Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,105

on the first step. Perhaps before she questioned her mother, she should take advantage of this opportunity. If Mama was deep in fantasy, she wouldn’t be able to tell Alicia where to search, anyway.…

Mrs. Yates cleared her throat. “You should know, m’lady, that the master had the morning room made into a bedchamber for Lord Scarborough so that he may get around more easily in his wheeled chair. They are both there right now, putting things in order.”

Surprise struck a painful jolt to Alicia’s heart. Drake was here, only a few steps down the corridor.

An impossible yearning lured her. She could go to him, forgive him his monumental faults, tell him that she would stay even if he couldn’t give her his heart. He would take her upstairs and love her with his body at least.

But he was with his brother. Lord Hailstock’s son. That was enough of a reminder of his perfidy.

“I shall inform the master that you’re here,” Mrs. Yates said.

She turned to go, but Alicia spoke sharply to stop her. “Please don’t. I won’t have him interrupted.”

“But he wished to be told at once if you returned. He was quite insistent on that point.” Mrs. Yates eyed her with blatant curiosity. “To that purpose, he ordered me to tarry here all evening to watch for you.”

Alicia tightened her fists at her sides. He wanted to ply his charm on her again. She was nothing more to him than a body, nothing but the woman his father had wanted. “You are not to say a word,” she said, her voice taut. “Is that understood?”

She feared the housekeeper would refuse. Mrs. Yates had an unswerving loyalty to Drake, a loyalty based on gratitude toward her savior.

But she gave a slow, considering nod. “As you wish, m’lady.”

Did she no longer regard her mistress as an interloper? Or had she guessed the truth and would seize the chance to bar a reconciliation? Alicia no longer cared to know.

By way of dismissal, she started up the grand staircase.

Mrs. Yates called after her, “I must say, the master has been stomping around here like an angry bull. If something is amiss between you two, perhaps I could relay a message to him.”

She wanted gossip, that was all. Alicia forced a nonchalant smile. “I’ll have a word with him myself … later.”

Unwilling to think beyond her quest, she lifted her skirts and hastened upstairs. When she reached the second floor, she walked down the elegant passageway with its familiar gold wallpaper, the framed landscapes, the gilding on the woodwork. She must order her belongings packed and sent to Pemberton House. Mama’s, too.

But not now. Not yet.

Stepping into her mother’s room, she closed the door. On the bed, the embroidered coverlet had been turned down to show the feather pillows. The yellow draperies shut out the darkness, and a lamp burned on the small writing desk.

Alicia hurried there, her shoes making no sound on the leaf-green carpet with its pattern of yellow ribbons. Stifling her misgivings at invading her mother’s privacy, she opened each desk drawer in turn. A pile of blank stationery. A few extra quills. A collection of buttons in a shallow dish. And in the bottom drawer, a sketch of hearts and flowers with labored lettering: To my deer mama, with love, Alicia.

Smiling in spite of herself, she picked up the sheet. Mama had amassed a veritable fortune in old papers. Alicia sorted through the stack, glancing at compositions, arithmetic exams, history essays, half in Alicia’s progressively neater handwriting and an equal number in Gerald’s scrawling penmanship.

But she didn’t discover what she sought.

Going to the bedside table, she examined the contents: an embroidered handkerchief, the stub of a candle, a prayer book. Nothing of significance. Then she carried the lamp into the dressing room to explore the clothespresses and armoires, methodically moving aside the many costumes Drake had given to her mother.

Her heart clenched anew with the pain of his treachery. How could a man capable of kindnesses allow himself to be ruled by hatred and vengeance? And how could she still long for him?

But she did. Deep within herself, love still burned, a flame too stubborn to be extinguished. She had known Drake could be ruthless, and she had allowed herself to become vulnerable to him, anyway. She should never have convinced herself that he could return her love, that his carnal passion for her might grow into true affection.

Blasted gambler. She should have realized that a scoundrel like him was