Chapter 9
The carriage ride from the lair was entirely as Alex had suspected: silent. And he could see anger seething just beneath the surface of Lady Moreau”s—no, The Duchess of Westmarch”s—face.
She sat opposite him with her face turned toward the window, her arms crossed loosely as if she would have liked to do so tighter if she were not afraid of appearing disobedient.
She had every right to be angry, Alex knew that. He had tricked her, after all. He did feel some guilt about that but what else was he to do? No lady would have him for who he was, not with these horrendous scars that had become the bane of his existence.
Nor could they ever truly know him. And yet, the way she had looked at him that first time in his office, before she had known who he was, made him hopeful. He had never seen an expression like that before.
And for now, he was content to let her be silent and brooding. It gave him the opportunity he needed to admire her quietly, to see all that had become his in a matter of minutes, with a few spoken words in the pits of the earth.
Only a short while earlier he had kissed her. And he had felt something the likes of which he had never felt before. It was the shock of youthful lust he had experienced in his adolescence mixed with a deep, soul-aching longing that threatened to drive him mad.
And now, looking at her, he was certain he would be mad by the time he made it to his grave. To be wed to such a lovely creature, to share his life with such beauty, never to truly possess it in its entirety, never to know the love and affection she might have to offer thanks to his stupidity, made him sick with grief.
He had failed before they had even begun. He knew that well. But at least he had fulfilled the terms of his father”s letter. He was married.
And as they pulled up silently to Westmarch Grove, he concluded with the utmost certainty that whatever this marriage would be, wherever it had started, it was going to be based upon truth from this point on.
All remained utterly, ear numbingly silent until they finally stepped through the front door of the house. A part of him wondered whether he ought to have picked her up and carried her over the threshold but as their wedding had not been traditional in the least, he suspected she would not appreciate such notions.
Instead, he gestured her inside and offered, “Please, allow me to take your coat.”
Emmaline looked at him with one fine brown brow arched. “Are you not master here?”
“I am.”
She continued to look confused.
“I bid the servants have the night off so that you might be able to settle in a little more comfortably,” Alex explained but as he spoke, his gut churned. “Now I say it aloud I realize it may have been foolish of me.”
“No, no! It was quite thoughtful of you,” Emmaline insisted, shrugging off her velvet green cloak. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Please, Your Grace, call me Alexander or Alex,” he insisted. “The choice is yours.”
“Your Grace?”
“Did I misspeak?”
“No, no, it’s just… you… you called me Your Grace?” she looked at him, clearly stunned.
Alex smiled at that, hating the way only one side of his face pulled up. It must have looked like such an awful grimace to her. Yet, she did not appear at all frightened or even disgusted. She simply smiled back, if a little sheepishly.
“You are my wife now, are you not?” Alex pointed out. “That makes you The Duchess of Westmarch.”
She sucked in a breath at that, so swiftly that it was as if she had physically drawn Alex near. He could not help but close the distance between them.
“I… I admit, I hadn’t thought of that,” she said, and Alex saw the way her throat quivered as she gulped past what appeared to be a lump in her throat.
“Worry not,” he assured her. “All will be made clear to you in time but first, there is something I feel I must admit to you, Lady Emmaline, if you will allow me?”
“Of course, Your Grace, I mean, Alexander,” Emmaline responded, her cheeks blushing in a way that made him wish to stroke her face to see if it felt as warm as it appeared.
“May I ask you a question?” he asked, and she looked at him with curiosity. When she dipped her head to him, he asked, “Why are you most angry with me?”
At that, her gaze darkened. “Who said that I am angry?”
Alex couldn”t help but laugh. She was quite adorable when angry.
“Is something funny?” she bit at him.
“How can you even attempt to claim you are not angry when you speak in such tones?” he asked, still biting back laughter.
There her arms went, crossing her chest once more, becoming defensive.
“Am I to be mocked and blamed for being angry when it is you who has been deceitful, Your Grace?” she declared boldly, her head held high. She met his gaze in a way that was utterly remarkable. “You lied to me. You deceived me. And now you mock me.”
Emmaline”s cloak dropped from his grip. He stepped over it, leaving it sprawled and forgotten behind him as he took hold of her hands in his and met her gaze. “You must forgive me.”
“I must? How am I to do so?”
