Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(71)

Emmaline

With sightless eyes, Emmaline stared down at the carrot and ginger soup placed in front of her. She raised her spoon and absently stirred the parsley sprigs. What an odd soup. Who would have thought to cream carrots and…

“My lady?”

She started and dropped her spoon into the fine porcelain bowl. Liquid splattered the tablecloth made of Spanish lace. Apparently the gentleman had asked her a question.

What did he say? What did he say?

Sebastian drummed his fingers on the tabletop and glared at her. “Emmaline, Waxham asked you a question.”

Emmaline fished out the utensil, her gaze fixed on the bowl. Heat stained her neck and flooded her cheeks.

A replacement was quickly brought forward. She cleared her throat and looked over at Waxham. “My apologies, Lord Waxham, I’m afraid my mind was elsewhere.”

Waxham favored her with a rueful smile that said he knew she’d been woolgathering. “How was your visit to the hospital?”

She took a sip of broth. “The soldiers are always full of such stories. In spite of what they’ve seen and done, they still are capable of great laughter.”

“How could they not be joyful when you are around, my lady?”

Why couldn’t Waxham be enough? She’d known him nearly her entire life. He’d toiled alongside her many a summer’s morn in her garden. He knew her likes and dislikes. So that should be enough? But it wasn’t. She wanted the grand passion she knew with Drake. She wanted…wanted…him—the man she’d been betrothed to since she’d been a child. Would it always be this way?

“Perhaps I might join you on a visit?” Waxham’s words pulled the cloud she’d been floating on from under her, and she tumbled back to reality.

The immediate answer that sprung to her lips, which she tamped down, was an emphatic, resounding, no. The soldiers would be livid if this interloper encroached upon Captain Drake’s territory. “Uh-I…”

She dropped her spoon for the second time.

Sebastian caught her gaze and glowered at her. “That would be lovely, is the proper response,” he said.

Emmaline accepted yet another utensil, awash with panic.

“Yes, that would be lovely, wouldn’t it, Emmaline?” Her mother interjected from the head of the table.

She saw the hard determination in Sebastian’s eyes. Noted the silent entreaty in her mother’s stare. Observed Waxham’s hopeful expression. Suddenly the cloying hands of pressure tightened around her throat. Breathing became difficult. Her whole life she’d been inundated with the wants and desires of everyone else. Since the moment she was born, it had never been about her. Her wishes and hopes had never once been considered.

They might not be aware of it, but Sebastian and her mother had continued to place stringent expectations upon her shoulders, even after the severance of her betrothal.

“That would be—”

A commotion sounded beyond the closed door and the butler, Carmichael’s shout filled the hallway and filtered into the dining room. “You must not go in there. I have told you His Grace is not receiving.”

The doors flew open with such force that they bounced hard and hit the plaster of the wall. “I am not here to see His Grace.”

At sight of the imposing, virile figure in the doorway, Emmaline’s spoon clattered again, and this time it plummeted to the floor. She froze. All the breath expelled from her lungs.

Sebastian leapt to his feet. “What is this about, Drake?”

Her mother sat back in her seat and with a wide-eyed stare, took in the tableau.

Drake ignored Sebastian and held up a staying hand as if to stifle her brother’s next words. Then, Drake’s hot, jade gaze found hers, and caressed her like a physical touch.

She forgot everyone else in the room. Oh, God, he was here. He was, wasn’t he? Surely she wasn’t dreaming? Just to be sure, she snuck a hand under the table and gave her leg a little pinch.

No, this was real. Very real. The possessive gleam in his eyes heated her like a hot summer sun. Her entire life, she’d longed for him to look at her as he did now; as though she were the only person in the world.

“You owe me a picnic.” There was something faintly accusatory in his tone.

Three pairs of eyes swiveled to Emmaline. She opened her mouth to speak but no words emerged. She closed it and tried again. Nothing. She shook her head.

“What’s the meaning of this? What is he talking about?”

Emmaline ignored Sebastian’s angry questions.

Her brother in turn directed his attention to Drake. “My sister owes you nothing.”

An immoveable wall of indifference and coolness, the Marquess of Drake kept a narrowed stare fixed on Emmaline.

Emmaline forced her suspicion out past dry lips. “You lied. You finished Glenarvon first, didn’t you?”

Drake’s lips twitched. “Why am I not surprised you know that, Emmaline?”

“Do not call my sister by her given name,” Sebastian said.

Drake took a step forward. “Do you know why you were a wallflower?”

A flood of humiliated heat warmed her cheeks, her chest hitched with pain.

Sebastian kicked his chair backwards with such force it tumbled to the floor. “By God, I will kill you.”

“Sebastian, no,” her mother cried.