Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (19 page)

Chapter 26

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’s
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 of her that morning, 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.

Chapter 27

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.

“By God. Mother, everything has been dictated to me since I was five years old. I’m telling you now, I need to be here. Please go, lest I be discovered.”

For the first time in her entire life, the usually eloquent Duchess of Mallen
appeared speechless. With great gentleness, she took Emmaline’s face between her hands and dropped a kiss upon her forehead.

“You are right, my dear. I have imposed enough of my will on your life.” She spared another glance at the door. “Find me when it’s done.”

The seconds ticked by and the muffled sound of speaking grabbed her. “Mother,” Emmaline said urgently.

“Right, right,” she whispered and with obvious hesitancy, left Emmaline alone.

Emmaline shifted her focus to the heavy oak door, wishing it was instead a mere slip of a curtain so the exchange could be unfiltered. On the heels of that thought came a startling realization. It hit her with all the force of an unexpected summer lightning storm; the implication of the momentous proceedings on the other side of the door managed to suck all strength from her limbs.

The stoic force she’d found to face down her mother left her on a silent breath and she realized this would be the last time Drake ever entered her home. Never again would he tease her. Or stroke her body like a virtuoso
, who’d been gifted a new instrument. For when Drake exited Sebastian’s library, he would cease to be a part of her life. All they’d shared, from teeth-gritting annoyance to easy companionability would fade into nothing more than a fleeting memory of a brief time she’d been close to complete and utter rapture.

After nearly three days of continuous tears, Emmaline had risen that morning certain she couldn’t manage one more salty drop for Drake.

A tear slipped down her cheek and she swiped at it with an aggravated hand. Apparently she’d been wrong.

***

“A drink?” Mallen offered. He gestured to the open bottle of brandy.

Drake gave a curt shake. “A bit early for a drink, no?”

One of Mallen’s dark brows arched. “Not one for social niceties, are you?”

Drake’s jaw hardened. He forced himself to unfurl his tightly clenched fist.

He would be damned if he gave in to Mallen’s attempt to draw him into a row. He’d caused Emmaline enough hurt and wouldn’t further add to it by beating her brother to a bloody pulp in her home.

Mimicking the pompous duke, Drake arched a cool, mocking brow. “Is this
why you asked me here? For a social visit?”

“Sit, sit!” Mallen urged and reclaimed the seat behind his desk.

Drake settled into one of the leather winged-back chairs and stretched his legs out in front of him.

Mallen propped his chin on steepled fingers and drummed them
together. “You know why you’re here,” he said at last.

Drake gritted his teeth. “Have out with it already.”

Mallen leaned forward and reached for a leather folio. He pulled out several documents, appeared to review them, and then reached for his pen. The duke dipped it in ink and scratched his signature on a series of pages.

He signed the final document and settled the pen back into its crystal well with a decisive click
. “I am severing the contract between you and Emmaline.” Mallen shoved the open portfolio across the surface of his otherwise immaculate desk.

Drake had
known for the better part of two days that this exchange was coming, and yet his stomach twisted with an agonized pain.

A contract.

Over the past few months, Emmaline had become so very much more than a contract. She’d become the sole reason for Drake’s every happiness. She represented all that was courageous and strong. And the bloody scraps of parchment would erase all of that from his life.

His heartbeat increased, forcing him to draw a deep, shaky breath.

Mallen’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s get on with it.”

Drake reached for the damned documents. He proceeded to read them with deliberate slowness
. He turned the pages with such jerky movements he ripped one of the sheets. When he finished reading them, he set them aside.

Mallen
spoke. “I’m perplexed. Based on your previous sentiments, I should think you’d be very eager to put your signature to the documents.”

Drake growled. “Sod off.”

Still, he didn’t pick up the pen. His gaze wandered off to the sconce of lit candles throughout the room. How easy it would be to cross to one of those small torches and carry it back to the bloody document and set the whole foul piece ablaze.

