The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  “Seb—”

  He continued. “Someday you are going to need a new hat. You will find the hat, and it will be perfect for you.”

  Emmaline chewed her lip. “I will never, ever feel this way—about another, hat.” Her words were strong with conviction.

  “No, no you may not. But nonetheless, you will find one and you will learn to love it. Do you understand?”

  She nodded against his knee, again feeling like a little girl.

  Sebastian set the hat down on the bench beside him. During her childhood, he used to tease her mercilessly about her concerns over Lord Drake’s devotion. As the years passed and it became clear that there was credence to her fears, he’d ceased tormenting her. He then became the protective one. The brother who assured her that she was, indeed, wanted. Now, he was the brother who was being truthful. She loved him even more for that.

  “I’m never going to be happy again,” she said, nearly choking on the words.

  A hoarse sound lodged in Sebastian’s throat, and he dragged her unceremoniously off the ground into his arms. He took her by the shoulders and gave her a slight shake. “Listen to me. You are beautiful and kind and smart. Someday you will find a gentlemen deserving of your love and it will be Drake’s loss. He made a foolish mistake and someday I’m certain he’ll realize that.”

  Emmaline buried a gasping sob in his jacket front. “For all the consolation that is. Oh God, I’ve become a watering pot.”

  He tugged out a kerchief and wiped her nose. “A rather messy one at that.”

  She claimed the kerchief and held it to her face while she wept. “He never wanted our betrothal. Why?”

  Sebastian cursed and took her by the shoulders. “Look at me. He is flawed.”

  Emmaline bit her lip. In spite of what had come to pass between her and Drake, in spite of his unwillingness to commit, not defending him felt like a betrayal. She thought about his loss of control in the gardens and felt an urge to defend him. Sebastian would call her all kinds the fool for trying to disabuse him of his notions.

  Yes, Drake was scarred. But that had nothing to do with why he didn’t want her.

  Sebastian folded an arm over Emmaline’s shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. He waited until her tears abated to a watery hiccough. “Better?” he asked.

  Oh Sebastian, I’m not a child anymore. One good, healthy cry could not erase the waves of hurt cascading over her. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she’d never be better, that this hurt would always be there. “Better,” she lied.

  Sebastian brightened and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. He picked up her hat and set it atop her head. “I’m serious. I am getting you a new hat, whether you like it or not.”

  Emmaline managed a laugh. “Someday you’ll realize, you can’t just find the perfect hat, anywhere.”

  Sebastian winked at her. “We shall see about that.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Dearest Drake,

  Do you ever find it odd we’ve been betrothed for eleven years and yet have only met a handful of times?

  Ever Yours,

  Emmaline

  From where Drake stood at the edge of the ballroom, a sea of dancers swirled by him. A champagne flute dangled between his fingers.

  He ignored the merriment; the gay laughter, the ton gossiping about the latest on dit—all of it.

  Emmaline occupied every corner of his mind, in the same way she occupied every corner of his heart.

  Since he’d stormed out of Sin’s townhouse, Drake could not rid himself of a ravaging guilt over the insults he’d leveled at her.

  It turned out she’d not enlisted Sinclair’s aid. In spite of his ugly accusations, Emmaline possessed too much integrity and honor to betray Sin.

  Should he really be surprised? She was, after all, the same woman who’d used her own body to shield an old peddler in the streets.

  He could live ten lifetimes and never find another woman he’d rather wed.

  Drake took a sip of champagne. He had returned home and awaited a summons from the Duke of Mallen. His mouth hardened. He knew the other man would delight in ending the agreement between their families.

  He’d spent the day seated in his father’s library, his copy of Glenarvon on his lap. Memories had consumed him; the moment he’d seen her standing in a pile of refuse, the day he’d startled her at the Old Corner Bookshop. Memory after memory filled him, and he forced himself into a painful recollection of each one.

  Drake recognized Emmaline’s decision was for the best. And yet, with each tick of the clock, dread had filled him as he awaited a letter from the Duke of Mallen.

