Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(48)

But now, they reminded him of more than just that. Now they reminded him of Emmaline. The sight of the flowers and climbing ivy, put him in mind of Emmaline at work in her own garden. This image of her was always in stark contrast to the remembrance of charred, barren wasteland scorched by man and by war.

Sir Faithful scratched his leg and whined at him.

This time, Drake was not alone.

He bent down and scratched Sir Faithful between his ears. “She did you a great disservice, my friend,” he murmured to the black pup. “Sir Faithful, she dubbed thee, and forever you shall be.”

The pup’s tongue lolled out and he gave a happy little yelp, as if in approval of Lady Emmaline’s selection.

Drake stared out at the expanse of night sky as the creeping fingers of dawn's purple hues edged across the horizon and pushed back the darkness. As lovely as the morning sky was, the beauty was that much greater in the country, where the air wasn’t heavy with dirt and grime.

Drake reflected on Mallen’s growing impatience with Emmaline’s unmarried state.

Mallen had gone so far as to demand Drake commit to Emmaline or else. The duke had issued the command as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

But then, perhaps to the other man, it was.

How could Mallen, or anyone for that matter, ever know what held Drake back? What would Mallen say if he knew Drake would not wed Emmaline for fear of her safety? Mallen certainly wouldn’t want an answer. Instead, he’d end the betrothal without another word and have Emmaline neatly tied to Waxham. His gut clenched at the thought of it.

He thought back to his most recent episode in Emmaline’s garden.

It had been several months since he’d last lost control as he had with Emmaline. He’d begun to believe, nay hope, that he’d put those moments behind him. He’d fooled himself into thinking that he was like any other gentleman. That afternoon with Emmaline, he’d physically assaulted her and proved he was nothing more than an animal better off committed to Bedlam.

It had been his greatest fear realized.

No waltz and a simple apology could pardon such an affront. He was foolish to think it could have.

Drake lived through too many sleepless nights, too many hellish nightmares, and too many bouts of lost self-control to ever trust that he was a good candidate for marriage.

Ultimately he would have to marry. As the only heir to the Duke of Hawkridge, Drake was aware of his obligations. It had, however, been his hope that the demons he continued to battle would diminish over the years; that time would, as they say, heal all wounds.

He now realized he’d clung to foolish optimism. This hell would always enshroud his existence. How could he marry and expose Emmaline to that.

Sir Faithful ears pricked up and he looked around as if he’d detected an interloper. The dog gave an excited barking yelp and bounded off to greet their guest.

“Drake,” Emmaline murmured softly.

Drake started at the unexpectedness of the interruption. Every muscle in his body went tight at the feel of her presence.

He no longer wondered about her uncanny ability to determine his whereabouts.

Drake turned and dipped a respectful bow. “Emmaline.”

***

Emmaline tapped her copy of Glenarvon against her thigh. “You can leave us, Grace,” she instructed her maid.

Grace nodded and then took her leave.

Emmaline bit the inside of her lower lip, the soft thread of her maid’s footsteps echoed in the quiet until they faded to silence. Emmaline and Drake were left cloaked in the privacy the shrubbery.

She took a deep breath, wishing she were more poised to hide her uncertainty from this man she’d been connected to since she’d been a babe.

Emmaline crouched down and caressed Sir Faithful.

“I’ve finished…”

“You are walking rather…”

They both stumbled to an awkward, halting conclusion, their words unfinished.

He helped her to her feet.

Silence again descended.

Emmaline drew a distracted circle upon the ground with the tip of her slipper.

Drake studied the movement. “Are you visiting the park at this ungodly hour to merely draw artwork with your slipper?” he teased.

Emmaline’s foot paused mid-circle and she grinned. “You’ve found me out, sir. I spend a great deal of time gallivanting over Hyde Park completing very fine slipper-art. It is all the thing.”

His eyes smiled at her inane response. Funny that. She’d never known one could smile with their eyes.

“I must say, completing slipper art in public is not the action befitting a future duchess,” he said solemnly.

Emmaline made an X over her heart. “I pledge to abandon the activity when we are wed, my lord.”

Nothing could kill the shared levity of the moment swifter than mention of their betrothal.

Drake’s eyes darkened and he directed his focus to the book in her hands.

Her heart twisted painfully in her chest as he regarded her the way he might a stranger.

“Have you come here this morning to read?”

She hated that his words came out clipped and cool. Yearned for the light, teasing warmth she’d come to know from him.

She waved her copy of Glenarvon about. “As I started to say, I have finished my copy. I am here to complete our challenge.”

His face, an otherwise blank mask, revealed a flash of surprise. Wordlessly, he held a hand out.