Seduced by a Scoundrel

by Olivia Drake

  Obediently, the four-year-old bent at the waist, one small arm clasped to his front, the other in back.

  Alicia walked forward and curtsied to him, holding the pose for a moment so that she could look into his sober brown eyes. “Your Grace,” she said. “I am Lady Alicia, your Mama’s friend. I do hope we can become friends, too.”

  Saying nothing, he lowered his gaze to his polished black shoes.

  “I’m sure he is delighted to meet you,” Sarah said quickly. “It is just that … he isn’t easy with strangers. Since his father’s passing, we’ve not gone out much.”

  Alicia’s heart ached for him. This past week, Sarah had made excuses for not introducing him, saying he was at his lessons or taking a nap. She had been protecting the timid boy, Alicia realized. Aside from his mother and the nursery staff, William would encounter few other people. It must be difficult for an only child to lose his father, however negligent Featherstone had been. And it would be daunting for one so young to shoulder the position of a duke.

  “Perhaps we might go on a picnic sometime with your mama,” she suggested. “Would you like that?”

  William lifted his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug.

  “If you were to fashion a little boat,” Drake said, “I daresay we could find a pond on which to sail it.”

  Alicia rose quickly to her feet. She hadn’t realized he stood behind her. But his attention wasn’t on her; he watched William.

  William watched the floor.

  “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Wilder,” Sarah said with a concerned glance at her son. “But really I wouldn’t dream of troubling you—either of you.”

  “It’s no trouble,” Drake said. He hunkered down in front of William. “Perhaps you would prefer a visit to the circus to see the acrobats, the clowns, the trapeze artists. There is even a magician who can perform the most amazing tricks.”

  The boy slid a cautiously interested glance at him.

  “What’s this?” Drake reached behind William’s ear and produced a sparkling guinea. “I think you must wash better behind your ears.”

  William’s eyes rounded. Almost reverently, he took the gold coin, turning it over and over as if to discover its secret. “Please, sir, how did you do that?”

  “Magic. Shall I make it disappear again?”

  William gave a vigorous nod.

  Drake placed the guinea in one palm, closed his fingers into a fist, and turned it over. He tapped the back of his hand and paused for dramatic effect. When he opened his palm, the coin was gone.

  William crowed with delight.

  Sarah stood watching, smiling, as Drake performed his sleight of hand again, and Alicia was amazed not so much by the street urchin’s trick as by his willingness to entertain a little boy. It was a side she had never seen of him—nor would have believed he possessed if she weren’t witnessing it right now. Had he ever wanted children of his own? Had he felt the same longing for a family that she had once felt, before Mama had taken ill?

  She shook off the intrusive questions. Marriage served only one purpose for him—to satisfy his social-climbing ambitions. Besides, she had sworn to deny him his rights as a husband, and for a reason aside from his unsuitable character. It was best that she never bear children. No matter how much she craved a son or daughter to love, she must not risk having a child who might inherit Mama’s weakness of mind.

  And yet as they left for the party, her heart still ached for the girl who had dreamed of love and a family of her own.

  * * *

  “Gerald?” Alicia said in astonishment.

  Stopping with Drake and Sarah on the steps to the Cuthberts’ stone mansion, she stared at her brother. He rode on horseback, bypassing the long procession of carriages waiting to discharge their noble occupants. Strains of music drifted from inside the house, and the torches along the drive cast a golden glow over the young earl. Looking uncommonly smart in a peacock-green coat and yellow knee breeches, he swung down from his mount and handed the reins to a waiting groom.

  “Let’s hope no one tosses a tomato at me for cutting in line,” he said, grinning as he made a bow to the ladies. “Ali. And Your Grace of Featherstone, is it?”

  “Why, is this the little brat who dared to spy on his sister and her friend?” Sarah said, her eyes glinting in the torchlight. “I daresay you’ve grown a bit since then.”

  “Tell that to Ali,” Gerald said on a dramatic sigh. “She would have me still confined to the nursery, well away from this glorious event.”

  Alicia barely heard their exchange. Her gaze was fixed on the sleek reddish mare that a groom led away by the reins.

