Seduced by a Scoundrel (31 page)

“Is your husband here?” Her eyes bright, Lady Eleanor straightened up and looked toward the door. “I should so like to visit with him.”

Alicia shook her head. “I’m afraid he had to go back out.”

“Oh,” her mother said on a sigh of disappointment. “He is such a gallant gentleman. He sometimes stops by to see me, you know.” Frowning, she tapped her chin with her forefinger. “I have been trying to remember of whom he reminds me.…”

There was no one like Drake. A sweet softness curled in Alicia’s breast. Surely any man who could take the time to humor her befuddled mother had to be capable of a deep, abiding love.…

She wrenched her thoughts back to the present. “Mama, you had a visitor this evening. Can you tell me what Lord Hailstock wanted of you?”

“Richard.” Her eyes glazed as if her thoughts turned inward. “Now that you mention it … I believe he
was
here.”

“He inquired about some letters,” Alicia prompted.

A starkness came over the countess’s face. Sinking deeper into the cushions of the chaise, she moved her head in a violent shake that stirred her braid. “I don’t know anything about any letters.”

“Could he mean letters he’d written to Papa long ago?” Alicia asked gently. “Do you know where they might be?”

“I know nothing of it. Nothing at all.”

It?
Was there one letter in particular that he’d wanted? “Did Lord Hailstock tell you why he needs this letter?”

“I can’t say. Truly, I
can’t.
” Lady Eleanor hunched into her bedraggled moleskin cape, the satin lining rustling. “Oh, he is a cold man. But I never dreamed he would break Claire’s heart.”

“Break her heart?” Hailstock’s first wife had died very young, but this was the first Alicia had heard of an unhappy marriage. “But I thought … they were in love. They ran off together to be wed.”

“Richard never believed her good enough for him. The dear girl couldn’t help it she was born of common blood.” Pressing a crumpled handkerchief to her face, the countess lapsed into piteous weeping.

Anger nudged at Alicia as she hugged her mother, patting her back through the bedraggled cape. “I know, Mama. I know.”

She wasn’t entirely surprised to hear that the marquess had looked down on his first wife. Noble bloodlines meant everything to him. Was it possible Drake was right to despise him?

Over the past weeks, they had encountered the marquess at a number of society events. Each time, he disdained Drake; each time, Drake insulted him back. And Lord Hailstock had even made
her
bristle by insinuating that she had married far beneath herself.

The memory of her own prejudice troubled Alicia. She, too, had thought herself superior to her husband. She had condemned Drake as a good-for-nothing gambler—until she had witnessed the extent of his generosity, a munificence he strove to hide behind the dynamic charm of a scoundrel.

He had done far more than she for those in need. But tomorrow, he would come to Pemberton House and see her school. He would realize that she shared his goodwill toward less fortunate souls.

She pressed a kiss to her mother’s brow, her skin bearing the faint, familiar scent of lily of the valley. It would do no good to question her further. The next time Alicia saw Lord Hailstock, she would ask him about the letter and insist that he come to her with his questions, rather than badger Mama.

Lady Eleanor lifted her head, blinking her tear-wet eyes. Like a veil lifting from her face, the anxiety and grief vanished, and a wondering quality illuminated her gaze. She gently cupped Alicia’s cheek. “My dear girl,” she said musingly. “I do believe … you have that look about you.”

Mystified, Alicia frowned at her mother. “What look?”

“Why, that certain softness. Your papa said he could tell simply by gazing at me.”

“Tell what?”

Lady Eleanor smiled very tenderly. “Why, that I was breeding, of course. As
you
must be.”

Alicia drew an astonished breath.
Had
she conceived a child? Had that marvelous intimacy with Drake wrought the miracle of a baby? An awed happiness rose in her, but she held it at bay. She mustn’t hope too much. No one could look at her face and
know
she was pregnant. This had to be another of Mama’s mad fancies.

Lady Eleanor patted Alicia’s hand. “It is too wonderful to believe, isn’t it? But there are certain signs in a woman. Have you been exceedingly weary of late?”

Alicia couldn’t deny the fatigue dragging at her. “Yes … but I’ve been teaching the servants to read during the day and that could account for it.”

“When did you last have your monthly?”