She was certainly brave. Alex couldn”t remember the last time anyone had spoken to him so boldly. It was not at all the manner in which a wife should speak to a husband and yet, Alex found he liked it immensely, more than he ever cared to admit.
“Forgive me for not being the trustworthy husband that you deserve, Lady Emmaline,” he said, dipping his head. He closed his eyes, unable to look her in the eye. “My deceit was born out of desperation.”
“Desperation?” she repeated the word as if tasting it. The quizzical tone of her voice caused him to open his eyes and look at her again.
“I am entrapped by the terms of my father”s last will and testament,” he explained, his throat constricting. He had never told another living soul about this save for Sean. And the only other souls besides him who knew were his uncle, his lawyers and his late father.
It felt odd to be speaking the words aloud now, especially to a woman. For he had spent a great deal of time trying to keep the fact from women so not to have every eligible miss banging his door down for his title and his fortune. Yet, it had made things impossible along with his injuries.
“How so, Alexander?” Emmaline asked. Her fingers squeezed his. Whether it was intentional or upon instinct, Alex did not know, but it felt exceptional to feel such sensation, to touch someone and have them look at him as if he were merely another person, not a monster.
“My father declared I must marry before my twenty-seventh birthday in order to produce an heir for the estate or my dukedom and everything else would pass to the next in line,” Alex explained. Unable to bear the pity he saw on her face, he closed his eyes once more before continuing. “All you need do is look at me to understand why it has been impossible for me to find a willing yet suitable bride.”
One hand slipped from his and he tensed, expecting her to step away at the revelation.
What happened instead, shocked him to his core.
Gentle, gloved fingertips stroked down the ruined side of his face, from the edge of his nearly nonexistent eyebrow, down to the silver scarred line of his lips.
He leaned into the sensation, surprised when she cupped her cheek in his hand.
“I struggle to believe that anyone should not find you handsome, Your Grace,” Emmaline whispered, and Alex was so shocked he took a step backward. She may as well have clawed his face or even slapped him for the way her words caused him to flinch.
“Now who is mocking who?” he demanded, so vexed that he struggled not to spit.
He was even more surprised when Emmaline did not flinch or avert her gaze. She looked at him, meeting his eyes, utterly undaunted as she said, “I am not mocking you, Your Grace. Far from it. When I first met you in your office two days ago, I do believe I thought you one of the most handsome men I have ever met.”
“You do mock me!” Alex bellowed, feeling like a raging bear. “How dare you mock me in my own home?”
“No, no! Your Grace!” Emmaline said and this time it was she who had closed the distance between them. “Please, Alexander...”
She gripped hold of his hands, her eyes becoming pleading. “You must believe me.”
Alex shook violently. His lips pursed to stop from saying anything else he might come to regret.
Unsure what to do, he stared back at her. When she dropped her hands from his, he was almost disappointed.
Then, she started to remove her gloves. Alex watched, entranced.
Her skin was flawlessly creamy, so supple that he suspected it was soft as a newborn baby’s. Like the rest of her, her skin was perfect. She couldn”t be more his polar opposite if she tried.
And yet, she dropped the gloves as if they meant nothing, turning her palms out and lifting them toward his face.
“May I?” she asked. Alex bit the inside of his cheek. Was this some kind of trick? Some foolish prank in order to get him back for the deceit he had played upon her?
The softness in her gaze told him not but still, he could not speak. He grunted with a curt nod.
And when she stepped forward, lifting both her palms to his face, he instinctively breathed a sigh and closed his eyes at the warmth of her touch.
Her skin was as soft as it looked. Her delicate fingertips traced over the lines of his scars. They marked the place where his eyebrow had once been, now half gone and the rest too wispy to be considered a brow any longer. They danced over the scars on his cheek before tracing over the pursed line of his lips.
Then, she moved to the good side of his face, doing the same.
“I see you, Alexander,” she whispered soft as a summer breeze and Alex could not help himself.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him.
He was just considering kissing her when she spoke up, “The deceitful wedding I understand now, but why this?”
Alex glanced down to see her holding up the ribbon that tied his devil”s mask loosely around his neck. Having worn it in order to escort her from the lair, he had only pulled it down and shoved it over his shoulder in order to be rid of it once they were in the carriage.
“Why the devil?” she questioned him. “You did not strike me as such when we first met, before I knew of your identity, or should I say your disguise? For that is what this is, isn”t it? This is not the real you.”
