Seduced by a Scoundrel (12 page)

“Indeed? She arrays herself like a bawd and disobeys your orders. And your butler was inebriated!”

“That is no concern of yours.”

“I beg to differ. The head servants should act as examples of propriety for the lower staff. They are in need of firm guidance from the lady of the house.”

“
I
shall have a word with Yates and Chalkers.
You
shall concentrate on renewing your connections in society.”

His steely-soft voice left her cold. So that was how he intended their marriage to be. He would deny her any prestige in his house. He would treat her as unworthy in front of his employees. Even the most downtrodden wife controlled the domestic affairs. But he would strip her of that right.

She hid her anger behind a chilly mask. Let him give her orders. She would do as she saw fit. “Never fear, Mr. Wilder. I shall fulfill my part of our bargain.”

“You agreed to call me Drake.”

“
You
agreed I Would be your wife. Not your chattel.”

He chuckled, guiding her toward the staircase that soared upward in a sweeping curve. “I’m giving you every luxury. You won’t have to lift a finger. That’s hardly the life of a slave.”

In a show of dignity, she drew off her gloves. “Yet you refuse me the freedom to make my own place here.”

Their eyes clashed in a battle of wills. It was a battle that had little to do with the trifling issue of names—and everything to do with her determination to command respect from him.

A wicked warmth entered his eyes and he grasped her by the waist. Leaning closer, he said, “Hellcat.”

“Hell-hound.”

“Touché. And if you wish to be treated like a wife, I’ll be happy to oblige.” He crowded her against the newel post. His voice soft and silken, he said, “There’s no shame in desiring your husband, Alicia.” His thumb rubbed her inner wrist. “Tonight is our wedding night. Invite me to your bed, and I’ll show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams.”

Her senses surged with the heat of his body, the hint of masculine cologne, the alluring blue of his eyes. His snowy cravat made a striking contrast to his coal-dark hair and swarthy skin. He stood so close she could see the faint black stubble on his jaw, and she wanted to touch him there, to learn every hard angle of his face. Her heart beat faster, making her dizzy. She wanted—she
craved
—another taste of that beautiful male mouth.…

“What the hell’s this?”

Jolted to her senses, she realized he held her hand up. The sapphire and diamond ring glinted in the watery light from the windows.

“I didn’t buy this for you,” he said.

She ought to tell him a half-truth. But still shaken by his nearness, she felt the irrepressible need to punish him. “Didn’t I tell you?” she asked airily. “This is Lord Hailstock’s wedding gift to me.”

A darkness descended over Drake’s face, and a muscle worked in his jaw. Abruptly he plucked the ring off her finger. “I’ll return it to him.”

Angered, she reached for the gold band. “It’s mine.”

“No,” he stated, thrusting it into his pocket. “You will never, ever accept gifts from any other man. Is that understood?”

His aura of barely restrained violence startled Alicia. She hadn’t known a man could be so possessive. She could better understand his jealousy if theirs was a love match.…

Then the sound of voices and tramping feet intruded from the porch. Into the entrance hall stepped Mama, clinging to Gerald’s arm, Mrs. Philpot behind them.

Mama spied them and giggled like a schoolroom miss. “Oh, my,” she said, lifting her gloved hands to her cheeks. “We’ve caught the bride and groom in a private moment. Isn’t it romantic?”

Her face hot, Alicia stepped away from Drake. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that they had been quarreling, not embracing. But a glance at Gerald’s grim features stopped her. His green eyes asked a probing question:
Are you all right?

Her breast tightened. She had always been the strong one in the family. Yet today she wanted to run to her brother, to beg him to rescue her from this circumstance of his making. With all her effort, she forged a smile of greeting.

Gerald strode forward, his heels clicking on the marble floor. “I’ll have a word with you, Wilder.” His imperious voice cracked, and he cleared his throat in a rasping cough. “Immediately.”

Alicia sprang toward Gerald and patted him between his bony shoulders. “You’ll tend to yourself,” she chided. “The damp weather isn’t good for your lungs. You must sit and rest—”

“All he needs is a brandy,” Drake broke in. “You ladies will wish to freshen up before luncheon. Yates will escort you upstairs.”

As if she’d been eavesdropping, the housekeeper glided around the corner of a long corridor. Her expression almost smirking, she folded her hands beneath her buxom bosom. “Shall I show Mrs. Wilder to her suite, sir?”