“Right before … before my wedding. Nearly six weeks ago.”

Alicia wasn’t used to discussing personal matters with her mother. And for many years, she hadn’t had a circle of friends from whom she might have gleaned knowledge. Consequently, she had only a vague understanding of the changes that pregnancy could cause in a woman’s body. But now she realized the significance of her delayed cycle.

Gently placing her hand over her flat abdomen, she breathed deeply as an indescribable joy blossomed within her. A baby. In less than nine months, she would give birth to Drake’s son or daughter. She would hold their child to her breast, and they would be a family.

Now she had an even more compelling reason to win his heart.

*   *   *

The following afternoon, his head bent against the pouring rain, Drake strode up the steps at Pemberton House. He didn’t bother to knock; this town house belonged to him. He couldn’t feel any regrets about how he’d acquired the place, either. Winning that deed had assured him of Alicia’s hand in marriage.

Alicia.

In the dimly lit foyer, he removed his damp overcoat and flung it over a chair. She would not be expecting him quite yet. He’d arrived early, wild to learn what surprise she had in store for him. It would be an erotic interlude, he hoped. She had been hot for him when they’d parted company the previous evening. What a delight she had been at the circus, her eyes shining, her face animated with unguarded enjoyment. He’d wanted to see a similar joy on her face while he bedded her, and he’d had the very devil of a time resisting her invitation to make love. It wouldn’t do for her to think him too taken with her.

His obsession for his wife showed no sign of abating. Indeed, though he would never admit so to Alicia, he’d had to fend off the urge to follow her around like a besotted mooncalf. He didn’t understand himself. He had always been able to separate his physical needs from the rest of his life. He would take his satisfaction of a woman and then be done with her. But he couldn’t forget Alicia.

Since that one dawn when she had come to him, she hadn’t spoken of love again. Not even in the throes of ecstasy. She’d acted both aloof and alluring, slowly driving him mad. It wasn’t enough to possess her hand in marriage. He wanted to own her, body and soul.

Perhaps today he would.

Anticipation seared him. He would take a quick look around here on the ground floor. Then he would go upstairs and search the bedrooms. Perhaps he’d find her naked, ready for him. Or perhaps she would titillate him by wearing a sheer gown with nothing on underneath.

Yes.
He looked forward to undressing her, kissing every inch of her body, hearing her sweet sounds of pleasure, her whispers of love.

Running his hand through his rain-slicked hair, he stepped into the drawing room. The painters had completed their work, and the pale yellow walls glowed behind the mahogany furnishings. But he took only cursory notice. Alicia wasn’t lying on the chaise, waiting to seduce him.

He crossed the foyer and looked into the library. The shelves had been filled with books, and the scent of new leather bindings filled the air. Tables and chairs were arranged on the blue and gold rugs. But Alicia wasn’t beckoning to him from the desk, where he might have pressed her down on the flat surface, lifted her skirts, and slid into heaven.

He walked down the long corridor, glancing into a morning room, the dining chamber, and a butler’s pantry. She must be upstairs, then. So much the better. They would conduct their little tryst in complete privacy. There would be no one at home but a few servants, who would know better than to disturb the master and his lady.…

As he neared the back of the house, he heard the rumbling of a man’s voice. The sound came from the chamber at the end of the passageway. From Brockway’s study.

He cursed under his breath. If Gerald hadn’t yet left for the club, his presence would put a damper on Drake’s plans. He’d have to get rid of the stripling, think up an errand to occupy him.

He was considering various excuses when he paused at the partly open door, arrested by a curious sight inside the study. In place of the leather chairs there were rows of desks occupied by an assortment of servants, both male and female.

Before them, his back to the door, sat James in his wheeled chair.

The heat in Drake’s veins chilled to ice. In a rush of angry understanding, he realized the truth. There would be no idyllic afternoon spent in his wife’s arms.

Alicia had tricked him. Again.

Chapter Twenty-three

James shook his fist at the group. “You will never be welcome in my home,” he railed at them. “Do you understand me? Never!”

That venomous tone enraged Drake. Damned haughty blueblood. The servants quailed in their desks, their fearful eyes focused on James.

