Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(73)

“Don’t touch him!” Emmaline cried, appealing to the Duchess of Mallen. “Mother?”

The duchess glared at her son. “This show of force really isn’t necessary, Sebastian. For any man to bare his soul, and recite poetry in front of a hostile witness like you speaks volumes of the depth of emotion he has for Emmaline.”

“Traitor,” Mallen mumbled. He nodded to the two servants, who released Drake.

Drake returned his attention to Emmaline. “It was not my intention to interrupt your meal.”

Mallen snorted. “Then what was your intention?”

This time, he did look at Mallen. “My intention is to court your sister.”

Sister and brother spoke in unison.

“Yes.”

“The answer is no.”





Chapter 33

My Dearest Drake,

This will be the last letter I write. It is time for us to meet again.

Ever Yours,

Emmaline

Emmaline had hoped with a night of rest that upon waking Sebastian would be amenable to her picnicking with Drake. Standing before her brother’s desk, eyeing his stiffly held form, she now realized she’d been foolishly optimistic.

Sebastian folded his arms across his chest and glared. “I said no.”

Emmaline managed a smile. “That seems to be your new favorite phrase.”

He dropped his pen on his desktop.

Perhaps sarcasm was not her best tactic. “It is merely a picnic,” she reasoned. “There is nothing scandalous about a picnic. Why they are all the rage—”

His snort interrupted her rational explanation. “There is everything scandalous about a picnic when,” he proceeded to tick off on his fingers. "One it is with your former betrothed, two, you throw over a fine, respectable gentleman for—"

Emmaline gasped and marched across the room. “How dare you. I did not throw over Waxham. You were the one attempted to bring us together.”

A telltale vein pulsated along the edge of his temple, indicating he was doing everything within his power to maintain his self-control. “Drake isn’t worth ten Waxham’s.”

Attempting to diffuse the palpable tension emanating from his rigid form, Emmaline sighed. “I will not debate Drake’s worth with you. I love him and more than anything right now, I want to join him in on a picnic. So can’t you please, smile at me, pat me on the head, and tell me to go and have a good time? It is not marriage he is asking for.” Yet. Hopefully in time. “It is a picnic. That is it. Nothing more.”

Sebastian raked a hand through his dark locks. “Can I think on it?”

“What is there to think about?”

He slashed the air with an agitated hand. “I’m already exerting all my ducal influence to silence as many whispers and speculations as I can. I know you’re unaware of the very public censure your actions have earned, but Mother and I are doing our best to save your reputation.”

A laugh burbled up from her throat, and spilled past her lips. “Really, Sebastian. You are making far more of it than—” He slammed a powerful fist onto the mahogany desk with a resounding boom. Emmaline jumped.

“Are you really so unaware of how you are being perceived by the ton? They say you are fickle. You broke off your betrothal, then allowed Waxham to pay serious court.”

“It is your fault—“

“For the love of God, do not say one more time that what happened with Waxham is my fault,” he bellowed and then took a calming breath. When he spoke, his words emerged more even. “Waxham cares for you, Emmaline.”

All this time she’d assumed Waxham’s interest had been borne of nothing other than the connection they shared through Sebastian. A twinge of remorse ravaged her already guilty conscience.

Sebastian groaned. “Damn it, please don’t give me that sad little look.”

Her chin quavered. “I’m not giving you a sad little—”

“Yes you are. It’s the same one you’ve turned on me since you were a small girl. I’m powerless against it.”

She hadn’t even known she’d had any such look. But since he seemed very aware of it she quietly pressed her advantage. “Please send me on my picnic outing with Lord Drake with your blessings.”

Sebastian cursed softly, obviously noting that he’d tipped his hand. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, agitated. “Fine. The picnic. But do not any time soon, expect me to honor anything else more serious than a picnic.”

Emmaline crossed over to his chair. Bending down, she placed a kiss on his cheek. She gave her words all the solemnity she could muster. “It’s just a picnic.”

“When is this picnic going to take place,” he mumbled clearly uncomfortable with her sisterly show of emotion.

“Uh—”

Someone tapped a perfunctory knock at the door.

“Enter,” Sebastian called, his expression indicating his annoyance at the interruption.

The butler stood framed in the doorway and bowed respectfully. “The Marquess of Drake awaits my lady in the foyer to escort her on,” he wrinkled his nose, “a picnic.”

Sebastian’s narrowed gaze pinned her to the rug. Carmichael scurried off. “A picnic today. Imagine that. Drake must have amazing hearing and speed to have heard my consent.”