Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(77)

Sebastian swiped the air with an angry hand. “You think I care what you need? I care about what she wants and needs. And as her brother, I can say with great confidence that you sir, are not it.” Mallen’s voice had climbed in volume.

Drake remained quiet. Mallen’s tightly coiled frame indicated he was spoiling for a fight. Drake wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. To do so, would invite Mallen to toss him out.

The duke slammed his fist on the desktop. “Damn it. Say something.”

Uncrossing his knee, Drake leaned forward. He held his palms up. “Listen, Mallen. You don’t like me. Which is fine because I don’t much like myself. With the exception of a handful of moments in my life, I am hardly proud of who I am. I’ve got a surly disposition, I’ve carried on with more widows and opera singers than I can list.” He plowed ahead of the Duke’s black expression. “I can go on and on. But Emmaline makes me wish I were a better person. More than that, she makes me want to be a better man— for her.”

Silence descended, punctuated by the tick of the mantle clock. Mallen scrubbed his hands over his face looking like a man twenty years older. “Damn you and that argument.” He dropped his hands and continued to eye Drake with a hard look. “Do you love her?”

Drake paused, frozen by the other man’s question. There it was, again. The question—did he love her? Did he love her? He couldn’t fathom life without her; knew it would be a desolate existence. Before Emmaline he’d hardly managed a sincere laugh or smile. Having grown up motherless and then living the life of a soldier, he’d never really given much thought to the sentiment.

“That isn’t your business.”

Mallen jumped up from his seat and stormed out from behind his desk, clearly prepared to argue the point with Drake.

Drake walked over to the duke. Only a hairsbreadth separated them. “Let me stop you, Mallen. It is my intention to wed your sister and I assure you it is her intention to wed me. Emmaline wants your blessing and because of that, I’m asking you to accept my suit. But, I’m going to marry her with or without your approval. Is that understood?”

The door opened and both men spun around at the intrusion.

The duchess stood framed in the doorway. “You will most certainly give your blessing, Sebastian.”

“Mother, I am handling this—”

“Poorly,” the Duchess of Mallen cut in. She claimed Drake’s hands. “So you’ve finally come to your senses, I see.”

He nodded solemnly. “Yes, Your Grace. I’ve been bewitched by your daughter.”

It was the truth, but it was also the right thing to say. A smile reminiscent of Emmaline’s played about the duchess’s lips. “I wondered when you would at last realize that.”

Mallen raked an angry hand through his hair. “If it weren’t for my mother and my sister, the answer would be, no.”

Drake strove for graciousness. He knew what the capitulation cost Mallen.

Drake nodded solemnly and stretched out his hand out. “Thank you.”

Finally, Mallen accepted Drake’s hand. “Hurt her and I’ll kill you.”

Emmaline stepped into the room. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Sebastian.”

The sight of her there in a pale pink creation trimmed in delicate lace, her eyes shining with adoring love and joy, caused Drake’s heart to pick up a swift beat.

Mallen threw his arms up. “Lovely, so glad you could join us. Why don’t we call in Carmichael and the entire household staff for this meeting?”

Emmaline ignored her brother and glided into the room, coming to a stop before Drake.

He bowed low. “My lady.”

“My lord.”

He needed to feel her skin against his, needed some kind of assurance that she was real and not the phantom creature who’d visited only in his peaceful dreams. He took her hands in his. “We are to be married.”

Emmaline stepped into Drake’s arms like it was the only place in the world she belonged—and mayhap it was. He held her close. With a hand that trembled, Drake stroked her cheek. He forgot about Mallen. The duchess. The war became a distant memory. He forgot about everyone and everything, but her and the feel of her soft, slim body in his arms. It turned out everyone else had been right after all. He did love her.

Imagine that.

“Get your hands off my sister.” Mallen snarled.

Drake jerked back to reality and placed appropriate distance between him and Emmaline.

“Six months.”

He really should have been paying far closer attention to the duke. “I’m sorry?”

“Not as sorry as I am,” Mallen muttered. “A six month betrothal—”

Emmaline gasped.

“Don’t be absurd,” the Duchess of Mallen said.

“Three,” Drake countered.

Mallen’s jaw set in a hard, unyielding line. “Six months. You waited fifteen years, what is another six months?”

Emmaline set her hands on her hips. “Really, Sebastian?” She looked to her mother for intervention.

“Three weeks,” Drake reiterated over the crown of Emmaline’s chocolate waves.

“You are mad. Absolutely not. Why, why the planning, the preparation, the scandal—”

The duchess took her son’s hand between hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I never took you for one to get weighed down with wedding details.”