Again, Alex closed his eyes, this time only long enough to take a deep breath.
“In truth, lady Emmaline, I have been playing a character for so long, sometimes I am barely aware which person is the duke and which the devil.”
“Then why?” she asked, inching just a little closer as if she did not wish to just get to know him personally but physically too.
“I have a reputation to uphold,” he explained through gritted teeth. “It is not something that I am proud of, but it is a necessary evil, one that my father and uncle created and one that I must uphold in order to protect and care for those whom I am responsible for. And now, that includes you and your family.”
She cocked a brow, dropping her hands to rest her palms upon his chest. “How so?”
Alex bit back laughter. “I am sure you have heard the tales of the devil, My Lady. Does the myth not speak for itself?”
The two remained there in silence for several moments. Staring into each other”s eyes, they each appeared to be judging the best course of action. But the longer time went on, the more uncertain Alex became.
This was the most candid conversation he had ever participated in and a part of him had expected her to run from him, to run from all the responsibilities and deceit.
But instead, she looked at him with sympathy and said, “I understand.”
Alex”s mouth dropped open. “You do?”
“I shall not pretend to understand everything, but I do understand what it means to feel responsible for those you love.”
Tears pricked behind Alex’s eyes. This woman was not merely beautiful. She had a beautiful and courageous soul too. How had he ever become so lucky?
“It appears that the monster has finally found his maiden,” he sighed, thinking on the many tales he had read during his recovery period, the stories in which he had found hope that someday life would give him a reprieve from his loneliness. He had never believed that day would come, until today.
He was surprised when Emmaline reached up to cup his cheeks once more. She looked him dead in the eye and said clearly, “I see no monster, Alex, merely my husband.”
And with that, she leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him.
It was entirely unlike their kiss at the club in which they had fulfilled their vows and yet, it was just as marvelous.
Alex felt as if the floor was disappearing out from beneath his feet. At yet, there was no panic, only peace. He cradled his wife’s head in his hands, hooking his fingers in the thick roots of her glossy hair, and kissed her with such passion he made his own head spin.
It was devilish the things he wished to do to her, simply sinful. And yet, he could not stop himself from just thinking on it. His fingers left her hair and traced down the bare flesh of her neck, traveling over the silky skin between her shoulder blades before they finally reached the lacings of her gown.
He paused there a moment, considering it before he traveled lower.
His hands cupped her buttocks, and he waited a second, half-expecting her to pull away. When, instead, she hooked her arms around his shoulders, he pulled her up into his arms and whipped around to press her against the back of the entryway door.
She gasped as if shocked, or perhaps the wood was cool against the nape of her neck, but still, she did not try to escape him.
One hand still cupped under her buttock, his other returned to the roots of her hair, holding her face close even as he kissed her, deeper and deeper.
The scent of her—vanilla and wildflowers—was intoxicating. The soft cushioned feel of her rosebud lips on his was sensational. The way her back arched away from the door in order to press herself up against him like a cat was frustratingly delicious.
He could not control himself. All inhibitions gone, Alex hooked his hands in her skirts and started to hitch them up.
He had not anticipated that they would consummate this farcical marriage, especially upon their wedding night, but now that it appeared the option was open to him, he could not help himself.
She was simply too exquisite.
And when her fingers hooked in the roots of his hair, tugging gently, he could not help but growl between gritted teeth.
For someone so young and innocent, she certainly knew how to drive him wild with lust.
He had to have her. He needed to have her. She would not be his, not truly, until he had claimed her.
But when his fingers slipped between her thighs, stroking her most private areas through the material of her undergarments, her entire body stiffened.
What happened next, Alex”s rational mind was utterly prepared for. Yet, his mindless, lustful self, was stabbed right to the core as Emmaline shoved him away hard, her palms once more against his chest.
“Please, Your Grace, we cannot. I… I fear I am not ready to… to…” she stammered, and the fear in her voice made him angry.
It was not anger at her but at himself for ever making her fearful.
Gently, he gripped her face and kissed her only softly upon the forehead. “In this, at least, I am no monster.”
***
Chapter 10
When Emmaline awoke the next morning, she was astonished that she had managed to sleep at all. Having only ever slept in her own bed at her father”s London house or countryside estate, otherwise sharing a bed with Jane were they ever to spend a night away from home, she was quite surprised that she was so well rested.
