Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,103
emotion. He was poisoned by hatred.
Alicia twisted away from him, backing up until her spine met the hard column of the newel post. Afraid she might break down in tears, she buried her pain beneath a bitter cold dignity.
“You used me for vengeance,” she stated. “You never cared about being accepted by society. You married me to spite your father.”
Drake wanted to flinch from those blunt words, enunciated in her cool, patrician voice. What a fool he’d been for believing he could keep Alicia in the dark. He was furious with himself for being so careless in letting James overhear him. Yet he couldn’t gull himself, either. Deep down, he felt a certain gloating satisfaction that James knew they were brothers.
As for Alicia, there was nothing to be done now but take his knocks. And hope that, later, he could charm her into forgiving him.
“Yes, that is why I married you,” he admitted. “Hailstock had been courting you. And I also wanted to enter society, so that he’d be forced to see the bastard he’d never acknowledged.”
The mere thought of that set Drake’s teeth on edge. Welcoming a surge of rage, he paced the foyer. None of this would have been necessary if Hailstock had accepted him long ago. If the wretch hadn’t threatened a defenseless boy—
“Why didn’t he acknowledge you?” Alicia asked. “Perhaps you really aren’t his son.”
Stunned, Drake pivoted toward her. “It’s the truth, damn it. My mother wouldn’t have lied to me.”
“You needn’t curse,” she said icily. “I merely wish to know if she offered you any proof.”
He tamped down his unreasoning anger. She didn’t know the whole story. “Yes,” he bit out. “She gave me a diamond stickpin bearing his coat of arms. That and her word are enough for me.” He didn’t mention his unusual skill with numbers, a trait he shared with Hailstock. He wouldn’t beg her to believe him.
“How it must gall you to be denied the title by an accident of birth.”
“It galls me that he used my mother, then refused to support his child.”
Alicia merely raised an eyebrow. “She died when you were ten. Then you came to London—not in search of a grand adventure. And not to join a theatrical troupe. To confront Lord Hailstock.”
She made him uncomfortable, reminding him of all his half-truths. “I did join a theatrical troupe,” he muttered.
“But only after you’d seen his lordship. Only after he’d rejected your claim.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what happened when you went to see him.”
Loath to reopen that scar, Drake prowled around the foyer, stopping to peer out a window. Raindrops slid down the glass panes in an endless stream. “It was a long time ago. Suffice it to say he would have nothing to do with me.”
“But you did show him the stickpin, didn’t you?”
“Of course I showed it to him.” What had happened then had been the most painful experience of his life. He disliked exposing that vulnerability to anyone. But if it helped him to win Alicia’s sympathy … “He denounced me for a thief and a swindler. Then he called for his footmen to haul me off to the magistrate, and thence to Newgate Prison.”
Alicia didn’t even gasp. The blue eyes that had glowed with love only half an hour ago now regarded him as if she’d enjoy seeing him chained in a dank cell. “Did you go to prison?”
He shook his head. “I’d lived on the street long enough to learn a few tricks. I ducked past his men. We were on the ground floor, so I jumped out an opened window.”
She said nothing to that. In the murky afternoon light, she stood as straight as the newel post behind her, the rose-pink gown skimming womanly curves that he never tired of touching. He wished to hell he knew what she was thinking. Did she feel even a scrap of understanding?
What an ass he’d been to hurt her. He wanted to make it up to her, to hold her in his arms again, to hear her whisper words of love. Extending his hands, he walked toward her. “Alicia, I’m sorry—”
“Do not presume to touch me,” she said in that frosty tone.
He stopped, uncertain for one of the few times in his life. She regarded him with chilly composure, reminding him of the poised and remote Alicia of their wedding day. She might have been gazing at a despicable stranger.
And he felt despicable. “If you’ll give me a chance, we can discuss this reasonably—”