Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,102
“You are my son, James. My only son. He’s a swindler who wants to steal your inheritance.”
“If I’d wanted your money,” Drake said, “I’d have blackmailed you. And you’d have paid me, too.”
Lord Hailstock’s face twisted in a grimace of fury. “You are determined to besmirch my good name. I warn you, I won’t tolerate it.”
Their angry voices swirled around Alicia. She let her hand fall to her side. She couldn’t think; she could only stare with a shocked fascination at the three men. Never had she thought to look for similarities, but she looked now. And now the slight resemblance struck her: Though Drake had darker coloring than James with his tawny hair and pale complexion, they had the same piercing blue eyes, the same cleft in their cheeks that deepened when they smiled. And they both shared Hailstock’s muscular build, his noble bone structure.
“I’ll admit to hating you, Wilder,” James said, his gaze tight on Drake. “I resented your power over my—our—father. So I flaunted my rank at every opportunity. But I’ve since had reason to believe I was wrong.”
Drake said nothing. He merely returned his brother’s stare.
“If it’s no inconvenience,” James went on, “I’d like to stay with you and Alicia for a short time. Until I’m able to settle certain matters.”
He glanced obliquely at Sarah, who had been listening nearby, her violet eyes wide. Now she stepped forward. “That is an excellent notion.” She frowned severely at Drake. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Wilder?”
“Of course,” Drake said in a voice devoid of emotion. “My housekeeper can handle the arrangements.”
“No!” Hailstock ground out. His face stark, he sank down on one knee in front of his younger son. “Think, James. You cannot claim kinship to a common scoundrel. People will talk. What reason will you give for staying with him?”
“There is always the truth.”
“But he is a knave, a gambler. You have noble blood—”
“So, it seems, does he,” James said acidly.
The marquess took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “Don’t do this, I beg you. Wilder has no proof of his allegations. You’re making a disastrous mistake.”
“I rather doubt that,” James said. “And regardless, I will know the brother you’ve kept from me all these years.”
He maneuvered around his father, leaving Lord Hailstock crouched on the floor, his head bowed and his eyes closed.
“My carriage should be waiting out front,” the duchess said. “I told the coachman to return at precisely half past two.”
James nodded, then moved to Alicia, gathering her hand in his. “I’m sorry,” he said with a trace of regret. “I never meant to blurt out the truth that way. This must have been quite a shock.”
A shock? The shattered numbness inside her felt like the devastation after an earthquake. She could not assimilate her thoughts beyond one fact. Drake had lied to her. All this time, he had prattled excuses for his antagonism toward Hailstock.
And she had been fool enough to believe him.
James released her hand; then Sarah touched Alicia’s arm in a offering of support. “We’ll talk later,” the duchess murmured.
Alicia gave a wooden nod and the pair headed down the passageway toward the front of the house.
Hailstock rose slowly, his shoulders slumped. Rather than aim another venomous look at Drake, the marquess subjected Alicia to a probing scrutiny. She could think of nothing to say to him. He, too, had lied to her.
Then he turned on his heel and strode after James and Sarah.
As the front door opened and closed, a draught of damp air eddied down the long corridor. Shivering from a deeply penetrating chill, Alicia wrapped her arms around herself. She was aware of Drake’s presence beside her. But no longer did she feel an affinity for him. The connection between them had been severed.
Perhaps that closeness had never really existed.
“You’re too pale,” Drake said, sliding his arm around her back. “You need to rest.”
In a daze, she let him guide her down the corridor to the foyer, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor. But when he would have urged her up the staircase to the bedrooms, she balked.
Her disjointed thoughts came together in a cohesive whole.
Drake had known the marquess was his father. That meant he had not chosen her at random. With sinister intent, he had exploited Gerald’s weakness for gambling, then forced her to be his bride. All because Lord Hailstock wanted her.
And Drake had wanted revenge.
With that horrifying realization died all of her naïve hopes to win his love. He possessed no capacity for tender