Seduced by a Scoundrel (21 page)

Could he see the quiet torment in her heart?

Of course not. Men were dense creatures, too caught up in their own selfish pleasures to understand a woman’s deeper emotions.

“There’s nothing to tell. I’ve fulfilled our bargain, and that should suffice.” Glaring at him over the rim of her glass, she drank defiantly and then added, “You must go away and leave me alone.”

His expression took on a faint calculation. “You desire me. But you’re afraid—”

“I’m
not.
”

“I wonder … if you’re afraid you might bear a child who will inherit your mother’s madness.”

His shrewd perception plumbed the sorrow buried within her. She wanted to deny it, to shield her private thoughts and feelings from him. By exposing her vulnerabilities, she would be placing herself into his power.

But perhaps he
should
know the truth. Perhaps then he would leave her be.

Concealing the ache inside her, she regarded him with a level gaze. “All right, then, I
am
afraid. It would be cruel to bring such a child into the world.”

“You were ready to take that risk when first you came to me. You offered to be my mistress.”

“I had no other choice.” Then, her decision had been a matter of life or death. Gerald would have been imprisoned for his debts. She and Mama would have been thrown out on the street to starve.

Drake refilled her glass, his hand steady despite the movement of the coach. “Has your mother always been addled?”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“Has she?”

Regarding him warily, she sipped her champagne. “When I was younger … she had spells where she behaved more like a sister than my mother. She would climb trees with me. And help me dress my dolls.…” A smile wavered and died on Alicia’s mouth. “She also had episodes of melancholy, where she wept for days on end.”

“Did she ever tell you what disturbed her?”

Alicia shook her head. “Papa forbade me to visit her chambers during those times. He said she needed rest and quiet.”

“Her condition worsened after your father’s death.”

“Yes. She became…” —Alicia’s throat constricted with pain and helpless affection—“as she is now.”

Drake leaned toward her. “Did Lady Eleanor suffer a shock in her youth, something so unbearable that it could have overwhelmed her?”

Alicia blinked. “If you’re suggesting that Mama’s illness
isn’t
inheritable—”

“I am, indeed. Your mother is a gentle, sensitive woman. It is conceivable that her condition was brought on by a trauma of some sort. I saw a similar reaction once—” His voice broke off abruptly.

“What do you mean?” she asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

Turning his gaze to the carriage window, he said, “I once found a woman lying by the roadside in Whitechapel. She’d been beaten by her husband and left for dead.”

“Dear God,” Alicia whispered. “What happened to her?”

“While she recovered from her wounds, she would sit staring for hours, day after day. Then slowly she regained her senses. Some people, you see, are more resilient than others.”

She was touched that he would give aid to a stranger. Then her thoughts went to his theory, and she wanted to reject it. How could he know her situation better than she did?

Yet Alicia found herself wondering. Was it possible her fears were unfounded? That Mama’s condition was the result of unusually distressing events? Certainly, her mind had snapped after she’d witnessed the horrible circumstances of Papa’s death. But even before then, she had been a bit otherworldly.…

Alicia frowned into her glass, watching the bubbles rise to the surface and pop. It was absurd to imagine anyone had ever harmed her mother in her youth. From the tales Mama had once told, she’d enjoyed an idyllic childhood. And yet … Alicia had never known her grandparents; they had died in a cholera epidemic when Mama was sixteen. Shortly thereafter, Mama’s dearest friend Claire had perished as well. Were those losses enough to unbalance an impressionable girl?

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Drake said.

Looking up to see him watching her, the lamp casting shadows on his hard features, she shivered against an impossible rise of optimism. “I’m thinking it’s merely conjecture to suggest that my child wouldn’t be like Mama.”

“You’re perfectly sane—if maddening—and so is your brother. That proves I’m right.” His black lashes lowered slightly, veiling his thoughts. “And should you have any reservations about my suitability as a father, know this: I would never, ever forsake my child.”

Again, she sensed grim secrets in him. Had Drake lost his parents at a young age? His mother had been an actress. He had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, that much Mrs. Molesworth had divined from gossiping with the neighborhood servants. No one knew much about him beyond that he had come from the vast ranks of the London poor before winning his fortune and building his club.

