Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(54)

They were toe-to-toe, breath coming fast from the force of their emotions.

“What do you want from me?” The words wrenched from deep within him.

“I want to be your wife,” she whispered.

Drake looked away, unable to see the love pouring from her. God, when she said it like that, he was wont to deny her anything. She at least deserved some element of truth from him. “I am not ready to marry you.”

Her response came out wobbly. “Why?”

He knew how much that question cost her and just added one more thing to the list of all the reasons he hated himself.

“I’m not ready to be a husband.”

There it was. To him, the truth—a silent acknowledgement that he was defective and not good enough for her. She, however, would see it as nothing more than a rejection.

“You’re not ready to be a husband? Or you’re not ready to be my husband?” He said nothing and she squared her shoulders. “I see.”

No, Emmaline. No, you cannot possibly see. Because if you did, then you would know right now I feel as though I’m being run through, over and over with a rusty bayonet.

Drake stared out into the horizon at the fading purple hues rolling back, as they ceded the spot to the full morning sky. “I should never have touched you.” Even if it had felt like the only thing perfect in his life.

Emmaline laughed bitterly. “I don’t imagine many of the ladies you’ve been intimate with have heard those words from the great Lord Drake.” She reached down and rescued the forgotten bag at their feet. She thrust it into his hands. “These were yours. I wrote them, to you…for you…when you were…gone…” She fumbled about, seeming to search for the right words. “I am freeing you,” she breathed the words into existence. She jerked as if startled by her own declaration, but then resolutely met his gaze. “I am no longer your responsibility.”

Drake’s heart thumped, once, twice, then froze. He gave his head a firm shake, in attempt to make sense of what Emmaline had said but the loud buzzing in his ears overpowered his ability to reason.

Perhaps he had misheard her.

“I am freeing you,” she repeated. “I cannot do this any longer. You don’t love me. Even as I…love you. I cannot bear to be a responsibility you do not want, nor for that matter have ever wanted in your life. I want to be courted. I want someone to bring me flowers and write me poems. More than anything, I want to be loved. And do you know, Drake? I deserve to be loved.”

Yes, she did. Except, Emmaline could walk from one corner of the earth to the next, and never find a man who cared for her as he did. It was that regard for her which allowed him to set her free, in spite of his selfish yearnings. A ball of pain lodge in Drake’s chest.

Odd, he’d been stabbed, had, taken more bullets than a living body was ever meant to take and yet the ache of losing Emmaline, was somehow greater than all those hellish wartime moments combined.

God help him. He was a selfish fiend after all. He wasn’t ready to lose her.

“What if I don’t want to be free?” The words ripped from a place deep within his soul, a place where the last vestige of humanity he’d returned from the war with, still resided. If Emmaline walked out of his life; she’d snuff out the sole flicker of light that existed within him.

Emmaline gave him a sad little smile. “Come Drake, you don’t want me. You have never wanted me. Even this Season.” Her hand fluttered about. “I’ve followed you from event to event, but I’ve never really been anything more than a nuisance. So I am freeing you as much for me, as it is for you.”

She stepped close to him. The crisp citrusy scent of lemons tickled his senses. His eyes slid closed. He would never know if it was the scent of her soap or a dash of perfume dabbed behind her ears, because she would be gone to him, and he would lose the right to know all those intimate things he yearned to know.

Through a surreal fog, he was dimly aware of her taking his hands. She gave them a gentle squeeze and picked up her chocolate gaze to meet his. “You have had the opportunity to make at least some decisions in your own. You went to war. I’ve never had that. Let me have this. Let me have my Season.”

Drake’s throat worked painfully. If only he could tell her the decision he’d made, his one reckless grasp at independence, had been the most horrendous mistake he had ever made. It had cost him everything: his sanity, his happiness. Her.

“I have never said I wanted to be freed of you.”

Why couldn’t he call forth the words to keep her?

Because you don’t deserve her, a silent voice jeered.

Emmaline smiled sadly. “But you never said you wanted me either.” She reached out a trembling hand to his jaw and rubbed the cleft there. “When my father died, I was devastated. I never thought I’d smile again.”

Drake tried to slog through the the unexpected shift in conversation.

“I waited for you, but you never came.” Emmaline swallowed, her throat working. “I still remember the chaos. There were so many cries and screams. I still cannot sort whether it was mine, Mother’s, or the maids'.” A small shudder racked her frame and she crossed her arms, as if to ward off a chill. “Countless peers came to pay their respects, but I really only wanted to see one person walk through the door.” Her lips tipped up in a sad rendition of a smile. “You were the only one I longed to see. I waited for you to come to me…but you never came.”