Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(82)

“Come,” she called, her voice faltering.

Drake filled the open-doorway and a wave of nervousness coursed through her. She made to wipe her damp palms along the sides of her nightgown, but remembered how exquisite the garment was and stopped. “Hullo,” she said, breaking the awkward silence.

Drake leaned against the doorjamb and gave her a reverent smile. “You are stunning.”

Her mouth went dry, words escaped her. Why couldn’t she be seductive and sophisticated, capable of a perfectly naughty smile?

He leveled himself away from the entryway and shoved the door closed with the heel of his boot. “Come, love, you aren’t shy around me of a sudden?”

“No,” she said a touch too quickly. Liar. He makes you feel the same way you did when you had your Come Out at Almack’s...and look what a disaster that had proven to be. She took a breath. Painful awkwardness heightened Emmaline’s sense of inadequacy. She opened her mouth to fill the void that had engulfed the both of them. “The wedding was lovely. And the flowers from the gardens looked so lovely in the church. We were so fortunate to have sun. The day was just…”

Drake folded his arms across his chest. “Lovely?”

Her mouth snapped shut as he sauntered over to her. His chest rose and fell in a steady, calming cadence. The faint scent of sandalwood clung to his skin.

Silence reigned.

And Emmaline decided she’d had enough of it. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

Drake’s arms fell to his side and his mouth gaped open. Emboldened by his reaction, she took a deep breath, twined her arms about his neck, and pushed up on her tip-toes. “What no answer? Then I suppose I shall just have to kiss you,” she breathed against his lips, and then kissed him.

Drake groaned. His hands went to her waist and began roving a course over her silk peignoir, caressing her through the silk garment.

Wordlessly, he swept her into his arms and carried her to bed. He took great care as he lowered her gently down onto the soft mattress and then suddenly, he sat back on his haunches. Rolling his shoulders back, he hastily removed his jacket, and threw it haphazardly to the floor. His expertly tied cravat and white law shirt followed.

Drake made quick work of his boots and breeches. In moments, he sat naked before her.

Emmaline’s maidenly reservations were replaced with bold curiosity and a woman’s desire. The well-muscled wall of his chest was faintly sprinkled with golden curls. Curious to see if the hair was as soft as it looked, she reached out and caressed him.

Like silk.

His breath caught at her touch.

Emmaline’s gaze dropped lower. She trailed the tip of her finger along his firm, abdominal muscles, and she stiffened. “Oh my God,” she whispered. Thick, jagged scars crisscrossed the lower right side of Drake’s stomach. A similar mark marred the upper portion of his shoulder and disappeared somewhere behind his back.

***

Under the scrutiny of her gaze, Drake tugged the sheet up to conceal his form. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…I forgot,” he stammered, a wave of humiliated shame fanned out from his stomach. How could he forget? Christ, it was a wonder Emmaline hadn’t stormed screaming from the chambers. “I’m hardly the same gentleman I was before the war.”

His time fighting Napoleon had left him scarred both inside and out. He’d been humbled to return to England and see the hideous fascination the women he’d bedded had with his disfigurements. To them it had seemed he was nothing more than an oddity, a source of perverse entertainment. To have Emmaline look at him with distress in her eyes did something to him that none of the other women’s disgust had ever managed to do. Her horror cleaved him in two.

Emmaline reached out and ran a finger across the scar at his shoulder. She sat up on her knees and she strained to see just exactly where the mark continued; her gaze followed the path all the way across his middle back.

“You are correct, you did not return the same man.” She placed a kiss on his right shoulder and proceeded to trail kisses all the way down until she reached the mark. “You came back a better one.” Emmaline rested her head against his chest.

Drake knew he was fortunate to have lived when so many had sustained greater wounds, so many had lost their lives. And yet… as shallow as it was, it bothered him to face the imperfections that marred his body and mind, day in and day out. Drake cleared his throat. “I am horribly disfigured.”

Emmaline came up on her knees once again, and pressed her form to his. “You are perfection.” She smiled and kissed him. “These scars are part of you,” she said when she’d pulled away. “And I love every part of you, exactly as you are. Make love to me.”

Drake’s eyes grew hot and he swore to himself that it wasn’t tears but rather passion. “With pleasure, my lady.” He proceeded to relieve Emmaline of her gown.

He guided her down so her head met the satiny case of the pillow and trailed a series of kisses along the line of her jaw, down her collarbone, until he found the tip of her breast. He drew the erect tip into his mouth and sucked, alternately sucking and flicking it with his tongue. Emmaline thrashed her head back and forth, her brown, silken waves fanned about them like a curtain.

“Please,” she whispered, as her hips undulated with a wild abandon.

Drake responded by placing a hand between her legs and caressing her hot, moist center. Her lids closed and she smartly she gave herself over to the feeling of his touch.