Emmaline met his gaze and sucked in a breath before answering, “He is my husband. Is it not a wife's duty to help her husband?”
Sean scoffed at that. “I suppose it is.”
They reached the carriage where they had left it with the coachman at the end of the high street and Sean handed the box to a waiting footman. “The duchess and I are headed to the tearooms. See the carriage brought outside for when we are finished.”
“Of course, My Lord,” the young man said, bowing low before he turned to put the box onto the carriage.
“I shall say again, Your Grace, I am most glad that the duke has found you,” Sean said as he offered her his elbow once more. “I did fear once that the devil might entirely consume him, but I think, perhaps, you might be the very thing to rescue him from such a fate.”
Emmaline was shocked at his words, not because she didn't intend to try but because Sean believed she could. After all, she was just a woman. What hope did she truly have of rescuing anybody from anything?
Late that afternoon, long after the tearooms and returning home to prepare for dinner, Emmaline heard the duke's own return. She heard the definitive sounds of a man in full blown anger, yelling at servants and slamming doors. Whatever had happened while he had been out on business with his uncle, it couldn't have been good.
And for a while, Emmaline remained in her room. Even once Mrs. Farthing had finished helping her prepare for dinner and suggested that she might wish to wait in the drawing room.
Emmaline had asked the woman to go about her other business, wishing to be alone with her thoughts. After all Sean had said, she was hopeful. And her urge to go to the duke, to ask him what the matter was and try to comfort him, was so powerful that it was impossible to resist.
After almost an hour of waiting, with no sign that the duke had called for dinner to be served, Emmaline finally left the duchess’ chambers and headed downstairs.
Servants paused and bowed or curtsied low as she passed, and she offered them a friendly smile in return. If there was one thing she remembered her father had told her about her mother, it was that she insisted upon being friendly with her servants.
Her father had often told her how her mother would insist that a happy, well looked-after servant is a loyal and hard-working one. And as she was now a duchess, Emmaline felt it important to follow in her late mother's footsteps, not only with the servants but also her husband. Her father had also told her that her mother never let him be troubled alone.
When she reached the door to the duke's study, she paused with her hand raised to knock. Quite unsure as to whether it was a good idea to disturb him after how angry he had sounded, Emmaline sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Listening, she tried to get a sense of the mood inside the room. Yet, it was next to impossible as it was silent.
Is he even in there?Emmaline wondered but she knew he was. She hadn't heard the door open since he went inside. Nor had she heard his footsteps about the house, their sound growing more familiar by the day.
Taking one final large breath, Emmaline knocked upon the door and waited.
“Enter!” the duke called with great authority in his tone.
And when she did enter, he looked up from his desk with surprise. “Oh, it's you,” he said, the emotion clear in his voice. “I thought perhaps you were Benedict.”
“Did you have need of him?” Emmaline asked, “I can call for him?”
Now that she stood before the duke, she had lost all confidence for why she had come.
“No, no,” the duke said, leaning back in his chair. He gazed at her intently. “Did you have need of something?”
Before she could answer, he gestured to the armchair opposite his desk and added, “Please, sit.”
Emmaline did just that, feeling her knees growing weak at the sight of him. How could this gentleman of a man possibly be the devil lord?
It utterly baffled her that he seemed to play his act so well that nobody else had seen beneath the mask, that damn mask that sat on the desk beside him right now, glaring at her with its sightless eyes.
“I… I came to see if you were well,” Emmaline said, deciding it best to see if his mood had recovered somewhat. “You came home in such a temper. I thought, perhaps, you might need to talk?”
The duke regarded her gently for a moment and she actually believed he might tell her the truth. Then his gaze hardened, and he shook his head. “There is nothing to talk of.”
“Forgive me, Alex, but I can see that is not true,” Emmaline said carefully. She played with the hem on the folds of her skirt as she spoke, hoping to keep herself calm though her heart was racing. “And since I am your wife, who better to talk to?”
Again, the duke's gaze softened. The inner turmoil was clear in his eyes as it hardened once more. He shook his head. “It is nothing I cannot handle alone.”
“But must you?” Emmaline asked, feeling a little braver as she saw the fight going on behind her husband's eyes. Perhaps if she just gave a little push, she might be able to crack him.
“What is it that you want from me, Emmaline?” the duke asked. Emmaline paused, surprised and pleased by his using her name.
