Seduced by a Scoundrel (2 page)

Realizing she was holding her breath, she released it slowly. “The point is, my brother cannot be held liable for a gaming debt. It isn’t legal.”

Wilder’s humor vanished into a calculating look. “Quite so. Yet he is bound by his honor as a gentleman. And he will have nothing left to pay his other creditors. Those debts will land him in prison.”

The weight of that fear threatened to crush Alicia. Only yesterday, the arrival of the bill collectors had alerted her. Bootmakers, tailors, jewelers, and wine merchants had congregated like wolves in the front hall, demanding payment before his lordship settled the gaming notes he had incurred the previous night.

In horror, she had rousted Gerald out of bed and badgered the truth from him. Hanging his head, he admitted to a night of drunken revel. He had wagered their meager savings and gambled funds they did not have. They were destitute.

“Twenty thousand guineas,” she had whispered. “Dear God in heaven, what foolishness possessed you?”

He had regarded her in hollow-eyed despair. “I’ll win back the money, Ali. Just grant me a little time.”

“No! Stay out of the gaming hells. Lest you end up like Papa.”

Gerald had flinched at her harsh words and, taking swift advantage, she had wrested a promise from him to remain at home. Then she had swallowed her pride and gone begging to their acquaintances, but to no avail. The banks, too, had refused to authorize a loan to a woman. She had even visited a moneylender on Threadneedle Street, a wily man with beady eyes who threw her out when she could offer no collateral.

Giving her no choice but to bargain with Drake Wilder.

He lounged against the desk, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. The idle clacking of the dice drew her gaze to his large hands. She wondered how many women had known the touch of those blunt-tipped, masculine fingers. The thought made her quiver with aversion and … something else. Something she didn’t care to examine.

“Have you other family?” he asked.

“My father is dead. My mother is…”—Alicia paused, her throat aching—“unwell.”

“Uncles? Grandparents? A guardian?”

“No one.”

“Then at the ripe old age of twenty-three,
you
are liable for your brother’s debts.”

She had walked straight into his trap. With her eyes open and her resolve set. “Yes, I am. I trust we can work out a plan for repayment.”

“I trust so.”

He didn’t look as though he trusted her; his eyes were impenetrable. For the hundredth time, she did a mental inventory of the town house, already shorn of all but the most shabby of contents. She could sell the furniture in the spare bedchamber and in the drawing room. She could pawn the silver tea service that she’d hidden for just such an emergency. She could take in laundry and sewing.

“I can manage twenty guineas per month,” she said.

Wilder laughed. “At that rate, the debt would take slightly over eighty-three years to repay. Adding in three percent annual interest, you’d be paying forever. You see, twenty guineas per month wouldn’t even touch the principal. You’d go deeper into debt each year. At the end of eighty-three years, you’d still owe the original twenty thousand plus over one hundred thirty four thousand in interest.”

The magnitude of the liability staggered Alicia. She sank onto a leather chair and clenched her fists in her lap. “You must be wrong. You can’t have calculated those figures without pen and paper.”

“When it comes to numbers, I am never wrong.”

Through the flickering firelight, his eyes glinted at her. Predator eyes.

Dear God, help me.

She rose from the chair and took a step toward Wilder. They faced each other like combatants in a boxing ring. A faint smile tilted one corner of his mouth. He seemed to relish her dilemma, but that only fired her resolve.

She could bend him to her will. He was only a man, after all. And men could be manipulated.

Deliberately she relaxed her tense muscles and curved her lips into a cool smile. Then she untied the ribbons beneath her chin and removed her bonnet, letting it drop to the chair behind her. “Perhaps I could interest you in another form of repayment.”

Wilder cocked an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“I am offering to be … your mistress.”

A scowl darkened his face. His fingers closed around the dice until his knuckles showed white. She could have sworn he looked angry, but that made no sense. Bitterly she wondered how else he’d thought she would repay him.

“Do you know the odds of rolling a seven?” he said unexpectedly.

“Sir, I am not a gamester. I truly don’t care—”

“The odds are one in six.” With a lightning-quick motion of his wrist, he tossed the dice into a shallow box on the desk. “Come, see how I fared.”

