by Darcy Burke
Sebastian’s dark green eyes narrowed to unreadable black slits. “What about him? What is there to discuss, other than whether or not you want to end this farce of a betrothal?”
She probably had the only guardian in the entire Kingdom this eager to sever ties with one of the most powerful titles simply because his sister was not happy. Sebastian seemed to take Drake’s disinterest as a personal slight. And Emmaline loved him for that.
Mother’s gaze alternated between Emmaline and Sebastian. “I’ve already spoken with Emmaline on the matter, Sebastian.”
They both ignored her.
“I asked you to trust me,” Emmaline snapped at her brother.
He sprung from his leisurely pose; his spine stiffened as all feigned attempts at nonchalance disappeared. “And I told you yes, but with limits. You have been making a fool of yourself, Em. This is what you expect me to trust? You want me to blindly look away while you arrange your schedule to—”
This time she couldn’t help it…she stamped her foot. “I certainly don’t want you confronting him and trying to force his hand!”
A slight knock and the sudden appearance of a servant at the door cut off Sebastian’s diatribe. Emmaline was never more grateful for the sudden appearance of another person in her life.
A liveried servant came forth with a silver tray bearing an envelope. He cleared his throat. “Pardon, the interruption. You have a note, my lady.”
She accepted the envelope, aware of her mother and brother intently studying the parchment in her hands.
Recognizing the dark, strong scrawl at the front as distinctly different from Sophie’s wide, flowing letters, Emmaline turned the thick ivory envelope over in her hands. She noted the lion-emblazoned gold seal and trailed a fingertip along the raised surface. She hesitated and lifted the blade from the servant’s tray. Her fingers trembled as she slid the tip under the seal and withdrew the note.
My Dear Lady,
I cannot believe you enjoy reading this drivel. I am writing to inquire as to your progress with your copy. And of course, to ask after your well-being.
—Drake
All day she’d been consumed with anxiety of how Drake would address what had transpired in the gardens. Her greatest fear had been that he would humble himself with an apology he need not make.
A burst of relieved laughter escaped her.
Sebastian had been the Duke of Mallen for almost three years, and most of the time epitomized the role to perfection. This time was not one of them. In his haste to sit up, he almost slipped off the sofa. “What does it say?”
Maybe if she’d been weaker she would have given him the information he sought. But this was still the same brother whose steps she’d dogged, the same brother she’d played pranks on as a young girl, and to her, he would always fit that role.
She waved the note in the air. “It says you’re a nosy busy-body who can’t mind his business.”
The Duchess of Mallen looked to Sebastian. “Perhaps he has finally come to his senses?”
Sebastian snorted. “I’ll believe it when she’s marching down the aisle on my arm,” he said.
A smile played about Emmaline’s lips. If she had her way that was just how it would be.
EIGHTEEN
Dearest Drake,
I wonder if you even know my middle name. As my betrothed, I rather feel you should. It is Rose. I’m not much of a rose. Sebastian forever tells me I’m more of a thorn upon the rose. I would like to tell you what I call him, but that wouldn’t be ladylike.
Ever Yours,
Emmaline
Drake had convinced himself to send ’round a note to the Earl and Countess of Mooring, offering up his regrets for their annual ball. After what had transpired earlier that morn, coward that he was, Drake had wanted to avoid his betrothed.
He’d sat down to dash a note to the Earl and Countess of Mooring, making his excuses. For the better part of an hour, he’d stared down at a blank piece of parchment. In the end, all he’d done was drip black all over his desk.
Lady Emmaline was some kind of enchantress who’d managed to weave a magical spell over him, depleting him of his wisdom, leaving him well and truly—bewitched. For at that moment, in spite of his intentions to avoid her, Drake stood behind the Earl of Mooring’s pink marble pillars and studied Emmaline.
He’d known Emmaline since she was a small girl and had only ever seen her as a bothersome child, the daughter of his father’s very good friend. Then she had become a responsibility…well, a future responsibility, anyway. But sometime, Drake didn’t know when, she’d changed from the little girl who’d been perched on the chair opposite him in her father’s library to a headily desirable woman.
He hadn’t thought of her as a responsibility in a long time. Instead, she’d become a mischievous young woman who defended those in need of defending, who talked to her plants…and of course, liked a good Gothic novel.
And he had fast become enraptured.
The irony was not lost on him; he’d gone to bloody war to avoid the very woman he now so desperately ached for but couldn’t have. This morning’s episode only cemented that truth.
Someone in the ballroom stepped between Drake and his direct line of vision, temporarily blocking Emmaline from sight. “Move,” he whispered, willing the matron away. Drake sidled to the left and peered around the pillar just in time to see Emmaline throw her head back and laugh at whatever Miss Winters had said.
Her smile transformed her.
Then, as if she felt his gaze caressing her, she froze and surveyed the room, until her eyes landed on the pillar that hid his frame. She tilted her neck to the side and her lips turned up in secretive smile as if she knew he was there.
He needed to see her. Not in this clandestine manner, but up close. Suddenly, of their own volition, his feet were leading him from his spot behind the column and carrying him over to her seat.
