

“That path runs for miles and is a favorite of Josie's for its views along the hillside. Shall we try there?” she put forth.

Damien nodded decisively and followed Emma through the gap, which would have been wide enough to accommodate a horse into the trees. There was no sign of anybody else on the hilltop.

“It occurs that in saving your sister from scandal, we might expose ourselves to the same,” Damien noted.

“Then we shall simply have to make sure we are not seen. Better I am the subject of scandal than Josie,” Emma said without a hint of hesitation.

“Admirable selflessness. Do you always put your family above yourself?” Damien asked.

The path quickly led them into thick woods. Damien was reminded of the woodland he had taken refuge in near York to escape militia hunting for the man who had set light to a mill of the Fitzgerald family. The heavy smell of char and smoke hung in the air for a moment, haunting him.

“It is my duty,” Emma said.

“What of you?” Damien asked.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “What of me?”

“When do you put yourself first? Or allow someone else to?”

Emma bit her lower lip, setting Damien's blood racing. He swallowed, wanting to look away to hide his armor but unable to.

“Is that flirtation I sense?” Emma frowned.

Perhaps she had aggressively meant the words. A means by which she could defuse the moment into another argument and thereby deny her feelings. There was a hint of challenge in her voice. But only a hint.

“I do not think I have the right, but ordinarily... y es , I suppose it would be,” Damien nodded.

Emma turned away and continued walking along the path. It emerged from the trees onto a bright hillside high above the town. A dry stone wall ran along the crest of the ridge, which meandered along before descending into a narrow valley ahead. The babbling river they had crossed upon entering the town passed swiftly through that valley and out of sight. The sound of gay laughter and thundering hoofbeats reached them. Emma dashed to the wall, followed shortly by Damien.

Below them, they saw a rider with a young woman seated side-saddle in front of him galloping down the slope towards a wooden bridge just outside the town. Both whooped and shouted at the sheer joy of their adventure. Emma smiled.

“Oh well, so much for discretion. We will not catch them now,” she giggled.

Damien joined her at the wall, leaning on it and removing his hat.

“Nor would I wish to be the rain cloud dampening their day,” he shrugged. “Let them play. I will vouch for Sir Thomas as I promised. Perhaps it will win over your father in time.”

Emma looked at him, but he did not turn to return her gaze. Instead, he pretended to be savoring the vista out over Nettlebed and the surrounding countryside. When his attention was utterly focused on Emma. Her touch was a gentle caress that sent a tingle down his spine.

“I confess that I do not know how to flirt. I have had no practice in it,” Emma said quietly.

Now, Damien turned to face her. He twisted his upper body, straightening up from his relaxed posture. Emma looked up at him, holding his eyes and refusing to step back.

“Why is that? Will you tell me? I cannot understand why a woman like you has so firmly rejected the attentions of men… Unless you prefer the company of women?”

Emma laughed and blushed at the same time.

“I am not so inclined as Sappho and her followers, though I have read her poetry. Is that scandalous of me?”

Again, the mischief crept through, and Damien was entranced.

“ Exceptionally . I should be running for the hills,” he looked around at their elevated position, “well, for other hills,” he added with a grin, “after all, I am a Duke with a reputation to protect.”

“And I, a strange woman from an impoverished family who...” Emma clapped her hand over her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

“I understand,” Damien said gently. “I noted the signs of... shall we say… a household that does not have a surfeit of wealth. And did not once think to judge your character or any in your family by what I saw.”

Emma opened her eyes, looking angry. “I have said too much and find it happens more often than I would wish when I am...”

She stopped again, and Damien tried to predict the end of that sentence.

“ Preoccupied ,” Emma finished with a sigh, glancing sideways at Damien and then away. “Being told that I must marry is part of that.”

“Would it be so bad?” Damien asked. “Am I not offering you everything you could hope for? A marriage to end the pressure you feel from your family to conform to their expectations—a marriage in which you would not have to behave as a married woman in private. You can continue to live as you have. As a duchess, you may provide for your family's needs. A marriage of convenience for us both.”

