Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(34)

He held a finger to his lips.

“Emmaline,” Sebastian called in a faint whisper so as to not risk discovery.

She waited with breath held for him to continue on his way—all the while knowing with one word, one whisper, even so much as a sigh, her and Drake’s intimate position would be revealed, and both of them would be forced into a union.

A marriage based on a compromising position was not what Emmaline dreamed of for herself. Other young ladies might only care about an advantageous match but Emmaline wanted more.

What might have been seconds or minutes felt like an endless stretch of time. They waited. And waited.

The soft tread of Hessian boots moved on and indicated that Sebastian had left.

“Emmaline,” Drake whispered.

She slipped out of his arms and darted out from behind the curtains, leaving him alone.

***

Drake dropped his head against the wall and shook it back and forth. For one, inexplicable moment he’d wished Mallen had thrown back the curtain and discovered him and Emmaline. It would have meant her ruin and Drake would have been forced to do right by her.

Such senseless thinking would have only resulted in a miserable existence for Lady Emmaline Fitzhugh; uncertainty, fear, danger. Drake had committed enough wrongs in his life that he wasn’t willing to add this unpardonable sin— even if he did desire her and the peace she managed to somehow bring him.

“Emmaline! Where were you?” A voice hissed.

Drake picked his head up.

He strained to hear Emmaline’s muffled response.

“I assured Mother you knew what you were about but you are making a fool of yourself over Drake. You must have some pride,” Mallen chided.

Drake's hands curled into fists at his side. How dare Mallen speak in that haughty tone to Emmaline? Just once he wanted to plant a left-handed jab into the other man’s face, just bury a fist into his nose.

“This is neither the time nor the place, Sebastian.”

Drake envisioned her with hands planted atop her gently-curved hips, a becoming flush on her cheeks, and all the desire he’d quashed earlier, came rushing back.

“You walked off on Waxham,” Mallen charged. “It was rude of you. He’s always been…”

The wicked trail Drake’s thoughts had been meandering down, meandered right over the edge of a steep cliff. Waxham? What was this about?

“Enough, Sebastian,” she bit out.

For once, Drake wanted Mallen to continue running his mouth because he wanted to know why exactly it should matter that Emmaline had walked off on Waxham and what Waxham had always been. Had Waxham always been like a brother to her? In love with her? What the hell had Waxham been? The unspoken words were perhaps worse than the not knowing. They made him gnash his teeth and want to bloody Waxham senseless.

“You need to be prepared, that is all I’m saying. Come. We’ll discuss this on the way to London Hospital tomorrow.” Mallen effectively ended the conversation.

Drake listened to the click of Mallen’s boot steps in harmony with the pad of her soft silk slippers, until they were no more. Long after they’d gone, when the concert had already begun, Drake finally moved out from behind the spot, tormented by the bloody niggling question; what the hell was Emmaline’s relationship with Lord Waxham?

He knew of the other man. Waxham was deep in the pockets. Fond of the tables but not overly fond. Kept one mistress but didn’t frequent houses of ill-repute. Had respectable stables of horseflesh, which he bred and raced. Sparred regularly at Gentleman’s Jackson’s and was quite good at it.

In sum, the other man was a bloody paragon.

And suddenly, Drake hated him for it.

He moved into view of the concert, filled with a restless fury. With the exception of a lovely lyrical soprano voice, the auditorium was silent. He spied Sinclair seated at the back of the room, the end seat next to him open and made his way over.

“There you are. Where the hell were you off to?” Sin whispered as Drake slid into the vacant seat. “It’s bad enough I’m attending these events with you, quite another to be abandoned amidst matchmaking mamas.”

He ignored Sinclair. From his vantage, he could appraise the entire hall. Where the hell was she?

Then he spotted auburn tresses he’d recognize amidst any crowd. He pointedly ignored Sin’s knowing chuckle. What had happened this evening? Whatever had transpired had been significant. For the life of him, he was incapable of looking at anyone but her.

He did not know what had compelled him to return her kiss and in nearly full view of the ton. And God help him, he could not rid himself of the taste of her lips or the eager way she’d sought his tutelage.

Drake tried to account for his fascination with Lady Emmaline, a woman he’d steered clear of for the better part of fifteen years. She was unlike every lady of his acquaintance. Those other women had perfected the art of coquetry. They’d fluttered their fans exactly the same, worn like serene expressions.

On the contrary, Emmaline possessed a spirit that seemed indomitable. There was no mask where she was concerned. She made it quite clear exactly how she felt and made no apologies for it.

His eyes remained fixed on her.

And he became aware of something else.

“Waxham.”

Sin cast a sideways look in his direction. “What?”

The gentleman seated beside Emmaline leaned down and whispered something into her ear. With a smile, she tipped her head up, and appeared to whisper something back before redirecting her attention to their host’s eldest daughter, who’d just launched into an aria.