All day he’d debated what he would say to explain the incident in the gardens. Even as his long strides carried him across the ballroom and to her, he realized he’d run out of time to come up with excuses, but didn’t care. All he cared about was being with her.
“Lady Emmaline, may I have the next set?”
Emmaline’s mouth formed a small moue of surprise and Miss Winters nudged her in the side.
“Ouch,” Emmaline exclaimed.
Miss Winters colored and grasped her elbow. “Oh, dear. I fear I must have done something to my elbow. It seems to be moving erratically.”
Drake arched an amused brow at the young lady, who must have felt she needed to throw in further proof for good measure, because her elbow jerked again.
“See? Why, there it goes again.”
Emmaline glanced down at the card hanging from a string on her wrist. “Although hesitant to leave Sophie in her present condition, I will make an exception and abandon her to accompany you in the next set, my lord.”
She shivered when his hand touched hers.
They took their place at the dance floor for the next set.
The musicians began to play a waltz.
Now that he held her, Drake, who was usually so urbane, didn’t know what to say.
“My lord, are you well?” she inquired haltingly.
He could have pleaded ignorance to what she actually referenced, but he wasn’t that much of a coward.
“I wanted to apologize for…for what happened,” he fumbled, faltered through the apology. “I do not know what overcame me,” he lied. He did know exactly what had overcome him. “I have worried over your welfare.”
Emmaline caught her lower lip between her teeth and worried the flesh. “There is nothing to apologize for,” she said. “You forget I have an older brother.”
Drake would wager that her older brother had never put his hands on her and if said older brother did, then Drake would beat him within an inch of his life.
Emmaline said nothing else for a moment. “Does…this…happen to you frequently?”
Drake swallowed, and wished for the first time that they’d danced anything other than a waltz, because then there would be a natural separation, and he’d have time to craft a vague response. He fixed his gaze over her shoulder. “It has gotten better, though there are moments when I am…when, it still occurs.” Surprisingly, he felt oddly freed by the admission.
“Do certain things trigger these episodes?”
For the first time in three years, Drake wanted to confide in another human being. He hadn’t shared any part of his transformation with his father or Sin, partly out of embarrassment and partly out of fear that they would realize he had a touch of madness. Something about this small slip of a woman, made him want to share this part of himself with her. “Certain noises startle me. The sound of a gun will sometimes trigger a reminder of the war.” He smiled wryly. “Needless to say, I no longer attend hunting parties.” He shrugged. “That is all.”
That is all.
Oh, Drake. Her heart bled. How had he dealt with this alone for all these years? Why didn’t you come back to me? Why didn’t you let me be your wife, and help you heal?
But he was here before her now. And that was enough. She wanted to remind him life could be uncomplicated and peaceful.
“It is nothing to be ashamed of.”
The muscles beneath his midnight black jacket tightened under her hands. “No, of course not. Every gentleman has bouts of madness,” he replied sardonically, an edge to his words.
“You are not mad,” she said vehemently.
“How do you know? How do you know the man you have made it a point of pursuing this Season, the man who is to be your husband, is not a madman? How can you trust I won’t hurt you?”
“You would never hurt me.”
“Never intentionally. But what if I didn’t realize what I was doing? Like….like…” The incident in the gardens.
Silence descended between them and Emmaline’s mind turned over any possible response that would bring solace, only to find there was nothing she could say. No words could chase away the demons he faced. The reality of it crippled her with a sense of hopelessness.
Emmaline would not allow him to look like this defeated man before her. This was not the time or place for him to bare his soul. “How have you been enjoying your reading?” she asked.
His brow furrowed at the unexpected shift in conversation. “I think you can gather from the note I sent that it leaves much to be desired.”
She gave a little toss of her head. “You should be warned, my lord, I am nearly through my copy. You had better devote some time to your reading if you have any hope of winning our challenge.”
“I fear I have lost already,” he said cryptically.
“Tsk, tsk.” She tapped him with the fan hanging from her wrist. “You so readily admit defeat. I thought you would have put greater effort into your readings, as it would mean I would no longer bother you for a week.”
The chords of the waltz drew to a halt, and they came to a reluctant stop on the dance floor, standing there amidst clapping couples.
Drake’s emerald gaze seared her with its intensity. “How did I ever think you a bother?”
Emmaline blinked. “My lord?”
Drake shook his head. “Uh, I said, I think I see your brother.”
Emmaline followed the direction of Drake’s stare and felt her skin smart with embarrassment. Nothing could kill a romantic moment more than the glowering figure crossing the ballroom, to intercept their movements.
“I think your brother would want to see us make a match of it,” he mumbled under his breath.
Emmaline laughed. “All Sebastian knows is that for the past three years he has had to escort me to more events than he would ever want because I’m unwed. He is therefore a tad resentful where you’re concerned,” she explained, as her brother drew to a halt before them.
Both men sketched respectful bows.
“So good to see you are finally doing the honorable thing and attending your obligations, my lord. Though a waltz is hardly tantamount to a formal declaration for my sister.” For appearances sake, Sebastian at least had the good sense to smile at Drake.
