Seduced by a Scoundrel (30 page)

“Fishing for compliments?” he jeered. “You know you’re beautiful, with those violet eyes and kissable lips. You can’t resist flaunting your breasts at any man you meet. Even me.”

A strange fierceness in his eyes made her heart beat faster. Did he really find her beautiful? And why did she care? “I’ve done nothing of the sort! So leave me be.”

“I want you gone from here.”

“That is your misfortune, then. I am not yours to command.”

He yanked again at the book, but she refused to let go. For a moment they engaged in a silent tug-of-war. Aware of his superior strength, she clenched her teeth, her fingernails biting into the leather cover. She wouldn’t let him win this battle of wills. She wouldn’t—

Abruptly he gave a pull so powerful and unexpected that she followed the book into his lap. Sprawled ungracefully, her bosom pressed to his chest, she could only stare at him in shock.

His eyes glittered back at her. “Damn you, Sarah,” he growled.
“Damn you.”

The extreme frustration in his voice startled her. Through his shirt, she could feel the heat and strength of his upper body. Breathlessness assailed her. “What … what have I ever done to you?”

“This.” Seizing her hand, he brought it down to his breeches, forcibly shaping her fingers around his male member.

Speechless, she couldn’t move. He felt long and thick and hot, a man in full arousal.
For her.

Excitement rushed over her, reckless and irresistible. She couldn’t catch her breath. “James,” she murmured shakily. And she brought her mouth to his in a kiss.

Chapter Twenty-two

“Now, there’s a sight,” Drake said, surveying the audience at Astley’s Amphitheatre. “Lady Markem’s lover just pinched her bottom.”

Alicia had been enthralled by the amazing fire-eater in the center ring. She had been enjoying little William’s delight as he stood with his mother at ringside, too excited to sit. Seeing Drake’s lazy grin, Alicia couldn’t help but smile back. “Lady Markem?” she scoffed. “Impossible. She’s the doyenne of propriety.”

“Have a look, then.” He handed her the opera glasses. “First balcony over there.”

Unable to resist, she peeked through the magnified circles. To the left, leaning over the wall of the balcony, stood the buxom, middle-aged lady with a gangly young man who was definitely not the staid Lord Markem. The man tickled her beneath her fleshy arm. Even above the din of the crowd, Alicia could hear her squeal as she playfully slapped his hand.

Aghast, Alicia let the opera glasses fall to her lap. The fire-eater took a bow and left the ring. Amid cheers from the crowd, she murmured to Drake, “It
is
Lady Markem. How can she behave so immodestly in public?”

“Her iron underdrawers must have finally rusted through.”

Working her features into a severe expression, she whispered, “Mind your tongue. And behave yourself.”

Drake flashed her a grin, his teeth white against his swarthy skin, his blue eyes full of the devil. “Never. This is a night made for amusements.”

A shivery awareness danced over her skin. He sat beside her, his leg brushing her skirt, his coat sleeve pressed to her arm. As he turned his attention back to the entertainment, she reveled in the excitement of his presence. He took genuine enjoyment in the spectacle, laughing easily, clapping with vigor.

She was especially impressed that he had kept his promise to William, procuring excellent seats for the early evening show almost within touching distance of the performers. Barely tall enough to see over the side, William stared agog as an acrobat rode into the ring, standing on the backs of two white horses. They cantered side by side around the huge ring, kicking up sawdust, passing so close that Alicia could see the slender man’s straining thigh muscles and hear the faint jingle of the harness. The man did a back flip, followed by a handstand, and the onlookers roared their approval.

With undukelike abandon, William jumped up and down. Sarah crouched to say something to him, her eyes sparkling in the brilliance of the magnificent glass chandelier. They laughed together at a roly-poly clown who skipped into the arena.

Alicia’s heart overflowed with a yearning delight. How much happier Sarah had been this past fortnight. She and James had flirted rather than fought, and Alicia suspected a romance, though neither would admit to it. With a pang, she wished that James could have accompanied them tonight.

But Drake didn’t yet know about the school, let alone that Lord Hailstock’s son was assisting her.