  Heedless of the scandalous stares from the arriving guests, she picked up her hem and dashed after the groom. She took hold of the bridle and stroked the horse’s neck. Those liquid brown eyes held a spark of recognition, and the velvety mouth nuzzled her, looking for a treat. “Pet,” Alicia murmured. “I’m so happy to see you again.”

  Dazed with delight, she returned to her party. “Oh, Ger. You didn’t tell me about Pet. However did you manage to get her back?”

  Her brother shrugged. “The feisty old girl kept tossing Chesterfield. So I persuaded him to give her up.”

  “You returned the two hundred guineas?”

  “More or less.”

  The answer might have satisfied her had she not intercepted a telling glance between the two men. Then Drake turned to her. “Come,” he said. “There’ll be time later to chat.”

  Prodded by suspicion, Alicia took his arm as they joined the elegant throng gliding up the steps. Gerald and Sarah led the way through the opened front doors, past the poker-stiff footmen standing at attention, and into an enormous entrance hall crowded with guests. They joined a receiving line wending toward their host and hostess, who were stationed by the grand staircase.

  A multifacted crystal chandelier sparkled like a thousand stars. Enormous vases of lilies perfumed the air. The hum of genteel conversation echoed to the vaulted ceiling. Sarah and Gerald walked ahead, engrossed in teasing each other like brother and sister.

  Alicia seized the chance to interrogate her husband. “Tell me,” she murmured for his ears alone. “Have you encouraged Gerald to gamble again?”

  He raised an eyebrow in the perfect imitation of innocence. “Of course I haven’t.”

  “Well, I don’t believe for a moment that Viscount Chesterfield would give up Pet unless it was worth his while. He’s coveted the mare for years. So where did Gerald procure the additional funds?”

  Drake shrugged. “I heard he found employment.”

  “Fiddle-faddle,” she said under her breath, fixing a smile on her face for the benefit of anyone who might be watching. Gerald claimed to have procured a post in a financial institution, but he had refused to elaborate. She suspected he was too proud to admit he labored for a pittance as a lowly bank clerk. “He cannot squander two hundred guineas on a horse. How will he pay his bills?”

  “You needn’t mollycoddle him. That is his concern, not yours.”

  “It is my concern,” she hissed. “He’s my brother. Not that you could ever understand the close ties of family.”

  The moment the words were out, she regretted that last remark. It was unkind and uncivil. Regardless of Drake’s provocation.

  An unreadable darkness flickered in his eyes. “I’ll tell you, then,” he said, crowding closer to her, “if only to cease your badgering. I gave him the funds.” He bared his teeth in a smile. “So that no one would think ill of me for allowing my brother-in-law to go about London on foot.”

  His nearness raised the fine hairs on Alicia’s skin. She shouldn’t feel this softening toward him; she should be affronted that he’d further indebted her to him. By his own admission, he had acted for a selfish purpose. Money had paved his path to respectability, and he would have the nobility believe him a gentleman.

  Yet … he had given a wonderful gift to Gerald. And not just any horse. He had purchased the prize mare
that her brother had raised from a filly.

  Before she could sort through her confusion, Sarah turned, her eyes flashing with determined gaiety. “Make ready,” she whispered. “The fun is about to begin.”

  Alicia’s palms felt damp inside the white kidskin gloves. Already, she noticed the stares, some hostile, others merely curious. She assured herself that few would recognize a young lady among so many others making their come-out five years ago. Yet some women were putting their heads close, raising their fans to hide their scandalized whispering. One lady turned to her neighbor, then another and another as the news spread.

  They reached the stairway, where a rather stout lady in pink silk curtsied to Sarah. “Your Grace, you honor us. Your first appearance in society since your untimely loss.”

  Sarah acknowledged her with a regal nod. “Lady Cuthbert, allow me to introduce my guests. My dearest friend, Lady Alicia Pemberton, now Mrs. Wilder. And her husband, Mr. Drake Wilder.”

