Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,104
my reasoning, either.” She folded her arms beneath her bosom. “Everything is clear to me now. You kept watch at that first ball we attended. You were looking for Lord Hailstock. Waiting for him to appear so that you could flaunt your presence there.”
“He’d tried to bar me from his world—”
“You forbade me to associate with James, too. Not, as you claimed, because he is a vain, self-serving aristocrat. Because he is your half-brother.”
“Both facts influenced me. He is a haughty snob.”
“You were quite inventive in your efforts to keep me away from him,” Alicia said, continuing the litany of his faults. “You used your charm to manipulate me. You even resorted to seduction that day at your club.”
He had reached beneath her skirts and stroked her to climax. She couldn’t regret that. “You enjoyed what I did.”
“You gave me no choice,” she countered. “Everything in your life has been founded on revenge. I wouldn’t be surprised if you even see my child as yet another way to taunt his lordship.” She moved her hands to her waist as if to shield the baby from his unscrupulous character.
That single accusation stupefied Drake. He couldn’t find the words to express his exultation at learning about her pregnancy. A man shouldn’t admit to emotions so sweet and tender. Or to so intense a romantic attachment to his wife.
He took another step toward her. “Alicia … you’re wrong. My happiness about our baby has nothing to do with Hailstock.”
“Am I to believe you? After all the lies you’ve told?” She shook her head, as if appalled by her own gullibility. “You never meant that vow, either.”
“Vow?”
“To cease your hostilities.”
“I did mean it,” he muttered. He’d made that pledge out of the irresistible wish to have her believe him a man of honor. “I intended to make more of an effort to conceal my hatred of him.”
She made a small sound of derision. “And what if I had visited Lord Hailstock or James? Would you have set aside your petty hatreds then?”
“There is nothing petty about this,” Drake snapped, his footsteps loud in the foyer. “Of course I wanted to keep you away from Hailstock. He would have turned you against me.”
She regarded him with cool contempt. “No, Drake. You have managed to do that all by yourself.”
Then she walked past him and into the library, shutting the door.
Chapter Twenty-five
Alicia had a question to ask her mother.
Stepping down from the carriage that evening, she assured herself that was her sole reason for coming home. She needn’t brace herself for an encounter with her husband, either. At this hour, Drake would be at his club.
Her throat tightened with unshed tears. After his departure, Mrs. Molesworth had fussed over Alicia, bringing her tea and toast with jam, wrapping her in a warm knitted blanket, making a fire in the library hearth. Alicia had curled up in a wing chair and stared out at the endless rain. She’d spent the remainder of the afternoon alternately weeping and brooding, hurt and angry at Drake for using her to such a foul purpose.
And through it all, she’d had the nagging sense that she’d missed something vital. Something that nagged at the edge of her awareness. Pondering that puzzle, she’d dozed off there in the library, and she had awakened at dusk, remarkably clear-headed.
And with an astonishing question in her mind. Only Mama could provide the answer.
Though the rain had slowed to a drizzle, a footman held an umbrella over Alicia’s head as she walked across the drive, heedless of the puddles. Gazing at the house, she felt caught by a bittersweet sense of homecoming. How she had grown to love this magnificent four-story mansion with its tall white columns and the many windows glowing golden with lamplight through the darkness. How she had grown to love its master, the most deceitful, heartless, obstinate, domineering, stupid man who had ever lived.
As she walked up the marble steps to the portico and entered the front door, Mrs. Yates stood in the foyer arranging red tulips in a Grecian vase. She whirled around, her sensual features alight with an uncommon interest. “Good evening, m’lady.”
With a polite nod, Alicia headed straight for the grand staircase. “Is Lady Eleanor in her chamber?”
“Nay, she’s in the ballroom with Mrs. Philpot.” The flame-haired woman smiled a trifle indulgently; Alicia wondered if the housekeeper could actually show compassion for Mama. “She is Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine tonight.”
Alicia considered going to the ballroom, but she hesitated, her foot