His expression took on a subtle seductiveness, and his gaze moved lazily over her bosom. The promise in his rogue’s eyes held her enthralled. Never had she seen such raw resolve directed at her, a purely sexual intent that both frightened and fascinated her. How she longed to be a disciple to his erotic knowledge.…

“Alicia—”

The coach swayed and turned. His gaze flashed to the window. “We’re home,” he said, an alluring roughness in his tone. “Finish your champagne.”

What had he meant to say? That he wanted her beyond all reason?

She ought to dash the contents of her glass in his too-handsome face. That would cool his ardor.

Instead, she tilted back her head and recklessly drained every drop.

Chapter Fifteen

It was inevitable that he escort Alicia to her bedchamber. Inevitable that he dismiss her maid, a shy little mouse who bobbed a curtsy and darted from the room. Inevitable that he close the door and turn the key.

A lamp glowed on the bedside table, and a fire burned on the hearth. The muted lighting wrapped the room in cozy intimacy. In the canopied four-poster, the linens had been turned down and the pillows lay plump and white against the gilded headboard.

Alicia felt caught in a strange dream. She watched, helpless with longing, as Drake set the champagne bottle on a rosewood table, then unbuttoned his frock coat and shrugged out of it. All the while, his dark and determined gaze held hers.

Controlling a tremor, she picked up the bottle and poured champagne into a glass. For one night, she wanted to forget all the reasons he was wrong for her. She wanted to forget the past and pretend they had a real marriage, the happiness her parents had known long ago.

Before she could lift the glass to her lips, Drake caught her wrist. “You’ve had enough of that.”

“I thought you wanted me tipsy,” she said, lifting her chin in dignified defiance. “So that I would do as you willed.”

“I did,” he admitted. “But I’ve changed my mind. I want you to be fully aware of who I am.”

Her brief rise of rebellion died. It would serve no purpose to delude herself. He was the man who had forced her into marriage. Tonight she would give herself into the power of Drake Wilder, gamester, scoundrel, pirate of noble fortunes.

He took the glass and set it on the table. Then he moved his hands to her upper arms, caressing lightly over her bare skin. “Alicia,” he murmured. “There is but one way to rid ourselves of this obsession we have for each other. One way to be done with it.”

She couldn’t answer. She could only stare mutely at him.

“I am going to make love to you,” he went on, and the confidence in his voice raised an inexplicable pleasure along her nerves. His fingers left a trail of sparks down her arms and over her breasts. “I will touch you and kiss you as I please. And when it is over, you will no longer be a virgin.”

She felt incapable of denying him. The bargain that had been so vital to her pride and her self-preservation seemed unimportant now. She could think only of the need burning inside herself, the need that made her lie awake in the darkness, her mind and body too restless for sleep. If one night with him ended this torment, then it would be well worth the price.

And she might conceive a child. A healthy child. A child to hold and love and guide. The possibility shone like a bright beacon in the dark turbulence of her desire.

I would never, ever forsake my child.

Did Drake want an heir to his fortune? Most men did. Yet she knew little of his thoughts, his dreams, his past.

He unbuttoned his silver-striped waistcoat, tossing the garment onto a chair. As he shed his shirt, the firelight bronzed his broad, muscled chest with its dusting of dark hairs. His abdomen looked hard and trim above the waistband of his breeches. He had the robust physique of a workman.

She stared, dazed by his splendor, stunned by his lack of modesty. Did he expect her to disrobe, too? Right here in front of him?

He must.

Turning unsteadily around, she took a deep breath and tugged off her gloves. He was a stranger to her. They had been wed less than a fortnight. A month ago, she hadn’t even been aware of his existence. And now she would surrender herself to him in a manner so private, no lady ever spoke of it. Yet she
wanted
to know the passions of the flesh; she craved him with an unladylike hunger.

Faintly horrified at herself, she stepped to the bedside table and arranged her gloves in a neat pile. She leaned down, but before she could extinguish the lamp, Drake caught her from behind and pulled her away.

“Leave it,” he said, his voice rough and low. “I wish to look upon you.”

