Seduced by a Scoundrel (19 page)

It was useless trying to fathom why her mind failed to dictate to her body. Useless to wonder why she felt no inclination to seek out other company. For some mysterious reason, she had even enjoyed trading insults with him tonight. It had become a game with them, this matching of wits.

“You two have been hiding for quite long enough.”

Sarah’s quiet scolding broke the spell. Alicia spun around to see the duchess regarding them. The too-quick motion of her fan, fashioned of green silk with ivory spindles, betrayed her irritation.

“We haven’t strayed from the ballroom,” Alicia protested.

“What Her Grace means,” Drake murmured, a glint in his eyes, “is that we seemed unaware of anyone else present.”

A blush tingled up Alicia’s throat and into her cheeks. “
I
am well aware of our surroundings. The music is starting for the first set.”

“Just so,” Sarah said. “Hurry along, now. You must dance and mingle and be seen by everyone.”

In the middle of the room, lines were forming, one for the men, the other for the ladies. Alicia slipped into position opposite Drake just as the lilting tune commenced. She lifted her gloved hand to his, and as their fingers touched, she wondered wildly if he even knew how to dance. He hadn’t, after all, had a gentleman’s upbringing.

But her fears proved ungrounded; he performed the intricate steps with flawless grace. All the while he watched her. The light from the chandeliers cast a sheen on his coal-black hair and made shadows beneath his cheekbones. He looked as arrogant as any nobleman present. And she realized with jolt how easily he fit into this glittering world.

The lines shifted, forcing them apart, and she found herself partnered with a portly man with side-whiskers. Drake squired a young miss in virginal white, who simpered when he smiled at her. Alicia forced her gaze away. Let him enchant every woman he met.
She
certainly didn’t care.

She concentrated on the dance, on being pleasant and giving no one cause to gossip. And she reveled in the joy of gliding to the music, letting the notes guide her feet as if on air. She spied Gerald dancing in another line, and couldn’t help smiling when he winked at her.

All the while, she was keenly aware of her husband as they moved farther apart down the long lines. When at last the steps brought them back together, the tune ended, and Sarah appeared with a timid, freckle-faced gentleman in tow. He stammered an invitation to dance, and Alicia lacked the heart to refuse him.

Drake gallantly relinquished her. As he walked away, he scanned the assemblage again, and again she had the odd impression that he sought someone in particular. Who? A member of his club? Someone else who owed him money?

As the evening progressed, she caught sight of him from time to time. He had no trouble finding dance partners. The ladies congregated nearby, drawn by his notoriety and the suggestion of wildness behind his civilized appearance. Time and again, Alicia saw him leading a woman onto the dance floor, conversing with her, flattering her no doubt, using his charm to demolish the barriers that had barred him from this exclusive circle.

He had made himself a social success. The thought was oddly dispiriting. He had needed his wife only to get him through the door.

So be it. She was glad to be rid of any obligation to him. Glad to have discharged her debt. So why did she feel this confusing jumble of fascination and longing?

Her face began to ache from smiling. She sat out a set and sipped champagne. There were only so many sprightly comments that one could make to gentlemen who were either too snooty to acknowledge the bride of a gamester or too preoccupied with their own conceits. Had they been so dull five years ago? Had she been so impatient for the company of one man alone?

She lost sight of Drake. He wasn’t anywhere among the colorful lines of dancers. Champagne glass in hand, Alicia left the ballroom and glanced into the other reception rooms. She felt pleasantly woozy, unable to lie to herself. In all good conscience, she couldn’t say that she sought a respite from the press of people. No, she was looking for her husband.

Downstairs, tables had been set up in the drawing room and guests sat playing cards. The library echoed with the voices of gentlemen discussing politics. The dining room rang with the clatter of china and silver as footmen carried in platters from which eddied the aromas of roasted beef and fresh-baked bread. Supper would be served at midnight. But Alicia had no interest in food.

Then she saw him.

In a dimly lit room toward the rear of the house, Drake stood in the shadows, speaking urgently to someone behind the partly closed door. The lamplight from the passageway cast his profile into sharp relief. A concentrated intensity kept his attention focused on his companion. He spoke in a voice too low for her to discern the words.

