by Olivia Drake
He clenched his teeth to keep from snapping at Jeffries, For Christ’s sake, get on with it!
At last the clergyman began to read again, droning on for several more interminable minutes before indicating they should join their right hands. Drake spoke his vows quickly and felt no tremor in her slim fingers, no hint of agitation as Alicia murmured her vows. Even then, she did not lift her eyes to his, and her voice was smooth, her movements mechanical. She might have been a marionette worked by invisible strings.
It was done. He’d sealed his fate. And hers.
At his prior request, there was no blessing of the rings, for Drake saw no need to bother with such romantic indulgences. While the cleric spoke the final prayers, Alicia’s ladylike reserve continued to rub on Drake. It was as if he didn’t truly own her—she kept a part of herself inviolate. The primitive desire to put his brand on her swept through him.
She was his wife. His to use as he willed.
He crushed her to him and claimed her mouth. Her soft lips parted in startlement. He seized the advantage, capturing the back of her head in one hand to hold her steady while his tongue plundered her in a deep, demanding kiss. She tasted of innocence, of a sweetness he had never before known. As if from a distance, he heard a gasp from the clergyman, a muttered protest from her brother.
The onlookers made no difference to Drake. Only a lightning bolt from the heavens could have stopped him.
He kissed her long and hard and deep. She clung to his shoulders, and her quickened heartbeats fluttered against his chest. The scent of crushed lilies blended with her light feminine fragrance. With skillful strokes of his tongue, he caressed her sensitive inner flesh until the woodenness left her body and she gave a little sigh and melted in his arms.
The victory left him only marginally satisfied. He wanted more than a kiss. He craved her complete surrender.
And he would have it. By God, he would.
Later.
He forced himself to draw back. Alicia stood looking at him, her breasts rising and falling, her breath coming in little panting gasps. Wisps of fair hair framed the soft beauty of a well-pleasured woman. Her eyes were dazed blue pools of desire—but only for a moment.
Then a mask of cool disdain once again smoothed her noble features.
Fumbling with his prayer book, the clergyman concluded the service. No doubt he was accustomed to witnessing more sedate kisses. The civilized kisses of aristocratic couples.
To hell with the aristocracy.
Drake grasped her slender waist. He and Alicia would have no civilized courtship. Their bedsport would be wild, uninhibited, lusty. He was not at all discouraged by her coldness. Whether she would acknowledge so or not, a strong current of passion flowed beneath her serene surface.
We will have a chaste marriage.…
He smiled. How wrong she was. He would have his pleasure of Alicia. He would charm her into his bed and make his claim on her complete and irrevocable. She was his now.
His wife.
Chapter Eight
Her husband.
Descending from the coach with the aid of Drake’s hand, Alicia struggled to assimilate the reality of their marriage. His firm grip threatened her hard-won control. They had ridden together from the church, just the two of them. Determined to appear calm, she’d filled the silence with polite comments on the weather, her mother, the delay in their arrival, anything but the ceremony and that earthshaking kiss. While she’d chatted away, he’d watched her, his eyes a dark, disconcerting blue in the gloomy daylight.
She hadn’t known a kiss could be so private, so intimate. He had invaded her with his tongue. His tongue. And she had enjoyed it.
The daring embraces she’d experienced during her first Season now seemed tame and lackluster, those gentlemen mere schoolboys. Drake Wilder, however, had seen the depths of depravity. He had done acts so wicked she could not even imagine them. In that kiss, he had shown her a glimpse of his erotic skills, subjecting her to an intimacy that stirred a shockingly carnal desire inside her.
No wonder he’d been amused by her naïve attempt at seduction that day at his club. Unknowingly, she had made a fool of herself. Worse, she had underestimated his power over her.
She wouldn’t do so again.
She stepped down onto the wet drive. A freckle-faced footman held an umbrella to keep off the rain. As they walked, Drake’s arm circled her back and his fingers splayed over her hip, as if to claim ownership of her. She would not cause a scene by flinching from him.
His mouth curved into that smile of lethal charm. “Welcome home … Mrs. Wilder.”
Mrs. Wilder.
His keen gaze unnerved her as much as her new status, and she turned away to view Number Ten, Swansdowne Crescent. Her new home was not the vulgar monstrosity she had expected of an upstart gambler. The magnificent four-story house had the fluid grace of a Greek temple. Tall white columns supported the carved pediment of the portico. The many windows shone with a warm golden light, and Alicia seized on the distraction. “Do you always burn so many candles in the middle of the day?”
