Emmaline raised her head rather proudly and responded, “I have always taken all said with a pinch of salt.”
“Good because thetonhave an awful reputation for spreading false rumor,” the duke stated, and his gaze darkened. Never once did he blink as he looked at her and added, “I am sure you have heard the stories of how I got my scars.”
Emmaline’s stomach twisted. She had heard more rumors on that count than she cared to mention. She dipped a curt nod and opened her lips to ask what the true story was.
Yet, she never got the chance for the duke leaned back so suddenly in the seat that it made the carriage rock even more than the uneven terrain beneath them. He sighed deeply and said, “But that is a story for another day.”
Frustration clawed Emmaline’s insides. She had heard so many stories of the duke and his scars. She had heard a thousand different tales of how he had come by them. She would have liked to set the record straight on a few things, especially when it came to her sister, Jane.
Though she had spoken to her only a little at the ball, what little had been said, it was clear she was concerned for Emmaline’s safety with a man who was decidedly known to be dangerous and powerful.
Hoping her new husband might one day be comfortable enough to share the truth with her, she dipped her head, cleared her throat and said, “I imagine it is not something easily relived, Alex. I understand it would not be something you wished to talk about very often.”
She looked up just in time to see the duke cringe. “Indeed.”
This time, it was her gaze that caught his and she found she could not blink as she said, “We all have things we would rather not relive, things we wish we could do differently, things we’d rather not have happened at all.”
Her insides twisted again painfully as she thought of the reckless investment she had encouraged her father to make in the India shipment.
“Yes, well,” the duke sighed, and crossed his arms over his chest. “It is best not to dwell on these things. We must always look forward, never back.”
Emmaline smiled and dipped her head in agreement.
She was only mildly relieved when the carriage pulled up outside Westmarch House. Though the conversation had turned somewhat serious, she had enjoyed her husband’s company far more than anticipated.
With every day that passed, things appeared to be growing easier. Perhaps it was the seemingly genuine interest the duke showed in whatever she had to say. Or maybe it was the fact that they were already married and so they had no real expectation to keep up with appearances.
In a way, they were able to be themselves without fear of losing anything. After all, a marriage seemed to be the ultimate accomplishment among thetonand here Emmaline was having accomplished it at only eighteen years old and to a duke no less.
“Is something troubling you, Emmaline?” the duke asked, and it was only when he did so that she realized he had already clambered out of the carriage and was holding up his hand to help her down the steps.
“I…umm… no,” Emmaline said, shaking her head. How was she to tell the duke what she had just been thinking about? That she had only just come to realize how lucky she had been. Some ladies waited years to find the perfect match, to find the wealthiest and most titled man they were able and to convince them that they were the perfect match.
Yet, in a matter of one evening, Emmaline had secured herself a marriage to a duke. Albeit, he was The Devil Lord of London. But how many people really knew that the duke and the devil were the same person?
Emmaline had heard talk of them both but never as if they were the same person and so, to the rest of the world, she was simply a duchess now, not the devil’s bride. She could at least be thankful for that.
Realizing she had lost herself in thought again, she quickly reached out and placed her hand in the duke’s.
In a most gentlemanly fashion, he guided her down the steps and it was only when she reached the bottom that she realized just how closely the two of them were standing. She had to crane her neck up to look him in the eye and when she did, her chin almost brushed his torso.
In an almost breathless manner, he whispered, “Let me take you to the secret garden?”
A thrill ran through the length of Emmaline’s body. She would have liked to accept right there and then but first she said, “I must take this inside for some water first.” She held up the yellow rose to him and smiled. “I should hate for it to wither.”
The duke nodded and started to guide her up the house steps, holding her hand firmly in his as if he were fearful to let her go.
As they approached the door, it opened and the duke’s butler arrived in the doorway with a quick, “Your Grace, Your Grace,” bowing to each of them before he stepped out of the way and awaited their coats.
“Thank you, Marsons,” the duke said. “Where is Mrs. Farthing? The duchess requires a vase of water.”
“I am here, Your Grace,” Mrs. Farthing said, appearing from the hallway into the foyer with a low curtsy before she approached, head still dipped. “Please, Your Grace, allow me to take that for you.”
She held out her hand for the rose and yet, somehow, Emmaline couldn’t bring herself to release it.
“Perhaps you might bring the vase to me?” she suggested, “I would like to see it put in its proper place in my room, please?”
At that, the duke smiled.
