Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(85)

Drake gave a long-suffering sigh. “Must I?”

“I’m not amused, Drake.”

A single golden brow arched at her words. “Darling, I’m hard and aching. The last thing I want to discuss with on our wedding night is my reading preferences or why I left you.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Emmaline, I don’t think you’ve done a thing wrong in your life.”

Emmaline snorted and roll her eyes. “Oh, I assure you Sebastian would be glad to point out just how wrong you are on that score.”

“And I assure you, the last person I want to think about with you sitting on my lap and my shaft hard for you is your brother.”

Emmaline laughed. “Fair enough.”

Silence fell, and when he didn’t seem eager to fill it, she nudged him in the ribs. “I’m waiting.”

“I don’t sleep well at night, Emmaline.” He moved her off his lap and raked an agitated hand through tousled golden hair. “I have nightmares about the war. Sometimes I am violent. I don’t feel…comfortable knowing you might be unsafe.” The words came out clipped in an emotionless tone. A dry humorless laugh bubbled eerily in his throat. “There you have it. I’m afraid to sleep next to my own wife. What have I become?”

Besieged by a wave of helplessness, Emmaline stood frozen beside Drake’s chair not knowing what to do. Or say. The Drake before her was not one she was familiar with. She knew him as the confident, unflappable gentleman, possessed of a wry wit and single-minded determination. This man before her, humbled and hesitant, made her reassess the fa?ade of invincibility she’d constructed around him. With a delicate touch, she reached out and ran her fingers through his hair. He flinched. “You must know I will not allow you to sleep anywhere but beside me.”

Drake made a sound in his throat and turned into her caress. “Emmaline, please do not ask this of me. That day in your garden, when I knocked you down…I thought I would go mad. I would never forgive myself if I hurt you again.”

She tapped a finger along his chin. “Don’t you see? I’m yours unconditionally. Not only when life is easy. ” Sinking beside his chair, she knelt at his feet. “I want to be here for you. It is time you let me in. I need you, all of you.” She framed his face between her hands. “Come to bed.”

***

An inner battle waged within Drake. The devil in him that only cared about how Emmaline made him feel, urged him to pick her up and carry her to bed. Consequences be damned. The practical part that had ruled him since his return from the Peninsula, paraded every time he’d been awakened by demons from his past, through his memory.

Go with her, the devil urged. Perhaps he was a friend of the devil, after all because he was the one Drake chose to listen to.

Wordlessly he climbed to his feet and swept Emmaline into his arms. He carried her through the silent household, their rapid breaths the only punctuation in the night quiet. That, and the gentle padding of Sir Faithful’s paws on the soft carpet as Drake weaved his way down the hallway, up the stairs, and to her bedchamber.

Drake kicked the door shut with the tip of his foot and carried Emmaline to the rumpled bed. He lowered her down and Sir Faithful began to bark noisily. “Hush.” The dog sat, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

Drake returned his attention to Emmaline.

She eyed the dog. “He is watching us,” she said in a hushed whisper.

He didn’t pause from his efforts of removing her nightgown and robe, kissing each spot of flesh he exposed. “I assure you, he cannot understand your words, so there really is no need to whisper,” he murmured between kisses.

He then devoted his attention to her mouth. Kissing the corner of her lips, he claimed the plump lower bud of flesh between his teeth and suckled.

The world, but for the two of them, ceased to exist.

At least for Drake.

Emmaline cast another nervous glance down when Sir Faithful whimpered.

“He is watching.”

In the midst of lowering his head to worship her ruby red nipple, Drake paused. He dropped his head resignedly between her breasts. “He was your gift.” Then, he closed his mouth around her nipple.

She cried out in protest when he stopped. He slid down further and further until his head was at the juncture of her thighs. His breath fanned the dark thatch of curls, the hot, musk of her scent drove him to near delirium. He needed to taste her.

Her hand fell to his head, halting his movements. “Yes he was my gift, but…”

Drake paused yet again. “Emmaline.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

”Be quiet.”

At long last, Emmaline forgot about Sir Faithful.

And somehow, after they’d made love, Drake let peaceful sleep overtake him in his wife’s arms.





Chapter 38

Emmaline laughed. She stretched a hand out to play with the cloying blackness; her other hand gripped Drake’s arm as he steered her blindfolded on a winding course through the house. “Are we there yet?”

“Hush,” he said, a playful edge infused into his words.

In the time they’d been married, the hard, cynical look Emmaline had come to expect from Drake, had been replaced with tiny lines that creased the corners of his eyes when he laughed. Oftentimes she would awaken in the middle of the night, to watch him as he slept. In his peaceful slumbering’s, a boy-like quality clung to him. The tightness around Drake’s lips, the firm set to his jaw, disappeared. It was in those stolen moments, she most loved studying him. Arrogant though it was, she loved that she was responsible for his happiness.