Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(31)

“Of one, Lord Glenarvon," she answered with equal irony,” which will never endanger your health—of a broken heart."



Drake snorted. “What rubbish.” He intended to tell his betrothed the next time he saw her.

He turned to the first chapter and began to read.

***

“Wake up, son. Wake up!”

Drake lunged up. Beads of sweat fell from his brow. He threw off his father’s grip and the energy seeped from his tightly coiled body. He studied the room through a clouded haze of horror, as he tried to sort out where his physical body was.

His gaze collided with his father’s. The Duke of Hawkridge said nothing. He never did after Drake recovered from one of his terrors.

Drake raked a hand across his face, and scrubbed it back and forth, with deliberate roughness. “I had a dream,” he said.

The Duke of Hawkridge nodded somberly. “I know.”

None would dare to believe that this man with his dressing gown rucked about his legs, kneeling at Drake’s side with tears in his eyes was in fact the Duke of Hawkridge.

Drake took care to avoid his father’s eyes. “I fell asleep. I shouldn’t have.” The last time he’d awakened from a nightmare to find his father next to him, he’d looked into the duke’s eyes and found them filled with pity, guilt, and regret—it had been too much for Drake.

“You have to sleep.” His father awkwardly patted Drake’s hand.

This is how it went when the nightmares came. Afterwards, neither of them knew what to say.

Hawkridge began slowly. “About your betrothal…”

Drake’s eyes slid closed. He braced for the lecture. His father was choosing this moment to speak to him about his responsibilities?

“I want you to know, I…I want you to be happy. I will…” the Duke of Hawkridge fumbled, seeing to search for the right word, “terminate the terms of the agreement, if that is what you so wish.”

Drake didn’t say anything. The irony of the duke’s offer was not lost on him. If those words had been spoken eight years earlier, how different would his life be? His rash decision to enlist would never have come to pass.

Oddly, the offer now left Drake with a feeling of emptiness inside. Take it, accept his offer and sever the contract. It would be the ultimate victory over his father’s will.

He opened his mouth to speak.

Then tried again.

But the words wouldn’t come.

It may have had something to do with the fact that for the first time since he’d returned from the Peninsula, he felt blessedly alive. Lying in the arms of stunningly beautiful courtesans, playing at the gaming tables, none of it had elicited anything from Drake.

Somehow Lady Emmaline had succeeded where nothing else had—she’d made him feel human again. When he was with her, he laughed, made jests. She made him feel a whole host of emotions he’d never thought to experience again.

And Drake was loath to lose the thin grasp on humanity she provided.

He scrubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. “I’m tired.”

Hawkridge stood a little too quickly, a demonstration of his discomfort with the state of his son’s well-being. “Yes, yes, then. Please think about what I’ve said.” He held a hand up, reached out, and then swiftly dropped it back to his side.

Drake watched him leave, thinking about what his father had said, and even more, thinking about why it was so hard to consider accepting the offer.





Chapter 15

My Dearest Drake,

I have a confession. I am lonely. How odd, to have a mother, a father, a brother and frequent visitors, and yet still be lonely…I wish you’d come home soon and take me away from it all.

Ever Yours,

Emmaline

Somewhere amidst the crush of people who had shown up for the musical event of the Season, Lord Drake was present.

The Earl and Countess of Cranford had all daughters; five of them to be exact, which provided a sufficient number for a whole evening’s worth of musical entertainment. The young ladies, ranging from seventeen to two and twenty, were as gifted musically as they were stunning examples of golden, blue-eyed, English beauty. Each lady possessed a crystal-clear tone and broad range that would make a choir of angels green with envy. And thus, the event had become the only musicale that members of the ton looked forward to.

Emmaline scanned the hall.

Lord Sinclair had sent around a note indicating Lord Drake would be in attendance. She glanced over at her mother, engrossed in conversation with Lady Bloom, who therefore couldn’t notice Emmaline’s pointed search for Lord Drake. It was bad enough Emmaline had to deal with Sebastian’s censure over her pursuit of her betrothed. She didn’t relish the prospect of having to fend off Mother’s disapproval, as well.

Emmaline caught her lower lip between her teeth. Lord Sinclair had insisted Drake would be present and yet…this wasn’t her betrothed’s usual entertainment. No, he’d far prefer balls where he could receive the attentions of scandalous, voluptuous widows. She could not even begin to speculate as to Drake’s motives in attending the annual musicale. There must be some woman in attendance who’d captured his interest.

Her mother touched the small of her back and Emmaline started. She’d not realized Lady Bloom had taken her leave.