Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(66)

Drake lurched to his feet and paced the width of the room. He’d had the same thought each morning upon reading her name in the scandal sheets. But every time he’d stepped a foot out the door, intending to humble himself at her feet, he stopped.

Could he court her? Drake paused mid-stride.

“I have never taken my son as a quitter,” his father called from behind his desk.

Drake stiffened.

It felt as though the chains of life that had restrained him all these years were at last lifted. A slow smile formed on his lips. His self-imposed exile was at an end.





Chapter 30

My Dearest Drake,

You have returned! I long for the day when we would again meet!

Ever Yours,

Emmaline

Emmaline surveyed the crowded ballroom and upon spying Sophie, squeezed her brother’s arm, halting his movements. “I see Sophie.” She gestured subtly in her friend’s direction.

Sebastian’s gaze lingered on Sophie and then he looked back at Emmaline. “You know you do not need to sit with the other wallflowers,” he said, a frown on his lips.

Since Emmaline had severed her betrothal, she’d spent her evenings not very much different than so many others—amidst the other wallflowers.

She pinched her brother’s arm. “Hush. Sophie is not a wallflower.”

He made a non-committal sound. “I’m merely saying—”

“Don’t say anything.”

Sebastian closed his mouth and proceeded to guide her toward Sophie.

Sophie seemed to notice Sebastian first. Her eyes went wide and a small tremulous smile hovered on her lips before her gaze landed on Emmaline. She climbed to her feet and curtsied. “Em. Your Grace.”

Sebastian bowed. “Miss Winters.” He turned a wary look on the hopeful wallflowers, who eyed him with a desperate intensity, and beat a hasty retreat.

“Coward,” Emmaline muttered for Sophie’s ears.

Her friend laughed and claimed Emmaline’s hand. Just then, a swell of eager suitors converged upon them. It had been much the same way since word of her broken betrothal had become fodder for the gossips. Emmaline didn’t delude herself into believing these gentlemen cared about anything beyond her dowry and a connection with the Duke of Mallen. It might not matter to the other wallflowers who smiled almost gratefully in Emmaline’s direction, but it mattered to her.

“May I fetch a glass of punch?” Lord Abbott, one of her more erstwhile suitors, offered a desperate pitch to his voice.

The third Earl of Stanwick puffed out a broad chest, a chest Emmaline highly suspected was compliments of substantial padding provided by his valet. “I said I would fetch the lady punch.”

“Oh dear, this has the makings of an all-out fight,” Sophie murmured beneath her breath. “Why don’t you race and see who brings it back first?” Her suggestion resulted in an exodus of some of the young swains.

Emmaline turned to the expectant crowd of suitors. “Gentlemen, I fear I turned my ankle and will not be dancing any more sets for the remainder of the evening.”

The popinjays groaned in disappointment and shuffled off, earning Emmaline censorious looks from her fellow wallflowers.

“Did we ever truly want this?” Emmaline mused.

Sophie’s lips twitched. “There must be a happy in-between, no?”

A happy in-between? What exactly would that look like? One would have to actually have a care for one or any of the suitors to be happy, no?

Over the years she’d given so much thought to being courted. She’d dreamed of becoming the recipient of a man’s admiration. Oh, she’d hoped it would be her betrothed, but had yearned to know a real courtship. That had been before she’d fallen in love with Drake. Now, every gentleman she met was a pale shadow of his impressive, inspiring figure. Not a single gentleman she’d met had managed to make her heart trip a beat, or set her stomach aflutter with shades of longing.

Only one man thus far had ever prompted such a response in her…and he was gone.

Sophie claimed her hand again. “You look so sad.”

Emmaline swallowed painfully. “I ache for just one sight of him. It is as though he’s disappeared from Society. I wonder what he is doing. Wonder if he ever has any thoughts of me.”

Sophie snorted. “Of course he thinks of you.”

A thrum of whispers rose amidst the crowd. Sophie glanced across the ballroom. Her golden brows shot up to her hairline.

“Sophie?”

“Uh, what would you do if you saw Lord Drake?”

Emmaline cocked her head. “Well, I imagine I’ll eventually have to see him because we do travel in similar circles.”

“Because he’s just arrived.”

Emmaline’s heart quickened and for the first time in weeks, soft joy filled her. She told herself not to search for him, but could no more stop herself from looking about than she could stop breathing.

He stood at the top of the stairwell, greeting Lord and Lady Thompson. Attired in all black and with his halo of golden hair, he may as well have been a fallen angel. He inclined his head in acknowledgement of something Lord Thompson said, before bowing, and pressing ahead. He appeared immune to the hum of whispers, the gaping stares. His intent emerald green gaze swept over the room, searching, searching, searching.