Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,113
be found. That letter alone won’t hold up in court.”
“The papers will turn up eventually. Alicia will find them.”
“And I shall destroy them,” Drake snapped. “I do not aspire to be the next Marquess of Hailstock.” His own words stunned him. God help him, it was true. All of his life he’d craved having the power to bring down Hailstock. But vengeance wasn’t what he wanted anymore. He had no desire to bear the name of the man he had hated for so long.
James rolled closer. “You haven’t a choice,” he said in a hard-edged voice. “You have a duty to the children you’ll sire.”
No one else knew that Alicia’s body already sheltered a new life. And Drake couldn’t admit aloud to the fierce tenderness that gripped him. “I can provide for my family,” he said through clenched teeth. “I don’t need Hailstock’s money.”
“Curse you, it’s their heritage I’m talking about. Your son will be a peer. Your daughter will be called ‘lady.’ Don’t let your stupid, selfish pride stand in the way of them claiming their noble lineage.”
“I want my children to grow up believing all people are equal. The nobility is hardly the place to accomplish that.”
“Then it’s up to you to raise them to be thinkers and benefactors. And keep in mind, if you deny them their birthright, you’ll be just like Father.”
The truth of that pierced Drake. Hailstock had denied him. Thus had begun a series of deceits that had resulted in this intolerable dilemma.
Of course, he didn’t wholly agree with James. There was a vast difference between him and his father. Drake would never abandon his child. But there was no point to arguing.
Wary of his brother’s generosity, he crossed his arms and leaned against the mantelpiece. “And you? What about you?”
“I’ll be happy with my duchess.” The husky note in James’s voice lightened. “And celebrating the fact that I shall never have to endure tedious sessions of Parliament.”
Drake felt no humor. Thoughts of Alicia besieged him again. He hadn’t known a man could hurt so much, that he could so bitterly regret the hatreds that had guided him for most of his life. He hadn’t realized that a woman could have such a hold over his heart. The power of his feelings for Alicia unsettled him. If he didn’t keep a grip on himself, she’d have him behaving like a lovesick tadpole. More like a lovesick tadpole.
The sound of hurrying footsteps came from the outer corridor. Eliza Yates burst through the doorway, her mobcap hanging askew, her brown eyes wide, her breast heaving. “Sir! Ye’re ’ere!”
Struck by alarm, Drake strode to her. “What is it?”
“’Tis m’lady,” she said, lapsing into cockney babble. “In the ballroom. Wid his lordship. ’E ’as a gun.”
A chill gripped him. “Hailstock.”
Her fingers scrabbling at his coat, she bobbed her head up and down. “Beggin’ yer pardon, I let ’im in, I did. I didn’t know ’e were a bad sort.”
“The devil you say,” James snapped. “This can’t be true.”
Drake paid no heed to either of them. Fear icing his veins, he leapt past the housekeeper and raced out the door.
* * *
Though she had arrayed herself as a queen, Mama looked small and defenseless in Lord Hailstock’s grip. The dueling pistol glinted in the lamplight. Dear God, he was the demented one, to threaten her sweet mother.
Taking a deep breath, Alicia eased the stranglehold of panic. She couldn’t depend on a rescue that might never come. She must use her wits to procure Mama’s safety. And the letter might be her only bargaining chip.
“You’re right, my lord,” she said, forcing a sheepish laugh. “I did indeed put all the pieces together. Then I went looking for the proof.” She rattled the paper to tantalize him. “Claire wrote this letter on her deathbed. In it, she confirms my suspicions.”
“Bring it to me.”
Despite her fear, a wave of anger swept over Alicia. He had abandoned an innocent baby. Thinking of her own child, hers and Drake’s, she could understand Claire’s desperation to protect her son from this man’s cruelty.
“No,” she said. “You’ll burn it. Drake will need proof that he is your legitimate son.”
“He is Claire’s by-blow.” The marquess took a menacing step toward her, dragging Mama with him. “By God, I won’t allow a common bastard to lay claim to my title.”
“The child is your heir,” Queen Eleanor declared, not appearing to be frightened in the least. “I decree it to be so.”