Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(17)

Emmaline expected to see vexation in her betrothed’s jade eyes, which is why she was struck breathless by the flash of amusement in their fathomless depths.

Her heart quickened.

“I was looking for someone, my lady.” He winked.

Winked! Oh, the insufferable bounder!

Emmaline’s heart resumed its normal cadence.

Her lips formed a moue of displeasure. She glanced around. “I see.” Her gaze locked on the imposing figure striding across the ballroom dance-floor. She cocked her head to the side. “Perhaps it is my brother?”

Drake groaned aloud as her brother, the Duke of Mallen, came to a stop before them. Sebastian’s foreboding black glare teemed with fury.

Sebastian bowed, the gesture a smidgeon shy of disrespect. “Lord Drake, so good to see you.”

Drake returned the bow. “Your Grace,” he said flatly.

She studied them as they eyed one another like small boys fighting over the last pastry.

Over the years, she had learned there was no love lost between her betrothed and brother. She strongly suspected she was the cause of their animosity toward one another.

“Quite the surprise, seeing you with my sister.” A frosty bite underlined Sebastian’s words.

Emmaline wanted to groan at his less than subtle reprimand. Dead. She was going to kill him dead that evening.

Drake’s jaw clenched. “Why should it be a surprise? She is after all, my betrothed.”

Sebastian’s hand landed with a resounding thud upon his chest. “Shocking you should even remember that detail.”

Drake’s shoulders stiffened. His gaze went positively glacial, and he gave a dismissive nod in her direction. “Not of late. If you’d paid attention to your sister’s goings-on, I think you would have noted we’ve been in each other’s company a great deal.” There was the slightest hint of something suggestive in Drake’s words that seemed to get Sebastian’s hackles up.

Sebastian took another step forward.

Emmaline placed a hand on his shoulder. “Lord Drake had requested the next set. Can you conclude this at a later time?” She removed her fingers and placed them on Drake’s sleeve. The hard muscles of his arm tightened convulsively beneath her touch, and he allowed Emmaline to lead him to the dance-floor.

The current partners were taking their places, and the thrum of the orchestra indicated they were to dance a waltz. Drake brusquely grabbed her hand. He set his other hand at her waist, all the while glaring down at her. “I didn’t need to be rescued from your brother,” he said.

She squared her chin. “What makes you believe I was rescuing you? Perhaps I did it for myself. Do you always believe everything revolves around you?”

His grip tightened on her waist and his words came out on a whisper she had to strain to hear. “I have known since I was a boy the obligations and responsibilities that belong to me as the heir of a dukedom. I do not believe the world revolves around me. I’m relatively powerless is this well-ordered world.”

A harsh sincerity underlined his words; it chilled Emmaline. Drake’s hard coiled muscles bunched tightly beneath the fine line of his expertly tailored black evening coat. “Have you ever considered…others….might feel the same?”

Those emerald eyes passed over her face, penetrating.

Emmaline did not give him an opportunity to respond. “Do you believe this is the life I want for myself? Do you believe I’d rather know this formal aloofness, than…?” love or passion? She bit her lip hard to keep from humiliating herself. Silence stretched between them punctuated by the strings of the orchestra’s violins.

***

Studying Emmaline’s emotion-laden eyes, Drake was humbled by a dawning realization—he hadn’t been the only one wronged by their childhood betrothal. How odd he’d spent the past fifteen years angry with her, when she’d been just as much the victim. They’d both been robbed of choice and chance and…destiny. Listening to the words she spoke, he found Emmaline, not unlike him, yearned for what he’d been searching for since he was a boy of thirteen—the power of choice.

It felt like he was seeing her for the first time. Truly seeing her. “What do you dream of?”

Emmaline’s gaze skittered off to a point beyond his shoulder. He studied her mouth; the way her teeth worried that plump, lower fleshy fold. She bit her lip when she was concentrating. Or when she was embarrassed. He found it, with no small measure of surprise, captivating.

She looked back at him. “This is the first time in my entire life anyone has asked me about my dreams and wishes. None of my family asked that question of me. Not even Sophie, my dearest friend in the world. It has seemed since I was a small girl, there was an understanding that I am the privileged daughter of a powerful duke, who wanted for nothing, and therefore could possibly have no need for anything.”

Her words were a mirror into his soul. “The world couldn’t have been more wrong could it, my lady?”

An ironic smile turned her lips. “No, it couldn’t. As silly as it was, I dreamt of more than a cold emotionless entanglement signed by my father to further grow our estates and riches.”

Somewhere along the path of life, Emmaline had consigned herself to the obligations thrust upon her as young, unmarried lady. He didn’t know why that thought should surprise him. Simply put, it was the way of their world. It seemed however, at odds with the woman who would boldly challenge gentlemen with little regard for her safety.