Seduced by a Scoundrel Page 4

  She might have taken Mama in the back way, except they lived in the middle of the block, and it would mean walking the gauntlet of busybodies down the street, around the corner, and through the mews. She would rather spirit Mama inside quickly without subjecting her to another hurtful snub.

  Crossing the busy street, she kept an arm around her mother’s girlishly slender waist. Lady Eleanor hummed a tuneless ditty and half skipped over the hard cobbles. The basket of flowers swung from her hand, and her bare toes kicked up her hem. Lost in her own world, she didn’t notice the neighbors gawking from windows and door stoops.

  And just as well, Alicia thought, her chin held high. She couldn’t bear it if Mama comprehended the fear and loathing her madness inspired. Better she stay indoors, protected within the warm circle of family.

  Unfortunately, she had a habit of wandering off if she wasn’t watched every minute.

  They skirted around behind the coach, its windows transformed to mirrors by the sunlight. No insignia marked the black lacquered door. A trace of expensive leather underlay the more common smell of horses. The stone-faced coachman did not so much as glance at her.

  She had just placed her foot on the first step leading to the porch when she heard the carriage door open behind her. Blast. Moving in front of her mother, Alicia fabricated a polite smile and swung around to ward off the visitor. She would inform him that her brother had not yet returned from Tattersall’s. The dandy would scuttle off posthaste—

  Her diplomatic plan died a quick death as a tall man emerged from the coach. A comma of black hair lay on his broad brow, and his keen blue eyes glittered at her in the sunlight. The fine black suit and silver waistcoat might have marked him a gentleman, but Alicia wasn’t fooled by costly trappings.

  She saw the devil in Drake Wilder.

  Like Lucifer’s gift to womankind, he sauntered toward them. The promise of sin lay in that lean, muscled physique and the sensual slant of his mouth. The sight made her heart beat faster—only because he reminded her of that mortifying kiss. And the horrid fact that she owed him twenty thousand guineas.

  Had he come to pressure her for payment? To push his unthinkable proposal on her?

  Even that possibility fell secondary to the chance that he might poke fun at Mama. She could hear her mother humming softly behind her, could feel the brush of her skirts as she swayed in time to the imaginary music in her head.

  Thankfully, Wilder kept his gaze on Alicia as he took her work-roughened hand in his. Unlike Hailstock, he wore no gloves, and his firm grip encircled her cold fingers with a hellish heat. “My lady. How good to see you again.”

  “Mr. Wilder. You are not welcome here.”

  “Still fretting over that kiss, I see.”

  His eyes laughed at her. Before she could retort, he brought her hand to his lips. The caress of his breath sent a wicked warmth cascading through her insides. It was anger, she told herself. He had toyed with her, letting her make a dolt of herself, and that was not an experience she’d often faced.

  She snatched back her hand. “I never fret,” she said in a frosty voice. “And I’m not receiving visitors at the moment. If you will excuse me.”

  Intent on getting her mother into the house, she turned her back on him. Lady Eleanor chose that moment to peek past Alicia and chirp, “’Ello, sir. Would ye care to buy a posy fer yer sweet’eart?”

  He shifted his attention to her, one of his dark brows lifting as she held forth her basket of bent, bedraggled blooms. Dear God. Alicia prayed he didn’t realize he was gazing at the dowager countess.

  Her hopes were dashed in the very next moment. “Lady Brockway, I presume,” he murmured. “I can see where Alicia gets her beauty.”

  “Alicia?” She blinked, her fair brows drawing together in a wistful frown. “I once knew a girl named Alicia. A right pretty little girl she was.”

  Before he could recoil or make a cutting remark, Alicia slid a sheltering hand around her mother’s back. She urged her up the short flight of steps toward the haven of the house. “Never mind him. He really isn’t interested. Now come, I’ve tuppence for you, remember?”

  “Not interested, bosh.” Stopping on the porch, Lady Eleanor smiled innocently at Wilder from beneath her wide-brimmed hat. “Surely such a ’andsome gent ’as a girl to woo. An’ no better way than with flowers.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama, he was just leaving. And so are we—”

  “Wait. I do indeed wish to make a purchase.” In two quick strides, Drake Wilder cleared the four steps to the porch and blocked their path to the front door. He dipped a courtly bow to Lady Eleanor. “Would you be so good as to show me your wares?”

