Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(61)

Mallen’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s get on with it.”

Drake reached for the damned documents. He proceeded to read them with deliberate slowness. He turned the pages with such jerky movements he ripped one of the sheets. When he finished reading them, he set them aside.

Mallen spoke. “I’m perplexed. Based on your previous sentiments, I should think you’d be very eager to put your signature to the documents.”

Drake growled. “Sod off.”

Still, he didn’t pick up the pen. His gaze wandered off to the sconce of lit candles throughout the room. How easy it would be to cross to one of those small torches and carry it back to the bloody document and set the whole foul piece ablaze.

Mallen leaned across his desk and tapped the parchment. “Your signature, Drake.”

Drake lunged to his feet. He wrenched the pen from its crystal container, held it aloft, so that ink smattered the duke’s desk and paper. He glowered at Mallen. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Shouldn’t you be enjoying it?” Mallen drawled.

Rage filled Drake. He scribbled his name hastily, and again dipped the pen in the inkwell. “You have never liked me.” He could not bite back the seething hatred he felt for the other man.

“Oh, come. We both know the sentiments have been mutual.”

Drake scratched his signature on another parchment. “Whole-heartedly.”

“Can you answer me this, Drake?”

Drake paused and glanced up.

“You ignored Emmaline for fifteen years. You ran off to fight a war, and left your responsibilities behind. You’ve made it clear to Society how you felt about your betrothal. You returned and carried on with a whole host of women, you drink, you gamble.” Mallen paused, probing eyes, seemed to search out answers. “And yet, you don’t strike me as a man eager to sign the severance document.”

Drake set the pen down, and leveling his palms on the desktop, leaned forward. “You are not betrothed to anyone, Your Grace. Why is that?” He didn’t allow Mallen to answer. “It is because you made that choice. Had you been a boy of three and ten and had that very important decision taken away from you, well, then I’m sure then you might understand some of my rationale.”

Mallen inclined his head. “You might be right. That is neither here nor there,” he said with a wave of his hand. “What matters is Emmaline is still my sister, and I would see her cared for.” He motioned to the documents. “Get on with it.”

Drake dropped his stare to the parchment. With the black ink, he’d made a mess of one of the sheets. He wondered if the document would even be considered legal.

“You did not answer my question,” the duke said.

Drake would be damned if he fed the other man’s curiosity. He signed the final sheet. Straightening, he threw the pen onto the desk where it landed with a thunk. “No, no I have not.”

Silence descended.

It is done.

Mallen reached his hand across the desk, and Drake stared at it blankly. He reached his hand out. They were of course, gentlemen.

He turned to leave.

“Drake?”

He froze, keeping his back to the other man.

“In spite of what you believe, I don’t hate you.”

Drake managed a dry laugh but didn’t answer; because if he did all he’d end up saying was he couldn’t care less about what Mallen felt for him. Instead he nodded.

“Do you know why we’ve never gotten along, Drake?”

God, the man was a termagant. Tenacious.

Like his sister. Oh God, why did that thought hurt so bloody much? Drake turned around. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?” he bit out.

Mallen smiled. “We never got along because we resented each other. You resent me because I love her. And I resent you because you do not.”

He measured Mallen’s words for a long moment.

“One more thing.”

Drake froze. Waited.

“Can I ask why you didn’t want to marry her?”

He swallowed once. Twice. Then gave a jerky shake of his head.

“That is not something I’m willing to share with you, Mallen.” With a curt bow, Drake did what he’d been longing to do since he’d gotten there—he left.

He stormed out quickly and nearly stumbled upon the young woman hovering against the wall.

He froze. He eyed her, beset by a range of different emotions; agony, regret, hopelessness. She’d been the last thread holding him to humanity. What am I without you?

The moment seemed to stretch into forever.

“Goodbye, Emmaline,” he said hoarsely. “It was never my intention to hurt you. Please know that.”

Emmaline’s expressive brown eyes pooled with tears. “Goodbye, Drake.”

Then he left, knowing until he drew his last breath, he’d be haunted by the sorrowful image of her standing there.

***

Emmaline sank against the wall. She pressed a hand against her mouth to stifle a sob.

Sebastian opened the office door and tugged her into the room away from any potential gossipy servants and when he’d closed the door, promptly pulled her into his arms. “Shh,” he murmured against the crown of her hair.

She wept against his shirtfront. She had wanted this. So why did it hurt so much?