Drake thrust back the door so hard it banged against the wall. The room fell silent. In a swift glance around, he spied the Duchess of Featherstone seated in a straight-backed chair near James. Across the chamber, Alicia sat with her legs tucked beneath her on the window seat, her rose-pink gown bright against the gray day.

Her eyes widened on him; she sprang to her feet. Her lips formed his name, though no sound emerged.

He gave her a scathing glance. She condoned this injustice?

Furious, he strode toward James. A sea of startled faces turned to Drake. With a jolt, he recognized some of them: Kitty, the deaf girl; several grooms from his stables; Molly, the pregnant maid. The room was quiet except for the patter of raindrops against the windowpanes.

He swung toward James. “How dare you presume to chastise my employees? This is
my
house, not yours.”

The silence lasted a heartbeat. Then giggles swept the gathering, the pupils covering their mouths to hide their mirth. Their reaction left Drake nonplussed.

James grinned briefly, then returned his attention to the group. “Quiet, now,” he commanded. “It isn’t polite to laugh. Mr. Wilder didn’t realize I was reading you a story.”

The tittering subsided. For the first time, Drake noticed the notebook propped open in James’s lap. And he felt a rare moment of utter foolishness.

The duchess glided toward James, placing her hand on the back of his wheeled chair. “James is an eloquent reader as well as a gifted writer.”

A faint flush colored his fair skin. “Enough, Sarah,” he muttered.

She ignored him. “You should know, Mr. Wilder, that James penned this tale of knights and dragons, of evil sorcerers and fair princesses. The class has enjoyed hearing his stories. Is that not so?”

As one, the pupils eagerly spoke their assent.

Drake looked at their bobbing heads and felt more off balance than ever. James, a writer of fairy tales? A benefactor who entertained the underprivileged?

Drake couldn’t reconcile that image with the snobbish lord who had been raised as a privileged only son. This must be a ruse of some sort. But to what purpose, he couldn’t imagine.

While the younger ones begged James to read another chapter and he laughingly refused, Alicia pulled Drake to the side of the room, where a large map of England was tacked to the wall. His senses were attuned to the brush of her soft breast, the seductiveness of her subtle scent, the delicacy of her features.

Somehow, she looked especially fragile today, her skin translucent and her eyes shadowed as if she needed a nap. “I thought you’d be arriving in half an hour,” she murmured. “I’d meant for you to see the class at their lessons.”

“Class?” he repeated numbly.

“Yes, I’ve organized this school for those wishing to learn their letters and sums. That way, a maid can aspire to the post of housekeeper someday. And a groom might prove adept enough at numbers to become a steward. They can better their lot in life.”

A school for the poor? He’d thought she’d been spending her days shopping and socializing, the usual activities for a lady of wealth. He struggled to assimilate her actions.

She’d been here at Pemberton House. With
James.

Feeling betrayed, he gripped tenaciously to his anger. “What the devil is Hailstock’s son doing here?” he said under his breath. “The wretch is toying with these commoners, playing the Good Samaritan. He hasn’t any true interest in them.”

“You’re wrong about that,” she whispered back. “And before you pass judgment, I ask only that you listen while the pupils show you what they’ve learned this past fortnight.”

He despised being gulled. Yet he couldn’t refuse her. Not when she gazed at him so hopefully with those clear blue eyes. Not when she curved her lips into the soft smile that could turn him into a babbling idiot.

Compressing his mouth into a thin line, he took up a stance by the hearth, propping his elbow on the mantelpiece. She walked toward the class, her hips swaying, all graceful, beguiling woman.

While Sarah and James sat watching, Alicia clapped her hands for attention and called the beginning pupils to the front. Scullery maids and grooms alike assembled in a circle on the large rug while she seated herself on a stool. One by one, they proceeded to draw their letters on their slates. After that, they did a little game using marbles to count their sums. Some of them were remarkably quick; others struggled with the simplest numbers. But Alicia showed patience toward them all, giving a word of encouragement or a quiet correction as needed.

Fascinated, Drake watched her. He shouldn’t be surprised to see that she was an excellent teacher. After all, she’d been responsible for her family these five years, and she had exhibited a serene tolerance for her mother’s most eccentric impersonations. But he had always viewed Alicia as a
lady.
And ladies did not associate with the lower classes.