Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(49)

She gave him the novel, and watched as he thumbed through the pages. Neither of them said anything as he perused the copy, searching for his questions.

She resumed her slipper art.

Suddenly his fingers stilled and he looked at Emmaline with piercing jade green eyes.

“Calantha marries one man but is seduced by another. Who is her seducer?”

Emmaline’s foot drew to a sudden halt and she cocked her head to the side. “That is one of your questions?” She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. Surely Drake could have found something a good deal more challenging.

“I say, answer the question. That is, if you know it,” he challenged.

“If this is one of your questions, you do not stand a chance.”

He bristled. “If you do not answer the question on a count of three, I will determine that you do not know.”

“Glenarvon,” she answered, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips. “Tsk, tsk, my lord…I’m afraid you are going to have to do better than that, or you are surely going to lose the challenge.”

Drake opened his mouth to speak, but then his eyes dipped to her mouth and whatever he’d been about to say remained unspoken. He groaned.

“Drake, are you all right?”

He cleared his throat. “Fine, fine.”

Drake returned his attention to the book in his hands. He perused a passage. “Calantha speaks of losing all. Who does she blame?”

Emmaline tapped a finger along her jaw. In the work, Calantha was frequently alternating between a sense of guilt and no regrets for her great affair. “Can you read me the passage?”

It was Drake’s turn to issue a tsking sound. “Come, come, my lady. Who does she blame?”

Emmaline thought about it a moment, thought of her relationship with Drake. As a woman, who did she usually blame for Drake’s lack of regard?

“Herself, my lord. She blames herself.”

He nodded, before concentrating his efforts once more on the book. He leafed through the pages.

A loose strand of hair fell across her eyes. She blew it back. “Have you found your next question, my lord?” she pressed after several long moments of silence.

He didn’t bother picking his head up to look at her. “Eager thing, aren’t you?”

She smiled. This light side of Drake was the one Lieutenant Jones had spoken of…and was one she’d come to love. Until just recently, he’d always been the phantom handsome figure who issued her a respectful bow and then beat a hasty retreat. To have him tease her, to furrow his brow as he rustled through a Gothic novel, was something she couldn’t have conjured in her wildest imaginings.

“Ahh,” he said, glancing up. He wore a triumphant expression. “Complete this sentence from the passage—”

“That is hardly fair,” she protested. “A question is far different from memorizing the work.”

“We did not stipulate terms of the questions, my lady.”

Emmaline folded her arms. Drat, if he wasn’t right.

“Fine,” she muttered. “What is the passage?”

“That which causes the tragic end of a woman’s life is often but a moment of amusement and folly in the history of…”

Emmaline’s chest tightened. “A man.”

Drake snapped the work shut, holding it out to her, and took a step forward.

He was so close his breath, laced with a hint of coffee, fanned her lips.

“Calantha argues Glenarvon has seduced her with what?”

Her body swayed closer to him. “The power of attraction,” she whispered.

The book slid from her fingers, to the ground where it fell indignantly open on its spine.

Then he was taking her in his arms, folding her close, covering her mouth with his, parting her lips and tasting her. She moaned, a low, husky purr that sounded wanton to her own ears.

Emmaline twined her hands about his neck and pressed her body close to his. His manhood prodded hard and angry against her belly, and her body flared with the swift, hot flood of desire. It overtook her, nearly brought her to her knees.

“Please, Drake,” she pleaded against his lips.

Drake lowered her to the ground and knelt with her cradled against the hard-muscled wall of his chest. There was something both erotic and yet sweetly beautiful, kneeling in the gardens as though they were Adam and Eve partaking in their first sinful taste of the forbidden fruit.

Through the thick haze of desire, Sir Faithful’s bark cut into their embrace. The dog hurled himself atop them and licked Emmaline’s face.

She turned away from the eager pup and laughed.

Drake paused. “Sit.” He issued the order with the same authority she was sure he had used to command his men in battle. At the brisk tone, Sir Faithful promptly laid down. He lowered his head dejectedly on his paws.

Drake returned his attention to her. “Where was I?” he asked hoarsely.

“You were touching me,” she said breathlessly.

“Was I?” He kissed the corner of her lip.

She moaned. “Yes.”

“Yes, like this or yes, you like it?”

Her head thrashed back and forth. “Stop teasing me.”

Strong fingers traced a knowing path over her body, and grasping her buttocks in his palms, he urged her closer to the length of him.