Seduced by a Scoundrel (25 page)

“Nay, the earl isna here for his own indulgence.” MacAllister gestured in the direction of the main rooms at the front of the building. “He’s here to save those auld fools out there from ruin.”

“I don’t understand.”

“His duty, m’lady, is to watch over the tables, to make certain no one wagers beyond his means. Ye must ken, the master canna abide the notion of penniless wives and starving bairns.”

Disbelieving, Alicia stared into his weathered face. “Drake was certainly willing to let
my
family starve. He stole the very roof over our heads. He forced me to marry him.”

“Aye, that he did.” Avoiding her eyes, MacAllister squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “He’s a hard man at times. But dinna fret. He has a softness well hidden inside him. In time, he’ll come to love ye.”

Love.
That was the second time the servant had used the unthinkable word. Clearly, he overlooked the fact that she had been Drake’s stepping stone into society. Drake had wanted a noble wife, and he had stopped at nothing to achieve his purpose. And if gentlemen could not play beyond their means in this club, that meant that Drake had coldly and deliberately beggared Gerald. He had turned her life upside down by forcing her into marriage. The thought caused an icy shiver around her heart.

So how could she still feel such a yearning inside her? Why did she long to lie in his arms again, to feel the hard weight of his body on hers? Why did she ache to hear him whisper words of love?

She must not soften toward him again. Yet if she could believe MacAllister, Drake had offered her brother a worthy role. He had given Gerald the chance to redeem himself. And she couldn’t overlook the fact that Drake directed at least a portion of his illicit profits to aiding those in need. It pained her to admit that her husband did far more to help the indigent than she did.

So who was she to think herself better than him?

Yet who was he to reorder her life? To risk her brother’s life?

Back and forth, her thoughts tumbled until she wanted to scream with frustration. Granted, Drake did have a core of decency. But he wielded too much influence over Gerald. She shuddered to think of her brother anywhere near a betting table. If he were to end up like Papa …

The freckle-faced footman trotted in with a tea tray, setting it on the table before scurrying out again. MacAllister closed his massive paw around the delicate porcelain pot and poured the steaming liquid into a cup. “Here’s a wee cuppy fer ye, m’lady.”

“A cuppy,” she said faintly. “So that’s what you meant.”

Taking the cup from him, she attempted a mannerly smile, but a sob choked out instead. To her chagrin, tears blurred her eyes again.

MacAllister groped in his pocket for a folded handkerchief. “Dinna weep, lass. I didna mean to distress ye.”

He looked so alarmed, Alicia couldn’t help laughing through her tears. “You’ve been more than kind,” she told him. “It’s just that … I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

But she did know. And his name was Drake Wilder.

*   *   *

Women were barred from the exclusive rooms of the club, where gentlemen dined and wagered and drank in an atmosphere of opulent splendor. So when Alicia finished her tea, Fergus MacAllister sent Gerald back to the servants’ hall. Her brother sheepishly apologized for misleading her.

“I’ve touched neither dice nor cards, I swear it.” He drew himself upright, his thin shoulders squared beneath his peacock-green coat. “I’m far too busy prowling the floor, watching so that no one plays deeper than his means. Already I’ve kept Lord Witherspoon from wagering away his sister’s marriage portion. And Captain Lord Rogers would’ve been done up if he’d lost at hazard.”

“That is all fine and good, but let someone else do the job. I cannot approve of you being here.” Her throat tight, she touched his sleeve. “You know why.”

He glanced away, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the white cravat. Then he returned his determined gaze to her. “I am not like Papa. And I have to stay, Ali. Don’t you see? I must keep other coves from ruining their families as I did.”

His altruistic purpose filled her with unexpected pride. She ached to protect her brother as she’d always done. Yet she was forced to concede that perhaps the responsibility would be good for him. Perhaps Drake was right; perhaps Gerald should make his own decisions.

But why, oh, why could he not assert his independence anywhere but in this gaming hell?

*   *   *

More confused than ever, she returned home to spend the evening pacing her bedchamber. Sarah had left her calling card that afternoon, but Alicia couldn’t bring herself to see anyone. The turbulence of emotion she felt for Drake was something she had to sort through alone.

