Seduced by a Scoundrel (17 page)

Who had frightened her into weeping? Hailstock? And who else did she believe to be in danger? Drake intended to find out.

They approached the tall, arched doorway of the drawing room. Alicia and her brother had made a custom of taking tea at this hour, and sure enough, the chatter of anxious voices emanated from within.

Halting outside the door, he saluted Lady Eleanor. “It sounds as if the crew is about to mutiny,” he said in a low voice. “You had better go assume command.”

“Will ye not accompany me? Ye would make a fine navigator.”

Smiling, he shook his head. “Regrettably, I have my own seas to navigate tonight.”

Affording him a crisp nod, she swaggered into the drawing room like a pirate down a gangplank. He heard Alicia’s cry of relief, Mrs. Philpot’s concerned murmurings, Gerald’s fond scolding.

Drake intended to walk away. Instead, he found himself stepping to the doorway, where he paused in the shadows of the threshhold. The joyful group stood at the far end of the long, lamplit room.

Slender and graceful in pale blue, Alicia embraced her mother. Mrs. Philpot dabbed at her eyes. The plumed hat once again had toppled to the floor, and Gerald scooped it up, grinning foolishly at his mother in her pirate’s costume.

None of them noticed Drake.

Alicia guided Lady Brockway to an intimate grouping of chairs by the mantelpiece. They all gathered around, fussing over the dowager, fetching her tea and cakes from a silver tray. Their excited voices drifted to him.

“We were organizing a search party,” Gerald said, settling a damask cloth on his mother’s lap. “By gad, Mama, you gave us a fright, wandering off like that.”

“I wasn’t lost,” Lady Brockway objected. “A captain always knows her directions.”

“Of course,” Alicia said, touching her mother’s shoulder, smiling tenderly down at her. “We love you, and we were worried, that’s all.”

Drake felt a pang unpleasantly close to envy. They were a family, close-knit and happy. He was the outsider. An outsider in his own home.

He stepped back out of sight, his face a grim mask. The course of his life had been set long ago, and he would not rest until he had achieved his purpose. Nothing else mattered.

Especially not his highborn wife.

Chapter Thirteen

On the evening of the ball, Alicia was ready nearly an hour before the appointed time for departure. She had intended to visit awhile with her mother, but Mrs. Philpot sat reading
Gulliver’s Travels
aloud by the fireplace, and Mama was so engrossed in the story that she gave Alicia a vague smile and waved her out of the bedchamber.

At loose ends, Alicia wandered downstairs to the library in search of a book of her own. A distraction might dampen the restless anticipation that had troubled her all day. Too many times, she’d had to reprimand herself for looking forward to this night. Likely, she would suffer snubs; not even the duchess’s influence could force everyone to accept her. And she reminded herself that she did not reenter society for her own pleasure, but to fulfill a bargain.

A business arrangement with a heartless gambler.

Yet not even the bitter purpose behind her marriage could spoil her excitement. She felt a dizzying thrill much like the night of her come-out party long ago, when she had been eighteen and buoyed by dreams.

She wore a ball gown of embroidered gold-on-white muslin with short, puffed sleeves. A daily regimen of salve had made her hands smooth and white again. No one would guess from looking at her that only a fortnight ago, she had scrubbed floors and washed laundry.

Her dancing slippers made a whisper of sound in the empty entrance hall. She remembered the swarm of her admirers, the exhilaration of having so many choices. She imagined gliding to the music again, laughing, feeling carefree and joyful. Caught up in fantasy, she performed a little twirl through the doorway of the lamplit library.

And danced right into the arms of Drake Wilder.

His hard-muscled form drove the air from her lungs. With her next breath, his alien scent of cologne and masculinity flooded her. His keen blue eyes gazed down at her in faint amusement.

“Dreaming of me?”

His taunting voice completed the rude jolt of reality. She stepped back, bumping into a leather chair. “You shouldn’t be here so early,” she accused.

“Neither should you.” Turning, he slid a book into place on a shelf.

Against her will, she noticed how tall and magnificent he looked in a form-fitting coat of deep blue with silver buttons, cream-colored breeches, and dazzling white linen at his throat. An uneasy warmth awakened within her, a feeling that was part attraction and part resentment.

