Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (18 page)

Emmaline gave him a sad little smile. “Come Drake, you don’t want me. You have never wanted me. Even this Season.” Her hand fluttered about. “I’ve followed you from event to event
, but I’ve never really been anything more than a nuisance. So I am freeing you as much for me, as it is for you.”

She stepped close to him. The crisp citrusy scent of lemons tickled his senses. His eyes slid closed. He would never know if it was the scent of her soap or a dash of perfume dabbed behind her ears, because she would be gone to him, and he would lose the right to know all those intimate things he yearned to know.

Through a surreal fog, he was dimly aware of her taking his hands. She gave them a gentle squeeze and picked up her chocolate gaze to meet his. “You have had the opportunity to make at least some decisions in your own. You went to war. I’ve never had that. Let me have this. Let me have my Season.”

Drake’s throat worked painfully. If only he could tell her the decision he’d made, his one reckless grasp at independence
, had been the most horrendous mistake he had ever made. It had cost him everything: his sanity, his happiness. Her.

“I have never said I wanted to be freed of you.”

Why couldn’t he call forth the words to keep her?

Because you don’t deserve her
, a silent voice jeered.

Emmaline smiled sadly. “But you never said you wanted me either.”
She reached out a trembling hand to his jaw and rubbed the cleft there. “When my father died, I was devastated. I never thought I’d smile again.”

Drake
tried to slog through the the unexpected shift in conversation.

“I waited for you, but you never came.” Emmaline
swallowed, her throat working. “I still remember the chaos. There were so many cries and screams. I still cannot sort whether it was mine, Mother’s, or the maids'.” A small shudder racked her frame and she crossed her arms, as if to ward off a chill. “Countless peers came to pay their respects, but I really only wanted to see one person walk through the door.” Her lips tipped up in a sad rendition of a smile. “You were the only one I longed to see. I waited for you to come to me…but you never came.”

Drake’s stare wandered
away from her precious face as his mind tripped down a path of remembrance. In spite of how it had appeared to Emmaline, he had indeed cared about the loss she’d suffered. He had meant to go to her.

It was that moment when he realized with certainty—h
e could not fight for her. The great hurt she still carried with her, a hurt she was more than entitled to, symbolized a divide that would forever keep him from being worthy of her. He had failed her too many times.

“I am sorrier for that than you can ever know,” he said. He flinched when her soft, delicate fingers caressed his cheek.

Hesitating just a moment, she reached up on tiptoe and placed a sweet, lingering kiss on his lips.

It tasted like good-bye.

Without a word, she turned on her heel, and left.

Chapter 24

My Dearest Drake
,

I have just returned from London
, where I found the most delightful straw bonnet for my gardening! I shall never be beet red again!

Ever Yours,

Emmaline

Drake stood rooted to his spot. The scent of Emmaline seemed to linger and he feared if he
so much as moved, he’d waft the citrus scent of her off into nothing more than a memory. He stood so still his shoulders ached.

Time passed at an interminable crawl.

Sir Faithful nudged him in the leg until he looked down. The loyal fellow favored Drake with a sad, accusing brown-eyed stare. “I’m a fool, Sir.”

Sir Faithful yapped in agreement.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. He hadn’t felt anything in the three years since he’d returned and now he should feel it all: pain, happiness, despair. He hated the swell of emotion that threatened to carry him away.

Over the past three years Drake had constructed a wall around himself; a barrier against the outside world. In a few short months, Emmaline had taken it down brick by brick until she’d exposed him as a scared and hurt man.

Even as he cared for Emmaline, in that moment, Drake hated her for forcing him to face the lie he’d been living. He’d tried his damnedest to bury himself in empty pursuits, whoring and gaming. And those were no longer enough and would never be enough.

Now the only thing he longed for, craved like air he breathed, was her.

And she was gone.

He wanted to slam his fist into something. There was no one to release his pent up fury on…except…

Drake turned on his heel.

He retrieved his mount and headed to the home of the one person he could direct his wrath
upon.

When he arrived at his destination, he flung the reins to a waiting boy and threw him a sovereign and promised another when he returned. Drake strode up the townhouse steps and
banged his fist on the door.

A
wide-eyed butler opened it. “My lord, I shall…”

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

The graying butle
r’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.

Half-way 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 blanket 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 25

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 article.”

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 fraying 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’d 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 neither here nor there 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 just can’t find the perfect hat, just anywhere.”

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