Page 60 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
“I could write to him,” Emma called out, sounding as irritated as Damien felt, “but I do not know where he is staying. I will speak to Papa this evening. I'm sure there will be an opportunity.”
Damien turned back to her and found himself glaring into his wife's hazel eyes. She had tiny diamonds scattered seemingly at random through her hair. They caught the light like stars but could not compare to the glow of her eyes. Radiant was a poor word to describe her, but it was the only one that came to mind. She was dressed in silks that complimented her coloring and seemed like the meanest rags next to the soft perfection of her delicate skin.
I must control myself. This is a weakness, and it will not do. There is a plan in place, and stirrings of the heart will only interfere. I have managed well for the past week—now to see it through. I must be strong.
But Damien had not known how strong he would need to be to resist the siren call that Emma did not even seem to be aware of. Under his unabashed stare, Emma blushed, and Damien looked down hurriedly.
“Yes, that would be acceptable,” he said hastily, “a quiet word for Charles to curb his excesses.”
“Did your business in the north go well?” Emma suddenly asked.
Damien glanced up, eyes immediately narrowing. “Why, yes.Well.”
A mill burned in Lancashire.A fund was created for the men put out of work and lodged with the local priest. Wilkins would ensure the money was fairly distributed according to need. So, yes,exceptionallywell.
“I am glad. This past week, outside of societal duties of course, has been rather dull for myself. I... thought perhaps I might accompany you on your next trip?” she suggested diffidently.
There was naked hope in her eyes as she looked up at him. It took Damien by surprise.
“Quite out of the question,” he said quickly and in a harder tone than he had intended. Emma glanced away and nodded.
“Of course. I apologize for asking; it was not part of our agreement. I just thought you might appreciate the company on your journeys.”
Damien made a vague gesture. “They are quite tedious and long. I should not undertake them, but... duty demands it.”
“Of course, we each have our duties. Papa has been corresponding with the new owners of the original Montrose Hall, and we shall be visiting the place soon. The girls are most excited at the prospect of repurchasing our childhood home. Thank you,” she said sincerely.
“You are most welcome,” he replied.
Emma smiled coyly as she thanked him, sending a pleasant, warm feeling through him.
Damnation, but he liked being smiled at by her, especially when it was genuinely felt. Oft-times, he found himself wishing he could make her smile more often that way.
But then, the duty of his plans weighed on him like chains. At Redmane Manor, his brother waited for news of their revenge, of their quest to destroy their family’s legacy utterly. His presence was a weight on Damien's back, as heavy as a mountain.
“We should be going,” Emma broke through his musings, “are you ready?”
“I am. Yes, it is high time we were on our way. It would not do to be late for the Regent. We shall take the carriage back to Redmane on our return trip.”
He offered his arm, and Emma took it. Damien led them out of the room and to the front door, which Wilkins held open. A carriage waited outside on Curzon Street.
“You do look rather lovely today, by the way,” Damien remarked off-handedly. “That is one of the dresses that Madame Rousseau fashioned, yes?”
“It is. And your Dutch jeweler furnished the diamonds for my hair. I feel quite ridiculously overdressed, I must say.”
“We are going to a ball hosted by the sovereign of England. I would have had you wear far more jewelry, but...”
“But?” Emma asked as Damien hesitated.
“But now that I see you, I realize you do not need it.” He coughed, then strode forward a few steps ahead of her.
A footman stepped from the rear of the coach, but Damien waved him back. He opened the coach's door and took Emma's hand to help her ascend. She had not yet donned her gloves, and her skin was smooth and warm against his fingers. Their eyes met as she stepped up, her lips quirked into a delicate smile that made her eyes shine. Damien’s heart thundered to rival the sound of the carriages and cabs that rumbled along Curzon Street in the June dusk. He joined her in the cab, taking a seat next to her. The carriage began to move, making its way to St James' Palace.
“You always choose to sit next to me when we share the carriage,” Emma noted absently, “instead of taking the empty seat opposite.”
“Is that a request?” Damien asked.
“Anobservation,” Emma corrected.
