Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons) by Christi Caldwell

Author:Christi Caldwell [Caldwell, Christi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 20436863
Publisher: Christi Caldwell
Published: 2013-12-28T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

My Dearest Drake,

Does a man who is betrothed still propose to the lady he is betrothed to? I would imagine it would be more romantic if he did.

Ever Yours,

Emmaline

He was going to marry her.

Drake expected to be consumed by anxiety at the thought of relinquishing bachelorhood. He’d always believed marriage symbolized the death of a gentleman’s freedom.

Yet oddly today, he had no reservations. It wasn’t obligation that drove his decision. Nor his responsibilities to the ducal line. Somewhere along the way, it had become about him and Emmaline—as it should have been.

Sir Faithful barked.

He glanced down apologetically at the pup. “No, you cannot come, my friend.” Sir Faithful dropped his head back between his paws and gave him a long, sad look.

“I’ll tell you what, Sir. Soon I’ll bring her back here as your mistress, then you can see the both of us.”

That was apparently too much for the pup to understand. He just cocked his head sideways, tongue lolling out, and continued to study Drake.

Drake returned his attention to his plans for the morning, feeling once again like a soldier about to embark upon a decisive battle. Why had he fought this? He thought of all the time he’d wasted, thought of his leaving to fight on the Peninsula, when what he’d been fleeing had turned out to be a person who made him smile more than he had in years.

He glanced down at the ring resting on the bureau top. The eight carat emerald nestled amidst a cluster of diamonds, glittered in the morning light. It had belonged to his mother, and the duchess before her, and the duchess before her. And it would be Emmaline’s. He picked it up, studied it, and then placed it in the inner fold of his midnight jacket.

His valet appeared in the doorway. “My lord, as requested, your mount has been readied.”

Drake nodded and made his way below stairs, to the foyer.

He was met by the usually staid, butler, Winchester.

This time Winchester’s weathered face was wreathed in a smile that went from one ear to the next. As if he knew Drake’s special business. Which shouldn’t really surprise him. Winchester had always managed to glean Drake’s intentions before he himself even really knew.

“My lord!”

Drake grinned back. “Winchester.”

Since he’d lain Emmaline down on the garden floor and pleasured her, he’d worn a perpetual smile. To be more precise, he’d seemed to be in a state of happiness since she’d come into his life. Emmaline’s joy had been infectious and he’d been her willing victim.

A startled shriek rent the air, punctuated by a resounding metallic crash. Servants seemed to materialize out of nowhere and hurried to the mishap. A two foot silver vase lay on its side amidst a cluster of white flowers. The young maid who’d dropped the floral arrangement wept into her hands.

Her blubbering blended with the cacophony of sound as servants rushed to clean the mess.

Drake’s eyes remained riveted on the glint of the metal urn. The maid’s cries wavered in and out of focus, until they were replaced with the agonizing shouts of his fallen men.

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