Whatever fleeting connection she’d shared with Drake vanished like a chord struck on the pianoforte.
Drake stiffened at her elbow.
She was going to kill Sebastian for calling out Drake before a crowded ballroom. It was all she could do to keep from throttling her brother there on the spot.
Sebastian took her hand from where it rested on Drake’s elbow and placed it in the crook of his arm.
Drake’s eyes narrowed at the subtle gesture of possessiveness.
Emmaline didn’t answer to anyone. She tugged her hand free.
Her betrothed raised a brow. “I would have never taken you for one to make a public scene. Yet this is the second such time you have attempted to create a scandal. How very un-duke-like of you, Your Grace. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you are attempting to sever the connection between Lady Emmaline and me.” The bite to Drake’s words were belied by the strained, albeit congenial smile he wore.
Emmaline couldn’t help the sound of skepticism that escaped her. She spoke before Sebastian could formulate a response. “That’s preposterous, Drake. Why would my brother want to dissolve the contract?”
A stony, telling silence met Emmaline’s question. Her shoulders stiffened. Mindful of where she was, she plastered a smile to her face and directed her attention to Sebastian. “Tell him that’s foolish.”
Sebastian’s façade of civility slipped and his only response was a flinty-eyed glare for Drake.
Panic caused her heart to speed up. Emmaline wet her lips. He will not end this betrothal. Not now. Not when I’ve finally come to know him. A very thin grasp on reason reminded her of where they were.
Sebastian’s jaw set, he surveyed the room to verify the exchange went unnoticed. He returned his attention to Emmaline and Drake. “I’ve tired of this farce between the two of you. I want a decision soon, Drake.”
“Remember where you are,” Emmaline cautioned. Oh, how the scandal sheets would love to plaster this meeting on their front pages.
Drake folded his arms over the hard-muscled wall of his chest. “My, if you don’t epitomize the role of arrogant, commanding duke.”
Emmaline mustered another weak attempt at a laugh. The sound emitted was more that of a bull-frog who’d downed a stone instead of a fly. She closed her mouth.
Oh dear, this had gone from bad to worse.
“I urge you to remember to whom you are speaking,” Sebastian said between clenched teeth.
Drake squared his shoulders. “Oh? And who am I speaking to?”
Sebastian’s words emerged as a silken threat. “Who am I? Why, I’m the lady’s guardian, of course. One word from me and this,” he gave a wave of his hand, “game you are playing with my sister is at an end.”
Emmaline gasped. Before she could muster a response, Sebastian neatly took her hand, and steered her from the dance-floor.
NINETEEN
My Dearest Drake,
Forgive me for not writing. I fell from a tree and my arm was dislocated. It was dreadfully painful. I now understand why mother said ladies should not climb trees. So, I have climbed my last tree.
Ever Yours,
Emmaline
She wished it were raining.
And she hated the rain.
But today the sun’s bright rays were so abundantly, well, bright, and it was making it difficult for her to remain buried in her cocoon of covers, pretending it was still time to be abed.
Anything so she didn’t have to face the inevitable confrontation with her brother.
After the tumultuous exchange between Drake and Sebastian that previous evening, Sebastian had chosen to let the matter rest. Emmaline had been dealt a reprieve. Alas, today was the day she visited London Hospital.
Emmaline sighed.
The last thing she wanted to endure was a
closed carriage ride with Sebastian. She considered postponing her trip until tomorrow. That would allow her a brief reprieve from—
“My lady?”
Her maid, Grace, hovered in the doorway.
Emmaline waved her in.
Grace hurried over to Emmaline’s armoire. “His Grace wanted me to remind you of your visit to London Hospital.”
Emmaline scrubbed her hand across her eyes. “Was that all?” If she knew her brother as well as she believed she did, then there was certainly more.
Grace’s hand, which had been ruffling through Emmaline’s row of day gowns, paused. “He also instructed me to tell you—” she cleared her throat, “—that you couldn’t hide in your room forever. His Grace’s, words, of course.”
“Of course.”
Grace returned her focus to her efforts at hand. She apparently would rather choose to ignore Emmaline’s stinging sarcasm.
Oh, he was an insufferable bother.
Tossing the covers aside, she flung her feet over the side of the bed and jumped to the floor. “Help me dress, Grace.”
The ever diligent Grace was already crossing the room with an ivory silk organza creation draped over her arms.
Emmaline allowed her maid to assist her out of her nightgown and into the lovely gown. She stood in front of the floor-length ornate silver mirror, trimmed in roses not really seeing Grace’s final efforts.
What could she possibly say to Sebastian that would make any sense? How could she brush aside his very legitimate concerns of her betrothal, when she herself saw merit in them? In four months she would be one and twenty, and another year would be behind her, leaving her still unwed.
Grace cleared her throat. “My lady?”
Emmaline jumped. “Ah, yes, thank you, Grace.”
And because Sebastian was correct and she couldn’t stay in her room forever, she left the sanctuary of her chambers.
She found him waiting for her at the base of the stairs with a book tucked under one arm, and checking his timepiece.