Ever since their disturbing encounter in his chamber, she had seen little of her husband. They each had adhered to their own routines. At dawn, he returned home from his club and slept all morning. Then he left again sometime during the afternoon, while she was out shopping, helping Sarah select a new wardrobe to replace her drab black mourning. The arrangement suited Alicia well. The less she saw of her husband, the better.

He turned to study her with a brooding intensity, his gaze wandering the length of her body before lingering at her deep, scooped neckline. She resisted the urge to cover the daring display of bosom. He would only chuckle in that irritating way of his.

She assumed a mask of icy hauteur. “A word of advice,” she said. “If you stare in such an ill-bred manner at any lady tonight, you are certain to brand yourself a profligate.”

“And if you speak in that waspish manner to any gentleman,
you
are certain to brand yourself a prig.” With his mouth curled into a sardonic smile, he subjected her to another leisurely survey. “A very lovely prig, nonetheless. Though you do need the crowning touch.”

He strolled to the desk and picked up a palm-sized leather case, which he opened to display the contents. Against the cream velvet interior lay a glittering suite of diamond and pearl jewelry. The lavish artistry wrested a gasp of pure feminine awe from Alicia.

Just as swiftly, she jerked her gaze away. “You already gave me jewelry for our wedding. I can’t accept another such expensive gift.”

“You can, indeed. My wife will be admired by everyone tonight.”

His steely tone reminded her that she was his pawn, taken as payment for a gambling debt. Tonight she must flaunt the wealth he had gained at the expense of weak, foolish men. She had no choice. And deep inside her, she felt a shameful gladness.

She stood stiff and silent while he adorned her in diamonds … the exquisite tiara … the dainty earbobs … the extravagant necklace with its network of pearls from which hung a sinfully large solitaire.

Then he propelled her out of the library and into the corridor, stopping before a gilt-framed mirror. He stood behind her, his hands resting on her bare shoulders. Their eyes met in the mirror. An almost palpable spark flashed in the shadowed air.

“Look,” he commanded. “See how beautiful you are.”

The satisfaction in his tone shivered through her, and she rebelled to think that he viewed her as a pretty possession. Rather than admire herself, she was struck by how perfect they looked together, she in her white ball gown with diamonds glinting at her throat and in her blond, upswept hair … and he all lean masculine perfection, his roguishly dark features displaying a dangerous allure.

“It is merely an illusion,” she whispered, speaking more to her own private thoughts than to him.

“But you are
my
illusion.” He bent closer, holding her gaze in the mirror, his breath stirring the downy hairs at the nape of her neck. “You are mine alone.”

*   *   *

They arrived early at Sarah’s town house. A balding butler led them down a gilded corridor and through a doorway, where he intoned their arrival. At Drake’s side, Alicia entered a cozy yellow sitting room.

Sarah stood as if frozen by surprise, her fine dark brows winged upward. The vibrant green silk of her ball gown enhanced her sable hair and long-lashed eyes. An heirloom emerald necklace adorned her throat.

Alicia hurried forward to place a kiss on that smooth white cheek. “Oh, Sarah, do forgive me. We’ve arrived too soon. I hope we haven’t inconvenienced you.”

“It’s quite all right.”

There was a stiff formality to her that belied their friendship of the past week. A thought dismayed Alicia more than she cared to admit. Did Sarah regret her offer? Would she scorn Drake?

“May I present my husband,” Alicia said, stepping back and watching the two of them. “Mr. Drake Wilder.”

He raised Sarah’s hand to his lips. “Your Grace. It’s a pleasure to meet so dear a friend of my wife’s.”

“Mr. Wilder,” Sarah said with cool hauteur. “You’re quite the mystery man. Alicia has divulged little about you.”

“As she has done with you. I look forward to becoming better acquainted.”

His mouth slanted into that smile of practiced charm, the one that too often caused a disgraceful weakness in Alicia’s knees. But Sarah seemed impervious to his masculine allure. She cast her gaze toward an arrangement of chairs by the night-shrouded window. Only then did Alicia notice the small boy standing at attention there.

Her heart turned over. Sarah’s son.