A sickening possibility lurched in Alicia. Was he alone with a woman?

Fury eradicated the brief stab of pain. Blast him. She would not be shamed by his philandering. Not here, in front of the entire
ton.

Marching forward, she thrust back the door. And stopped, struck by recognition of the tall, familiar figure standing in the gloom. His haughty facade radiated hostility.

Lord Hailstock.

Chapter Fourteen

Drake had been too impatient to choose another dance partner. They held no interest for him, these women of privilege who would condescend to flirt with a man of ill repute only in the safety of a crowded ballroom. He had borne their insipid company for one reason alone. So that he could watch the arched doorway for a late arrival.

But the Marquess of Hailstock did not appear.

His absence gnawed at Drake. He had been certain his father would attend this gathering. Hailstock prided himself on being a pillar of society. He liked to prowl his exclusive territory—and Drake burned for the moment when his lordship came face-to-face with his bastard.

Intending to look elsewhere, Drake strolled restlessly toward the door. He scanned the ballroom one last time. And spied, through the resplendent swarm, the one lady who could rivet his attention.

Alicia. His wife.

Her slim back to him, she walked alone toward the refreshment tables. The candlelight cast a halo on her fair hair. With each sinuous movement, her gown brushed womanly curves. She held her chin high as if to mock anyone who might dispute her right to be here.

This had been an ordeal for her, to face disapproval and scandal. Yet she comported herself like a queen.

For one mad moment, the pull of his wife’s attraction surpassed his need for vengeance. He was tempted to go after her, to make lewd remarks so that he could enjoy her reaction. He wanted to touch her, to remind her that she belonged to him, to see that spark of defiance in her eyes. He wanted to lure her into a darkened room and make long slow love to her. The craving shook him with its intensity.

Turning toward the door, he ruthlessly banished her from his mind. Lady Alicia meant nothing to him—nothing beyond his means to get back at Hailstock.

The familiar acid of anger burned inside him. He walked through the crowds, ignoring the murmurings as he passed. Though he’d had no dearth of dance partners, these snobs didn’t truly accept him. They would tolerate an outsider in their midst only because he had been forced upon them. Little did they know, their petty animosities merely amused him.

Descending the grand staircase, he glanced around. A quick accounting of the card players in the drawing room elicited no success. A red-haired dandy gave a languid wave, inviting him to join their game, but Drake politely shook his head. His heels rang out as he rounded the corner past the staircase. There must be a library where the politicians would gather. It was a likely spot to check.

The rumble of male voices grew louder as he neared a doorway. Then a man walked out, his movements jerky and fast. The light from the wall sconce fell on his thickly silvered black hair and arrogant features.

No surprise widened those frosty gray eyes. Hailstock didn’t so much as flinch. He merely regarded his son with cold contempt.

Someone had told him. He already had heard that an infamous commoner had invaded his privileged circle.

Drake wanted to drive his fist into the wall. He’d been cheated. Cheated of the moment he had anticipated for twenty years. And the more fool he for not anticipating this turn of events.

Wheeling around, Hailstock stalked down the corridor and thrust open a door. He stood waiting, his face stern, his hands pushing back his finely tailored coat. He looked like a father intending to thrash his son.

“Get in here,” he growled.

Drake had never hated him more than in that moment. He was forced into the position of either obeying like a chastened child or refusing to accede, thereby flouting his own plans. Cursing under his breath, he strode forward. The supercilious tyrant would not direct the course of this confrontation.

As befitting his self-importance, Hailstock led the way into a dimly lit chamber. He made a move to shut the door.

Drake caught the panel and stopped it. “Afraid someone might see us together and guess the truth,
Father?
”

The marquess’s lips thinned. “Desist in this fantasy of yours. I am no more your father than the Prince Regent himself.”

“Deny it all you like. But you did have an affair with my mother in Edinburgh thirty years ago.”

“You have no proof beyond that stickpin she stole.”

