Page 21 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
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 lowerlip, 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 hadnot 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?”
