Page 68 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
Damien winced at a twinge of pain in his right leg. Emma finally noticed.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked quietly.
They strolled through the gardens of Buckingham Palace, the newly occupied residence of the King of England. Trees ringed it, separating it from Green Park to the north and the growing reach of London around it. The verdant expanse had been designed to look and feel like an open country, and it succeeded.
“It is nothing,” Damien replied.
The previous night, he had attempted to destroy the jewel in the crown of his father's businesses. His wharf and warehouses at Wapping. The smoke had not risen to stain the skyline; he had been thwarted and only escaped with his life and, most importantly, with his identity kept secret. A musket ball fired by a nightwatchman had scored his thigh muscle. Wilkins haddressed the wound on his master's return, but Emma could know nothing of it. Enduring the pain, he forced himself not to limp.
“It seemed as though you were in discomfort,” Emma pressed.
“I am not.” He shook his head, erasing that fairly easily discredited line of thought, “I mean, I am. While at my club last night, I took an awkward step down the stairs and wrenched my knee. It gives the odd twinge.”
Emma did not seem convinced. She walked under a parasol, her dress a combination of white and pale blue, which enhanced the porcelain quality of her skin and brought out her pale, hazel eyes. She lookeddevastatingthis morning.
Damien regretted lying to her, though at every opportunity thus far, he had deemed it necessary. Previously, he had no qualms of concealing truths, but now, it felt as though the words had to be dragged out.
Lords and ladies had spread out across the rolling landscape of the gardens, basking in the sunshine on the verdant grass. A marquee had been erected at the far end, facing the magnificent palace. It was there that the Regent disported himself.
“You have seemed distracted this morning. Is it concern over continuing to impress the Regent?” Emma asked.
“Impresshim? Why, yes, the man is mercurial at best. One never knows which way he will go,” Damien shrugged.
“And it is important to remain on his good side?” Emma inquired.
Another twinge of pain brought irritation, but Damien controlled it. He offered his arm to Emma, who took it. Her closeness was a balm. He smiled as they walked.
“It is if I am to restore my standing. That work has been going very well since we married. I have you to thank for that.”
Emma blushed and smiled. “I did not relish the prospect of marriage, given the circumstances of our union. But, it is nice to be free of the man who shall remain nameless. Papa has heard not a word from him since he left Brimley Park so suddenly and unexpectedly. Do I have you to thank for that?”
Damien tilted his head. “I would be lying if I took any responsibility beyond the evening at the Donovan’s. Though I cannot speak of if my very presence has dissuaded him.”
Emma sighed, leaning against his shoulder. “It has been a dark cloud hanging over us. I am more grateful than you can know and would do anything to aid you in your endeavor.”
It was tough lying to her, indeed. She was always so earnest and willing to help. When he first gave her his ultimatum, she had been resistant and fiery in that resistance. But ever since,Damien had glimpsed her compassion and empathy. She was a woman a man would be proud to call his wife.
And I am using her.
“I say, Your Grace! Care to join us in a game of croquet? You and your lovely wife.”
The speaker was a young man with tight, blonde curls and a boyish face. A young woman with dark, silky hair accompanied him. He held croquet mallets while a servant set up the hoops.
“Yes, please do. We should so like to play,” the young woman gushed.
“Do you play?” Damien asked Emma.
“I have never played. But I will learn,” Emma replied.
The young man was introduced as the Earl of Winchester, and the lady as his wife. He handed the mallet to Damien, who swung it jauntily across his shoulder. He and Emma accompanied the young couple to the game area. As he did, Damien explained the rules, and Emma listened attentively. Her eyebrows drew down, and her forehead creased as she listened. After a moment, Emma looked up, and he realized he had been staring. She stared back, and Damien found himself lost to place and time.
Only when the Earl of Winchester spoke in an overloud voice was Damien recalled to the present.
“Well, why do you not take the first shot, Your Grace?”
Damien tore his eyes from his wife and saw the Earl and his Countess hovering rather awkwardly.
“I think I shall defer to my dear wife,” he smiled, offering her the mallet.
