Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(28)

Rules of etiquette be demmed, Emmaline snatched the volume from his hands. “I do not appreciate your condescension. Nor do I care for the way you keep repeating yourself.” Somewhere along the way, his words had ceased to be a question and had become a statement.

Drake opened his mouth to speak but Emmaline continued before he had the chance. “How terribly stuffy of you, my lord. It is difficult to imagine that you, who’ve had scores of mistresses littering the better part of England, should be so scandalized by a mere piece of literature. Your reaction is simply staggering.”

Drake advanced a step in her direction and Emmaline took a step back. There was something overwhelmingly masculine and at the same time predatory in his hooded expression.

“Stuffy?”

His words washed over her like a silken caress. She told her brain to remind her head to nod. “Yes, stuffy.”

Before she even suspected his intentions, he again relieved her of her copy.

The work under his scrutiny was Glenarvon by Caroline Lamb. Emmaline had always had a love for Gothic novels; however, this one was even more intriguing than most, for it told the story of doomed love between a married Lady Calantha and a dashing Irish Revolutionary. The work was not even a thinly veiled disguise of Lady Caroline Lamb’s own tempestuous love affair with Lord Byron, and that, combined with her rather unflattering satire of leading members of Society, had set the ton abuzz.

“Are you mad, reading this?” His voice was a harsh whisper. He stuffed the volume on the shelf behind him, and cast a glance about as though discovery were imminent.

Emmaline tugged the volume out from the spot where he’d haphazardly deposited it. “First, that is not where this book goes,” she reprimanded. “Second—”

“I don’t care where the bloody book goes as long as it is not in your hands,” he bit out. He wrested it from her grip, returning it yet again to the wrong shelf.

Emmaline directed her eyes to the ceiling. Who’d have imagined Lord Drake would be squeamish when it came to a gothic novel?

“I am purchasing it, my lord.” She snatched it back from the shelf and held it protectively to her chest. She hadn’t had a say in the man she would wed, not one aspect of her future. She would be damned if she would be denied a say in her reading choice.

“I should have expected you would be interested in one of the most controversial novels, and one about a great love affair.” His words fairly dripped with condescending irony.

Her eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, you’re filling your head with extreme nonsense. You’d be better served by reading the classics.” He paused. “I do not want to see you suffer, Lady Emmaline.” Drake’s usual jade eyes had lightened to a gentle moss shade, and Emmaline read something warmly protective in his expression.

And she realized—he’s concerned about me. The realization nearly bowled her over. For years he’d been indifferent but now, he seemed utterly panicked on her behalf. Warmth filled her.

“I’m concerned about you,” he said, as if he’d read her thoughts.

There was something seductive about his softly spoken words. Emmaline swayed toward him.

“I say, are you all right?” His hand shot out to steady her.

She gave her head a small shake. “Fine.”

Drake swiftly dropped his hands from her person and redirected his attention to the volume held against her bosom. “Of all the silly, nonsensical things to read.”

So they were back to that, were they? “You sound like my brother.”

A sound caught in his throat. “Don’t ever say that.”

Emmaline crossed her arms at her chest. “Well, you do. He’s so hidebound when it comes to what I read, so very ducal. And you, you aren’t a duke, but…” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “You will step neatly into the role, I imagine.”

“You’re an impertinent thing.” He took another step toward her and her arms fell back to her sides. She took yet another step back. “And I will say just one more time, enough comparing me to Sebastian.”

A palpable tension radiated from his person, as he eyed her with a hard glint in his eyes, and she knew better than to debate the point.

“Have you ever read a Gothic novel, my lord?”

Drake snorted. “I would never waste my time with such drivel.”

His reaction killed any of the earlier warmth she’d felt toward him.

“By your own admission, you’ve never so much as read a Gothic novel.” She clicked her tongue. “Tsk, tsk, I would have never thought you were so stodgy and judgmental to develop such an uninformed opinion.”

Drake’s shoulders drew back. Emmaline wasn’t certain if he had taken particular offense at being called stodgy or judgmental. Or perhaps both.

“Lady Emmaline, that book,” he jabbed a finger in the direction of the offending work, “has set Society on its ear. Every lord and lady named in that work is outraged. They are shunning anyone who reads or supports the cowardly author who wrote it.”

An inelegant snort escaped her. “I assure you, no one gives a fig what novel I’m reading.” Even if it is one of the most scandalous works of the Season, she silently added. “Not to mention, with the exception of you and Sophie, no one else knows.”