  Lady Cuthbert’s fawning smile sagged. Swaying as if on the verge of a swoon, she raised her jeweled lorgnette, and the circles of glass magnified her eyes into huge brown orbs. “The Wilders? Here?” she said faintly. “Good gracious. I—I don’t know what to say.…”

  Her teeth gritted, Alicia dipped the obligatory curtsy. “You might say you are delighted to have us as your guests—”

  “We are delighted,” Drake broke in. He kissed Lady Cuthbert’s plump hand and gazed into her enlarged eyes. “You are a saint for braving the scandal, a woman of open mind and warm heart. People will admire your generosity of spirit.”

  Looking rather dazed, she lowered the lorgnette. “Oh … do you really think so?”

  “Without a doubt, my lady. You are kindness personified.”

  While she blushed and blustered, they moved on to his lordship, a creaky old gentleman who cupped his ear as if he couldn’t quite make out their names. “Carry on, carry on,” he said, waving them past.

  Then they were walking up the broad, curving staircase to the reception rooms, Alicia on one side of Drake, Sarah on the other. Gerald had gone ahead to greet a friend.

  Sarah’s eyes sparkled. “There,” she whispered, “I knew we had a chance to get past the Cuthberts. But I didn’t realize it would be so simple. Mr. Wilder, I do believe you could charm the stripes off a tiger.”

  He graced her with that devil-may-care grin. “I far prefer to charm the ladies.”

  “I can see that,” she said tartly.

  With a wary smile, the duchess gazed at him as if only just realizing his attractiveness. A pair of young ladies glided by, casting coy, appreciative glances.

  A fierce heat twisted in Alicia. It was mostly irritation at Drake for his effect on women—but also resentment of Sarah, too. Mortified, Alicia realized she was jealous. Jealous. She might have once lost a suitor to Sarah, but it was unworthy even to think that her dearest friend could have designs on Drake. Or that she herself could care!

  They strolled through the crush, Sarah introducing them to anyone she could corner, blatantly using her exalted position to quell any snubs. Drake knew some of the gentlemen by name, presumably from his club. More than one gave him a wary nod or a surprised greeting. And of course Alicia encountered former acquaintances, too. Some acted friendly, others seemed embarrassed, and a few turned away, pretending not to recognize her. She held her chin high, determined to appear the picture of serenity.

  In the ballroom, the guests mingled near the dance floor, waiting for the first set. Their conversation and laughter made a pleasant buzz in the long room with its high, gilded ceiling. The mirrored walls reflected the dazzling brilliance of the chandeliers.

  Sarah had excused herself to chat with an acquaintance. Leaning against a pillar festooned with gold ribbons, Drake watched the crowd. Despite his casual stance, he appeared alert, almost tense in a way that puzzled Alicia. Was he looking for someone in particular? Before she could ask, a man sauntered toward them.

  A thatch of muddy-brown curls capped his long-nosed features, and a dark burgundy coat with gold buttons topped a green waistcoat and tan breeches. “Wilder,” he said with a sniff. “Haven’t you toddled into the wrong place tonight? This is a party for respectable folk.”

  “If respectable is the measure of a man, Mountjoy, I must question your presence, as well.”

  Those thin lips curled. He focused his pale eyes on Alicia. “I understand this is the new Mrs. Wilder?”

  She remembered Baron Mountjoy. Long ago, when she was still in the schoolroom, his mother had befriended Mama, dropping hints about a match between their families, though even then, Alicia had never liked his shallow pretensions. Politely, she said, “My lord. What a pleasure to see you again. Is your mother well?”

  “Quite so. She is visiting with the Marchioness of Bancroft.” He inclined his head toward a grouping of gilt chairs occupied by the matrons of society.

  “If you will excuse me, I must pay my respects to her.”

  She took a step. He neatly blocked her path, regarding her and Drake with an almost triumphant conceit. “Spare yourself the humiliation. She would never acknowledge you.”

  Alicia held on to her smile. “Surely she can accept my marriage for the sake of an old family friendship.”

  “Ah, but it is more than your unfortunate marriage—far more.” He gave a nasty chuckle. “There is also the matter of your mother. She has … how shall I say it? Bats in her belfry.”

  The breath left Alicia’s lungs. The music faded to a dull echo. Before the heat of rage could unfreeze her tongue, Drake took hold of Mountjoy’s arm. Only Alicia was near enough to discern the pressure of that grip, to see the baron’s face whiten.

