Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(60)

She pressed tight against the other side of the column, furtively studying his actions.

His unreadable jade stare quickly panned the foyer, before swiveling back and settling on the column that served as her hiding place.

Emmaline smothered a gasp with her hand, torn between laughter and tears. Drake had a way of doing that. Of somehow, knowing just where she was.

“My lord? This way, if you please,” Carmichael prompted.

He inclined his head and then continued on to Sebastian’s office.

When she was certain he’d gone, Emmaline dashed from behind her hiding place, and raced to her brother’s office.

Once upon a lifetime ago, Emmaline had been a little girl seated in her father’s office swinging her legs to and fro, opposite a young boy. She’d been unaware of the goings on across the room. Fifteen years later, the little girl had been replaced by a woman, now barred from that very same room. Now she stood at the fringe of a closed door.

Unlike that time from her girlhood past, Emmaline knew exactly what was being discussed between the present duke and her betrothed. And found she preferred the not knowing.

The large paneled oak door muted the voices closeted away in the office.

“Come away from that door, Emmaline,” her mother hissed from the hall.

Emmaline ignored her. Even if Emmaline was eavesdropping like a small girl, she was in fact a grown woman.

“Emmaline.”

Emmaline leveled her mother with a forceful stare. “No,” she mouthed silently.

When her mother took several steps closer, Emmaline held up a staying hand.

“By God. Mother, everything has been dictated to me since I was five years old. I’m telling you now, I need to be here. Please go, lest I be discovered.”

For the first time in her entire life, the usually eloquent Duchess of Mallen appeared speechless. With great gentleness, she took Emmaline’s face between her hands and dropped a kiss upon her forehead.

“You are right, my dear. I have imposed enough of my will on your life.” She spared another glance at the door. “Find me when it’s done.”

The seconds ticked by and the muffled sound of speaking grabbed her. “Mother,” Emmaline said urgently.

“Right, right,” she whispered and with obvious hesitancy, left Emmaline alone.

Emmaline shifted her focus to the heavy oak door, wishing it was instead a mere slip of a curtain so the exchange could be unfiltered. On the heels of that thought came a startling realization. It hit her with all the force of an unexpected summer lightning storm; the implication of the momentous proceedings on the other side of the door managed to suck all strength from her limbs.

The stoic force she’d found to face down her mother left her on a silent breath and she realized this would be the last time Drake ever entered her home. Never again would he tease her. Or stroke her body like a virtuoso, who’d been gifted a new instrument. For when Drake exited Sebastian’s library, he would cease to be a part of her life. All they’d shared, from teeth-gritting annoyance to easy companionability would fade into nothing more than a fleeting memory of a brief time she’d been close to complete and utter rapture.

After nearly three days of continuous tears, Emmaline had risen that morning certain she couldn’t manage one more salty drop for Drake.

A tear slipped down her cheek and she swiped at it with an aggravated hand. Apparently she’d been wrong.

***

“A drink?” Mallen offered. He gestured to the open bottle of brandy.

Drake gave a curt shake. “A bit early for a drink, no?”

One of Mallen’s dark brows arched. “Not one for social niceties, are you?”

Drake’s jaw hardened. He forced himself to unfurl his tightly clenched fist.

He would be damned if he gave in to Mallen’s attempt to draw him into a row. He’d caused Emmaline enough hurt and wouldn’t further add to it by beating her brother to a bloody pulp in her home.

Mimicking the pompous duke, Drake arched a cool, mocking brow. “Is this why you asked me here? For a social visit?”

“Sit, sit!” Mallen urged and reclaimed the seat behind his desk.

Drake settled into one of the leather winged-back chairs and stretched his legs out in front of him.

Mallen propped his chin on steepled fingers and drummed them together. “You know why you’re here,” he said at last.

Drake gritted his teeth. “Have out with it already.”

Mallen leaned forward and reached for a leather folio. He pulled out several documents, appeared to review them, and then reached for his pen. The duke dipped it in ink and scratched his signature on a series of pages.

He signed the final document and settled the pen back into its crystal well with a decisive click. “I am severing the contract between you and Emmaline.” Mallen shoved the open portfolio across the surface of his otherwise immaculate desk.

Drake had known for the better part of two days that this exchange was coming, and yet his stomach twisted with an agonized pain.

A contract.

Over the past few months, Emmaline had become so very much more than a contract. She’d become the sole reason for Drake’s every happiness. She represented all that was courageous and strong. And the bloody scraps of parchment would erase all of that from his life.

His heartbeat increased, forcing him to draw a deep, shaky breath.