“It’s a paltry expense.”
“If you’re a spendthrift.”
“Better a spendthrift than a skinflint.” He arched an amused eyebrow. “Besides, if ever I run low, there are always vast funds to be won from aristocratic gentlemen.”
On that outrageous remark, he drew her up the broad marble stairs to the porch. Once they reached the shelter of the overhang, the footman sprang ahead to open the large front door. Alicia slowed her steps, glancing down the drive and past the dark green iron fence with its opened gate. A few pedestrians hurried along the quiet, curved street, their heads bent against the drizzle.
“Mama and Gerald should be arriving soon,” she said.
“Afraid to be alone with me?”
She wouldn’t admit to the grain of truth in that. “I am concerned about their coachman. He seemed a trifle … slow-witted.”
The massive man with the battered face had had an almost vacant look in his beady eyes. He had made several wrong turns on his way to the church, and Gerald had been forced to redirect him.
“Big Bill was once a pugilist, so perchance his brain is rattled.” Under his breath, Drake added, “He should never have taken the reins today.”
“What’s wrong?” she cried out. “If he causes an accident—”
“He won’t,” Drake said, though he flashed a frown at the street. Then his expression smoothed. “Ah, there they are now.”
Moving at a sedate pace, the fine black coach trundled around the far curve of the crescent, with Big Bill hunched on the coachman’s box. Relieved, but still perturbed, Alicia wrinkled her nose. “A prizefighter. Why would you employ such a brute?”
“Ask my steward. He handles the outside staff.” Drake applied pressure to the base of her spine. “Come, they’ll be a few minutes yet. There’s no sense standing out here in the damp.”
The chilly air made her shiver—there could be no other reason for her sudden tremor—and she glided past the liveried footman who held open the door. The soaring beauty of the entrance hall took her breath away. A chandelier sparkled from the high-domed ceiling. The rich brown pillars against the buff-colored walls gave the vast room an understated elegance, while the mahogany chairs and side tables lent an air of comfortable grace.
Hard-pressed not to gawk like a bumpkin, Alicia lowered her gaze and noticed the long line of servants who awaited the customary introduction to their new mistress, the grooms and footmen in dark blue livery with silver buttons, the maids in matching blue gowns with white aprons. The sight brought a measure of calm to her. Before Papa had lost his wealth, she had been trained to oversee a large household. Though her marriage was not the love match she’d once dreamed about, she would make a place for herself here. She would forget her despair in the performance of her duties.…
Realizing that Drake was leading her to the grand staircase, she murmured, “The staff has assembl
ed to meet me.”
His handhold restrained her from veering toward the servants. “That won’t be necessary,” he said in a low-pitched voice.
“Not necessary?”
“You heard me. Wait here.” He strolled toward the group; Alicia ignored his edict and followed him.
At the head of the line stood a stoop-shouldered, elderly man in the garb of a butler, and beside him, a voluptuous, red-haired woman who wore a ring of keys at her waist. In her daringly cut bodice, she looked more like a female of ill repute than a housekeeper.
“You disobeyed my order,” Drake said.
“I tole her you shed not to gather here,” the old man slurred. He blinked his rheumy eyes at the housekeeper. “Din’t I, Yates?”
“Oh, hush up, Chalkers. Everyone will know you’ve been tippling in the cellar again.” Yates smiled coyly at Drake. “We merely thought to offer our congratulations, sir, on your marriage.”
The butler was drunk? Alicia wondered in outraged surprise. And why would Drake permit such a wayward manner in his housekeeper?
She stepped out from behind him. “I should be pleased to meet each and every one of you—”
“No,” Drake said. Raising his voice to address all the servants, he added, “Mrs. Wilder and I thank you very much. You may return to your duties now.”
While Alicia stood rigid with shock, the staff dispersed toward the rear of the house, though a plump, dark-eyed girl continued to gape at the master’s bride until a skinny footman tugged at her arm. Uttering a gasp, she darted away with him, disappearing through a doorway at the end of the corridor.
Alicia rounded on Drake. “For heaven’s sake, I need to learn their names. And to establish my authority here.”
“You’re not to bother with the servants. Mrs. Yates will handle them.”
“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, m
y 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.
