Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(87)

“Do not even think about sharing your talents,” he growled. He heard the possessive flare in his tone. Just the idea of Emmaline with any other man enraged him to the point that he wanted to find the non-existent bastard and grind his fist into the other man’s face.

“Don’t look like that.”

“Like what?”

Emmaline ran her fingers through his hair. “Like you are capable of murdering a phantom lover. How could I ever desire anyone else?”

Wordlessly he rose over her and gripped her hands within his. He raised them above her head.

Her eyes widened at the feel of his shaft stirring against her belly. “Again?”

“Again.”

He proceeded to show her why she could never desire another man.





Chapter 39

A low mewling sound penetrated the thick fog of sleep that had engulfed Emmaline. Her eyes fluttered open as she tried to make sense of the noise that had penetrated her dreamless state. Sleeping against the hard-muscled wall of Drake’s chest, she was loathe to move from the warm safety of his arms.

The whimpering increased in volume. Emmaline looked around for Sir Faithful. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. The ink black of the night sky penetrated the gold gilt curtains which were slightly agape.

Sir Faithful barked.

She peered over the edge of the bed. Sir Faithful paced at her bedside. He emitted a small, quiet moan. “What is it, boy?”

The answering response was a short cry—a very human cry, that sent a shivery trail of bumps shooting up her spine. It jerked her attention back toward the bed.

Drake thrashed his head wildly upon his pillow. The golden strands of his hair glistened with so much sweat it was as though he’d been caught in a rainstorm. “No, no, no!”

The despair etched into each line of his slumbering face struck her like a physical blow. “Shh. I’m here, Drake.” She took his face between her hands and leaned close to him. “Do you hear me? I’m here.” She willed her words to bring him back from the hell that had dragged him by his heels and into this netherworld of horror. But it was unrelenting, unwilling to relinquish its hold.

His body stilled.

A sigh slipped from her lips in the form of a prayer. “Oh thank God, Drake. I—”

“For the love of God, don’t do it, man!” Drake screamed into the night, twisting in the covers, which only seemed to heighten his panic.

Emmaline gripped his arm, shaking him gently at first, and then harder. “Please, Drake, please.” Tears dripped down her cheeks and merged with his salty mementos of despair.

She scrubbed at her cheeks. Her sadness would do him no good. Emmaline found strength in fury. How dare these demons take him from her? She would be damned if this nightmare stole him from her. They were memories. Hideous, horrible, ugly memories. She, however, was real. She was here. She would not relinquish him to a dream. If he could feel her, if he could taste her then maybe she could rescue him from the memories she’d never be able to see.

“Drake, I am not letting you go. Come back to me. Now!”

His eyes flew open and he stared at her with a blank gaze.

Emmaline swallowed. He was still gone to her.

Drake shouted over and over, the piteous sound reverberated off the walls.

She registered the frantic footsteps outside their chamber. The door opened and then closed with a loud slam.

Emmaline looked to the entryway just as Drake roared. He threw his forearm out and elbowed her in the chin. The force of the blow knocked her over and tangled as she was in the sheets, Emmaline went reeling into the side of the nightstand. She fell from the bed; her hip struck the floor.

A blast of stars danced behind her eyes. Emmaline blinked back oblivion.

Sir Faithful whimpered and lapped her cheek with his coarse, pink tongue. It dragged Emmaline back from the edge of blackness.

“My lady? Are you all right?” Drake’s valet’s question came as if he spoke down a long hallway.

She couldn’t muster the appropriate humility over the impropriety of James viewing her en dishabille. Instead, she motioned to Drake. “Help me.” The words came out garbled.

When the valet, rushed to her side, his gaze averted from the sheet draped around her form, Emmaline shook her head. No, not me. Help me, help him. “Help him.” She forced the words out deliberate, one at a time.

Seeming torn, James hesitated, and then directed his attention to Drake.

Drake’s body stilled. Emmaline didn’t know whether the nightmare had run its course or whether her husband responded to the familiarity of James’ presence but his ragged breaths settled into a smooth, even pattern.

James pulled the coverlet over Drake. “May I be of assistance, my lady?” He very deliberately fixed his gaze on her husband.

“That is all,” she assured him. Her head continued to ache, but the dull throb had lessened. “Thank you, James.”

He nodded and made to take his leave and then, paused at the doorway, his back to her. “My lady, he is a good man.”

“I don’t need convincing of Lord Drake’s character,” she said, gently. She knew more about Drake than anyone suspected. She knew about Valiant and the men he’d saved. “I know he is a good man.”

James hesitated, as though there was something more he wished to say, but then bowed. “My lady.” He closed the door behind him with a quiet click.