Drake gave a curt nod. “And Lady Eleanor as well.”

Alicia stubbornly shook her head. “I’ll see to my brother first. His cheeks are flushed. He might have a fever.” Reaching up, she placed her hand on his brow. It was cool, but then, he’d just come in out of the rain.

“For pity’s sake, Ali,” Gerald said, squirming away from her. “You needn’t coddle me. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Dear me, you’re quarreling again,” Lady Eleanor said. Tilting her head to the side, she blinked her china blue eyes beneath her pink straw bonnet. “You two have quarreled often, haven’t you?”

Gerald hung his head and muttered, “She’s too bossy, that’s why.”

“I’m the eldest,” Alicia felt compelled to point out. “Of course I’m in charge.”

Looking even more befuddled, the countess rubbed her temples. “The eldest … Oh, dear, it seems we
have
met before today. Yet why can I recall no more?”

“Don’t worry yourself over it,” Alicia said, stricken by a helpless love. “You’ll remember—”

“We’ll puzzle it out over luncheon,” Drake said. Taking Lady Eleanor’s hand, he guided her to Mrs. Philpot, who stood decorously to the side. In a voice far more gentle than he’d ever used with Alicia, he added, “Go upstairs now, my lady. The earl and I will join you in the dining room shortly.” He nodded to her brother, and the two men walked away.

Watching them cross the hall to a pair of opened double doors, Alicia felt a tremor of misgivings. Gerald looked like a schoolboy, his slender form and honey-brown hair a striking contrast to Drake’s powerful, dark physique. They might have been Gabriel and Lucifer.

She bit her lip. If only Gerald hadn’t witnessed that passionate kiss in church. In a rash attempt to protect her, he might challenge Drake, and heaven knew, her sickly brother was no match for a cunning rogue who had grown up on the rough-and-tumble streets of London.

It was even more frightening to think that Drake might influence Gerald. Drake was a silver-tongued serpent who could talk a saint into selling his soul. What if he led her brother further down the path of destruction? What if … Gerald ended up like Papa?

“M’lady? Will you not accompany us?” Mrs. Yates stood on the stairway, staring back over her shoulder, Mama and Mrs. Philpot behind her.

Alicia gathered her composure and gave a crisp nod. Lifting the hem of her rich gown, she trailed the other women up the curving steps. She took only peripheral notice of the fine statues in niches and the gilt moldings of her new home.

Wilder will corrupt Gerald to the ways of a gambler. No doubt the boy will end up in an early grave, the same as your father.

Was Lord Hailstock right? Had she made a dreadful mistake?

*   *   *

Drake closed the doors to the library and led Gerald to a pair of comfortable leather chairs arranged near the black marble mantelpiece. He was still furious about that ring. Damn Hailstock for his insult! He’d like nothing more than to smash his fist into that arrogant face.

Deliberately Drake took a deep breath. For now, he had Gerald to pacify. He would deal with Hailstock later.

Beads of rainwater slid down the outside window. A fire burned on the hearth, dispelling the damp chill, and a branch of candles flickered on the nearby desk. Here Drake liked to read in the dark, predawn hour after returning from his club. And here he liked to plan.

An alabaster vase on the mantelpiece held a tuft of white ostrich feathers. No one but him—and Fergus—knew the feathers were the remnants of a fan his mother had carried long ago, playing the part of an Egyptian princess in some long-forgotten drama. She’d delighted in recounting how he’d made his theatrical debut as baby Moses in the bulrushes, squalling with indignation until she’d picked him up and cuddled him close.

He needed that reminder now. Muira Wilder had raised him with the fierce devotion of two parents. She hadn’t deserved to be used and abandoned by a haughty English lord.

Stalking to the sideboard, he lifted a crystal decanter. “Brandy?”

The Earl of Brockway flexed his puny fists. “I didn’t come here to drink, Wilder. I demand to know your intentions toward my sister.”

“That is a private matter.”

“You promised her a chaste marriage. She told me so herself. If you’ve gulled her, you’ll answer to me.”

“Have a care whom you call a liar.”

Like a foolhardy pup, Gerald took a step closer. “I witnessed that unmannerly embrace at the altar. You mean to use her ill, to force your attentions on her.”