  “Certainly, kind sir.” Giggling, she lifted the basket of flowers for his inspection. “Take all the time ye likes.”

  Alicia watched, tense and wary, ready to stop him if he dared to mock her mother. She would feel no qualm about slapping that too-handsome face. Or poking her elbow into that flat stomach. Or shoving those wide, muscled shoulders aside so that she could whisk her mother inside and lock the door. She would not feel safe until then.…

  “Ye must pick the prettiest nosegay. What of this one?” Lady Eleanor fished out a rather limp bunch of crocuses. “Ye’ll want only the best fer the lady of yer choice.”

  “Quite so.” He lifted his sardonic gaze to Alicia.

  Her skin prickled from the force of that masculine stare. She could feel her breasts tightening, her belly clenching, her legs weakening. Looking into his eyes gave her an elemental awareness of him as a man … and herself as a woman. This scoundrel wished to marry her. To use her as a stepping stone to the inner circle of society. And to take her to his bed. Her gaze focused on his beautiful mouth with its appealing half-smile, the dimples deep and tempting.…

  Resenting his effect on her, she curled her fingers around her own posy. “Make your choice and be gone.”

  Slipping forefinger and thumb into an inner pocket of his coat, Wilder drew out a gold guinea, which he presented to Lady Eleanor. “I’ll buy the whole lot,” he drawled. “This should more than cover the price.”

  As Alicia gaped in amazement, he scooped up every last one of the blooms. Yellow, white, pink, purple, the flowers drooped in his big hands, the daffodils brushing golden pollen on the sleeve of his dark coat. Heedless, he presented the bouquet to her. “For you, the lady of my heart.”

  Flabbergasted, Alicia caught the flowers against her bosom, drenching herself in rich scent. Her voice deserted her. What nefarious purpose had prompted his flamboyant gesture? There had to be a catch; there always was with a man like Drake Wilder. In a moment he would make his cruelly scathing remarks. He would ridicule her mother until she wept.

  Lady Eleanor clapped her hands. The empty basket swung from the crook of her arm, the gold coin glinting among a few bruised petals. “Ah, she’s a pretty one. And sweet-tempered, too.”

  “Mmm.” Mockery glinting in his eyes, he made a noncommittal sound in his throat. “We are a fine couple. A perfect match.”

  “Aye,” she said, regarding them fondly, her small hands folded beneath her chin. “’Tis like a romantic tale of yore.”

  “I’m glad we have your approval.” In a swift move, he caught Alicia to his side, his hand firm and warm at her waist, trapping her to his hard body. Her arms were so full of flowers that she couldn’t push him away. “From the moment we met, I knew we were destined to wed.”

  He had the audacity to wink at Alicia. As if she were a willing party to duping her mother.

  She should spit in his diabolically handsome face. She despised the way he held her, as if she were his possession, won at a roll of the dice. Yet he had made Mama smile, and a curious tenderness tugged at Alicia’s heart, an involuntary softening that stole the edge off her anger. Had he not clasped her so closely, she might have wilted like the blossoms crushed to her bosom.

  The rogue. This charm was all an act, his way of trifling with women. He didn’t care about Mama; he wo
uld want to cast her into Bedlam Hospital when he was done teasing her. That horrifying thought shook Alicia into action.

  She shouldered herself free of him. “Come,” she told her mother. “You must help me arrange these flowers in water.”

  Lady Eleanor giggled like a girl when Wilder opened the door and politely assisted her into the foyer. Alicia kept a sharp eye on him, alert for any sign of derision, the contempt she herself had witnessed in him. But he showed her mother only a courteous regard, advising her to watch her step and complimenting her on her extravagant hat.

  Mrs. Molesworth came trotting down the dim corridor. “M’lady! You gave us all a start!” She aimed a puzzled glower at Drake Wilder.

