Wait!Emmaline recognized that name. Where had she heard it before?
Then, as the devil raised his hands to untie the ribbon that held his mask, Emmaline gasped.
“…The Duke of Westmarch, take Lady Emmaline Moreau to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
I do know him!She gasped again when the mask was lowered and dropped into the waiting hand of the masked escort.
“You!” she exclaimed, unable to stop the word from bursting out of her mouth.
Her heart hammered in her chest. Her palms began to sweat. Her knees grew weak. That face, that handsome yet scarred yet wonderful face, belonged to that of the man she had first encountered at the ball, then again in the devil's office, the man who had assured her he was very close friends with the devil and would pass on her message, the man whose very gaze had made her tremble with desire.
“Is something the matter?” the priest asked, pausing in the ceremony. “Do you wish for me to stop, my dear?”
“No, no!” Emmaline protested.
Questioning and confusion were uncontrollable within her. She fought the urge to spew a million questions. Anger and frustration swelled inside her. If he had been The Devil Lord all along, why couldn't he have just told her that day in the office?
She would get her answers, she was determined to, but first she would have what he had promised her. She would have a wedding for her father's debts to be paid and her family's good name restored.
The priest looked to the duke. “Your Grace?”
His Grace stared at Emmaline without blinking and offered her his hand. She glanced down at it, considering hard what she ought to do.
Then, finally, she laid her hand in his and the duke gave a curt and commanding nod. “Continue.”
“Do you, Alexander Black, The Duke of Westmarch, take Lady Emmaline Moreau to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the priest repeated. Emmaline saw the way he was trembling. It was as if he were as frightened of The Devil Lord now as when he had been wearing his mask.
“I do,” the duke declared and the way he stared so intensely into Emmaline's eyes made her feel as if she might collapse. The way he squeezed her fingers gently sent heat surging up her arms and into her chest.
What is happening?
“Do you, Lady Emmaline Moreau, take Lord Alexander Black, The Duke of Westmarch, to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the priest asked.
Emmaline barely heard him. Her heart was pounding harder and harder in her ears. Her entire body quivered until she felt as if she might melt into a puddle on the floor.
The intense way he was looking at her made her feel as if she were the only person in the room, blocking out all voices that weren't his.
When he cleared his throat and said, “My Lady, you must say the words or this cannot be complete,” Emmaline realized that everyone in the room was waiting upon her.
Tongue feeling as though it was far too big for her mouth, she struggled to speak. Clearing her throat, she said, “Please…please can you repeat?”
The priest did not look best pleased to be asked to do so but he hurried to oblige when the duke glared at him threateningly. It appeared it wasn't just the mask that struck fear into the hearts of men.
“Do you, Lady Emmaline Moreau, take Lord Alexander Black, The Duke of Westmarch, to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the priest repeated, his voice so shaky that Emmaline felt even more sorry for him than she did for herself.
The duke looked about to speak again when Emmaline answered, “I do.”
“Then by the power vested in me by the grace of God Almighty, I pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride!”
Emmaline gasped. Her eyes widened as the duke stepped closer. She hadn't even thought about that part of the ceremony. In fact, she hadn't really thought about the ceremony at all, only what happened afterwards.
Her family would be saved from ruin. Her father might recover after some joyous news such as this. And she would be the wife of the devil himself.
But this moment, this appeared to be all for her. She hadn't imagined that it could be but as the duke stepped forward and took her face in both his hands, she realized one thing with a wave of absolute astonishment, she liked it.
Yes, the duke's face was hideously scarred on one side, but the other was ruggedly handsome, marvelously so, and with a little imagination it wasn't difficult to picture what he had been like before whatever accident had befallen him.
Besides that, his touch upon her cheeks was gentle, tender even, and when his lips met hers, Emmaline felt as if the sun had collided with the moon and her entire world had been obliterated. All that she knew and had ever known was swept from her in an instant. There was only her and him. Their lips connected in a way she had never connected with anyone else before.