The duke had his mother’s hair, falling in soft brownish black curls below his ears. But there the resemblance ended. Solemn of face, he looked like a miniature adult in knee breeches and tailored gray coat, lace at his throat and cuffs.

Her skirt swishing, Sarah went to his side, placing her hand on his shoulder. She glanced rather anxiously at Alicia and Drake. “I was just saying good night to my son, William. Take a bow to our guests, darling.”

Obediently, the four-year-old bent at the waist, one small arm clasped to his front, the other in back.

Alicia walked forward and curtsied to him, holding the pose for a moment so that she could look into his sober brown eyes. “Your Grace,” she said. “I am Lady Alicia, your Mama’s friend. I do hope we can become friends, too.”

Saying nothing, he lowered his gaze to his polished black shoes.

“I’m sure he is delighted to meet you,” Sarah said quickly. “It is just that … he isn’t easy with strangers. Since his father’s passing, we’ve not gone out much.”

Alicia’s heart ached for him. This past week, Sarah had made excuses for not introducing him, saying he was at his lessons or taking a nap. She had been protecting the timid boy, Alicia realized. Aside from his mother and the nursery staff, William would encounter few other people. It must be difficult for an only child to lose his father, however negligent Featherstone had been. And it would be daunting for one so young to shoulder the position of a duke.

“Perhaps we might go on a picnic sometime with your mama,” she suggested. “Would you like that?”

William lifted his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug.

“If you were to fashion a little boat,” Drake said, “I daresay we could find a pond on which to sail it.”

Alicia rose quickly to her feet. She hadn’t realized he stood behind her. But his attention wasn’t on her; he watched William.

William watched the floor.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Wilder,” Sarah said with a concerned glance at her son. “But really I wouldn’t dream of troubling you—either of you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Drake said. He hunkered down in front of William. “Perhaps you would prefer a visit to the circus to see the acrobats, the clowns, the trapeze artists. There is even a magician who can perform the most amazing tricks.”

The boy slid a cautiously interested glance at him.

“What’s this?” Drake reached behind William’s ear and produced a sparkling guinea. “I think you must wash better behind your ears.”

William’s eyes rounded. Almost reverently, he took the gold coin, turning it over and over as if to discover its secret. “Please, sir, how did you do that?”

“Magic. Shall I make it disappear again?”

William gave a vigorous nod.

Drake placed the guinea in one palm, closed his fingers into a fist, and turned it over. He tapped the back of his hand and paused for dramatic effect. When he opened his palm, the coin was gone.

William crowed with delight.

Sarah stood watching, smiling, as Drake performed his sleight of hand again, and Alicia was amazed not so much by the street urchin’s trick as by his willingness to entertain a little boy. It was a side she had never seen of him—nor would have believed he possessed if she weren’t witnessing it right now. Had he ever wanted children of his own? Had he felt the same longing for a family that she had once felt, before Mama had taken ill?

She shook off the intrusive questions. Marriage served only one purpose for him—to satisfy his social-climbing ambitions. Besides, she had sworn to deny him his rights as a husband, and for a reason aside from his unsuitable character. It was best that she never bear children. No matter how much she craved a son or daughter to love, she must not risk having a child who might inherit Mama’s weakness of mind.

And yet as they left for the party, her heart still ached for the girl who had dreamed of love and a family of her own.

*   *   *

“Gerald?” Alicia said in astonishment.

Stopping with Drake and Sarah on the steps to the Cuthberts’ stone mansion, she stared at her brother. He rode on horseback, bypassing the long procession of carriages waiting to discharge their noble occupants. Strains of music drifted from inside the house, and the torches along the drive cast a golden glow over the young earl. Looking uncommonly smart in a peacock-green coat and yellow knee breeches, he swung down from his mount and handed the reins to a waiting groom.

“Let’s hope no one tosses a tomato at me for cutting in line,” he said, grinning as he made a bow to the ladies. “Ali. And Your Grace of Featherstone, is it?”

“Why, is this the little brat who dared to spy on his sister and her friend?” Sarah said, her eyes glinting in the torchlight. “I daresay you’ve grown a bit since then.”

“Tell that to Ali,” Gerald said on a dramatic sigh. “She would have me still confined to the nursery, well away from this glorious event.”