Wondering at his purpose, she slowly approached him. A lock of black hair dipped onto his brow, enhancing his rakish look. His subtle male scent wrapped around her like a silken noose. Up close, he had an arresting face, a clean-shaven jaw and strong cheekbones, a mouth with a slight sensual curl that made her think of stolen kisses in the darkness.

Alicia blinked down at the black velvet-lined box, where the ivory cubes displayed a two and a five. “A lucky throw,” she murmured, fighting to keep the venom from her voice. If rumor were truth, Drake Wilder had the luck of Lucifer.

He shook his head. “This pair of dice is weighted,” he said, turning one in his long fingers. “A tiny quantity of lead is secreted beneath certain numbers, which causes the die to overbalance and fall to the opposite side. If the dice are thrown just so, the odds of winning greatly increase. Quite handy for the unscrupulous gambler.”

Gripped by angry suspicion, Alicia frowned. “Are you saying … you
cheated
my brother?”

Something hot and frightening flashed in his eyes. It vanished in an instant, leaving a flinty chill. “Hardly. Lord Brockway played the faro table.”

“You could have rigged the game in favor of the house,” she said, unwilling to let go of the notion.

“There is no cheating permitted in my club. These”—he dropped the ivory cubes back into the box—“were taken from a gentleman who disobeyed that rule.”

“Then what is your point?”

“That things are not always as they appear to be.” His eyes sharp and piercing, he lowered his voice to a silken growl. “And
I
am no fool.”

Again, she had the discomfiting urge to step backward, to put a safe distance between them. But that would be tantamount to admitting he held the upper hand. “I never said you were.”

“Yet you expect me to forgive a marker of twenty thousand guineas in exchange for a romp in bed. Either you think me a fool—or you vastly overrate yourself.”

His scorn struck a blow at her confidence. Did he not find her attractive?

He
must.

Drawing on the charm that had once made her a sought-after beauty, Alicia managed a throaty laugh. “Why, you mistake me, Mr. Wilder. I certainly don’t expect to discharge the debt in one night. I’d hoped we could agree upon a mutually satisfactory length of time.”

“Indeed.”

Encouraged that he hadn’t refused outright, she fluttered her lashes like a coquette. “I should think you’d appreciate a woman who would never beg you for trinkets or favors. A lady who knows how to behave discreetly.”

“I might get you with child.”

Alicia controlled a shudder. There was shame in bearing a bastard, yet long ago she had set aside the dream of marriage and family, the tender yearning for children of her own. She had resigned herself to spinsterhood for a reason he couldn’t know.…

Having no other choice, she pushed away that dread. “Then I would care for the child. You need fear no obligation.”

“How considerate of you.”

His face was inscrutable. Her palms damp, she slowly unbuttoned her spencer, slid the short jacket off her shoulders, and let it drop to the chair. “You’ll find me pleasant company,” she murmured. “I’m able to visit you each evening at nine—or later, if you prefer. You have only to agree to the arrangement.”

He glanced coolly at her low-cut bodice. “I can have any woman I want,” he stated. “And there might be value in making a lesson of Lord Brockway. To show others what can happen when their markers are not repaid.”

Alicia bit back a horrified gasp. “No,
please.
It would be a mistake to condemn my brother to prison. He’s prone to lung complaints, and you’ll never get your money if he dies. Besides, I can offer what few women of your acquaintance possess. You see, I—” Aware of a burning in her cheeks, she swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “I am untouched.”

He scanned her shoulders and breasts in a way that made the color rise in her cheeks. “The virgin sacrifice,” he said sardonically. “You would ruin yourself for the sake of your wastrel brother.”

And Mama. Dear sweet Mama.
“Yes,” she whispered.

He sat silent on the edge of the desk, unmoving, and she sensed a moody darkness in him, likely because he felt cheated of his ill-gotten gains. Then his arms lashed out and pulled her closer, trapping her within the prison of his legs. He tunneled his fingers into her blond hair and dislodged a few tortoiseshell pins.

