Page 69 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
She took it clumsily and stepped towards the ball.
“I do not even know how to hold it properly. Is this right?” she whispered uncertainly.
Damien stepped up behind her and put his hands over hers, correcting her grip.
“Keep your eye on the ball and make your swing smooth with your hands going in the direction that you wish the ball to go,” he whispered back.
Emma nodded, glancing at him. His face was at her shoulder, looking down at her hands upon the mallet. Now, he looked at her and smiled with encouragement. She returned his smile. Suddenly, Damien was acutely aware of his close proximity to her. He stood with his body pressed against hers to position her hands correctly on the mallet. It felt wanton and reckless.
She is my wife! There can be nothing wrong with a husband standing close to his wife. At least in the eyes of all those gathered here, we are husband and wife. We know the truth.
Emma's bottom was in contact with Damien's thighs, and he became suddenly aware of how precarious their situation was, married or not. As she shifted her feet, it caused her hips to wiggle and her posterior to press against him in a way that was so pleasurable it was uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because he would need to hide the fact from any observers.
Emma swung the mallet but applied too much force, and the ball hurtled from the ground into the air. An elderly gentleman ducked the sudden missile, and Emma gasped in horror. The Earl of Winchester suppressed a laugh.
“I say! Blooming croquet balls flying through the air!” the man grumbled, glaring at the young people playing.
“I am very sorry. That was my first attempt,” Emma called out, flushing bright scarlet.
“I shall remove myself to the other side of the garden until you have mastered the game. The object is for the ball to pass through the hoops. On theground.”
Damien was fighting back laughter now too, and Emma rounded on him in embarrassment.
“Do not dare laugh,” she uttered accusingly.
“I would not dare,” Damien replied with a straight face.
“I think you had better take over,” she said, offering the mallet back.
“Nonsense, this will not be the last time you play croquet,” he smiled disarmingly. “The Regent is mad about it, and so, of course, is the ton.”
“Oh indeed. We love the game, do we not, Isabel?” said the Earl of Winchester.
Damien turned away from the young man and gave Emma a significant look. She bit her lip, seeing the joke.
“Well then, I suppose I should try again.”
Once again, Damien took up position with a firmer hold on her hands. Again, Emma adjusted and performed an illicit act upon Damien's person. He could not suppress a grunt which brought her head around, eyes widening. He met those wide eyes openly, letting her see and feel.
Why did he fight it? She would not resist if he suggested casting down the barriers he’d imposed between them.
No! This is naked lust talking. I will not indulge in it and risk everything I have worked for. My brother depends on me. As does the entirety of the Dukedom.
Damien stepped back.
“There. Perfect, I should say. Just do not put so much force into the swing,” he said, rendering his voice cold and formal.
Emma giggled, once more taking a position in front of the ball. The wife of the Earl of Winchester was also laughing, butwithEmma, not at her. Emma swung, and the ball remained on the ground, though it went far wide of the target. She seemed inordinately pleased at this achievement that Damien found his self-imposed reserve somewhat melting. She walked to his side as the Earl of Winchester took his turn and did a creditable job.
“It is harder than it looks,” Emma remarked.
“Easy to learn but difficult to master,” Damien nodded, “something to be learned for occasions such as this.”
“I think I can apply myself to that. For as long as it is required of me,” Emma replied distractedly, “Oh bravo, your ladyship!”
“Please, Your Grace, call me Helene,” the Countess replied.
“Then you must call meEmma, Helene. Let us not stand on formalities,” Emma beamed.