Once, just once, Drake wanted to hear Hailstock acknowledge his paternity. And by the devil he would. “Tell me, my lord, if your net worth is presently four hundred sixty thousand pounds—”

“Wretch!” Hailstock broke in angrily. “Where did you come by that knowledge?”

“—and through various investments, you earn a tidy four percent annual interest, what size will be the fortune that you leave to dear James, should you die in, say, eighteen years’ time?”

Those eyes narrowed slightly in calculation. He made a sharp, dismissing motion with his hand. “So that’s what this is all about—you’re planning to blackmail me. Name your price, then. Tell me how much it will cost to send you back to the sewer out of which you crawled.”

Drake’s chest muscles tightened. “Keep your bloody fortune. I have my own. Just answer my question.”

“I’ll not discuss my personal finances with the likes of you.”

“Then
I’ll
solve our hypothetical problem. Your worth will be precisely nine hundred forty-three thousand, nine hundred eight pounds.” Tasting triumph, he went on in a low tone, “But you already knew that, of course. Because you, too, have the ability to figure complex sums without resorting to paper and pen. It is a talent I inherited. From you.”

Hailstock said nothing. He stood, shoulders stiff, fists clenched at his sides.

“Go on, test me if you like,” Drake said softly. “Give me any combination of numbers and I’ll give you the answer.”

“I’ve no interest in parlor tricks. Now step aside.”

“No. You can’t walk away and pretend I don’t exist. Not any longer.” He focused the full force of his will upon this man who had abandoned him to poverty as an infant. “Know this, my lord. Every time you enter a ballroom, you will see me. Every time you attend a dinner party, I’ll be sitting there. Every time you talk politics in the library, I’ll challenge your opinions.”

“You’re playing games. You’ll soon tire of this charade.”

“It’s only a matter of time before people begin to notice the resemblance.” A steely edge to his voice, Drake added, “It’s already happened.”

“Liar. No one has seen us together.”

“Lady Brockway knows us both. She told me I favor someone she once knew.”

For one tension-filled moment, Hailstock stared, his face as still and pale as a death mask. Then he scoffed, “And you believe that madwoman? She seldom knows her own name.”

Drake remembered her weeping, the dread she had been unable to articulate. “Did you frighten her?” he said in a harsh whisper. “Did you threaten to lock her away forever?”

Before Hailstock could reply, a movement flashed in the corridor. Someone pushed open the door.

Alicia stood there, her slender form limned by lamplight from the passageway. A frown creased her brow as she stared from Hailstock to Drake. Then she curtsied to the marquess.

“My lord, pardon me for intruding. I thought … you were someone else.”

Resenting her obeisance, Drake hooked his hand beneath her elbow and brought her to her feet. In a conversational tone, he said, “Hailstock and I were renewing our acquaintance. I was just commenting on the resemblance between him and his son.”

The marquess made a strangled sound deep in his chest.

Alicia glanced at him in confusion, then returned her gaze to Drake. “I wasn’t aware that you knew James. He’s an invalid. He seldom leaves the house.”

“So his lordship has informed me. Yet he must be the young man I saw riding in Hailstock’s carriage not a fortnight ago.”

“He does go for the occasional drive in the park,” Hailstock said rigidly. “Attended by his physician, of course.”

Drake considered making him squirm further, but reluctantly decided against it. He was skating too close to the truth, and Alicia had the intelligence to catch him. “Ah, that explains it,” he said. “A pity he doesn’t get out more often.”

Stepping toward Hailstock, Alicia touched his sleeve. “How
is
James?”

“Quite melancholy these days, I fear.” The marquess settled his hand over hers. “You should know, he’s asked about you. He misses your visits quite dreadfully.”

“Please convey my apologies and tell James I’ll call on him soon. If that is permissible to you, my lord.”

“Certainly, my lady. You are always welcome in my home.”

Drake clenched his jaw, fighting the fury inside him. Presumptuous noble. He touched Alicia as if he had the right to do so. He probably believed in
droit du seigneur.

Drake would kill him first.

Sliding his arm around her waist, he pulled Alicia against him. He splayed his fingers over her hip in an unsubtle sign of ownership. “You will excuse us now, Hailstock.
My wife
requires my attentions.”