In fact, her night had been quite pleasant. Though she did not remember her dreams often, she had small flickers of remembrance from this night, dreams of tenderness and lust that made her heart race.
Still, as she laid in her new bed as the duchess of Westmarch, she stared up at the ceiling and her confusion and anger returned to her.
How could The Duke of Westmarch and The Devil Lord be the same person? How was it possible that she could be married to them both? How could she be so abhorrent of the devil and all he stood for and yet, utterly attracted and downright feverishly frustrated in the presence of the duke?
Her feelings made no sense. The duke had been deceitful, the devil cruel, and yet, he was all she could think about.
It was him she was thinking about when there was a knock upon the bedroom door, so much so she wondered whether perhaps it was him, come to finish what he had begun in the foyer the night before. And that made her heart thunder.
He shall not have me! She declared to herself strongly. She would not be wooed into bed just like that, not by a man who had proven himself so untrustworthy. No matter how much she felt for him or how wonderful his kiss had felt the night before.
Her fingertips rose to her lips, reimagining the tingle she had felt when he had kissed her. The same sensation lingered between her thighs.
Cheeks growing hot, she cleared her throat and called, “Come in!”
When the door opened, she was disappointed to find that it was an older woman, perhaps in her forties or fifties, wearing the typical dark, plain yet well-kept garb of a servant.
“Your Grace, I am Mrs. Farthing, his grace”s housekeeper,” the woman said, dropping into a curtsy at the end of the bed. “His Grace has asked me to see you dressed and brought down for breakfast. Until the duke has secured you a lady”s maid, I am to be at yourself service.”
“Oh, I… umm, thank you, Mrs. Farthing,” Emmaline said, “But that is truly not necessary. I may make do on my own if need be.”
“Hmm. That need not be, Your Grace,” Mrs. Farthing said. She crossed the room and pulled back the heavy draped, causing Emmaline to squint against the early morning sun, before she turned and added, “My employer sees fit to have me help you and so I am at your bidding.”
The woman”s tone left no room for argument and so, Emmaline dipped her head and said, “Very well.”
“Please, let us have you up and dressed, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said, gesturing Emmaline from her bed. “His Grace does not like to be kept waiting.”
The housekeeper”s words still rang in Emmaline”s ears as she was guided down to the breakfast room. She had seen very little of the house so far but what she had seen was grander than any she had ever set foot in. And with every step, she grew more and more nervous.
It appeared that in some ways, the duke and the devil were alike, for they both demanded strict timeliness and respect in their employees and their wives.
Emmaline entered the breakfast room anticipating she might be reprimanded for being late but upon her entering, the duke rose respectfully from his seat and moved to greet her.
“Lady Emmaline,” he said, taking her hand. When he kissed her knuckles, she felt herself swoon but caught herself, remembering all the aggravation he had already caused her. “May I say that you look radiant this morning. I do hope that my mother”s old gowns shall suffice until we are able to collect more of your things.”
“I… umm…” Emmaline stammered, unsure of what to say. “Yes, thank you, Your Grace. They are truly beautiful.”
“Good. I am glad they are to your liking,” the duke said, and he held her hand even as he gestured toward the table. “Please, allow me to show you to your seat.”
Emmaline struggled to breathe past the lump in her throat. Why did he have to be so gentlemanly when she was trying so desperately to hold onto her anger toward him?
Why did he also have to be quite so handsome? She tried her hardest to see what he claimed everyone else saw: the horrid, scarred monster of a man who made children cry and grown men flinch. But all she saw was a handsome man marred by whatever terrible accident had befallen him. It made him rugged, mysterious, intriguing, all of the things she loved to read about in the romance novels she had her nose in as an adolescent.
Perhaps that was why she felt so strongly toward him? It was not him but in fact the idea of the man he might be? She would not allow her girlish notions of romance to get in the way of her intelligence or her anger.
And so, when she was seated and the duke moved to sit back at the head of the table beside her, she dipped her head and said, “Forgive my tardiness, Your Grace.”
“Nonsense. Last night was late and I did not wish for you to be disturbed too early,” the duke announced, shaking his head. He clicked his fingers and a man—who Emmaline guessed was the butler—appeared seemingly out of nowhere to begin serving food onto their plates as he added, “I hoped after breakfast I might interest you in a tour of the house and its grounds?”
