Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(14)

“I do believe I have lost the first round, Sophie.” It chafed to admit defeat of any kind. To be defeated by Lord Drake, however was not to be countenanced.

Sophie paused and directed her attention to her maid. “Leave us.” The maid’s mouth set in a mutinous line, but one more look from Sophie and she slipped away.

When the maid was no longer in sight, Sophie returned her attention to Emmaline. “You couldn’t have expected it would be easy?”

Emmaline’s gaze wandered to a point over Sophie’s shoulder. “No, I didn’t, but I…I…”

Apparently she took pity on her friend. Sophie claimed Emmaline’s hands in hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “From what you told me, Lord Drake had been so impressed by your showing with Whitmore. I just don’t understand.” Sophie tugged her hand. “Now, come.”

Emmaline allowed her friend to drag her forward. She didn’t understand it, herself. Any of it. She could only speculate as to Lord Drake’s disinterest in her over the years. “Mayhap I was wrong. Mayhap I was ruminating fantasies about what Lord Drake felt that day. He is such a gentleman, he would have come to any lady’s rescue.”

A tall, solid figure stepped into their path. Sophie managed to step out of the way even as Emmaline collided into a hard muscled chest. She gasped. She might as well have hit a wall—a large, immoveable wall.

Emmaline faltered, and would have fallen if Sophie didn’t grab her arm just as the gentleman reached out to steady her.

“My lady, Miss Winters,” Lord Sinclair said.

“Goodness, you startled me, my lord.” Sophie nudged her in the side. Emmaline frowned. “He did startle me.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t say as much in front of him.”

The gentleman’s lips twitched with what was assuredly amusement.

Emmaline glanced over his shoulder, seeking out…

“He left,” Lord Sinclair said.

Emmaline’s eyes snapped forward. “I don’t know whom you are talking about,” she said, a touch too quickly.

“I’d say it is rather obvious,” Sophie muttered.

Emmaline gave a pointed nod in Sinclair’s direction. “You still shouldn’t say as much.”

“‘Tis no different than you stating how startled you were when Lord Sinclair gracelessly bowled you over.”

Lord Sinclair bristled. “I beg your pardon?”

Emmaline and Sophie promptly fell silent.

“Our apologies,” Emmaline said. This time it was she who nudged Sophie.

“Uh, yes, our apologies, my lord.”

He bowed his head. “Think nothing of it.”

They each dipped a curtsy and made to move around him, but he held up a hand. “Might I beg a word alone with you, my lady?” He extended his arm to Emmaline.

Sophie’s shocked gasp split the awkward silence.

Emmaline traced her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. After a momentary pause, she tucked her hand into the fold of his arm, and allowed him to lead her several paces ahead. Sophie trotted along at a discreet distance, muttering loud enough for the both of them to hear just what she thought about the impropriety of their actions.

“I must admit, my lord, I’m intrigued.” She stole a peek up at him from the corner of her eye.

Sin’s lips twitched. “I would like to speak to you about Lord Drake.”

Emmaline missed a step, and with his assistance, righted her footing.

Sinclair led them to a vacant alcove and drew back the curtain. She hesitated for the slightest moment, and then followed him inside. He dropped the curtain into place and turned to face her.

He spoke without preamble. “I want you to marry Drake.”

She smothered a laugh with her hand. “Well, then that makes two of us, my lord. If only the decision was yours to make.”

The curtains rustled at Lord Sinclair’s back and Emmaline would wager her entire dowry that Sophie had her ear pressed to the fabric.

He folded his arms across his chest. “How well do you know Drake?”

Silence stretched between them. Unbidden, her mind tripped along a forgotten memory. She was five. Seated in her father’s library. An angry little boy had stared mutinously across at her.

Lord Sinclair cleared his throat. “Uh-my lady?”

Emmaline gave her head a shake. “We’ve been betrothed since we were children, my lord,” she said with deliberate vagueness.

His gaze skimmed a path across her face. “Do you know much about him?”

Emmaline arched a brow.

“I am not saying you should not desire a marriage to Lord Drake. I’m…I’m…”

“Just what are you saying?” The recipient of enough discomfort this evening, it was someone else’s turn to grapple with the emotion.

An awkward stretch of silence descended like a funeral pall, but Emmaline wouldn’t feel guilty for it.

She didn’t know Lord Sinclair enough to confess the particular details of her relationship with Drake. Why, Sophie wasn’t even privy to half the memories she’d buried in her heart. Sinclair may be close friends with her intended, it did not, however, grant him carte blanche to ask intimate questions and expect answers. Nor for that matter would she ever reveal just how she’d come by her knowledge of Lord Drake. To do so would open her to pity, and she was not keen on the rather useless sentiment.