The horses rode out of the ring, and a surge of music from the orchestra drew attention to the adjoining stage. The green velvet curtains lifted, and a barrel-chested announcer proclaimed the next act. He made a sweeping gesture at a man in a red-lined black cape, who removed his tall hat and bowed to the audience.

William ran to Drake. His brown eyes large in his small face, he said with reverent awe, “The magician.”

“So it is,” Drake said, smiling as he tousled the boy’s dark hair. “I told you he’d be here.”

His easy affection toward the child warmed Alicia’s heart. She hoped someday they would have children, for Drake would be a wonderful father. They would be happy together, and he would surely love her.

In a haze of dreamy contentment, she watched as the magician pulled endless scarves from his sleeve and then drew a rabbit out of his hat. The finale of the evening was a mock battle between performers dressed as the French and British cavalry. The clash of their swords, the leaps of their horses, made a grand spectacle that had William cheering his country and booing the enemy.

Afterward, in their coach, the young duke talked enthusiastically, asking Drake questions about the training of the horses and how many hours the acrobats must practice. Then, in the midst of one of Drake’s answers, William gave a great yawn, tucked his head against Sarah’s side, and fell promptly to sleep.

Though it was not yet ten o’clock, Alicia stifled a yawn, too. She found herself wishing the night would not be over yet.…

The coach slowed to a halt in front of Sarah’s mansion. Sarah whispered a good night to Alicia and accompanied Drake as he carried the slumbering boy inside. When he returned alone a few moments later, the coach started off again. Relaxed and happy, Alicia debated with him the merits of the various acts, trying to agree which was their favorite. Upon reaching home, he stepped out of the coach, then turned to assist her.

His firm grip stirred her pulse. She hoped he shared her longing to continue their evening together. But to her disappointment, he told the coachman to wait.

Escorting her up to the torchlit portico, he bent to kiss her cheek. “Until later,” he said.

Alicia ached for him to kiss her, though they stood only a few yards from the footman stationed by the front door, and in plain view of any pedestrians or carriages along Swansdowne Cresent. She yearned for him to come up to her bed. She wanted to feel his arms around her and his mouth on her bare skin. She wanted him inside her so that she could savor the sweet illusion that they were one heart, one soul.

“Must you go to the club tonight?” she murmured.

Standing in the shadow of a pillar, he gazed at her, his sinfully handsome features revealing nothing of his thoughts. But with a thrill, she knew he desired her. She knew because he held her gloved hand, and the increased pressure of his fingers gave subtle indication of his interest.

With a subtlety of her own, she took a step toward him, so that her breasts touched his dark gray coat. “Please, Drake,” she whispered, curving her lips into a provocative smile. “Stay with me.”

The night breeze stirred his black hair. His eyes glowed through the gloom. Then he released her hand and stepped back. “I’m afraid you must excuse me,” he said. “I’ve duties to attend to.”

Disappointment needled her. Ever since that torrid encounter at his club, they had been playing a sensual dance of power, she alternately tempting and rebuffing him, and he subjecting her to his seductive skills, then drawing back. But perhaps the time had come to force him to view her as more than a physical need or an engaging companion at the circus.

She took a deep breath. “Will you come to Pemberton House tomorrow afternoon? At two o’clock?”

“Why?”

Giving him a deliberately mysterious look from beneath her lashes, she shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you. This is something you’ll have to see for yourself.”

His gaze made a slow sweep from her face down to her low-cut bodice and back up again. For a moment she feared he would refuse her. Then he smiled, his dimples deepening. “I’ll be there.”

With a final caress to her cheek, he strode down the steps and entered the waiting carriage. The coachman touched his whip to the pair of horses and with a clattering of wheels and hooves, the vehicle set off into the darkness.

She was alone.

Shivering, Alicia noticed for the first time the damp chill in the air and an overwhelming weariness in herself. She walked slowly into the house, her footsteps echoing in the vast entrance hall with its tall brown pillars rising against the buff-colored walls. In the quiet, her ears still rang with the sounds of the amphitheater. As she climbed the grand staircase, she let her thoughts center on Drake.

