Page 78 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
“Nevertheless, you have worked hard to make me respectable,” Damien chuckled.
Emma's arms held onto him fiercely, exploring his hard body while her hips pressed insistently against his. His words came in gasps.
“I would not undo all my hard work,” Emma whispered without releasing him.
Damien laughed, a soft, hoarse sound that came because his wife's hungry kisses denied him words.
“Emma! Where have you got to? We are leaving now!” Rosie called again.
She sounded closer. Emma released Damien, looking into his eyes for a moment.
“There will be plenty of time at Redmane,” Damien assured her, kissing her tenderly.
They dressed, concealing Emma's ruined petticoat beneath some bushes, and began to stroll back through the woods towards the sound of Rosie's voice.
“Will you tell me about the injuries you seem to accrue?” Emma asked.
Damien frowned. “I have.”
“That looks like a burn on your shoulder,” she pressed.
“It was an accident. Mills are dangerous places.”
Suddenly so evasive again. She had broken through his walls, but there was an inner keep that she could not breach. What secrets did he keep?
Later that night, Emma lay in Damien's bed back at Redmane, listening to the soft, deep breaths of his slumber. She was tired, her body worn out by their lovemaking, but her mind refused to accept sleep. The close physical presence of Damien meant that she was acutely aware of his scars and his latest injury. Scars could not be explained away as the dangers of a mill. Not unless he was actually working there, which was ludicrous.
Moonlight fell through a gap in the curtains in a cold, white bar. It provided enough light for Emma to find her dressing gown after she had carefully risen from the bed.
It was no use lying awake and letting the same thoughts bounce around inside her head. It would be a much better use of her time to walk and let physical exertion quell her mind. She had not yet fully explored Redmane.
Damien did not stir as she carefully closed the bedroom door behind her and stole through their apartments on the house's top floor. She opened doors at random, examining the rooms she found and working her way down. On the ground floor were the rooms she was more familiar with. The reception room, the dining room, the library, and the drawing room. As she stood in the Great Hall, surrounded by darkness, a faint sound reached her. She frowned, thinking it was her imagination. A clock chimed the hour somewhere in the house and the sound was lost.
That sounded like a violin. I must have imagined it.
The squeak of a barely suppressed scream coming from behind her made her jump. Whirling, she saw Elsie standing in the doorway leading to the servant's staircase. Elsie had a hand to her mouth and, in her fright, had dropped the candle she carried.
It caught the edge of a tablecloth, and Elsie squeaked again, rushing to the sudden flare-up of fire. Emma did likewise, and the two women smothered the nascent blaze with the fabric of their dressing gowns.
“Lady Emma. You gave me such a fright. Whatever are you doing up at this hour?” Elsie asked.
“I could not sleep and decided to explore the house some. What about you?” she answered.
Her maid smiled coyly. “I could not sleep either, because I indulged in some foolish talk over dinner about ghosts.”
Emma furrowed her brows. “Ghosts?”
“Aye, ghosts. I could not sleep, and then I heard a noise up here and decided to settle my mind by proving to myself that it was purely natural. Not a phantom. Nearly ended me when I saw you standing there!”
Emma shivered at the thought. “Let us not compound our frights by talking of ghosts here in this great dark hall. A hot, sweet cup of tea in the kitchen will settle us both,” she whispered.
She let Elsie lead the way down the servant's stairs and along the corridor to the kitchen. It was large and high-ceilinged but warmly lit with candles and lamps. Emma sat at the huge table in the middle of the room as Elsie busied herself, putting water on to boil.
“What is this talk of ghosts then?” Emma asked.
“Something the staff told me. They have all heard the sound of a violin being played in the dead of night. Somewhere… upstairs.”
“And they know it is not the Duke?” Emma questioned.
