Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(80)

“Like this,” he instructed hoarsely and showed her the rhythm.

Emmaline watched with wide-eyed fascination as he pumped his hips into her hand, studying the pearly white fluid that leaked from the tip of his shaft.

She squeezed him in her hands, increasing the rhythm, and he sucked in air through his teeth, on a sharp whistle. “God, Emmaline. I’m going to come.”

And then he stiffened, and was coming, a stream of milk white seed poured from him, and Emmaline watched through round eyes.

Replete from his exertions and the power of his orgasm, Drake sunk against the cushions and held Emmaline in his arms. He continued to hold her long after she’d fallen asleep just studying her serene, heart-shaped face until his eyes grew heavy. A yawn escaped him. He’d close his eyes. Just for a short while.





Chapter 36

The carriage wheels ground to a jarring halt. Drake’s eyes flew open. He made a move to dash his hand across his face and clear the haze of slumber but his hand was caught and he remembered…

His head dropped back slowly into the dark leather squabs of the interior of his carriage and he closed his eyes again on a smile. He must look like a lovelorn pup. Mayhap he was.

They’d arrived at their new home. Home. He smiled.

Drake rearranged Emmaline’s gown. He tugged the bodice back into place and made quick work of the intricate row of buttons. He dropped her skirts and through it all, his sated wife continued to sleep.

Taking care not to jostle her, Drake shoved the curtain apart, and peered at his townhouse. At the time he’d purchased it, he hadn’t allowed himself to imagine the simple things that so many gentlemen took for granted—a wife, a home, children—would ever be his. He believed loneliness was to be the penance required of him for the things he’d done in battle.

Drake let the black fabric fall back in place and shifted his attention to Emmaline. Apparently the Gods had, if not forgiven him, granted him this undeserved happiness. They’d sent him down an angel.

A harsh, snorting sound slipped from her slack lips.

He smiled. Apparently, an angel who snored.

Interestingly, it was that separation that at last managed to waken Emmaline. Her thick eyelashes fluttered open and closed as she negotiated reality with dream state. There was a sleepy moment of joyful recognition, when her gaze found his and she reached her arms high above her head, arching her back in a contented stretch. She yawned loudly, before closing her eyes, and burrowing into his side.

Then she seemed to realize the carriage had ceased its swaying, rhythmic motion. “We’re here, love,” he confirmed.

Like a jolt of lightening had struck, Emmaline’s body jolted forward and she promptly tumbled to the floor. “I’m a mess,” she cried, in a sweetly endearing hoarse morning voice. She glanced down at her rumpled gown and groaned. “It will take just one glance for the staff to know exactly what we’ve been doing in the carriage.”

He didn’t debate the merit of that point, and instead reached out a hand to assist her up. She dropped her head into her hands and shook it back and forth, groaning in embarrassment. “I want to stay here all day, buried away in this carriage,” she moaned. “I can’t meet the staff like this. I look, like, like…”

Drake waited for her to finish her sentence, lips twitching. “Like?”

Emmaline somehow managed to squish his booted foot beneath her slipper. “You are insufferable.”

“And you are quite a shrew in the morning, love.”

“I am not…” At his pointed smile, she snapped her mouth shut.

He took pity on her frayed state, and quickly helped her up from the floor. He set to work righting her hair, adjusting her gown, and briefly shaking out what wrinkles he could. “There, you’re all properly righted. However,” he gave her a lingering kiss, “I far preferred you all rumpled and thoroughly loved.”

Emmaline accepted his kiss. “You are far too familiar with a lady’s ablutions,” she charged prettily.

Beneath the light teasing tone, there was a rebuke buried in that quip. The hurt reached Emmaline’s wide chocolate brown eyes, spearing him in the heart. He damned himself to perdition.

There was a knock on the carriage door. “We’ve arrived, my lord,” the servant stated from the other side.

Drake ignored him. He took Emmaline’s chin between his hands, and urged her to meet his eyes. “I will not lie to you. There were many, many other women.”

Emmaline winced.

He raised her knuckles to his lips, caressing them deliberately and delicately with his lips. “From the moment you boldly marched up to me in the theatre, there has never been another woman for me. And there will never be. I pledge this to you.”

Her lips pursed in a set line. “There most certainly will not be.”

Drake laughed and dropped another kiss on her lips.

A second rap sounded on the carriage door. “My lord, we’ve—”

“Damn it, I heard you.”

Emmaline swatted at his fingers. “Don’t be so surly. What His Lordship meant to say was, thank you, he heard you,” she addressed the poor servant outside the carriage.

“No it wasn’t. I meant exactly what I said,” Drake corrected for the servant’s benefit.

She rolled her eyes and pulled back the curtains. The servant shuffled back and forth on the balls of his feet.