Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,101

the ton, you of all people should see the folly in consorting with the lower classes.”

Arching an eyebrow, she regarded him with cool majesty. “It is not for me to gainsay James. Nor for you, for that matter.”

Alicia stepped quickly to the marquess. Despite the foul weather outside, his greatcoat bore not a drop of rain and his hair was perfectly groomed as always. “My lord, I didn’t realize you were coming to call.” Hoping to diffuse the quarrel, she forced a gracious note into her voice. “If you’d care to go to the drawing room, I’ll order tea.”

“Thank you, my lady, but this isn’t a social call.” His frosty gray eyes studied her accusingly. “I understand you are a party to this preposterous school.”

Though he’d been like a father to her, she held her chin high, unwilling to let him chasten her. “Yes, I organized the school. We are helping people who would otherwise have no opportunity to better themselves—”

“No doubt it was your husband’s idea,” Hailstock broke in. “He would seize any chance to bring down disgrace on my family. He would have my son—my heir—associate with lowborn rabble.”

“That isn’t true. He didn’t even know about the school until today.”

But the marquess wasn’t listening. Rounding on Drake, he clenched his fists at his sides. “If I hear so much as a breath of scandal, I will hold you personally responsible.”

Drake fixed him with a hard, impassive stare. “Do as you will,” he said. “I’ve given my approval to the school. If my wife and your son choose to educate these servants, then I shall not stand in their way.”

He stood close to Alicia, a warm and solid presence. He had not lost his temper, thank heavens. Yet dislike radiated from him, and she knew he must be tempted to forget his vow.

Turning to Lord Hailstock, she felt a pang of regret. Why couldn’t he and Drake set aside their differences? Quietly, she said, “Though it pains me to say so, my lord, I must ask you to leave.”

A dull flush suffused his face. His lips thinned, he glanced from Alicia to Drake and back again. “My lady, if you wish to throw yourself into the gutter with Wilder, then so be it. But you will not include my son. He is going home where he belongs.”

Striding behind the chair, he gave it a hard push.

Drake made a move as if to stop him. But without any help, James grabbed the wheels, his knuckles whitening from the effort of holding the chair still.

“Blast it, Father! You’re treating me like a child.”

“Leave go. So long as you live in my house, you will obey me.”

“Then I shan’t live there anymore,” James said through gritted teeth. “I’ll move in with my brother.”

Lord Hailstock froze, his face pale as chalk, his fingers like claws around the caned back of the chair.

Certain she’d misheard, Alicia frowned at James. “Your brother?”

“But you haven’t any siblings,” Sarah added.

“I do, indeed,” James said in a hard voice. He whipped his head around, a strangely savage light in his eyes as he stared up at the marquess. “Tell them, Father. Tell them that Drake Wilder is your bastard.”

A moment of silence spun out. Alicia felt paralyzed, aware of the thumping of her heart, the coldness of her palms. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. Yet a chaos of impressions whirled though her mind. Drake. Lord Hailstock. No wonder she’d never fully understood their hatred.

Until now.

Desperate for him to deny it, she clutched at Drake’s sleeve. For no reason, she noticed how smooth and fine the dark blue cloth felt to her fingertips, how his heat penetrated her chilled skin. “Please,” she whispered. “Tell me it’s a lie.”

He gazed at her with the blank face of a stranger. His features were etched in granite, his eyes inscrutable. The moment stretched out into eternity. Then her worst fears were answered when, in lieu of reply, he turned his attention to James. “How did you find out?”

“You came to our house a few weeks ago, to return a ring that Father had given to Alicia,” James said, gazing intently at him. “I was in the salon. Father believed me to be napping, but I heard you out in the corridor. You said … you were his other son.” He glanced searchingly at the marquess. “Then he threw you out of the house.”

“Wilder was lying,” Lord Hailstock said, his voice hoarse as he stepped out from behind the wheeled chair.