Page 91 of The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke

The meal of oxtail soup, roast pheasant, and leg of mutton was once again served to perfection on a pristine white tablecloth. Emma might as well have been eating bits of chalk for all she enjoyed the painstakingly prepared courses. It was too petty of her, she realized, to allow Hermia’s predictions to unsettle her.

Lady Serena was almost an hour late.

And when she finally did arrive, everyone in the dining hall—including the six attentive footmen—looked up in silent expectation toward the door.

“A dramatic entrance,” Hermia murmured smugly. “Planned to the minute.”

A dramatic entrance. Serena managed that and more as she swept into the room. She stood tall and statuesque to Emma’s diminutive frame, a brunette, with dark eyes and the enchanting laugh of one who knows she is beautiful. She captivated the attention of everyone in the hall.

“Gollumpus!” she squealed with delight as Adrian rose politely from his chair to acknowledge her.

And then, fortunately before Emma was prompted to say something uncharitable, such as, “Nice of you to join us for dessert,” Serena fairly galloped across the room and thumped Adrian on the back with a blow that would have knocked a normal male under the table.

He coughed, raising his brow. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“And about ten more,” she said gleefully before she glanced around the table. “So sorry we’re late. Lady Hellfire needed a good worming, and then the vicar had to change his shirt.” She stared past Adrian at Emma in surprise. “Don’t tell me that’s your wife—”

He grinned. “I won’t. But she is.”

Hermia nearly dropped her wine goblet.

Emma managed to set her glass down beside her plate. Where in the etiquette manual was this sort of thing covered? “Yes, I am his wife and I’m so very pleased to make your—”

“Well, blow me over with a feather,” Serena said with a guffaw. “I can see straight off that she’s too good for you, Adrian. For one thing she’s dainty as a dewdrop, and she’s got manners. Did you take her captive in one of your harems?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “How did you guess? I brought back a few pirates for you to play with, too.”

Serena poked him in the arm. “I don’t need a pirate. I’ve got the vicar now.”

“Who’s the vicar?” he asked with a derisive smile. “Another horsey?”

“He’s my fiancé,” she replied. “In fact, if your wife doesn’t mind me stealing her thunder, he and I thought we might announce our engagement here tonight. And discuss plans for the charity assembly to raise funds for the village school.” She made a belated curtsy in Emma’s direction. “All jesting aside, Lady Wolverton, I welcome you on behalf of the parish. I do hope you and I can become friends and work together for the good of Scarfield.”

Emma’s eyes misted over with an emotional if un-seemly response of tears. To be loved by a man of good heart, to be helpful to the disheartened was everything she could ask of life. And she had no rival for Adrian’s affection.

Her obligation to the academy must still be met, and the move to the country would benefit everyone. She would never stop worrying about her infamous Boscastle family in London.

But—she was needed here, too. The duke needed his son. Florence needed a husband. And Cedric surely needed a wife.

There followed a merry evening of nibbling on stewed pears with white cheese, Moselle and Bordeaux wines imbibed in a spirit of celebration. The vicar arrived shortly after Serena and apologized that Lady Hellfire had made him late. Odham expressed his deep concern over her ladyship’s health until Hermia gently elbowed him and explained that Hellfire was a horse, not a woman.

And although the duke appeared to weary long before his company, he appeared contented when he excused himself for the night.

Emma walked with him to the staircase.

“I don’t deserve this happiness, I know,” he said, smiling at her.

“If the gifts we are granted came only by our merit, I think we would all be beggars, your grace.”

He nodded. “Perhaps he does deserve you. God willing he will not make the same mistakes that I have when it comes to love.”

“Fraud,” Emma said the moment she and Adrian stood alone in their bedchamber.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Your table manners are impeccable.”

“Are you complaining?” he asked in mock astonishment.