Excerpt of Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride by Christi Caldwell

Emmaline’s smile stretched so taut she thought it might
crumple and shatter if somebody didn’t fill the void of
silence following her unexpected intrusion of Lord Drake’s
private box.

Almost as one, the two gentlemen seemed to remember their
manners, bowing deeply. “My lady, Miss Winters,” Lord
Sinclair murmured, claiming first her hand, and then her
companion’s for a chaste kiss.

Respectful was the word tantamount to the exchange.

Stiff, formal, respectful deference.

It made Emmaline want to stamp her foot. Drat, the man was
her intended. And he hadn’t exchanged so much as a word with
her. Well, that was if one didn’t count the startled
exclamation he’d let out when she’d hit him in the face with
the curtains.

Thank Heavens for Sophie. Sophie dipped a curtsy. “Lord
Drake, Lord Sinclair.” She smiled and then proceeded to do
one of the things Emmaline dearly loved about her—she filled
the awkward silence.

She waved her hand about, like a small hurricane, gesturing
animatedly to the crowd milling about the Opera House. “My
father’s box is very nearly opposite your box, my lord, and
it was of course Lady Emmaline who mentioned this.”

Three sets of eyes swiveled to look at Emmaline.

Loved in the past tense, Sophie’s uncanny ability to fill
voids was one of the things she had loved about her.

Emmaline cleared her throat, flushing under the veiled
scrutiny she received from her betrothed and the hint of
smile his friend, Lord Sinclair favored her with.

“Yes, Viscount Redbrooke’s box is located just over there.”
She gestured vaguely; glad when the three sets of eyes in
unison moved in the direction she was motioning.

She did not go out of her way to point out that the box in
question was in fact situated a good deal farther to the
left and significantly lower than Lord Drake’s box.

“But I saw you, my lord, and….and,” Words fled. His
jade-black gaze pierced her, probing, as though he knew her
every secret. Blast him and his arrogance, she thought,
finding the courage to finish her sentence. “Well, I would
have been remiss if I failed to greet you.”

Drake blinked and Emmaline knew he recognized that he’d just
been delivered a set-down. She rushed on. “I felt compelled
to visit your box and discuss your thoughts on the opera. It
has come to my attention from the papers that you have a
great affinity for the opera, in particular the capable
Mezzo-Soprano Signora Nicolleli.” She furrowed her brow,
feigning deep contemplation. “In my honest opinion, I have a
preference for the light, airy quality of a lyrical soprano.”

She detected Lord Sinclair’s shoulders rising and falling in
what, she felt safe to assume, was mirth, while poor Sophie
scoured the theater.

To Lord Drake’s credit, or perhaps the better word would be
discredit, he did not so much as flinch. His only telltale
reaction was a slight arching of a golden brow as he met her
stare. Emmaline glanced away.

“My dear, Lady Emmaline,” In Emmaline’s honest estimation,
the words hardly sounded like an endearment. “I hadn’t taken
you for a gossip.”

A subtle reproach coated his hard words. Double blast the
man. How dare he make her feel uncomfortable? He was after
all the one who’d abandoned her for two—approaching
three—years. And that wasn’t counting the fifteen years that
had lapsed in their near lifelong betrothal.

Her lips set tightly. “La, sir, but how else am I to find
out about my betrothed’s likes and dislikes? But I do know
you have a preference for mezzo-sopranos, so that is
something, no? I look forward to meeting the great Signora
Nicolleli and securing an autograph for you. I will be sure
to tell her you are an ardent admirer, my lord. We’ll call
it something of a wedding gift.”

The lights dimmed and the crowd bustled about, returning to
their seats.
Sophie cleared her throat. “Em, I rather think we should
return, lest mother worry about our absence.”

Emmaline smiled and favored Lord Drake with an impudent
wave. “I’m certain she won’t fret when she learns we were
with my intended. You would hardly allow harm to befall us,
my lord? I’ve heard such stories of your heroics on the
Peninsula, I could hardly feel anything but safe in your
company.”

His eyes grew shuttered. “You should never let your guard
down regardless of whose company you are in, Lady Emmaline.”

“You are far too modest, my lord. Alas, I must bid you good
evening and await our next meeting.” She favored Lord
Sinclair with a smile. “A pleasure, my lord.”

“Likewise, Lady Emmaline, Miss Winters.” He bowed and nudged
Drake until he followed suit.

“Now we must return to our box,” Emmaline said. “If you’ll
excuse us.” She gave a jaunty wave and quite deliberately
shoved the curtains back with enough force to send them
flapping, and took her leave.

War had been declared.