Emmaline”s heart skipped a beat. Such a grand, wonderful old house certainly had a great many hidden treasures. She had always been one for admiring beauty in architecture and gardens. With an imagination such as her own, it was not difficult to imagine all the wonderful things that had occurred within the halls of such places.
Calmly, she stated, “I would like that, Your Grace.”
Breakfast was had in near silence with the duke only having asked how she had slept and if Mrs. Farthing had treated her well enough so far, if her lodgings were to her liking and was there anything that she had needed.
In fact, the duke was a true gentleman, a wonderful host, and a downright infuriating nuisance.
How could such a gentleman also be the devil who had caused so much heartache and torment across London?
His tour of the house left her even more confused as to that question. He spoke so fondly of the place, lighting up as he told her stories of his childhood with younger sister, though Emmaline did notice his failure to mention his parents or even the uncle he had made mention of the night before.
He kept a suitable distance as if trying his hardest to prevent a reoccurrence of what had transpired between them in the foyer.
When he showed her the library, Emmaline felt a wonder the likes of which never experienced before. She had been in a great many libraries, but this one was astounding. With its high vaulted ceiling and its shelves that reached all the way to said ceiling, she imagined losing herself among the pages of every one of those books.
It might well take her a lifetime. And yet, she thought with some fear and trepidation, she now had that very lifetime in order to do so, a lifetime as the wife of The Duke of Westmarch.
It was a wonderful yet terrifying thought. And as if the duke saw her eyes light up at the sight of the place, he assured her, “What is mine is yours now. You may come in here whenever you wish.”
Grateful beyond words Emmaline dropped into a low curtesy and gasped, “Oh, thank you, Your Grace.”
She was shocked when the duke leaned down to take hold of her hand and guide her back to her feet.
“Please,” he said gently, urging her chin up to meet his gaze. “Don”t curtsy before me like that. Not when we are alone. You are my wife. I know we do not yet truly understand what that means for the both of us, but I shall respect you enough that you do not need to do such things.”
Emmaline grew more and more astounded by the hour.
Before she could say a word, he squeezed her hand and said, “There is one more final room I must show you before we move onto the gardens. Shall we?”
Emmaline could not seem to find her voice and so she simply nodded.
Allowing the duke to guide her out of the library and down the hallway, she marveled at the last room just as she had all the others.
“This is my office,” the duke announced, “Should you ever have need of me, you shall most likely find me here if I am not at the club.”
Emmaline took a moment to take it all in as she had every other room, sweeping around its edge, tracing her finger over the edge of tables and shelves, looking at the trinkets here and there.
There were a great many of them and Emmaline suspected that like many of the grand houses of England, they had been collected over the centuries and the many generations that had lived in the house. She suspected even the duke himself did not know of every last item he now possessed that had once belonged to his father, and his father before him, and his father before that.
The centerpiece of the office, a huge black wooden desk that was polished to a fine and glossy finish was what caught Emmaline’s eye the most, and she stepped up to it, caressing its surface. Never had she felt something so smooth nor seen a wood so black.
“It is beautiful, is it not?” the duke asked. Out of the corner of her eye, Emmaline saw him smiling with the good side of his lips. “It is made of ebony. My father had it imported from Africa on one of his many business trips.”
“I have never seen anything like it,” Emmaline admitted.
The duke nodded. “I have rarely seen it in England either,” he admitted. “I am pleased to possess such a rarity indeed.”
Somehow, Emmaline felt he was no longer just talking about the desk for the way he gazed at her made her tremble.
“Please, let us sit,” he said, gesturing to the plush cushioned couch opposite the desk. “I am sure I have kept you on your feet long enough.”
Now that he mentioned it, Emmaline”s feet were aching. She suspected they had walked a few miles worth of steps throughout the house and they had yet to look at the gardens.
She moved to sit on the couch beside the duke, keeping a careful distance. “I am sure a great many business events have taken place at such a desk.”
“Indeed,” the duke said, and Emmaline thought she sensed him stiffen. “A great many and on the desk before it. I come from a long line of businessmen who just so happen to also be dukes.”
“It must be nice to have such wealth and title to afford you such a cozy life, Your Grace.”
Emmaline bit her lip the moment the words left her tongue. She turned her head in an instant, her eyes widening. “Forgive me, Your Grace, it is not my place to say such things.”