He wasn’t the well-bred aristocrat she had been raised to marry. Orphaned at ten, he had grown up under the dour guidance of Fergus MacAllister. Times had been wretched, MacAllister had said. Drake had led a rough-and-tumble life on the streets, a hard existence she could only imagine. Though she herself had faced poverty, at least she’d had Mama and Gerald and Mrs. Molesworth as her family. She’d had a roof over her head and food on the table. She’d had love.

Had she wed a nobleman, she would have led a more genteel life with a husband who knew how to treat a lady. But would such a marriage have guaranteed her happiness? She had to admit it would not. Sarah had made a brilliant match, yet she had been miserable, tormented by the duke’s devotion to his mistress.

Papa had been flawed, too. Though he had adored Mama, he had indulged his weakness for wagering. In the end, the cards had destroyed him.

Sinking onto a chaise, Alicia propped her chin on her cupped hands. Her long-ago dreams of a fairy-tale prince had been just that … dreams. For better or for worse, Drake was her husband. Wishing wouldn’t change that fact.

Did she even
want
to change it?

A ridiculous question. Of course she wouldn’t
choose
to be wed to a gambler. Especially not a man who owned a gambling club, a man who was aggressive, blunt-spoken, domineering. Yet Drake also had a surprising decency beneath all his masculine swaggering. He could be generous to those in need, kind enough to return Pet to her brother, patient with her befuddled mother.

And he could be seductive. Oh, yes, he could make his wife burn with desire.

A wave of intense longing swept over Alicia, bringing with it a realization that shone brightly in the maelstrom of her emotions. She wanted to feel the warmth of Drake’s arms around her. She wanted to learn the secrets of his past, to share his innermost thoughts. Though her mind rebelled at the notion, her body reveled in anticipation.

Whether it be foolishness or folly, she wanted to make the best of their marriage.

Chapter Eighteen

Stretched out naked between the sheets, Drake pillowed his head on his crossed arms and listened for sounds from the adjoining chamber. He could hear only the hissing of the coal fire. Except for a faint, reddened glow from the hearth, the bedroom was black as night, though beyond the closed shutters, dawn was lighting the sky.

Scowling up at the darkened canopy, he told himself to forget about Alicia. He had no wish to invite her scorn. Although he couldn’t purge her from his mind, he felt reluctant to face her. Now he understood the depths of her hatred of him.

No wonder she had fought against their marriage. She had told him that wealth wouldn’t make him a gentleman, and he had seen it as proof of her snobbery. But her coldness hadn’t arisen from a belief in her own superiority; rather, she’d despised his profession. For good cause.

Damnation! He ought to have investigated her past. He would have discovered the truth about her father.

And had he known, would he have desisted?

Drake had to admit he’d have gone through with his plan regardless. She was the one woman Hailstock wanted. And stealing her for himself made Drake’s revenge all the sweeter.

Remembering her tears, though, he felt a sour distaste for himself. He told himself he shouldn’t care how miserable she felt. He had given her wealth and a comfortable life, when most women had to scrabble to put food on the table. But he did care, and that angered him.

He wanted to hold her close and comfort her.
Hell.
Soft embraces were for milksops. He wanted her for one purpose, and one purpose alone. If he wasn’t so certain she despised him, he would join her in bed and awaken her for his pleasure. She would be sleepy and warm, her silken blond hair streaming over the pillow. He would push the nightgown to her waist and come down on her. Even as awareness darkened her eyes, he would touch her and tame her—

The connecting door opened.

He lifted his head, his heart jolting, his gaze narrowing. Alicia stood in the doorway. The pale light of dawn outlined her slim figure, and her flimsy nightdress hinted at womanly curves. His desire turned to hard, pulsing arousal. She couldn’t resist him, after all.

“Drake?” she called softly. “Are you awake?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He wanted her too fiercely for words. Curse this obsession. Alicia was no different from any other woman he’d bedded. He would slake his lust and be done with her.

“Come in,” he said.

