Seduced by a Scoundrel (23 page)

Softness crept into Alicia’s heart. This was another of Drake’s good deeds. Though, of course,
he
would claim to be merely protecting his property. “Where is Gerald? Has he returned home yet?”

“Why, ’e’s gone, m’lady. Slept till noon an’ rode off not thirty minutes ago.”

“I don’t understand.…” If her brother held a position in a bank, then why would he be sleeping late? Had he been discharged? Another possibility distressed her. “Is he ill? You should have sent word immediately.”

Mrs. Molesworth shook her head so vehemently, her mobcap slipped slightly askew. “Nay, ’e’s been right as rain. But there be other trouble brewin’, I fear.” Taking Alicia’s arm, the housekeeper urged her into the empty library. She glanced around as if half expecting a spy to pop out from behind the faded draperies. In an nervous whisper, she said, “’Tis Lord Hailstock.”

“What do you mean?”

“’E’s ’ere, m’lady. ’E arrived a few minutes ago.” Setting her hands on her broad hips, Mrs. Molesworth pursed her lips. “An’ ’e’s pokin’ through the earl’s study.”

*   *   *

The oak-paneled room was situated at the rear of the house. Here, many generations of earls had tended to business matters. The study belonged to Gerald now, though with their family holdings vastly reduced, Alicia knew there was little but bills left to occupy him.

She had been unable to bring herself to sell these furnishings. The chamber held too many memories of sitting on her papa’s lap while he told her a tale of knights and dragons, or running to him when she’d been hurt so that he could soothe her tears. Pain thrust into her. Of course, she hadn’t realized back then his ineptness for managing money. Or his weakness for playing cards.…

The door stood ajar, and she pushed it open. Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunlight, and the air held a haunting trace of her father’s pipe tobacco. The study looked as it had always been, spartan and masculine, with comfortable leather chairs and dark brown draperies.

Lord Hailstock crouched before the oak desk. He had his arm thrust to the elbow into an opened drawer, as if he were feeling for something stuck far in the back. His gaze met hers, and he went still.

His unorthodox pose stunned Alicia, as did his odd air of furtiveness. She advanced toward the desk. “My lord! What on earth are you doing?”

He stood up, brushing at his fine gray coat. His debonair smile seemed forced as he rounded the desk and walked to her. “My lady. You gave me quite a start.”

Still baffled, she dipped a curtsy. “May I help you find something?”

“As a matter of fact, no.” The marquess laughed a trifle self-consciously. “There were some letters I wrote to your father a long time ago. I wondered if he had kept them.”

“I went through his papers after his death, and I don’t recall seeing any letters from you.” Though Lord Hailstock had been a family friend for as far back as she could remember, Alicia somehow mistrusted his explanation. Why would such a principled man lower himself to snooping? “I would be happy to look again if you like.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself. And do pardon me. It was a silly, sentimental impulse that brought me here.”

“Of course.” Politeness kept her from pursuing the matter, and perhaps she was making too much of it, anyway. “Would you care to stay for tea?”

“Thank you, but I mustn’t impose on you any further.” As he studied her keenly, from the slim-fitting spencer down to her pale green skirt, a subtle darkness shadowed his face. “May I say, you’re looking exceptionally fine today. There’s a softness about you that wasn’t there last evening.”

The ball. She had nearly forgotten it after the tumultuous events of the night. The searing memories delivered a flush to her cheeks, and she glanced away, as if he could guess that she had behaved like a wanton. “It was pleasant to see you at the Cuthberts’. I do wish we’d had more time to chat, but Drake and I—”

“It’s Wilder, isn’t it?” Hailstock grasped her by the arms. “He’s won you over.”

“Please!” she chided. “You’re hurting me.”

Compressing his lips, he relaxed his hold, letting his arms fall to his sides. “Forgive me, my dear. It is just that I’m concerned he will misuse you. The man is a common rogue.”

“He is a gentleman,” Alicia said, surprising herself with her fierceness. She could not bear for this haughty aristocrat to belittle her husband. He must have done so at the ball; that would explain the animosity she had sensed between them. “Oh, I cannot deny that Drake coerced me into marriage. But the deed is done. And ever since, he has been nothing but kind and generous to me and my family.”

