Page 82 of A Bride for the Devilish Duke
“I disagree,” he eventually said, “what separates us from the savages is our code of honor. Embedded in our history back to the time of Alfred the Great. And this...gentleman,” he suffused the word with scorn, “has transgressed a rule that a gentleman must not, ever. I decree that a duel must take place to settle this matter.”
This brought another gasp and Charles looked as though he was about to faint.
“I will stand for Charles Montrose. I will take his place. He is now my brother and honor demands it,” Damien cut in, raising his voice so that all could hear.
He glared at Isaac and Jacob equally and saw their expressions falter for a moment. Fear had passed its frigid wings over them.
Pistol or blade, he was more than a match for Isaac.
“No! I will not have it,” the Regent declared promptly. “You are connected by blood. I will not see an ancient family of Englandturn against itself. We have had our civil war, have we not? You are prohibited, Redmane.”
“Then let it be me,” Sir Thomas Donovan spoke up suddenly, pushing his way into the circle and confronting the twins. “I count Sherborne as my friend and hold his family as dear as my own. I will not let him face this alone. I will stand for him.”
The Regent's face lit up at this gallantry from Sir Thomas. But before he could speak to give his assent, Charles spoke up. His voice was high and trembling. But it was also firm.
“No. This… predicament is my fault. It is my actions that have given offense, and it is me who must take responsibility. I will accept you as my second and you too, Your Grace, if you are willing. But I am the one who will accept the challenge and face the duel. To prove my honor.”
Damien gaped at the man. He could not help but admire his—albeit foolish—courage.
“Of course I will stand as your second,” Damien accepted.
“And I,” Sir Thomas echoed.
“Choose your weapon, Fitzgerald,” the Regent commanded.
“I choose pistols,” Isaac said with a smirk.
Charles Montrose was as good as dead.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Whatever is the matter, Damien? Is it bad news?” Emma asked.
They sat outdoors, enjoying breakfast on the veranda of Redmane Manor, watching the sheep that had been driven onto the lawn by a local tenant farmer to crop the grass. A blue sky and warm sun, together with the fluffy contented animals munching, combined to make for an idyllic morning.
Emma wore white, while Damien was clad in shades of brown and green. He looked handsome and dashing, his hair swept back and his profile regal. But his hand had clenched convulsively around a letter delivered by Wilkins. He had glanced at its contents, and his face had darkened. For a moment, Damien looked at her blankly, his thoughts elsewhere.
Now is the test of our newfound intimacy. Will he try to placate me and keep his secrets, or...?
Damien straightened the letter and handed it to Emma.
“It is from the Regent. I will spare you the trouble of reading his flowery nonsense. It serves to dress up an insulting message. He offers me the chance to have my marriage annulled.”
Those words struck Emma like a hammer. She found her hands shaking as she read. Skimming the formal language Damien had described asflowery nonsense, she found the crux of the matter.
“...if you were to assert that your marriage has not yet been consummated due to irreconcilable differences, then I would be prepared to witness such a statement. The Bishop of London, as a favor to me, would be prepared to authorize a petition of annulment to the Archbishop of Canterbury. I am given to believe that it would be looked upon favorably. I cannot help but think that your choice of the Montrose family may not have been ideal. But I wish to aid you in any way I can as the trustee appointed by your illustrious father.”
Damien snatched the letter from Emma's hands and tore it into small pieces, which he dropped into the teapot.
“My answer is clear enough?” Damien muttered, his voice icy with anger.
“It is,” Emma replied, feeling relieved, albeit still extremely guilty. “Thank you.”
Damien waved dismissively. “Do not thank me. I intend to ignore a chance for you to free yourself of me. I would crawl through hell itself to be by your side, but I do not pretend that I am an easy companion.”
Emma took his hand, pressing it to her lips and closing her eyes from the pleasure of contact. The kind of contact did not matter when it came to Damien. Touching his hand, his face, his hair, or his naked body all produced the same thrills in her.
Damien leaned over and kissed her hair, breathing deeply as he did. Emma savored the sensation of being enjoyed in such a way. It was not just her looks or her touch; Damien seemed to want to experience her with every sense he had.
