Page 15 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
“I’m sorry. That was very indecent of me. I do not know where that… I apologize.”
“Don’t be,” Damien said, quietly, “and I thank you for the observation.”
Never had he wanted to kiss a woman more than at this moment—never had he been so sure that she wanted to be kissed. Her honey eyes swallowed him. Her swollen lips invited him.
Damien leaned closer, feeling her breath on his skin. Then, a sound from outside disturbed them. It was a drunken guest staggering against something, furniture scraping and banging against the wall, followed by snorting. It shattered the moment.
Emmeline scrambled to her feet. Damien followed at a more sedate pace.
I must remember why I have chosen to marry. No, why Imustmarry. And it is not for petty infatuations.
“I am sorry that it has to be this way, Emmeline,” he said at last.
“Stop calling me that, please. Everybody calls meEmma,” she said with a touch of irritation.
“Very well. It would serve my purposes if you would address me asDamientoo,” he replied. “My, err, given name.”
“Would it then,” Emma said flatly, but spots of color in her cheeks betrayed her.
“It would. And I would like to take this opportunity to familiarize you with our marriage rules.” Damien rounded on her. “In public, you will be the Duchess in every way. And we will be seen publicly in many settings and occasions. In private, however, you may have absolute freedom, and I will not trouble you. You may see whom you wish and go where you wish. My home and estates will be yours to explore. There will be no children and no consummation of our marriage.”
Emma stared at him in disbelief. He steeled himself against that look, fighting all instinct.
I must be ice. I must be as hard as steel. I will not become tangled in a lustful affair. There is no room for it in my plans.
“And what makes you think I would agree to such a monstrous proposal?” Emma huffed indignantly.
Damien could hear the breathlessness in her words, see the slight widening of her eyes, and the partening of her lips. Those were signs of excitement, though she tried to control them. Damien found himself moving closer and saw the color rise in her cheeks. She was devastating and the signs of desire enhanced that beauty.
“Because if not, the scandal will destroy the family you are so determined to protect. I did not create this situation. However, Iamoffering a way out. But only on my terms.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Damien 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 façade 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 nolight, 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 asHarryuntil 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.”
