Lords of the Isles

by Le Veque, Kathryn

Drake stormed past the servant and started up the stairway. “Where is he?”

  The graying butler’s skin turned ashen. “My lord,” he squeaked, and hurried up the steps, two at a time. “He is still abed, if you…”

  Drake’s long legs had already outdistanced the butler, and the other man’s words trailed off. Drake continued on down the hall.

  Having, of course, never visited Sin in his bedchambers, he wasn’t entirely certain which rooms the bastard occupied.

  It did, however, give Drake some matter of satisfaction to kick in each closed doorway, sending them bouncing off the wall with a resounding boom.

  Halfway down the hall, he kicked in one more door, and heard an answering groan.

  “Get up,” Drake thundered, entering the chambers. He crossed over to the bed and tugged down the mound of blankets. He tossed them to the floor.

  Sin draped an arm across his eyes seeming to care more about the intrusion of light than his naked form which had been exposed. “What has you in such a foul temper?” he groused, and dragged a pillow over his eyes.

  Drake fished the note from his pocket and flung it at his friend. He began to pace. “What is this about? Where are your loyalties, that you would assist Emmaline in her maneuverings?”

  Sin tossed aside the pillow and sat up slowly. He reached over the side of the bed and picked up his robe. “Whatever are you talking about?” Sin asked as he jammed his arms within the sleeves. He reached for the note, read it, and set it aside. “Oh, this.”

  Drake’s movements were drawn to a jerky halt. He fixed a glare on his traitorous friend. “Oh, this? That is all you have to say?” Anyone else would have been terrified by the bloody calm in Drake’s words.

  As if to show Drake how terrified he in fact was, Sin stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. He stood and belted his robe at the waist. “You were in need of a push,” he said matter-of-factly. His bare feet padded across the plush Aubusson carpet.

  Unmindful of the early hour, Sin strode over to the drink cart situated against the curtained window, and poured a healthy glass of whiskey. Very deliberately, he swirled the contents of the glass and then took a long, slow swallow, until he’d polished off the brew. He set the empty glass down.

  Drake clenched his fists at his side, knowing his friend was trying to stir his ire. He took a deep breath. “It isn’t your place to meddle in my life. I neither want, nor need your interference. I’ve had to deal with my father’s maneuverings. I don’t need yours as well.”

  Sinclair picked up his glass and refilled it. He studied Drake almost quizzically. “Are you sure of that?” He took a sip of whiskey. “Can you honestly say you’ve been happy since you returned from the war? For the love of God, Drake, you’ve gamed and whored more than even I can keep up with. And tell me? Has it brought you happiness?”

  Drake had to restrain himself from hurting his friend. “What do you know of it?” He seethed. “Who are you to judge and condemn? You carry on as you please.” Drake reached for a glass and the decanter of whiskey and sloshed the brew into his glass.

  Sinclair held his glass up in mock salute. “Yes, but I am not betrothed,”

  Drake opened his mouth to speak and then promptly shut it. He stared blankly at the gold damask curtains behind Sin’s shoulder.

  Except, neither was he. With just a few words, the betrothal contract, which had bound them since childhood, had been snipped like a stray thread on a piece of fabric.

  “It still was not your place to assist her. As my friend, you should have come to me the minute she proposed her scheme.” He finished his drink and set the glass down hard on the table.

  Drake wanted to be well and truly drunk by the time he left this room.

  Sin scratched his forehead. “Proposed…? She did not tell you.” A knowing light flickered to life in Sin’s eyes. “You believe Lady Emmaline approached me? You believe she enlisted my support? She did not tell you it was I who approached her?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  My Dearest Drake,

  I have learned you are in London. I know it is not ladylike to admit this but… I am excited to see you.

  Ever Yours,

  Emmaline

  Emmaline sat on the wrought iron bench in the gardens. She tugged the wide brim of her bonnet lower to conceal the extent of her grief from her maid, and hugged the small spade close to her stomach. She welcomed the sharp sting of the metal biting into her flesh, because it momentarily dulled the pain of her broken heart.

  She had ended it.

  Even thinking it now, it seemed surreal.

  Since she’d been a mere girl her life had been seamlessly entwined with Lord Drake’s. She’d come to know him as her future. After years of waiting for him to finally come up to scratch, she should welcome the liberty of finally being free. Now she would have a real Season, an opportunity to pursue what she yearned for most in life—love.

  Yet, why did she feel as though she’d had everything she ever dreamed of and had lost it?

  She turned to her maid. “Will you fetch the duke?”

  Grace rose and rushed to do Emmaline’s bidding. “Yes, my lady.”

  Emmaline stood up from the bench and paced the gardens, failing to see the flowers. Then she made the mistake of stealing a glance at the cerastium covering the ground and it was too much.

  She sank to her knees and lovingly stroked the silk of the tiny, fragile bloom. She dropped her face in her hands and shook her head back and forth, trying to tamp out the feel of Drake’s touch, the memories of how he’d made her body unfurl like petals opening up in the early spring.

  A shadow fell over her and blotted out the nauseating sweetness of the sun’s rays.

  Sebastian’s concerned voice interrupted her musings. “Em? Are you all right?”

  She didn’t stand up. Didn’t look at him. “It is done. I have freed him.”

  How did she manage to keep her words so steady?

  Sebastian fell silent.

  Emmaline didn’t know what she’d expected. Perhaps a bit of gloating on his part. After all, how many times over the past months had he insisted she break it off with Drake?

  Sebastian sat onto the wrought iron bench. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

  She leaned into him much as she had when she’d been a small girl who’d tumbled down the stairs. He’d scooped her up and held her until he’d driven away all the hurt. Oh, why couldn’t she be a small child again, back when life was so very simple?

  “You know I just want to see you happy?”

  Emmaline gave a jerky nod.

  “So why do I feel you are still not?”

  She rested her chin on Sebastian’s knee, and looked up at him. “I love him. Of all the mad, foolish, awful things to do…I went and fell in love with him.”

  Her brother said nothing for a long moment. Finally, he removed her broad straw bonnet, and gave it his utmost concentration. “Do you know Em, I still remember the day you were born. You were red-faced, screaming. Tears were dripping down your chubby cheeks. The nurse was desperately trying to soothe you. I leaned over the crib, and just like that, miracle of miracles, you ceased crying. I hadn’t given much thought to what being an older brother meant. I realized in that moment I wanted to protect you from any and every hurt.”

  “Some things are beyond even your control, Sebastian.”

  “Unfortunately, I know that.” He redirected his attention to the hat in his hands. “You know I think this bonnet is ridiculous.”

  She wrinkled her nose and swatted him on the arm. “I love that bonnet.”

  He spared a disparaging look for the item in question. “I would never, ever pick this hat for you. I have teased you time and time again. But you insist on wearing this one. There’s no explaining it, is there, Em?” He directed his attention to Emmaline. “Simply a matter of…taste, I guess you could say.”

  Emmaline swallowed. “It is that,” she whispered.

  Sebastian tugged at the fr
aying blue satin ribbons. “See how it’s fraying here? Even the straw is starting to tear.” He dragged a finger along the areas in question.

  “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.”

  Chapter 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.”