Drake curbed his angry impatience and splashed amber liquor into two glasses. In any other situation, he would put an end to such insolence in no uncertain terms. But Gerald was family now.

Besides, coercion of Alicia would be unnecessary. Drake had only to bide his time—and charm his bride. “I’ve never forced myself on any woman. And I don’t intend to start now.” His footsteps silent on the Turkish rug, he walked over and handed Gerald a brandy. “Sit down.”

The young earl accepted the glass, but didn’t drink—or sit. “I shan’t let you play the devil with my sister.”

“May I remind you, she is my wife now. By the laws of God and man.” Moderating his stern tone, Drake placed a hand on Gerald’s shoulder. “Rest assured, I will not harm her. You have my word on that.”

Gerald blinked uncertainly, and at a slight push from Drake, plopped down into one of the leather chairs. He took a gulp of brandy and coughed deep in his chest, his eyes watering. All the fight seemed to drain out of him. He slumped with his elbows perched on his bony knees, his head bowed over his glass. “’Tis my fault. I’ve been a cork-brain, and Ali’s the one to pay for it.”

Drake settled himself in the opposite chair. Stretching out his legs, he crossed them at his ankles. Against his will, he felt a tug of kinship with the young earl. His brother now.

He had seen his own half-brother James close up on only one occasion, as a cherubic two-year-old toddling toward his father. And he had witnessed the pride on Hailstock’s face. He wondered if Hailstock still felt such pride now that his heir could walk no more.

Taking a tasteless swallow of brandy, Drake regarded Gerald’s glum face. “What’s done is done,” he said. “Don’t flog yourself over that game we played.”

“But only a hen-hearted knave would risk his mother’s home, his sister’s happiness. I was a fool to think I’d win, just because I held two bloody aces.”

Drake had known Gerald’s cards that night. Not by sleight of hand, but by cold calculation. The earl was like most men, relying on luck, hoping for fortune to turn, rather than analyzing the odds.

Nagged by restlessness, Drake rose from the chair and went to the gleaming mahogany desk. From the top drawer he extracted a paper, which he carried to the fire and dropped into the flames. The I.O.U. curled and blackened, turning to ash.

He pivoted on his heel. “There, your vowels are paid in full. Twenty thousand guineas.”

“It might as well have been thirty pieces of silver,” Gerald said morosely.

“Nonsense. Alicia and Lady Eleanor will lead a far more comfortable life here. You haven’t betrayed them.”

“Alicia ought to have had a choice. Women set great store by love.”

“Women have married for monetary reasons since the beginning of time. This is no different.” Gerald didn’t look convinced, and it was pointless to argue. Now that she was irrevocably his, Drake had other concerns. “What will you do now?”

“I’ll seek my fortune, perhaps in trade.” Placing his glass on a side table, the earl pushed to his feet and straightened his coat. “I’ll find lodgings elsewhere, too. I ask only for a day or two to clear out my belongings.”

“For Christ’s sake, sit down. I’ve no intention of tossing you out of Pemberton House.”

Gerald stiffened. “My pockets may be at low tide, but I won’t accept your charity.”

“I don’t expect you to do so. There is a way for you to pay me back.” Cursing himself for a softhearted fool, Drake hoped he wouldn’t regret the offer. Alicia certainly wouldn’t approve—not that she had any say in the matter. “Tomorrow, you’ll report to me at my club.”

Chapter Nine

Four days later, Alicia stood in the drawing room of a grand house in Grosvenor Square while a snooty footman went to inquire if Her Grace was at home. Too nervous to sit on one of the many chairs and chaises, she paced the beautifully appointed chamber, her gaze sliding over the colorful tapestries on the walls, the fine porcelain figurines on the tables, the mantel carved of pure white marble. She stopped at a tall window framed by blue brocaded draperies and gazed unseeing into a garden.

Usually she waited in the coach while her footman delivered one of her newly printed calling cards. But that made it too easy for the mistress of the house to be conveniently unavailable.

Since the wedding, she had worked her way down a list of the most venerable hostesses of the
ton.
She had visited every acquaintance with whom she’d once had a connection. Thus far, everyone had refused to receive her. The reason was bitterly clear. No one wished to associate with the wife of a baseborn gambler. Or the daughter of a madwoman.

But this time she would not be put off. This time she would try an act of desperation. She would wheedle an interview with her former friend—and long-ago rival.