Mallen leaned across his desk and tapped the parchment.
“Your signature, Drake.”

Drake
lunged to his feet. He wrenched the pen from its crystal container, held it aloft, so that ink smattered the duke’s desk and paper. He glowered at Mallen. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Shouldn’t you be enjoying it?” Mallen drawled.

Rage filled Drake. He scribbled his name hastily, and again dipped the pen in the inkwell. “You have never liked me.” He could not bite back the seething hatred he felt for the other man.

“
Oh, come. We both know the sentiments have been mutual.”

Drake scratched his signature on another parchment. “Whole-heartedly.”

“Can you answer me this, Drake?”

Drake paused and glanced up.

“You ignored Emmaline for fifteen years. You ran off to fight a war, and left your responsibilities behind. You’ve made it clear to Society how you felt about your betrothal. You returned and carried on with a whole host of women, you drink, you gamble.” Mallen paused, probing eyes, seemed to search out answers. “And yet, you don’t strike me as a man eager to sign the severance document.”

Drake set the pen down, and leveling his palms on the desktop, leaned forward.
“You are not betrothed to anyone, Your Grace. Why is that?” He didn’t allow Mallen to answer. “It is because you made that choice. Had you been a boy of three and ten and had that very important decision taken away from you, well, then I’m sure then you might understand some of my rationale.”

Mallen inclined his head. “
You might be right. That is neither here nor there,” he said with a wave of his hand. “What matters is Emmaline is still my sister, and I would see her cared for.” He motioned to the documents. “Get on with it.”

Drake dropped his stare to the parchment.
With the black ink, he’d made a mess of one of the sheets. He wondered if the document would even be considered legal.

“You did not answer my question
,” the duke said.

Drake would be damned if he fed the other man’s curiosity. He signed the final sheet. Straightening, he threw the pen on
to the desk where it landed with a thunk. “No, no I have not.”

Silence descended
.

It is done.

Mallen reached his hand across the desk, and Drake stared at it blankly. He reached his hand out. They were of course, gentlemen.

He turned to leave.

“Drake?”

He froze, keeping his back to the other man.

“In spite of what you believe, I don’t hate you.”

Drake managed a dry laugh but didn’t answer; because if he did all he’d end up saying was he couldn’t care less about what Mallen felt for him. Instead he nodded.

“Do you know why we’ve never gotten along, Drake?”

God, the man was a termagant. Tenacious.

Like his sister
.
Oh God, why did that thought hurt so bloody much?
Drake turned around. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?” he bit out.

Mallen smiled. “We never got along because we resented each other. You resent me because I love her. And I resent you because you do not.”

He measured Mallen’s words for a long moment.

“One more thing.”

Drake froze. Waited.

“Can I ask why you
didn’t want to marry her?”

He swallowed once. Twice. Then gave a jerky shake of his head.

“That is not something I’m willing to share with you, Mallen.” With a curt bow, Drake did what he’d been longing to do since he’d gotten there—he left.

He stormed out quickly and nearly stumbled upon the young woman hovering against the wall.

He froze. He eyed her, beset by a range of different emotions; agony, regret, hopelessness. She’d been the last thread holding him to humanity.
What am I without you?

The
moment seemed to stretch into forever.

“Goodbye, Emmaline,” he said hoarsely. “It was never my intention to hurt you. Please know that.”

Emmaline’s expressive brown eyes pooled with tears. “Goodbye, Drake.”

Then he left, knowing until he drew his last breath, he’d be haunted by the sorrowful image of her standing there.

***

Emmaline sank against the wall. She pressed a hand against her mouth to stifle a sob.

Sebastian opened the office door and tugged
her into the room away from any potential gossipy servants and when he’d closed the door, promptly pulled her into his arms. “Shh,” he murmured against the crown of her hair.

She wept against his shirtfront
. She had wanted this. So why did it hurt so much?

“I asked him, Em.”

“I-I know.” She’d heard the whole exchange.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get your answers.”

Not as sorry as I am.