In the weeks since she had given him her innocence, he had taught her many inventive ways to make love. Often he would enter her bed while she was still asleep, and she would feel his touch like an erotic dream come true. Sometimes she would awaken to him already inside her, and with only a few strokes he transported her to ecstasy. Other times, he would torture her with a slow building of pleasure. In turn, she would tantalize him in the afternoons, playing the valet as he dressed until they would end up in bed again or making love in the Roman bath.

But even when he was at his most aggressively charming, she could never be certain he felt any more than an infatuation. He seemed determined to keep their relationship light and amusing.

And she was just as determined to make him love her. That was why she wanted him to see her school. Perhaps then he would realize they had more in common than bodily pleasure.

Several wall sconces lit the upstairs corridor, and her slippers made no sound on the plush carpeting. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice her mother’s door partly open until she was almost upon it.

Mrs. Philpot hovered in the doorway. The lamplight glinting off her silver hair, she made an urgent beckoning motion. “Thank heavens you’re here, Mrs. Wilder.”

Her heart jolting, Alicia hastened to her side. “What’s wrong? Has Mama run off somewhere?”

“Never fear, Lady Eleanor is well,” Mrs. Philpot whispered. “Though she has been terribly distraught this evening. Perhaps I ought to have administered her nightly posset, but I thought you might wish to speak to her first.”

She stepped back to allow Alicia into the bedchamber. Across the candlelit room, her mother sat curled up on a chaise, her favorite cape tucked around her shoulders as she stared out the darkened window. She appeared to be unaware of their presence.

“You were right to wait.” Not for the first time, Alicia appreciated Mrs. Philpot’s devotion to her mother. Her throat taut, she asked, “Has she been remembering Papa?”

“No, it is something else entirely. You see, while you and Mr. Wilder were gone this evening, Lord Hailstock paid her a visit.”

Alicia frowned. What could the marquess have said to Mama? Like many people, he loathed her illness and went out of his way to avoid her. Not only that, she couldn’t imagine why he would deign to set foot in Drake’s house. “Do you know what they spoke about?”

Mrs. Philpot shook her head, her lips pursed. “He ordered me out of the drawing room. But afterward, your dear mama was weeping, and she kept going on about some letters.”

Letters? Alicia’s heart clenched painfully. Mama never received mail anymore. When the madness had descended on her after Papa’s death, all of society had forsaken her.

Then a peculiar memory struck Alicia. Lord Hailstock in the study at Pemberton House, his hand in the drawer of the desk. He’d said he was looking for letters … letters he’d written to Papa.

“I am sorry,” Mrs. Philpot murmured. “I fear I should not have left them alone.”

“Don’t be troubled. You couldn’t have known.” Alicia patted the older woman’s hand. “Please give us a few minutes alone. I’ll put Mama to bed.”

“As you wish, my lady.” With one last concerned look at Lady Eleanor, Mrs. Philpot left the chamber, quietly shutting the door.

The yellow and white bedchamber had a cozy aura with a fire burning cheerily on the hearth. A fanciful painting of clouds and cherubs danced across the ceiling. On the four-poster bed, the snowy-white counterpane had been turned down to the soft linen sheets and feather pillows.

Alicia hurried to the chaise, where her mother huddled in cape and nightdress, her feet curled beneath her, a braid of silvering fair hair draped over her shoulders.

“Mama, it’s Alicia. I’ve come to visit.”

For a moment her mother continued to gaze blankly out into the night. Moisture matted her eyelashes, though no tears fell. Then slowly she turned her head. Her blue eyes blinked and focused, growing lucid with awareness. “My daughter. I haven’t seen you in ever so long.”

Clearly she didn’t remember that Alicia had taken tea with her that very afternoon. Mama had been dressed as a fairy princess in gauzy, flowing robes, insisting they use a child’s tiny tea set while sampling morsels of cake.

But thank heavens, now must be one of her moments of sanity.

Aching with bittersweet relief, Alicia perched on the edge of the chaise and took hold of her mother’s thin, cold hand. “Mama,” she whispered. “Oh, Mama, I heard you were sad, so I came to see what was wrong.”

“You’re a dear girl to worry about me.” Her gaze took in Alicia’s gown of muslin over a lavender slip, the gold silk spencer over her bare shoulders. “Are you going out for the evening? I mustn’t keep you.”

“Drake and I have just returned from Astley’s circus. Then I heard what happened and—”