  “Apologize to the lady,” Drake said in a pleasant tone.

  “You … oaf…”

  Drake’s fingers moved slightly, squeezing all the tighter. “I’m waiting.”

  Mountjoy’s desperate gaze flashed to Alicia. He babbled, “F—forgive me, my lady. I spoke out of turn.”

  Drake released him. “Not very prettily done, but we’ll overlook your lack of manners.”

  Mountjoy rubbed his arm. “How dare you,” he whined. “You nearly broke a bone.”

  “A pity I didn’t. One must behave oneself when out in public.”

  The two men exchanged a look, Mountjoy glaring, Drake unsmiling. With a huff of contempt, the baron turned on his heel.

  “I haven’t yet dismissed you,” Drake said in a low-pitched voice.

  The nobleman glanced over his shoulder. “Do not speak as if you have any rights over me—”

  “I expect your vowels to be paid in full. Tomorrow.”

  That narrow face grew even paler. “Cad! You agreed to wait. You know I haven’t the funds till next quarter—”

  “Tomorrow,” Drake repeated in that firm, civil tone.

  Mountjoy’s thin lips opened and shut; then he slunk away, disappearing into the throng of people.

  Alicia fought the unladylike urge to gloat. She shouldn’t be glad he owed Drake a gambling debt. She shouldn’t rejoice to see another person defeated. It wasn’t charitable of her. But he had voiced the one insult she had feared to hear tonight.

  “He has no right to mock Mama,” she said murderously. “Even in a fit of madness, she is far sweeter and more genteel than he or his mother could ever hope to be.”

  Large and comforting, his hand settled at the back of her waist. “Don’t give Mountjoy another thought. He is a pompous ass.”

  “He is a prune-faced weasel,” she corrected, seeking a more demeaning image.

  “A hen-hearted coxcomb,” Drake offered.

  “A ham-fisted clodpate.”

  “A brainless sapskull.”

  “A pudding-headed” —she scoured her mind for another slur—“nincompoop.”

  Drake chuckled, his fingers stroking lightly over her back. “Running out of insults, are you? I never thought to see the moment.”

  She tried to hold on to her anger. But his eyes
crinkled at the corners and his dimples carved an attractive humor into his rogue’s face. A smile nudged at her mouth; then she laughed so gaily that a cluster of ladies aimed outraged glares at them.

  Alicia didn’t care. Let the ton spread their petty gossip. They wouldn’t dampen her spirits tonight.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. Then, lest he think she needed him to fight her battles, she added, “For defending Mama.”

  “I did it for you.”

  Her heart gave a little jump, and she had to remind herself not to trust that lazy smile of his. He was more interested in fighting for his own respect than for hers. Still, his protectiveness pleased her somehow.

  She felt suddenly alive, her senses attuned to the magic of the night. In the candlelight, the ballroom glowed like a fairyland. The orchestra played softly, though the dancing had not yet begun. The tension weighing on Alicia lightened and lifted, floating away on the lovely notes. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much she had missed going to parties. Their penury and Mama’s illness had required her to remain at home, though she had done so as much out of love as necessity.

  But tonight she could revel in the festivities, and oh, she might dance again. The hours ahead stretched out like a sparkling strand of diamonds. With the toe of her slipper, she tapped out a rhythm on the polished parquet floor.

  She noticed Drake scanning the assemblage again. His gaze moved in a slow, systematic survey; then he watched the door for new arrivals. His vigilant manner piqued her curiosity. For a man who had plotted so nefariously to raise his social consequence, he didn’t seem inclined to mingle with the nobility.

  “Are you looking for someone?” she asked.

  “Anyone in skirts.” On that outrageous remark, he lifted two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing footman and handed one to her. “However, you’ll be pleased to hear you are the belle of the ball.”

  It was the second time tonight he’d flattered her, and just as with the first, an insidious softening swept her body. “Save your charm for someone more gullible,” she said, taking a sip from her glass. The sparkling wine slid down her throat in a burst of tiny bubbles, and she released an involuntary sigh of pleasure. “Mmm.”