  She clearly didn’t realize his identity, and Alicia wasn’t about to enlighten her. Not wanting her house made into a battleground, she discreetly shook her head. He would be gone from here as soon as he realized that no matter how steep her debt to him, he could not use her family as playthings for his amusement.

  Alicia went to her mother and deposited the cuttings back in the basket. “You’ll need a vase,” she said, slapping the pollen off her hands. “Will you take her to the kitchen, please?”

  The cook gave a brisk nod and guided Lady Eleanor down the passageway. Mama’s excited voice drifted back to them. “Look!” she said, rummaging in the bottom of the basket. “I’ve a guinea! From that well-mannered gent. I do believe ’e’s in love with ’er.”

  Alicia’s face flushed hotly. Conscious of Wilder standing behind her, she held herself with ladylike dignity. To her relief, Mrs. Molesworth only smiled at Mama’s ramblings, and the pair disappeared through the doorway that led to the basement stairs.

  Anxious to evict Wilder, she whirled back toward him. The tart dismissal withered on her tongue. He wasn’t there. Sunlight through the long window poured a thick golden bar on the empty marble floor.

  She hadn’t even heard him move.

  Then she spied him in the library, examining the few remaining books on the mostly bare shelves. Heels clicking, she marched into the bleak chamber where, in her father’s day, comfortable leather chairs and bound volumes had scented the air. Now the furniture was gone and not even a fire crackled on the hearth to lend a little cheer. In spite of the dangerous circumstances, she felt a little clutch of nostalgia in her breast.

  “Mr. Wilder, I must ask you to leave. Immediately.”

  She might have been talking to the empty bookcases. He was scanning an old text, his face intent as he turned the pages. “A rare copy of Plutarch’s Moralia. By God, I looked all over Rome for this.”

  He read ancient Latin? She tamped down her surprise. So what if he’d been educated? That had no bearing on his unwelcome presence here. “Put the book back,” she said sharply. “And next time you wish to speak to me, kindly send a note. I would prefer that our discussions take place anywhere but here.”

  “I’d like to add this to my collection,” he said absently, not lifting his gaze from the book. “Name your price.”

  “It’s yours—for twenty thousand guineas.”

  That caught his attention, and he bared his white teeth in a grin. “Clever lady. But I believe I’ll pass.”

  He shut the volume and replaced it on the shelf. Thrusting back his dark coat, he stood studying her. The shadows from the closed wooden blinds fell across his face and lent him a sinister cast. With the tip of her tongue, she moistened her dry lips. It was uncanny how he could focus his attention, his eyes burning into her, as if he could strip her bare, body and soul.

  “I’ve twenty-three guineas for you,” she stated. “Though of course you’ll wish to deduct the one you gave to my mother.”

  “Nonsense. It was my gift to her.”

  “The dowager Countess of Brockway is not a beggar. She doesn’t require your charity.”

  He cocked a lazy eyebrow, as if he were amused by her tart-tongued pride. Then he strolled toward Alicia, his every movement a study in masculine grace. His polished black shoes made only the slightest sound on the uncarpeted floor.

  She would not flee, though her pulse sped and her palms dampened. Conscious of the silent, empty house, she held her place just inside the doorway of the library. Not even a clock ticked; the ormolu one from the drawing room had been sold along with the other furnishings.

  He stopped mere inches away. She gritted her teeth to keep from flinching. She would show no fear to this knave.

  His fingertips brushed lightly over her bare throat and down to her bodice. The caress sparked a path over her skin, and in utter disregard of her resolve, she pressed backward, her spine meeting the hard shelves. “Churl! Don’t touch me.”

  His mouth formed that breath-stealing pirate’s smile. “Crosspatch,” he countered, holding up a lavender strip between his fingers. “There was merely a petal clinging to”—his gaze flitted to her bosom—“you.”

  His eyes an unfathomable blue, he lifted the petal to his nose and inhaled deeply. A river of heat coursed through her breasts, settling low in her belly. She had the disturbing impression that he wanted to smell the fragrance of her flesh rather than the ruined blossom.

  “You needn’t look so alarmed,” he said in a voice as smooth as honey. “I haven’t come here to seduce you.”

  Did he think her a fool, to trust him? “State your business and be gone. I’ll not have my mother upset when she finds out who you really are.”