It was clear that her words had struck a chord within the duke, and he stared at her as if unsure whether to let his anger rain down upon her.
She braced herself, expecting a show from the devil himself. Instead, the duke sighed and shook his head. “Contrary to what you may believe, Lady Emmaline, my life has been far from easy. Walking in the footsteps of a man such as my father can be… challenging.”
“What was he like?” It felt a natural question to ask but again she felt a fool when the duke”s eyes snapped closed.
“I shall not discuss my father with you,” he said, shaking his head. “He is dead and buried and left me everything. That is all you need know.”
“Forgive me, I did not mean to cause you any hurt, Alexander,” Emmaline said softly. It was only when she followed his gaze that she realized she had laid her hand on his on his knee.
Snatching it away, she averted her gaze.
“What of you and your father, Emmaline, you said at the club that it was you who encouraged your father into the India shipment investment?”
Emmaline gulped. This time it was she who closed her eyes.
Pained, she nodded curtly. “Yes, it was.”
“Had such a tragedy not occurred, it would have been a remarkable investment indeed,” the duke stated and shocked, Emmaline looked to him.
She did not find even the slightest hint of mocking, only admiration in his eyes.
“I… I suppose that does not matter now,” she said, feeling a little uncomfortable.
“I wonder,” the duke said, examining her closely. “Do you have a real head for business, or was your interest in the India investment only a brief dipping of your toe into the pool?”
Emmaline”s entire body tingled with excitement at the mention of business. Though tinged by the failure of her first proper investment, her flare for such things had not dampened.
“I… my father, at least in the privacy of our home, has often called me his most trusted advisor,” she admitted.
The duke regarded her silently for some time. She was just beginning to think he might actually laugh at her words when he leaned forward, sucked in a breath, and said, “I wonder what you might make of my own business dealings.”
Emmaline blinked hard several times. Finding him still staring at her, she realized she had not imagined it. He was waiting for her response.
“I… I am your wife, Your Grace. I am at your disposal.”
“You are. And when we are alone, call me Alex, please,” the duke said, then gestured toward a pile of what appeared to be letters on the ebony desk. “Go on, take a look and tell me what you think.”
Emmaline hesitated. Was this some kind of trick? Was he deceiving her into complacency only to remind her that she was a lady and a duchess now and should not fill her head with such nonsense?
“Please,” he said, “I should be grateful for your opinion.”
Emmaline rose to her feet and on trembling legs, carried herself back to the desk.
She glanced over her shoulder and waited for a nod of approval from the duke before picking up the pile of correspondence.
Reading through them she found that a number of them were letters from tenants struggling to pay their taxes to the duke”s estate. Another couple were from the duke”s financial advisor about his sister”s education and there were yet more regarding debts to be paid to the duke.
“It appears you have a great deal of payments to settle but also a great deal of debts to be paid to you, Your Gr… Alex,” Emmaline said, looking through the letters again with her business head on. “I am not sure what use my advice would be. I am no duke. I have not handled such matters.”
“Try,” the duke insisted, his tone deep and almost sultry.
Emmaline looked over the letters again and, clearing her throat, said, “In regard to your tenants in the country, how many months taxes are owed?”
She felt him watching her but was unable to meet his gaze. His curiosity was palpable.
“Some only a month, others more.”
Emmaline nodded acknowledgement.
“Then I would suggest that those only a month in arrears be given the benefit of the doubt and those deeper in debt be encouraged to pay what they can until they are back on their feet. Also, I would look at your ledgers to see if perhaps the tax you command of them might perhaps be a little high?”
Realizing what she had said, she looked over her shoulder at the duke, half-expecting him to be outraged at such an accusation.
Instead, he looked thoughtful.
“What of the other matters?”
Emmaline thoughtfully. “As to the debts owed you, I would suggest that maybe, like myself, you might find a way for them to pay you in service rather than money if they are unable to pay?”
“I am afraid that one may not be possible,” the duke said, shaking his head. “These are large sums of money I am owed and if I am unable to redeem them, how am I to pay my own?”
Emmaline gulped. It was a valid question.
“I have often found that my father has a sentimental heart and somewhat the attitude of a hoarder. There are things within his house that he has not laid eyes on for a decade or more and they are of little use to him. Perhaps, begging your pardon, Your Grace, there might be similar such items within your walls? Or perhaps land you have yet unused serving no purpose, or maybe even a horse in your stables sitting unused? Your father”s or perhaps even your mother”s?”