  The day had come and gone. Strangely, it was as though nothing had changed. Drake even convinced himself that mayhap he’d imagined the whole blasted exchange with Emmaline.

  He perused the crowded ballroom, longing for just one glimpse of her impish smile. Except when last she’d left him, she hadn’t been smiling. He remembered the circumstances of their last meeting and lashed himself with the painful memory of her request to be free.

  He tossed back the last of his champagne.

  She didn’t know which event he was attending and God knew she certainly wouldn’t be approaching him with a smile. Which was the reason he’d taken pains to send a servant around from his household to the Duke of Mallen’s household to ascertain Lady Emmaline’s plans for the evening.

  A slight flutter in the doorway caught his attention, and then his breath left on a hiss.

  Had there ever been a woman more stunning? A sea-foam silk and organza creation clung to her delicate form. Her suggestive décolletage, trimmed with crystal beading caught the light of the chandeliers and radiated rainbow hues out into the hall. The rich fabric of the gown clung to her hips and swayed with any hint of movement. She was a siren. She beckoned to him.

  He willed her to look at him. To forgive him.

  Then she did. He knew the moment his presence registered. Her eyes lit with joy that was all too fleeting, only to be replaced by an aching sadness. It tore at his insides.

  In a protective manner, the Duke of Mallen’s tall frame moved closer to Emmaline and impinged on Drake’s view of her. The duke leaned down and whispered something in her ear. Emmaline’s lips lifted ever so slightly, in rendition of an amused smile. Drake wondered if he were the only man present who recognized the gesture as forced.

  She looped her arm in Mallen’s and discreetly pinched him. If Drake hadn’t been attending so closely, he would have missed the slight movement.

  Drake stepped forward. He took two more steps and then had to use sheer will to halt his movements.

  Mallen said a quick word to the Duchess of Mallen, and then ushered Emmaline to the opposite side of the room. He deposited her along the wall next to Miss Winters.

  Drake cursed blackly, earning curious and shocked stares from the lords and ladies around him. He ignored them. If Drake had a sister, he would do far better. He wouldn’t abandon her amidst a row of wallflowers.

  Though was it really Mallen who was responsible for that, a silent voice jeered? Aren’t you the one truly responsible?

  A servant came by to relieve Drake of his empty champagne flute. He deposited it on the tray and continued his study of Emmaline. Emmaline’s fair cheeks glowed as she spoke. She gestured wildly with her hands and Drake wondered what the young women discussed.

  Sin sidled up next to him. “What’s caught your attention, Drake?” he drawled.

  “Stuff it, Sin.” Drake motioned for another flute of champagne and proceeded to ignore his friend.

  Not one to be easily intimidated, Sin accepted a flute for himself and looked across the ballroom. “Ahh, Lady Emmaline. Imagine finding her here even though she was unaware of your plans for the evening. How fortuitous for you.”

  Drake ignored the mocking edge in Sin’s words.

  “She looks rather well, considering.”

  Goddamn Sinclair for dangling that last word.

 
; Drake told himself not to give in to the temptation of asking. Forced himself to count to ten.

  He got to nine. “Considering what, Sin?”

  Sin feigned wide-eyed surprise. “Why, you haven’t heard? There is talk among the ton of a row between you and Lady Emmaline.” Sin lowered his voice so Drake had to strain to hear. “Apparently she was seen running through Hyde Park, in tears. You were seen departing shortly thereafter.”

  Drake shuttered his expression, and even though he told himself not to look at her, he could not prevent himself from stealing one more glance. He recognized that forced dazzling smile for what it was; a brittle attempt at lightheartedness. Even with the distance and crowd between them, he could see her fingers curled tightly in her lap, blood-white.

  “Mallen looks like he wants your blood,” Sin murmured.

  Without a word for Sinclair, Drake started across the room.

  “Of all events for him to attend,” Emmaline muttered. She twisted her hands anxiously in her lap, grateful for Sophie’s calming presence. “Now, when I have no desire to see him, this is where he is?”

