Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(67)

And then finding.

Even with the distance separating them, the hot intensity of his focus as he settled his stare on her scorched her like a noon sun.

“Breathe,” she reminded herself. Sophie nudged her in the arm but Emmaline ignored her.

“There is no way a man can look at you the way the marquess is looking at you and not feel something.”

Aware of the intrusive way in which they were being scrutinized, Emmaline forced herself to look away.

Sophie groaned. “Oh dear, your brother is headed this way.”

Sebastian rapidly crossed the room, even as the crowd parted for Drake. “What do you want me to do?” Sophie urged. “Do you want to see him?”

“I do,” Emmaline whispered. She heard the consternation in her own words.

Sophie hopped up from her seat and crossed the room, intercepting Sebastian. She held her empty dance card up to his inspection. Her boldness was met with scandalous gasps. His brow furrowed with a blend of annoyance and confusion. Sophie jabbed her finger at the card and showed him an invisible mark. Sebastian directed a pointed glare in Emmaline’s direction, before taking Sophie’s arm with seeming reluctance and leading her to the dance-floor.

Oh, Sophie. Emmaline’s eyes slid closed in gratitude.

“She is a good friend,” a quiet voice said, just over her shoulder.

She gasped, a fluttering hand covering her breast, and turned to face her former betrothed.

***

Drake claimed Emmaline’s hand and bent low over it. He placed a slow, lingering kiss on the top of her knuckles, even as his fingers caressed her inner wrist. What he wouldn’t give to remove the fabric that separated their skin.

“My lord,” she murmured.

With some difficulty, he swallowed around a swell of emotion lodged in his throat. “After all we’ve shared you might call me by my given name.”

She traced her lips with the tip of her tongue. “In front of a room full of strangers awaiting my misstep?”

Drake glanced around the room and pinned the peering lords and ladies with a collective glare. The crowd immediately redirected their attention.

“There, better?”

Emmaline’s lips twitched but still refused to arc in a full smile. “Would that you could make them all disappear.”

He inclined his head. “I shall work on that.”

An awkward silence descended. They stood there, studying each other, like two strangers meeting for the first time.

“Will you do me the honor of this set?”

I have wanted to hold you in my arms, since the moment I walked out of your home, out of your life.

She went to place her hand in his, and then pulled it back. “I—I,” she stumbled.

His stomach tightened under the bite of rejection. “Forgive me for burdening you,” he said lamely. He should turn away. He should— “Oh no, no,” she hurried to reassure him. She motioned down to her slippered feet. “You see, I told the gentlemen I turned my ankle and was unable to dance. How would it appear if I were to suddenly strike out the next set with you?”

A wave of relief washed over him. “That is the reason for your hesitancy?” He laughed; the sound burst from him from a place he’d thought had ceased to exist, a place full of unrestrained hope.

Without allowing her another word on the matter, he commandeered her to the ballroom floor for the current dance—a waltz. He settled his hands on her waist.

“My brother is flaying you to ribbons with his eyes.”

Drake arched a brow. “The last person I’m thinking about right now is your brother.”

Emmaline looked toward her brother. A small frown marred her lips. She continued to study the glowering duke as he waltzed Miss Winters across the dance floor. “He is not happy.”

Drake glanced at the duke and then back at Emmaline. “Really? I’m amazed you can tell. That is the only expression I’ve ever seen him wear.”

She giggled.

Drake’s lips twitched at her infectious laughter. “No, really. He must have been born with that terrific glower.”

Another giggle escaped her. “He’s practiced it since he was a young boy,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper.

He nodded somberly. “Of course he has. It is a requisite course for all heirs to dukedoms.” Drake narrowed his eyes and studied Emmaline down the length of his nose in his best impression of Mallen’s expression.

A gurgle of laughter bubbled up past her lips. “That is a rather impressive rendering.”

“Or there is this one.” Drake drummed up the disapproving glower his father had directed his way, many a-times when Drake had been a small boy.

“Please, s-s-stop. It isn’t seemly if I…” The floodgates opened and Emmaline’s giggle became a resounding laugh that earned a multitude of stares from the ton. The full, husky sound was hardly the simpering, stifled laugh required of a lady. Instead it conjured thoughts of naked bodies entwined in silken sheets, sated with pleasure.

“Th-they are s-staring again.”

Drake arched a brow. “Should I attempt one of your brother’s famous ducal scowls?”

Emmaline laughed even harder.

Drake stared down at her. How did I let you go? Sheer madness and rash idiocy were the only answers that made any sense. If he’d searched the world two times over, he’d never find a woman like her. And yet, she’d been his since they were mere children.