Page 63 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
She suppressed a groan. “And will you tell me what I said that was so wrong earlier in the carriage?”
“Nothing at all. I apologize if I gave that impression.”
Emma frowned at her husband’s stoic, unresponsive façade. “You stilldo.We both know precisely what the Countess was referring to. Over the past week, you have spent your nights away from our shared home. I have not questioned you on it as I told myself I would trust the pledge you made. But how do you think that makes me feel?”
His gaze narrowed on her. “I would never break that vow.”
“But how could I know? In private, you scarcely seek me out. In public, it is as though I am speaking to an emotionless wall. This arrangement will be rendered ten times more difficult if we do not get along!”
“Getting along is not necessary,” Damien replied mechanically, “merely to appear...”
Emma noticed the crowd parting for the approaching Prince Regent. Acting quickly, she threaded her fingers through Damien's and stood on tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek.
“Smile!” she whispered urgently.
Damien's eyes made to trail her gaze, and she stroked her fingers down his face. It looked like a caress, but she sought to prevent him from turning his head.
“We are very much in love, remember?” she murmured.
“My dear cousin, Redmane!” the Regent exclaimed, “well met, old chap! It has been too long since a Redmane was here at St James'. We shall rectify that. You and your darling wife shall be regular visitors. I swear it!”
The Regent was a tall but overweight dandy in an outfit that would have put the Sun King himself to shame. Only his booming voice and overbearing personality were louder than his choice of clothes.
“Your Royal Highness,” Damien bowed deeply, his voice grave.
As the Regent looked to Emma, she fell into a deep curtsy, hoping that she looked appropriately demure.
Truthfully, she had little idea how to behave or appear in front of royalty. Unlike with her sisters, that education was lost on her in favor of other, more salient duties to her family. Still, it was her duty to impress, and impress she would try.
“Lady Fitzgerald. A radiant wife you have managed to seek out, Redmane. Quite exquisite,” the Regent enthused, clapping his hands together, “I should like an opportunity to dance with her this evening.”
“Of course, Your Royal Highness,” Damien replied.
“I should be delighted, Your Royal Highness,” Emma seconded.
“And do not think that I am unaware of your own illustrious family, my dear Duchess. The Montrose's have a long history and are a valued piece of our English aristocracy. I look forward to meeting your father and brother during the course of this evening,”
Emma smiled prettily, feeling a sense of triumph and relief. With the friendship or even patronage of the Regent, surely their financial hardships were behind them—even without Damien. She looked at him then, but his face was unreadable as he watched the Regent. Before she looked away, she caught Damien's eyes moving back to her and saw the shadow of a smile on his lips. He held her gaze for a heartbeat before the Regent's bombastic voice forced both their attention back to him.
He appeared…pleased. He saw it, too, and was glad that her family was being helped out of the mire they had found themselves in. So, he did care.
It gave her a warm feeling that suffused her entire body.
“Now, I understand that Charles is something of a sportsman. I myself am quite sporting. I hope you will all join me at Ascot this year.”
“My brother is indeed a sportsman. Very fond of games of all kinds,” Emma smiled, “he has long urged our father to replenish the bloodstock of our stables.”
“A little too fond of games, perhaps, eh?” the Regent said with a wink and a sly smile.
The smile slid from Emma to Damien, conspiratorial, while his voice announced their conversation to all who were nearby. Emma flushed in embarrassment, and Damien bristled. She felt him tense and discreetly squeezed his hand, which was hidden from view by her skirts and his coat. She felt a responding squeeze. Damien did not let go.
“I myself am perhaps a little too fond of the gaming tables and racing tracks. My dear Maria has long counseled me to moderation, but moderation is so dull. Is it not?”
He looked at Damien, whose face seemed to be masking a brewing storm. Emma could almost see the conflict within him: to answer curtly or to pander to this man.
“It is a fine line between pleasure and responsibility, to be certain,” Emma cut in. “I myself find that I indulge too much in the countryside and nature. So much that I have quite neglected my social duty and thus have missed such occasions as this and meeting yourself.”
“You have indeed! But now you are practicing moderation and spreading yourself more evenly between town and country. Myfather is fond of rural living. I prefer the town. An excellent point, may I call you Emmeline?”