Glancing back at him, she was relieved to see that he still wore his breeches. She couldn’t yet reconcile herself to shedding her clothes in front of him. The notion seemed shameful … and furtively exciting.

Standing behind her, he undid the buttons of her gown. She stood quietly, bemused by the shivers that prickled her skin. How extraordinary, to be tended by a man, to feel his fingers brush her undergarments in so familiar a fashion. He pushed the small cap sleeves from her shoulders, and the silk slithered downward in a whisper of sound.

With a stately calm that belied her inner agitation, she stepped out of her skirts. She intended to reach down and pick up the gown, but he slid his arms around her waist and drew her back against him. He kissed her bare shoulder, tasting her with his tongue, nipping her with his teeth. When he lay his palm over her corseted bosom, chills flashed down her spine.

“Alicia,” he said. “How composed you appear. But the swiftness of your heartbeat betrays you.”

Her skin tingled with heightened sensitivity. Awareness of him penetrated to her innermost depths, intensifying the secret pulsebeat between her legs. She said coolly, “I will not behave like one of your hussies.”

He rubbed his cheek against her hair, and she sensed his smile. “What do you know of how a hussy behaves?”

“I know how she
doesn’t
behave. With propriety and restraint.”

A full-fledged chuckle stirred the fine wisps along her neck. “My dear wife, manners don’t belong in the bedchamber.”

She didn’t believe him, of course. He had known only doxies, not a lady of good breeding. She held herself perfectly still as he removed her necklace, then untied her corset strings and the bindings of her petticoats. Her undergarments fell away until she wore only her white lawn shift. Before she could feel more than a twinge of embarrassment, he turned her to him and kissed her.

His lips moved with gentle pressure at first, his hands cradling her head, his thumbs stroking her temples. Their tongues met in a leisurely kiss, a kiss that was almost sweet, as if he controlled the wildness inside himself. He tasted of champagne and darkness, secrets she could not fathom. Placing her hands on the sweeping breadth of his shoulders, she succumbed to temptation and leaned into him, liking the pressure of her breasts against his hard chest.

Muttering something unintelligible, he caught her closer, his arms flexing around her. His hand sought her breast with a warmth that penetrated the flimsy shift. This time, she couldn’t stop a quiver of longing. Their mouths melded with increasing urgency, the thrust of his tongue growing more demanding and hungry. He slid his hand inside her loose bodice and cupped the heavy globe of her beast. When his thumb brushed the tip, she whimpered, unprepared for the rush of intense pleasure that radiated throughout her body. She raised herself on tiptoe, straining against him, wanting to be closer and frustrated by the limitations of the flesh.

He groaned deep in his chest, and his mouth crushed hers with a need so fierce she could scarcely draw a breath. Her senses swam with giddiness, and she moved her hands over his form, unable to get enough of his brawny contours, his steely muscles. He was stunningly hewn, utterly male. With a wild willingness that faintly appalled her, she welcomed his caresses, leaning back a little to let him lower one shoulder strap and take her naked breast in his palm.

Appreciation burned in his gaze as he looked down at her. “You are exquisite,” he muttered harshly. Then, to her shock and delight, he bent his head and suckled her.

His mouth was hot and hungry. An insidious softness weakened her limbs and strengthened her desire. Unable to silence her gasps of pleasure, she could only hold fast to Drake. He was right, she thought hazily; she could not pretend indifference. She longed for him, body and soul.

He raised the shift to her waist and moved his big, masculine hand over her bare thighs and bottom. Too enraptured to protest, she hid her face in the musky hollow of his shoulder, while he brought his hand between them and touched the tight curls between her legs. In some distant part of her, Alicia knew she should be mortified by his unthinkable liberty. But as he stroked her with expert fingers, a maddening pleasure leapt in her, a passion that made her twist and arch against him. Need built and coiled in her until she thought she might die from it.

“Drake, stop … please … I can’t bear it…”

Then she felt the sharpness of loss when he
did
stop, walking her backward until her legs met the edge of the bed. As he sat her down, she clung to him, her insides still knotted from his wondrous caresses. He removed her hands from around his neck, and as he stepped back, dismay flashed through her.