Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,112
into a deep curtsy. “Greetings, Queen Eleanor,” she said, willing her voice not to quaver.
If she shouted for help, Lord Hailstock might shoot Mama. If she rushed at him, both she and her mother could be injured. He was far stronger than either of them.
Oh, why had she not allowed Drake to accompany her?
Because he had deceived her. Because he had destroyed her trust in him. And now she had only her own wits to rely upon.
“What have you done to Mrs. Philpot?” she asked, hoping to distract Lord Hailstock.
“The beldam suffered a little knock on the head. After she ordered me out of here.”
Her belly clenched. To think she had once believed him to be an honorable man. “Put the pistol away, my lord,” she said, striving for composure. “You’re frightening me.”
“As well I should. Perhaps you will convince this madwoman to reveal her hiding place.”
“Hiding place?” Alicia stalled.
“She has something in her possession that I want. And I believe you know what I mean.”
In the lamplight, his menacing gaze bored into her. Instinctively wanting to back up, she held her ground. “You shall have to explain yourself. You are being very obscure.”
“And you are being deliberately obtuse.” He pushed his captive closer, making Mama circle around the chair. “I suspected you might piece the puzzle together once you found out about Wilder’s claim,” he added. “You know too much of Claire’s story.”
“Claire?” Mama said sharply. “What have you done with my lady-in-waiting? If you’ve harmed her, sirrah, I shall have you thrown into the darkest of dungeons!”
He ignored her, his frosty gray eyes intent on Alicia. “What is that paper in your hand? That looks like Claire’s handwriting.”
Alicia clutched the folded letter to her bosom. Lord Hailstock would destroy it. With the documents missing, it was the only proof of Drake’s claim. She had to preserve it, to let him make his own choices.
Wracking her brain, she stepped closer, keeping Lord Hailstock within her sight. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of movement near the shadowed doorway to the ballroom.
A twitch of black skirts. A white mobcap on flame-red hair.
Her heart leapt. Mrs. Yates. Would the housekeeper go for help? Or would she see this as a chance to rid herself of Alicia once and for all?
* * *
In his brother’s new bedchamber, Drake strode back and forth, his footsteps clicking on the marble floor. He still could not believe that Muira Wilder wasn’t his true mother. Yet she had been a mother to him in all the ways that mattered. Even when they’d had nothing, she had scrimped to put food on the table. She’d given him a happy childhood, and he would always love her for that.
Claire had loved him, too. Her dying wish had been to secure his rights as Hailstock’s heir.
Drake took a deep breath. He ought to be considering his windfall. Never in his gambling days, when he had amassed his fortune with single-minded ruthlessness, had he ever dreamed of taking so perfect a revenge on Hailstock.
He was Hailstock’s heir. He would be welcomed by the finest families in England. He could walk among them, their equal.
Hailstock’s equal.
But not even that triumph could distract him from the restlessness inside himself. He wanted Alicia with him. He wanted her to amuse him with her witty commentary, to seduce him with her smiles. But she had made her feelings for him all too clear.
I don’t want you with me. I will do this alone.
His chest tightened. She had been referring to more than questioning her mother. Alicia didn’t need him. Not ever.
His hands steepled beneath his chin, James sat near the fire and watched him pace. “She’ll forgive you. Alicia isn’t one to hold a grudge.”
A grudge? Would to God it was only that. “How do you know what I’m thinking?” he said irritably. “I could be gloating about stripping you of your title.”
“If you were gloating, you wouldn’t be prowling like a caged panther.”
Halting, Drake pivoted toward his younger brother. Now that the initial shock was over, James looked remarkably unperturbed. “And why aren’t you cursing me?” Drake asked. “I’m about to rob you of your future.”
James shrugged. “A future based on falsehoods doesn’t appeal to me.” Maneuvering his wheeled chair to a table, he set down his glass with a decisive thump. “First thing tomorrow, I shall consult my solicitor. He’ll know how to handle such an unusual matter.”
“It’s too soon,” Drake objected. “The proof may never