Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(29)

“That does not condone it.” His jaw hardened.

And because she knew it would infuriate him…she laughed in his face. “You’re acting like an old, strait-laced gentleman.” She waved her hand. “I would never have taken you as one who feared Society’s ridicule. Nor, for that matter, would I believe you na?ve. Do you truly believe the entire ton isn’t scrambling to secure a copy?”

Drake growled low in his throat and for the first time since he’d come upon her in the bookshop, Emmaline became truly nervous. She took a tentative step away from him, having forgotten she’d run out of backward steps, until she collided with the shelving. She sidled to the left of him. Perhaps she had gone a touch too far.

“I’ll just be going,” Emmaline said, as though she’d not just offended a lord who was not used to being offended, insulted, or anything else she’d done to him that day. She would have stepped around Drake but his arm again shot out, and he pulled her close, his lips a hairsbreadth from her own.

“Doddering old man?” His hot, softly spoken words whispered against her lips, tickling them.

Emmaline licked her lips. Even through the silk fabric of her gown, her skin heated where he touched her waist. “I didn’t call you doddering…” Her words trailed off when Drake’s eyes dropped to her lips.

Before she could form another coherent thought, his mouth was on hers, hot, intent, with purpose.

Emmaline froze, stunned by the unexpectedness of her first kiss, then her body weakened as she curled against Drake, and she who had never before been kissed, kissed him back, eagerly.

She had often dreamed of what her first kiss would be like…had always assumed it would be with her betrothed, but this, this she had not been prepared for, nay, could never have prepared for. His lips were firm and when a sigh escaped her, his tongue took advantage and slipped inside, plundering, devouring, tasting.

Emmaline moaned and she reached up to tangle in the silk strands of his longer than fashionable golden mane.

She moaned. “Drake.” The breathy entreaty obviously jolted him; his body jerked as if he’d been struck.

He set her from him with such alacrity she almost lost her footing. Ever the gentleman, his hands shot out to steady her. Drake scanned the area around them, as if to ascertain whether or not they’d been discovered.

Emmaline tried to fight a stab of hurt. “You don’t have to look so relieved,” she said, hating the way her words broke, wishing she could remain composed.

***

Drake dragged a hand through his hair. What the hell had he done here? Then his eyes took in Emmaline’s swollen lips, the loose brown strands that had come down around her shoulders—and he knew exactly what had overcome him. A sweet fire had glinted in her eyes as she’d challenged him and Drake had needed to taste that passion on her lips. It was vastly easier to focus on the flare of desire between them than on the tumult of emotions that he couldn’t explain.

He cleared his throat. “You should be relieved you haven’t been discovered with that book.”

“So we are back to that again, my lord? Very well, I’d like to issue you a challenge.”

“I’m sorry?”

She sighed. “Perhaps your age has affected your ability to hear, my lord.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m not old.”

“A challenge, then my lord.”

Drake’s mind went down a whole series of seductive, sexual paths, that all ended with Emmaline on her back, silken waves fanned out upon his pillow, arms outstretched, legs parted...

“A challenge?” His words came out gravelly to his own ears. He shifted to ease the ache that had settled in his groin, praying his betrothed didn’t glance down and see the large bulge at the front of his breeches.

She held the volume of Glenarvon out to Drake.

He took it and she continued. “We will each purchase a copy and read it. Whoever finishes the book first may call in whichever demand they want from the losing party.”

Drake fought down another rush of images; Emmaline on her knees, taking his length between her lips, sucking him…“And what will those terms be, Lady Emmaline?” he asked hoarsely.

She gave a toss of her head, apparently having no idea that her every movement enflamed his passions. “Why, I would like to be taken on a picnic. What do you desire, my lord?”

A sound, very near a groan, lodged in his throat. He gave his head a violent shake.

Emmaline’s brow furrowed. “You must want something.” Her eyes went wide and she up held a finger. “I have it, my lord. If you win, I shall make it a point to avoid whichever event you attend for an entire week.”

Drake froze; his tongue could not move to form words.

If he won this silly wager, she would cease pestering him? He should leap at the opportunity. Why then did the thought of not seeing her rest like a pit in his stomach? He told himself it was because he welcomed the diversion she presented. It was nothing more than that. He’d begun to enjoy their subtle repartee.

“A week,” he said. He hated the sadness that clouded her eyes, and felt like a bastard who’d kicked a kitten. It was on the tip of his tongue to argue the terms were not his, but rather her own. He held out his hand.

Emmaline hesitated, then reached out and placed her small white gloved fingers in his. “How will we know whether the other is being truthful?”