Emma threw up her hands as though in the grip of passion.

“You make it sound all so rational and... and... logical . I can think of no argument to counter it. I can say nothing that makes sense, and I respect your point, and I cannot entirely disagree with it. And yet my heart… my heart says it is wrong. After all this time, my heart says that convenience should not be what drives me.”

Damien caught her arm and spun her to face him. The wind came up suddenly and cast her auburn hair across her face. Through it, he saw her fierce eyes. Carefully, he brushed aside her wayward hair, revealing her visage and the turmoil that painted it.

“Then what should drive you?” he asked gently.

Emma blinked. “Passion… Love ? I have never wanted it. Never missed it...”

“Do you say so? Your eyes say differently. Perhaps you tell yourself that you should not miss those things?”

“I do not. I have not,” Emma insisted.

Damien was being drawn to her. He was acutely aware his fingers still rested on her cheek, and she had not pulled away.

He fought desire, thinking of his revenge, the careful planning by two men, and the hatred he felt for his father.

Emma perched herself on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. Damien's thoughts flew from him like startled birds.

He cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs brushing along the delicate curve of her cheekbones. Her skin was maddeningly soft—like warm satin—and for a moment, he simply stared, utterly bewitched by the woman who had upended his reason.

Then their lips parted. Hers, not to speak, but to breathe—and he was utterly lost.

He kissed her this time.

Not gently. Not sweetly. But like a man half-starved and finally tasting water. Her lips met his in a clash of want and wonder, and she gave herself over with a soft, sinful sound that would echo in his bones for days. He drew her close, hands sliding from her face to her hips, hauling her against him until her feet left the ground.

She gasped as he pressed her back against the old stone wall, and the breath of it skimmed across his jaw, branding him. Her fingers twisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, as though she, too, could not bear the distance of a single inch.

“You drive me mad,” he growled against her lips.

“I take great pleasure,” she whispered back.

He laughed, low and rough, then lifted her onto the wall with a swift motion, settling himself between her knees. She didn’t protest. Instead, her skirts rustled, falling away from her legs just enough to reveal the pale silk of her stockings—and the bare skin above.

God above.

She curled her fingers into the nape of his neck and pulled him to her once more, their mouths colliding in a kiss far more desperate than the first.

There was no civility now. No restraint.

Emma’s hands were everywhere—sliding across his chest, tugging at the laces of his shirt, clawing as if to rip them away. His own hands found her bodice, his thumbs brushing reverently—then hungrily—along the luscious swell of her breasts. She let out a small, breathy moan that nearly undid him.

He kissed a line down her throat, tasting the frantic pulse that beat just beneath her skin. She arched into him, eyes fluttering closed, mouth parted in a soundless plea.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, teeth grazing her shoulder. “And I will.”

She opened her eyes—blue fire meeting molten gold.

“Lie to me again, and I just might.”

He groaned, half-laughing, half-cursing as he captured her mouth once more. Her fingers threaded into his hair, tugging. Her thighs shifted against him in open invitation.

And he took it.

His hands slid beneath her skirts this time, callused fingers traveling up silk-covered calves, then higher—to where silk ended and soft, bare skin began. She gasped, clutching his shoulders as he found the vulnerable underside of her thigh and swept his palm over it, boldly, possessively .

“ Damien… ”

She moaned—glorious, unrestrained—and it went straight to his core.

But just as he leaned in to claim her wet lips again, a sharp bleat of a sheep shattered the moment.

He stilled.

Emma froze.

They both turned, blinking like startled deer, as a shepherd wandered down the far slope, oblivious—or perhaps blessedly unaware.

Damien stepped back at once, breathing hard. Emma slipped down from the wall, tugging her skirts into place with shaking hands, her cheeks flushed crimson.

She found her shoe without looking, slipped it on, then glanced at him.

“That,” she said breathlessly, “was a terrible idea.”