On a roll, she glanced down at herself and pointed out, “I have not heard tell of a Duchess of Westmarch for many years and so I can only assume your mother, God rest her soul, has not been present for some time yet you still have her gowns, and I might suspect, her jewels and such?”
When she looked at the duke again, she saw his eyes darken. This time, she was certain she had gone too far. It was one thing to suggest moving money about to make ends meet but suggesting a man sell off his dead mother”s things was quite another.
She held her breath as the duke pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between them. He did not take his gaze from hers even when he stood before her. And when he reached for the letters in her hand, his fingers lingered upon hers in a way that made her quiver.
“You are either a brave or a very foolish young lady, Emmaline,” he said without so much as blinking. “Though, I do believe your advice is not without merit.”
Emmaline gulped hard. Her throat felt raw with emotion.
The two of them stared at each other for a long while, locked in each other”s gaze until the duke took the letters from her hand and said, “That is quite enough of that.”
It was only as he looked away to place the letters back on the desk that the spell was finally broken and Emmaline was able to speak again, “Your Grace, Alex, if I may, if there is such trouble in your business ventures, why do you persist with this devil”s act?”
Having turned to the desk, the duke caught himself on the edge of it, his entire body visibly tensing at her question.
“You could never understand.”
“Perhaps I might if you explain it properly? Is it some strange manner in which you honor your late father perhaps? Or some way of—”
“Enough!” the duke growled. “I do not wish to talk of my father. All you need know is it is the family business, one that my uncle and I take great care of in order to ensure the needs of our family are met.”
Emmaline dropped her gaze. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I have spoken out of turn.”
“I suspect, Your Grace, that is something you do rather regularly,” the duke said, his tone filled with warning, though when he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, she could have sworn she saw a spark of amusement.
Emmaline cleared her throat and dipped her head. “It is something I will try to work on.”
“Don”t,” the duke responded, causing Emmaline to look up. “It is… refreshing.”
Emmaline blushed, smiling uncontrollably.
“I suspect that as The Devil Lord, you are not used to people speaking up for themselves,” Emmaline said. His gaze was warm upon her as he nodded.
“You suspect correctly. It is rare that I am able to be myself around anybody,” the duke explained, and Emmaline felt a pang of pity for him as he added, “Even rarer still that anyone might be themselves around me.”
Emmaline gulped. Had she been herself around him? Perhaps she was a little more guarded than usual, but yes, she supposed she had been.
“That does not appear to make you happy, Alex,” Emmaline said, her heart hammering. Perhaps she was speaking out of turn again. Though he had encouraged her to, it still felt quite dangerous. “Why do you continue this charade if it makes you so unhappy?”
“Playing the devil is lucrative in ways you could never understand,” the duke explained shaking his head. He lowered his gaze then, his expression becoming thoughtful. He rubbed his chin in quiet contemplation. “Unless…”
“Unless?”
He looked at her then and Emmaline”s chest tightened. She suspected that whatever came out of his mouth next, she wasn”t going to like.
“Unless, perhaps, you might see fit, as my wife, to sit beside me on my throne?” the duke said, his eyes sparking excitedly with the idea.
Emmaline’s response came in a sudden, instinctual burst as she blurted, “Absolutely not!”
The duke”s distaste at her response was evident. She was about to point out to him that it was he who had encouraged her to speak her mind when he suddenly, he broke away from her and headed for the pull cord beside the fireplace.
Emmaline gulped hard. His change in demeanor was nerve-wrecking. It took all she had in her to remain with her head held high, hands clasped before her.
A few moments after he had pulled the cord, the butler appeared in record-breaking time.
“Your Grace,” the gray-haired man said, dipping his head as he entered. “How may I be of service?”
“Please have my carriage prepared. Her Grace and I have somewhere to be.”
The butler dipped his head once more and was gone again from the room.
As if he sensed her questioning gaze, the duke turned and explained, “It is time we visit your family and share our news. I have hopes of also sharing the terms of our arrangement with your father should he be well enough.”
Emmaline”s entire body trembled then. It was one thing to tell people of an arrangement before it occurred and quite another to face those people afterwards.
Besides, she hadn”t heard anything from any of her family since she had left them the day before. What if something had happened to her dear papa?