  “Empty words. I’ll wager she hasn’t the least notion of your brother’s folly. You certainly wouldn’t tell her.”

  Despising his astuteness, Alicia gripped the sturdy wooden shelf behind her. “Nor will you. I’ll not have you anywhere near this house.”

  A hint of impatience tightened his mouth. “I see no sport in badgering your mother.”

  “Given half a chance, you’ll sneer at her. I know your sort. You pretend to humor her, and all the while you’re laughing up your sleeve.”

  “I’m not like those who taunt what they don’t understand.”

  “And you understand her? Tell me, why would you show true kindness to her? Give me one good reason.”

  He shrugged, his face moody. “My mother was an actress,” he said, turning away to prowl the room. “While she was learning her parts, she often played the roles with me. She might be anyone from Hamlet’s Ophelia to Mary, Queen of Scots.” Taking a stance at the ivory marble mantelpiece, he added, “So you see, this pretending that other people find odd seems quite ordinary to me. Now, do you want to mock me and my mother?”

  Alicia shook her head, intrigued by the insight into his past. Against her will, she pictured him as a little dark-haired boy, trading lines with his costumed mother. How strange to see the similarity to Mama, who dressed as a flower-seller or Cleopatra or whomever else struck her mad fancy.

  Alicia deliberately broke the thread of connection to him. His mother had been sane. She knew she was portraying a character.

  “Does she still act in the theater?” Alicia found herself asking.

  “She’s dead.” His tone was hard, shutting the door on the past. “But enough about me. I’ve come to talk about us.”

  Us. She shuddered inwardly at the way he coupled them together. In a tumble of words, she said, “I’ll have more funds for you soon. My brother is selling Pet.”

  “Pet?”

  “His mare.” Her voice threatened to choke, but she relentlessly cleared her throat. “So you see, we are making every attempt to repay you.”

  Wilder laughed. “Even the finest horse will fetch only a fraction of the money.”

  “It will have to do for now.” She swallowed, then took a sustaining breath. “Unless you will reconsider my proposal … to be your mistress.”

  Even across the width of the library, his stare was fierce. “You know what I want, my lady. Your hand in marriage.”

  Oh, dear God, not that. Anything but that. “You ask the impossible.”

  “If it’s Lady Brockway who concerns you, I’m willing to allo
w her to live with us.” His face took on that calculating intensity. “Don’t forget—we have her blessing.”

  She hated him in that moment. She hated him for the flash of hope in her, and for the way he had led her mother down a garden path of lies. She couldn’t trust him; she daren’t trust him. It made her ill to think of giving such a man the rights of a husband. He was a smooth-talking gambler who lured the unwary into a false belief in their own infallibility. Papa had fallen prey to such men, and now Gerald … gullible, gawky Gerald, who might die if he were condemned to a damp prison cell.

  But she would fight Wilder on that. He couldn’t take everything. At least they had a home, bought and paid for long ago, a sanctuary for Mama.

  “I’ll take out a mortgage on the house,” she said recklessly. “There will be enough to settle the debt.”

  “I’m afraid that is out of the question,” Wilder said.

  Reaching inside his coat, he withdrew a folded piece of parchment and held it out to her. He clearly expected her to come to him and take it. She considered standing her ground, winning this play of power. But if that paper concerned the debt, she had to know.…

  Shoulders squared, Alicia walked slowly toward him. Those watchful eyes took in her every step. He frightened her; she could admit that to herself. But she refused to let him see.

  Their fingers brushed as she took the paper. Despite her frisson of awareness, she forced herself to move deliberately, to open the vellum as she headed to a nearby window, where a sliver of light illuminated the scrawling black penmanship. Gerald’s handwriting, affixed to a legal document. As she absorbed the words, horror crept in a stranglehold around her heart.

  It was the deed to their house. And it had been signed over to one Drake Wilder.

  Chapter Four

  “I own this house now.”

  That supremely satisfied voice echoed as if through a long tunnel. Alicia was aware of the window frame biting into her upper arm. The dust motes dancing in a knife blade of sunshine. The deed quaking in her cold fingertips.