Of course, she had kissed people before. She had kissed her parents good night many times. She had kissed her little siblings plenty, too. She had even had a quick peck on the lips from a young nobleman's son when they had been too young to even understand what kissing meant.
But this was unlike anything she had ever felt before. It was fear inflicting, mind numbing, bone shattering bliss.
And it frightened the life out of her. It was one thing to experience such a thing with The Duke of Westmarch but quite another withThe Devil Lordof London. How was she supposed to feel now that she knew they were one and the same?
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 meYour 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.
