Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(39)

Now she wished she’d sent them. Perhaps she would have made a fool of herself and he would have continued to view her as an empty-minded young child, but it might have brought him some comfort to receive a note from the world he’d left behind. Instead, she’d waited for him to return, so selfishly focused on what his arrival meant for her life and her happiness….that she hadn’t thought about his happiness—or worse, his lack of happiness.

She’d only been capable of a girlish self-centeredness. It hadn’t been until mere hours ago that she’d truly understood Drake was no longer the boy who’d sat across from her when their betrothal documents had been signed.

She snorted. No wonder he hadn’t wanted a thing to do with her then, or even now. To Drake, she had been a child with childish interests.

The realization shamed her. She was humbled with the extent of her self-absorption.

Emmaline laid her cheek on her emerald muslin skirts, staring unseeing out the window. The fabric’s deep rich hue bore a similarity to the color of his eyes. She had never before seen eyes as haunted as Drake’s had been that morning—and with the time she’d spent in London Hospital she’d seen her fair share of misery.

A spasm wracked her heart and she took a deep, shuddery breath. She yearned to hold him close, soothe his hurt.

A warm drop landed on her hand, then two, and absently she realized she was crying. She swiped her hand across her cheeks. Emmaline cast a despondent stare up toward the sky. She squinted under the brightness of the sun’s rays that reflected off the glass panels and shot prisms of light around the parlor walls.

If today Drake had walked away from her the same man she’d come to know these many years, detached and indifferent, then it would have been easy to march into Sebastian’s office and request that he dissolve the betrothal contract.

Drake, however, was far more complicated than she’d ever known. He was scarred, hurting, and it surely explained much of his distantness. She could no sooner walk away from her lifelong commitment to him than she could cut off her own arm.

It wasn’t pity that held her to him. It was something more, something deep that defied years of bitterness and resentment. When she’d witnessed him reduced to a near shell of the man he was, she had wanted nothing more than to cradle him in her arms and take away his fear, make it her own.

“You were missed at breakfast, my dear.”

Emmaline started at the intrusion. She sat up and swiped her hand discreetly across her cheeks. “Mother,” she murmured, keeping her eyes averted.

The robin’s-egg blue seat cushion dipped under her mother’s slight weight. “I understand you had a visitor this morning.”

Emmaline again rested her ear upon the cradle of her knees.

“And that he left rather hastily and seemed to be quite upset.”

Emmaline chewed her lip, her heart tripping painfully at the horror Drake had worn blanketed across every crease, every line of his face. The horrified jade pools of his eyes were testament to the fact he’d stared down the bowels of Hell and lived to speak of it.

Except he didn’t speak of it.

Society had no idea that the carefree, elegant lord sought after by every lady, was in fact tortured, and battling demons no one could ever suspect.

“Emmaline, my dear. What happened today?”

Emmaline opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. This was her mother. The woman who had given her life, who’d cradled her close after numerous scrapes. She wanted to discuss the scene in the gardens, but even as the words were poised on the tip of her tongue, she bit them back. To air Drake’s secrets would be a betrayal. He’d spent these past years cultivating an image of himself for Society, and she’d not rob him of that—not even for her mother.

Her mother wrinkled her brow. “Emmaline?”

Emmaline settled for a meager explanation. “I believe there is more to Lord Drake than anyone truly sees.”

Her mother’s probing stare bore into Emmaline and she resisted the urge to fidget like a little girl who’d been caught sneaking away from her governess.

“Does this—” her mother paused, “more, merit your waiting for him to finally make you his wife?” Her mother continued. “I spoke to Sebastian. He only wants you to be happy. I am of like mind.”

Surely her mother wasn’t saying what she thought she was? “Mother?”

Her mother stroked the crown of her head. “You know my dear, even as I respected your father’s commitment to the betrothal contract, there has always been a part of me that has ached for all the opportunities you missed.”

Emmaline made a dismissive sound. “I haven’t missed anything.” She strove to reassure her mother, but they both knew Emmaline wasn’t being truthful.

Mother went on like Emmaline hadn’t spoken. “Oh, at the time, the arrangement between our families made tremendous sense, and I respected your father’s meticulous planning of your future. It had seemed right at the time, safe…” She paused. A sigh escaped her. “I have watched as the years slipped away, Emmaline. Watched you grow and mature and have felt a longing for you to have a real, un-entangled Season. I’ve wanted the pleasure of seeing you courted, of seeing suitors arrive with bouquets of flowers, and penning sonnets lauding your beauty. How selfish is that of me, my dear?”