“I see.” The marquess raised a cold eyebrow at her. “Clearly, you have no inkling of what your kind and generous husband has done for Gerald. Or where your brother spends his time these days.”

Through her anger, Alicia felt a niggling of alarm. “Don’t speak in riddles. Tell me.”

“As you wish, then, though I would have preferred to shield you from such an indelicate matter.” His mouth curled in distaste. “You see, my dear, Drake Wilder has lured your brother back to the gaming tables.”

*   *   *

As was his custom, Drake strolled through the club at six o’clock in the evening to survey its readiness. In the drawing room, most of the round tables were empty at so early an hour. He nodded to a croupier who counted gambling discs, for no coin was permitted in here. To minimize distractions, all debts and credits were settled in an office down the corridor, jokingly known as the Devil’s Exchequer.

The room was tastefully elegant with its tall columns of Sienna marble and the forest-green draperies over the arched windows. To keep attention focused on the game, no paintings or mirrors adorned the pale green walls. Fires burned cheerily at either end of the chamber. The well-padded leather chairs encouraged gentlemen to linger at the tables. Wine would flow freely, another inducement to deep play.

Under normal circumstances, he would have enjoyed making the rounds. But today, he gave the room only a cursory glance. In his mind, he kept seeing Alicia as she’d been that morning, cuddled against him in slumber, all soft and rosy, a woman well pleasured. Her tousled blond hair had felt like silk to his fingertips, and he’d had the fierce desire to bury himself inside her so that she would awaken to his possession.

Instead, he had eased out of bed. He had used her enough already. And there could be no other reason to stay.

How she had surprised him, his lady wife. Beneath her cool elegance lived a warm, sensual woman. She had been a virgin, and he had intended to tame her gently. But her eagerness had made him react with all the finesse of a rutting bull. Never before had he experienced such a driving need to mate with a woman. Passion for her had controlled him, when he was accustomed to being the one in control. Even now, he felt the violent urge to stake his claim in the most primitive way possible. He wanted to impregnate Alicia, to get her with child,
his
child.

“Ho, there, Wilder.”

Drake jerked his attention to a pair of gentlemen, one tall and gangly, the other short and rotund, who stood by a table near the drawing room door. Though most of the crowd would arrive at a fashionably later hour, a few members already had straggled into the club. Unfortunately, these two were imbeciles.

Hiding his irritation behind a congenial smile, he strolled toward them. “Keeble. Duxbury. I trust the both of you have been staying out of trouble.”

Viscount Keeble patted his stout belly. “We were about to toddle into the dining room for that fine roast beef your chef prepares. That is, until Ducks here put me to a wager.”

“I bet fifty guineas that he’d be leg-shackled before I am,” Duxbury said, towering over his crony, a fool’s grin on his baby face. He gestured at the open betting book, where members of the club recorded such wagers. “If you will stand witness, Wilder.”

“This makes me want to find an heiress to feather my nest,” Keeble said, rubbing his hands in glee. “And if I do, you’ll have your fifty, Ducks, and I’ll have my thousands.”

Duxbury poked him in the ribs. “Mayhap we’ll both find a plump pigeon. We’ll be
birds
of a feather.”

“’Tis better than being
bird
-witted.”

Looking at each other, they chortled with laughter.

God pity the woman who married either of these idiots, Drake thought. Picking up the quill, he dipped it into the silver inkpot and scrawled his name beneath theirs in the betting book. “If you gentlemen will excuse me now.”

“One moment,” Keeble said, his eyes avid beneath his thinning brown curls. “We hear you’re to be congratulated, Wilder, for moving up in the world.”

“By snaring yourself a lady
bird,
” Duxbury added.

Both men hooted with mirth again.

Gripped by an icy tension, Drake fisted his fingers into each man’s coat sleeve. Their merriment ground to a halt, and they gaped at him, Keeble short and plump-cheeked, Duxbury tall and slack-mouthed.

“Never describe my wife with a name reserved for whores,” Drake said in a tautly pleasant tone. “Is that understood?”

“Right-o,” Keeble blurted out. “’Twas only a jest, old boy.”

“No need to fly off the handle,” Duxbury added.

