Page 61 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
“Do you wish for more room? I will happily move.”
Damien had not even realized the habit he had formed. Truthfully, he enjoyed the proximity that sitting next to her gave him. What a tangled mess—a marriage of convenience finally achieved and put at risk by him wishing it were more than it was—or could ever be.
He made to rise, but Emma put a hand on his.
“Please, Damien. Don't,” she said, and the naked plea in her voice gave him pause.
He sat close enough that contact could not be avoided between them. He put his hand on hers in an entirely appropriate and formal way but allowed him to feel her skin. The memory of that touch would warm him during long nights alone, plotting the arson of another of his father's businesses.
He watched the familiar landmarks pass by on their short journey to St James' Palace, still the sight of the Regent's formal occasions even if the official residence of the royals had moved to Buckingham Palace. He wished for an errant flock of sheep to be driven into the road and delay them.
His finger distractedly traced a gentle path on Emma's knuckles. He felt her fingers open slightly and her hand turn. Devonshire House passed by as they drove east along Piccadilly. He thumped the roof.
“Take Regent's Street!” he called to the driver.
“Right you are, Your Grace!” the driver called back.
They rumbled past St James Street, the Palace visible at the end.
Too short a journey. I must be mad, but I want more time alone with Emma. Not mad, just weak. Or bewitched!
His thumb touched the inside of her wrist, stroking up her forearm to the limit of its reach. Emma's hand lay limp atop his thigh, palm up. Burlington House went by on the left as they continued along Piccadilly towards the Circus. Damien stroked his fingers against the palm of Emma's hand, closing and unclosing his hand. The skin was soft and perfect, so smooth it made satin seem like the roughest burlap. Emma's breath caught, and when Damien glanced at her, he saw that she was biting her lip, looking away with flaming cheeks.
The carriage slowed as it approached the busy confluence of thoroughfares where Regent Street and Piccadilly met. He was dimly aware of the driver shouting a curse to make way and felt the carriage stop and start as it wound its way around other conveyances, riders, and pedestrians. Damien traced his fingers along Emma's forearm to the elbow, feeling her shiver at the touch and finding the reaction arousing. Her hand turned so that her palm rested on his thigh. He felt her fingers tighten there.
Another thump on the roof made Emma jump.
“Haymarket!” Damien called, ordering the driver to continue on Piccadilly to the next turning after Regent's Street, prolonging the journey further.
Emma's hand squeezed his thigh, which became the epicenter of every nerve and sense that Damien had. Her head leaned towards his. To the outside world, it would appear that she was simply tired and resting on the shoulder of her husband.
Damien turned his head to hers, inhaling deeply of her scent, feeling the warm tickle of her hair against his face. He breathed her in, and something cold and hard was sucked past his lips and almost into his throat. He clamped his teeth hard on the foreign object and made a choking sound. Emma looked up. Exploring the object with his tongue, Damien realized that his teeth held one of the diamonds that Emma adorned.
She saw it and reached for her hair, beginning to laugh.
“You might have choked,” she giggled.
Unable to reply due to the precious stone between his teeth, Damien reached to pluck it from his mouth, but Emma stopped him. She pushed his hands down into his lap firmly. Then she leaned in, and her lips parted. Damien felt them press against his, and her tongue slowly entered his mouth. It curled around the diamond and withdrew, taking the stone with it. She sat back, the diamond now glinting between her teeth. She smiled around it.
“That is mine,” Damien murmured, “I paid for it. I will have it.”
He leaned towards her, planting his hands on either side of her head where she reclined against the side of the carriage. Before his mouth could reclaim his prize, though, the carriage lurched around a bend. The driver yelled at someone, and Damien was thrown back into a corner. The diamond popped from Emma's mouth and flew past Damien and out of the window.
“Look where you're going, man!” Damien roared.
“Sorry, Your Grace! Someone just turned off Coventry Street like he was blind! Almost hit us!”
“Well done, driver,” Emma called out, humor in her tone, “very quick reactions!”
The driver sounded grateful for her praise. Emma was laughing, leaning over Damien to look out of the window. He joined her, conscious of the strange sight they must have made, a lady and her gentleman, laughing and leaning out of a carriage amid the bustle of London.
“It is gone. I cannot see a glint of it,” Emma grinned.
“Damnation,” Damien said as Haymarket flowed by towards the Opera House, “it will not stay lost for long.”
He glanced at Emma. The wind of their passage was turning her cheeks rosy and throwing back her hair. Her eyes gleamed, and her smile was joyous. He thought of the worry and sadness he'dseen on her face over the last few weeks, which had been caused principally by him.
“What would your father think of his son and heir hanging out of a carriage having just lost a perfectly good diamond?” Emma giggled.