  A frantic laugh bubbled from her throat.

  Sophie reached for Emmaline’s hand. “Oh, Em.” She glanced across the ballroom floor. “He is looking this way,” she said in a frantic whisper.

  “Who?”

  Sophie pointed her eyes toward the ceiling. “Who do you think? The Marquess of Drake.”

  Emmaline fought the urge to spin in his direction. She hated that even after his callous dismissal, she still longed to see him. She clasped Sophie’s hand. “I want to leave,” she said.

  “Shh, they are staring. What has he done that makes you want to flee?”

  Emmaline picked up her fan. She snapped it open in attempt to conceal her lips. “He sent a note requesting I meet him in the park. I showed up like a love-struck fool, and in the end, the note wasn’t even from him, Sophie. It was Lord Sinclair’s ploy to throw us together. Needless to say it ended in disaster.”

  Sophie’s eyes went round. “Oh, Em.”

  Emmaline snapped her fan shut. “I broke off the betrothal.”

  If possible, Sophie’s eyes widened even more. “You what?”

  Emmaline scrunched her fingers into the folds of her gown, crushing the lovely sea-foam creation. Madame Touseou would be livid if she saw how callously Emmaline handled one of her finest gowns.

  “I ended it. Lord Drake does not care for me. He never did. So in the end, I gave him his freedom.”

  Sophie’s brow furrowed. “I have to believe he cares for you, Em.”

  A snort escaped Emmaline. “What makes you say that?”

  Sophie stole another peek across the room. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the moment you arrived.” She tapped her chin. “And he doesn’t appear disinterested. No man can look at a woman the way he has looked at you all night and not feel something.” Sophie sighed. “I’d give my last eye-tooth to have a man stare at me the way the Marquess of Drake stares at you.”

  Emmaline followed Sophie’s focus. Why was Sophie staring at Sebastian? Her friend must have taken note of Sebastian’s lethal black stare.

  The urge was even stronger to find Drake in the crowd, but Emmaline continued to resist. “I assure you Drake is merely annoyed by my presence.” Emmaline remembered his detachedness in Hyde Park earlier that day. He might as well have been one of the stone statues that graced her mother’s gardens. Anything else her friend read in his response was fanciful thinking.

  “Are you certain of that?” Sophie’s question jerked Emmaline back to the moment.

  “I couldn’t be more…”

  “Because he is headed this way.”

  Against better judgment, she sought him out. Drake cut a swath across the room, right to the seat she occupied.

  Oh God, why is he doing this? Didn’t he know she was going to collapse in a heap of despair at the feet of Society?

  She and Sophie scrambled to their feet and dipped matching curtsies.

  Drake bowed. “Lady Emmaline,” he said without even the pretense of niceties for Sophie’s sake. “I would like to request the next set.”

  Emmaline swallowed and attempted to muster her earlier indignation. “I’m afraid my card is full, my lord,” she lied. She clutched her card close so he couldn’t see the void of names.

  He held out his arm, as if daring her to refuse. “I am certain some gentleman would be more than willing to forgive my boldness in stealing his set.”

  What kind of weak ninny was she that she wanted to take his arm and grant his request? For in spite of what had come to pass, she wanted to be in his arms.

  A booming voice laden with false sincerity interrupted Emmaline’s musings. “Lord Drake, so good to see you.”

  Emmaline and Drake turned in unison.

  Sophie jumped up.

  Drake passed a black glare over her brother. “Mallen.”

  Sophie shifted on her feet. “Your Grace.” She remembered to dip a curtsy.

  Sebastian paused and then seemed to remember the years of gentlemanly behavior drilled into him. He bowed. “How are you this evening, Miss Winters?”

  “I’m—.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer as he slung an arm around Drake’s shoulder, neatly steering him from Emmaline.

  “Well,” Sophie muttered in his wake.

  Emmaline hurried after the two gentlemen, fearing they would come to blows.

  Drake shrugged off Sebastian good-naturedly and spoke through his teeth. “If you put a hand on me again, Mallen, by God, I swear I will lay you out in front of this entire room.”