Drake released his grip. Like rats fleeing a tomcat, the two men scurried toward the dining room.

They were cork-brained fools, Drake knew. Still, he resented their implication, that Alicia had lowered herself by marrying him. She had benefited from their union as much as he had—and in more ways than wealth. Were it not for him, she would still be a sour-mouthed spinster instead of a well-satisfied woman. Remembering her carnal awakening, he wanted to strut with all the pride of a conquerer. But he had the uneasy sense that she had conquered him, too.

Oh, Drake, I do want you … I liked what you did to me … I wouldn’t change a moment of it …

Those soft words still had the power to blot out reason and logic. One night had not sated him. His loins still burned for his wife. He wanted her with a maddening urgency that defied comprehension. And there was no reason not to indulge himself.

Striding into the deserted foyer, he headed for the front door. The club could function without him for a few hours. No doubt Fergus would glower and grumble about the extra work, but he’d survive.

Drake was the master now. And there was no one he wanted to master more than his wife. Would she welcome him into her bed this time? Or would she act the prickly puritan again? He couldn’t wait to find out.

As he neared the door, the frosted glass panel swung open. Reacting fast, he caught it with his hand. “What the devil—?”

He bit off the curse and stopped in his tracks. As if summoned by the dark force of his fantasies, Alicia walked into the club.

Or rather,
marched
would have been a more apt description, he thought, admiring the swish of her skirts as she spun around to face him. A close-fitting jacket outlined her bosom and defined her slim waist. Her lips were pursed, her gaze icy, her manner stiff. Ah, the puritan.

So much the better. He would enjoy seducing her all over again.

The epitome of an arrogant aristocrat, she lifted her chin and raised one eyebrow. Without preamble, she asked coldly, “Where is my brother?”

So she had found out. With deliberate nonchalance, he kissed her soft cheek. “Good evening to you, too, darling.”

She turned her head away. “Don’t waste your charm on me. I know what a villain you are beneath all that male posturing.”

“And I know what a beauty
you
are beneath all that feminine outrage.”

He reached out to caress her, but she slapped his hand away. “Don’t try to work your wiles,” she said in a low-pitched voice. “I’ve found out that you’ve been corrupting Gerald.”

Drake was so struck by her first statement that he almost didn’t hear the second. Work his wiles? His
wiles?

In a swift move, he caught her arm and escorted her up the broad staircase, down a corridor, and into his office, where he slammed the door behind them. “I don’t play a woman’s coy games,” he stated. “You should know that by now.”

She twisted away from him. “No, you play a man’s game of enticing the unwary into your club.”

“Your brother is old enough to know what he’s doing.”

She scowled, a very pretty scowl that made him want to kiss her senseless. “So you admit that you lured him back here.”

“I offered him a position on staff here. He had the intelligence to accept it.”

“A position?” she scoffed. “That isn’t what Lord Hailstock told me.”

A burning tension seized his chest, and he cornered her against the desk. She tried to wriggle free, but he held her by the arms and snapped, “When did you see Hailstock?”

“Get away from me,” she said, pushing ineffectually at him. “I will not be bullied.”

“Then answer my question.”

“I happened upon him at Pemberton House.”

“What the devil was he doing there?”

“He came to … to fetch some old papers from my father’s study.” Her gaze faltered slightly, a sure sign that she was hiding something.

A murderous edge to his voice, Drake demanded, “Did he dare to touch you?”

“Of course not.
He
treats me like a lady.” She cast a pointed glance at Drake’s fingers on her arm, and her blue eyes flashed with contempt. “And I wonder at your animosity toward his lordship.”

He forced himself to ease his grip. He must be careful, lest she guess the truth. “I will not share you. Remember that.”

“And I will not abide my brother’s gambling in this club. You will bar him from the premises immediately.”

“He isn’t here to lay wagers. He holds a respectable position.”

“Respectable,” she huffed. “This is a gaming hell. What is he doing, collecting overdue debts from those you’ve fleeced?”

That set his teeth on edge. “May I remind you, madam, this
gaming hell
pays for your wardrobe, your house, your carriage. My wealth kept your mother out of Bedlam and your brother out of Fleet.”

“And he’ll land in prison if you encourage him to sink into debt again!”