Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(90)

“I am,” he said so quietly, she had to strain to hear him.

“I asked, where are we going?” An impenetrable fear kept her frozen, afraid to move from the spot she stood.

“We are not going anywhere. You are going.”

His words cut into her like the sting of salt water as it is tossed upon an open wound. Thoughts of the happy couple she’d witnessed mere moments ago flitted through her mind. How very joyous they’d been; their happiness a stark contrast to Drake’s own detached demeanor.

God, how she hated those young lovers—even more now. How come they were able to know such happiness when her own life was crumbling down around her like an ancient ruin?

She stuck her chin out. “I’m not going anywhere, Drake.” Emmaline hated the quivering timbre of her voice. Damn him for being so indifferent when she read as transparent as a page in a Gothic novel. “How dare you stand before me seeming to be singularly unaffected? You think to send me away like the crumbs on a dinner plate.”

The only indication given that he was affected by their exchange was an imperceptible tightening of his jaw. “This isn’t a discussion. I’ll not have you hurt. As I said last evening, this was a mistake. I have compromised your safety—”

“And as I’ve said…you are a bloody coward, husband.” She spat the curse at him, reveling in the subtle stiffening of his shoulders, the way he flinched at the word. Good, let him be at least somewhat unbalanced.

In the end, he retained his calm. “Either way, you cannot remain here.”

Emmaline shook her head sadly, her eyes sliding closed. Poor Drake. She thought of all the stories she had learned about him at London Hospital. Thought of all the men he’d considered friends, who he’d left behind. His dog, Valiant.

She took a deep breath. “No.”

Unused to having his wishes countermanded, his brow furrowed. “No?

With a cheeky tilt of her chin, she tossed her head. “That’s correct. No, as in I’m not—”

He slammed his fist against the wall, the ferocity of his movement caused reverberations that sent the collection of crystal perfume bottles on the delicate vanity clattering.

“Christ, Emmaline. Why are you doing this?” he rasped. “This is the hardest thing I’ve done—”

“Then don’t do it.”

***

Emmaline’s words were not a challenge, an entreaty, or demand. Had that utterance been emotional and enraged, it might have fueled his determination to send her packing.

This calm reasoning, however, he was altogether unprepared for. The soft carpet masked her movements and he was unaware of her bridging the distance between them, until he felt her tender touch on the sleeve of his jacket. He couldn’t look at her bruised, delicate visage. Could not stare at the damage he’d inflicted with his monstrous hands.

“As long as I’ve known you, you’ve turned away from me. Please, stop turning away from me.” There was a gentle plea underlying her words, a soft appeal.

Drake pressed the heel of his palms against his forehead. How could he allow her to remain? Pure selfishness made him want to move forward with her in his life. Calm reason and logic, however, urged him to send her away.

She, however, was more tempting than a devil among man. “You are not alone, Drake. You do not have to be. I am here. Let me in. I will help you.”

How desperately he longed for the presence of someone else alongside him, battling the demons that possessed him. Nay, not just anyone. He longed for her. His brave warrior, who didn’t hesitate to put herself in harm’s way to help others. First she’d saved the peddler. Now she was attempting to save him. Yet, if he turned to her, what kind of bastard would that make him?

Staring unseeing out at her armoire, he willed himself to confront the demons that tormented his waking and sleeping moments. The specters visited so frequently, he’d begun to lose sense of his own self. He’d been trying so desperately to push the ghosts to a deep, dark corner, and they refused to stay banished. This time, he didn’t hold back the memories. Vivid reflections of specific men, and then the other nameless men who visited him each night, paraded through his mind.

Then he knew.

It was guilt he carried. A great sense of blameworthiness that he’d lived when so many others had died. A sense of malfeasance that men had been killed and forever maimed because he’d led them to their death. The confrontation of his own culpability robbed him of the ability to stand. The muscle in his legs turned to nothing and he slid down to the floor, borrowing support from the wall.

And in the light of day, in front of his Emmaline, he did what he’d longed to do for seven long years.

He wept.

Openly. Great big, gasping, noisy tears that wrenched from somewhere deep within him. He felt the flutter of Emmaline’s skirts as she dropped to her knees beside him. She took his face between her hands; kissed his tears, kissed his wet lashes.

She stroked a trembling hand across his brow. He leaned into her touch.

Wordlessly, she climbed onto his lap and burrowed deep against his chest.

Drake’s lips caressed her temple. “How did I ever get so fortunate as to find myself betrothed to you?” he whispered, his voice ragged.

She tilted her head up and favored him with a bemused smiled. “I suppose we only have our fathers to thank.”