She ventured inside and shut the door. The room plunged into darkness again. His eyes still dazzled by the light, he couldn’t see her in the dense black shadows. Yet he was keenly aware of her presence … and the erotic thrill inside himself.

He pushed up against the pillows, raising one knee and resting his arm on it. By the faint glow of the fire, he found her. She stood at the foot of the bed, a ghostly shape in the gloom. He hadn’t even heard her move.

“I need to speak to you,” she said, her voice too firm and too restrained for a seductress.

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps she had another purpose. She could have a knife in her hand, ready to cut off his ballocks.

He felt an involuntary twinge in that part of his anatomy. Annoyed with himself, he nonetheless felt compelled to say gruffly, “I’m sorry about your father. I didn’t know.”

The rasp of his own breathing answered him. Then she spoke, so low he had to strain to hear. “Not many people did,” she whispered. “You see, he went out to the mews … it was late at night … very dark…” She paused, a little catch in her voice. “His death was … attributed to a thwarted robbery.”

He had to ask, “Who found him?”

“A groom … and by ill fortune Mama awakened … she went out there and saw…”

Hell.
He could sense the pain in Alicia. Every fiber of his being urged him to go to her. But she wouldn’t welcome his comfort. She viewed him as a villain who bled men dry. Men like her father.

There was nothing he could say in his own defense. Nothing that would ease her grief and anger. Did she hate him enough to do something rash? Uneasy again, he peered through the darkness, seeking a glint of cold steel. “Why did you come in here?” he asked bluntly.

“I’ve a few questions for you,” she said, her voice brisk and sharp again.

She wanted to talk? He’d humor her. “Ask away.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Mrs. Yates?”

He tensed, sitting up straighter. “What about her?”

“
She’s
the woman you rescued in Whitechapel. Had I known, I might have been more understanding toward her. So why did you not identify her from the beginning?”

The question made him uneasy, so he dodged it. “How did you find out?”

“From Mr. MacAllister. He was most informative.”

Damn Fergus. What else had he told her?

“Yates doesn’t like people to know the story,” he said glibly. “So naturally I respected her wishes.”

“Naturally.” Her cool, patrician tone, faintly sarcastic, floated through the darkness. “Nor did you wish me to take notice of Kitty or Chalkers or Big Bill—among others in this house.
That’s
why you denied me any authority over the servants. You feared I would realize the truth.”

“What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

“You didn’t wish me to know … that you have a soft heart.”

A cold sweat broke out on his skin. “On the contrary,” he snapped, “I didn’t want you to get any ideas about discharging my servants—you with your haughty ways and highborn standards. It’s a well-known fact that ladies can’t abide the seamier side of life.”

Alicia rounded the bedpost. He tensed, half expecting the flash of a blade toward his groin. But she halted just out of his reach. “
Most
ladies,” she said mildly. “You forget that for the past five years, I haven’t led the typical life of a lady.”

He could say nothing to that. After her father’s violent death, she had cared for her dotty mother and her profligate brother, all the while struggling to make ends meet. Drake felt a surge of anger at the elder Lord Brockway. No man should subject his family to such horror and grief.

Yet all too often, wagering was a sickness in some men. He had witnessed it himself many times and exploited the weakness for his own profit. Damn her for making him doubt his actions.

“I will have authority in this house,” Alicia stated.

“What?”

“I promise not to discharge any of the servants, but I
am
taking over my rightful duties as mistress here. You will agree to that.”

Again, he found himself searching through the darkness for that knife. “Fine,” he muttered. “Do as you please.”

A silence stretched out. Shifting restlessly against the sheets, he braced himself for another slew of questions. Had Fergus mentioned anything about Hailstock? Surely not. By God, if Alicia found out that he had wed her for revenge on the man she regarded so highly—

“I will also take over my rightful duties as your wife.”

Drake’s attention snapped to her. “Duties?”

“I will have you in my bed,” she said, a husky note entering her voice. “Or in yours, if you prefer.”

His mouth went dry. She glided closer, a pale wraith in the shadows. Silk rustled, torturing him with the knowledge of what lay beneath it. She reached up as if to adjust her gown. Then she wriggled her shoulders and the garment slithered down to her feet.