Page 6 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
“Pardon, sir…!”
The scent of amber and musk reached her first.
Then came the sound of flint and steel.
The hiss of a flame, and a lamp flared to life.
His features shimmered into view. Cut from the same stone as ancient warriors. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips neither too full nor thin, and eyes the hue of pale silver-blue. His hair was fair, almost flaxen, the sort of gold that rarely caught sunlight without glowing.
“I do not know of your Charles,” came a rumble, a slow timbre like the first pour of brandy into a crystal glass, “but I feel compelled to apologize on his behalf.”
Emma blinked, cheeks tinged pink despite herself. There was something in his presence that made the room seem smaller, the shadowsdeeper.
He extended a gloved hand. Emma’s gaze flicked to it for a heartbeat—the finest kid leather—before her fingers reluctantly curled into the expensive material. With barely a twitch of his arm, she was hauled to her feet.
Emma brushed at her skirts in want of something to do. “Erm… thank you, kind sir. I think it rather careless of the owner to leave the rooms so dark. I might have sprained an ankle,” she chuckled nervously.
“A reasonable complaint, Miss…?”
“Lady.LadyEmmeline Montrose,” Emma corrected, raising her chin with polite dignity.
“Emmeline?” He let the intimate sound stew in the silence. “A rather… unusual name.”
“I am generally referred to by the shorter variant,Emma,” she hastened to say.
He inclined his head with courtly grace. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance then, LadyEmma. And who is this Charles, I wonder?”
Emma sighed in exasperation. “My deviant brother. I wished to speak with him, but he did not seem in the mood for conversation.”
The stranger pursed his lips in thought and had Emma’s eyes lingering there. “I seem to recall a young man heading towards the gardens in a hurry. Hair the color of yours. Perhaps a few years older than yourself?”
Emma narrowed her eyes. “Yes, that would be Charles. The gardens, you say? Thank you, kind sir. I will see if I can catch him up.”
“Allow me to escort you then, madam,” he offered smoothly. “This house is something of a labyrinth. New wings bolted onto old bones without any sensible design. I find myself getting lost rather easily.”
Emma faltered, caught between caution and something far more dangerous. “Thank you… kindly,” she said at last.
She felt a curious thrill at the offer to remain in the stranger’s company.
The man was older than her, perhaps in his early thirties. His visage had Emma’s heart thundering in her chest and set butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She chastised herself for being so taken by a man’s looks like some fawning debutante, but could not help it.
The moment she laid her hand upon his steely arm, a jolt of awareness sparked through her fingers. His coat did little to conceal the hardened muscle beneath, and she found herself, to her horror, nearly breathless.
As they stepped into the softer glow of the corridor sconces, Emma chanced another glance at him—this time catching the lines of his profile in sharper relief than the lamplight had allowed.
His eyes were sapphire blue, as bright as a panther. He was taller than her but did not appear spindly in the way that many tall men did. He might have been the descendant of giants—his body had such Herculean proportions.
Emma’s gaze dipped—traitorously—to the broad stretch of his chest beneath the fine cut of his gold-threaded brocade coat. There was nothing delicate about his form. He bore the build of an ancient warrior, the kind immortalized in marble, shoulders that strained subtly against the seams, arms that seemed born to carry—not letters or gloves—but battleaxes. Or, she thought with a shameful shiver,women.
He could lift her, she was certain, and never break stride.
It was only after they had walked fifty yards or so that she became aware that she was silent, lost in reveries of naked torsos and strong arms.
“Your pardon, sir,” she said abruptly, voice higher than intended, “but I do not believe I caught your name.”
He halted. Emma froze. It took a second longer than she would have cared to admit before she realized it was as they had reached their destination. A set of wide double doors were thrust open with effortless ease. Beyond was a broad paved area decorated with iron tables and chairs. A vast expanse of lawn lay beyond that, lit by flickering torches.
He turned to her, smiled enigmatically, and bowed.