  “Sebastian, do not cause a scene,” Emmaline hissed.

  Sebastian hesitated momentarily, seeming to consider the measure of Drake’s threat and Emmaline’s words. “I want you to stay away from my sister.”

  Drake’s jaw hardened. “She is no longer a girl. She hardly needs you to dictate her actions—”

  For the tons benefit, she playfully tapped Sebastian on the arm with her fan. “I’m standing right here, gentlemen.”

  Sebastian ignored her. “Ahh, but I’m not dictating her actions. I’m dictating yours. I said stay away from her.”

  “Mallen, I faced down a squadron of soldiers firing at me. It will take a great deal more than you to intimidate me,” Drake drawled lazily. This time he thumped Sebastian between the shoulder blades. “I bid you good evening, Mallen.” He turned his attention to Emmaline as he favored her with a last, hot, lingering look.

  Emmaline’s breath caught. She would always love him.

  The moment was shattered by Sebastian. “Oh, Drake, one more thing?”

  No, Emmaline screamed silently. She wanted to take back what she’d said to both Drake and Sebastian. She wanted to find a way to start again.

  Drake raised a single, insolent golden brow.

  “I’d like to request a meeting tomorrow morning, at nine o’clock. I’m sure you have an idea as to what it’s about.”

  Emmaline’s eyes slid closed on a wave of pain and when she opened them, Drake had already left.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  My Dearest Drake,

  I have begun to fear there was merit to my parents’ suspicions that you left because of our betrothal. My brother used to tell me such thoughts were foolish. He has since stopped protesting. Regardless…I hope you do not come to harm because of me.

  Ever Yours,

  Emmaline

  Emmaline stood hidden by an enormous Doric column in her brother’s foyer. She rested her forehead against the hard, cool stone and trailed a finger over the ridges. How long had she been waiting? Minutes? Hours? Days? Years?

  A loud resounding knock bounced off the front doors. Even though she’d been expecting it, she jumped. Her heart thumped wildly and she folded her arms to her chest, making herself as small as possible.

  From her hiding spot, she peeked out from behind the structure.

  The expressionless butler, Carmichael, opened
the door and admitted an ever regal, handsome Lord Drake. The black flowing fabric of his elegant cloak swirled around his legs.

  Drake handed the servant a card. “His Grace is expecting me.”

  Carmichael assisted him out of his cloak and handed it to a nearby servant.

  The butler motioned for Lord Drake to follow. “Right this way, my lord.” Emmaline watched him go. His boots tapped methodically on the marble floor. Then he froze, and suddenly whipped back around.

  She pressed tight against the other side of the column, furtively studying his actions.

  His unreadable jade stare quickly panned the foyer, before swiveling back and settling on the column that served as her hiding place.

  Emmaline smothered a gasp with her hand, torn between laughter and tears. Drake had a way of doing that. Of somehow, knowing just where she was.

  “My lord? This way, if you please,” Carmichael prompted.

  He inclined his head and then continued on to Sebastian’s office.

  When she was certain he’d gone, Emmaline dashed from behind her hiding place, and raced to her brother’s office.

  Once upon a lifetime ago, Emmaline had been a little girl seated in her father’s office swinging her legs to and fro, opposite a young boy. She’d been unaware of the goings on across the room. Fifteen years later, the little girl had been replaced by a woman, now barred from that very same room. Now she stood at the fringe of a closed door.

  Unlike that time from her girlhood past, Emmaline knew exactly what was being discussed between the present duke and her betrothed. And found she preferred the not knowing.

  The large paneled oak door muted the voices closeted away in the office.

  “Come away from that door, Emmaline,” her mother hissed from the hall.

  Emmaline ignored her. Even if Emmaline was eavesdropping like a small girl, she was in fact a grown woman.

  “Emmaline.”

  Emmaline leveled her mother with a forceful stare. “No,” she mouthed silently.

  When her mother took several steps closer, Emmaline held up a staying hand.