His touch was an invasion that sent chills down her spine. Only by force of will did she manage to stand quietly, aware of the fear and revulsion inside herself, along with an undeniable, shameful attraction.

Though her heart thumped madly, she lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Have we a bargain, then?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On how well you please me.” His fingers commenced a slow assault on her senses, rubbing her scalp ever so lightly. “Show me you’re worth twenty thousand.”

Dear God, he expected
her
to seduce
him.

Aware of a little catch in her throat, Alicia took a steadying breath. The challenge in his eyes mocked her limited experience. How many women had known his caresses? How many had straddled him, naked, in the throes of wantonness?

No. She didn’t want to think about
that.
Instead, she would entice him with a kiss. At one time, men had fought for the chance to claim that rare token of her affections.

She placed her trembling hands on his shoulders, aware of the solid muscles beneath his coat. Ever so slowly, she leaned toward him. Never before had she seen eyes that distinctive shade of dark blue. He was so close she could discern each spiky black lash. In the moment before her lips touched his, she felt the tickling warmth of his breath. Then the taste and scent of him enveloped her, and the firmness of his mouth sent a melting quiver through her limbs.

But he made no move to return the kiss. His hands rested heavily on her shoulders, his thighs exerting a subtle pressure against her legs. She was aware of the impression of strength in him … and jaded indifference.

Determined to make him want her, she slid her hands over his starched cravat and into his hair. The strands sifted through her gloved fingers like thickly spun silken threads. She touched him in light strokes as he had done to her, all the while brushing her closed lips over his. Men liked teasing caresses and quick stolen kisses that made them wild with longing. In her youth, she had lured more than one gentleman into a darkened corner for a few moments of flirtatious kissing. She would torment him until he groveled before her in adoration.

That sense of power flooded her now, though the excitement of it was somehow different, hotter, more intense than with her former suitors. Of course,
they
had been gentlemen. Drake Wilder was a rogue.

His lips moved slightly and her pulse leapt. He was not so impassive; he must be fighting his need to respond. Now was the time to charm him. To make him commit to a brief affair in exchange for canceling the debt.

Lifting her head, Alicia opened her eyes. And blinked.

A grin deepened the dimples on either side of his mouth. Sardonic humor danced in his eyes. “If that’s your best effort,” he said, “my money would be ill spent.”

He was laughing at her! She stiffened. But fear overshadowed all else. “Teach me, then,” she forced out. “I’m willing to learn.”

“No. I prefer an experienced woman in my bed.”

So that was that. He would let her brother be sent to prison. He would condemn her mother to an even more hideous fate. Alicia felt ill from the terror of failure. She could plead with him, but his contemptuous expression told her it would be useless. She could appeal to his humanity, but he was a cold, cruel man who knew nothing of kindness. She could rage at him, but all she had left was her dignity.

A bitter taste in her mouth, she took a step backward. “You have proven one fact, Mr. Wilder. That wealth will never make you a gentleman.”

She turned to leave, but his fingers closed as tightly as manacles around her wrist. His expression was rigid, his cheekbones prominent in his despicably handsome face. “Now, there you’re wrong,” he said with soft-spoken menace. “Wealth
will
enable me to take a place in your exalted circle.”

“If this is another attempt to mock me—”

“I’ve decided to forgive your brother’s debt, after all.” He silenced her with an intense, calculating stare. “On one condition.”

She hated him for resurrecting her hopes. “What? What is it?”

“The condition, my lady, is that you marry me.”

Chapter Two

He watched her as he had done for weeks.

Standing at the window of his office, Drake held back the heavy velvet drapery and peered down at the sunny street below. He paid no heed to the fine carriages that rattled over the cobblestones, the elegant buildings made of Portland stone, the columned facade of White’s Club at the top of St. James’s Street. His attention was fixed on one pedestrian.

Her head held high, Lady Alicia Pemberton left through the front gate and walked at a stately pace past the wrought-iron fence in front of his club. The spring breeze fluttered the white feathers on her bonnet and molded her gown to her curves. He knew the softness of those curves pressed against him, the warm silken skin of her neck and shoulders, her subtle scent of roses. Even now, the memory of her untutored kiss aroused him.