Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,115
grip. Then something made her go perfectly still.
The gun barrel nudged her neck.
* * *
Lady Eleanor tumbled off the dais and into Drake’s arms. Though she was a small woman, the impact caused him to stagger backward. Her veil draped his head, blinding him. He gripped her for a second, then let her slide to her feet while he clawed away the gauzy stuff.
Too late.
Hailstock held Alicia. He pressed a dueling pistol to her neck at the vulnerable place just below her ear.
Uttering a savage growl, Drake released the countess and sprang forward, his muscles tensed to leap.
Hailstock cocked the pistol. “Stay back,” he snarled. “I won’t hesitate to use this weapon.”
The click of the gun froze Drake. His nerves thrummed with a wild rage, a rage he dared not indulge. His gaze bolted to Alicia’s wide blue eyes. He couldn’t risk her life. Or the life of their unborn child.
In a rustle of heavy skirts, Lady Eleanor glided to his side. “You certainly took your time in answering, my summons,” she chided, as if this were a game. Gentleness entered her voice. “But now I know why you look so familiar. You’re Claire’s son. You’ve her coloring, the black hair and blue eyes. So very striking.”
Drake kept his eyes on Alicia. Softly he said, “I must ask you to move away, my lady. There is danger here.”
“I am not afraid. I am Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine.”
“Even queens must protect themselves, Your Majesty. Go now.”
Fumbling with the clasp of her moleskin cape, she vanished into the shadows. Relief touched him, but only for a moment.
He focused on Hailstock, who held Alicia on the raised dais. “Let her go. I don’t want your damned title. Nor your wealth or anything else you own. All I want is my wife.”
“You expect me to believe that?” the marquess sneered. “You don’t know the meaning of honor.”
Drake refrained from retorting that Hailstock was the most heinous sort of criminal, to threaten a woman. He could see fire in the marquess’s eyes; a wrong move might push him over the edge. Forcing his voice to remain steady, he repeated, “Let her go. This is between you and me. She has nothing to do with our quarrel.”
“You may have the letter, my lord,” Alicia said, her voice remarkably strong. “I dropped it right there.” She moved her foot slightly, pointing with a pink-slippered toe.
Pulling her along with him, Hailstock edged toward the paper. Drake gripped his fists. He hated his own helplessness. He hated seeing his wife threatened by this nobleman. He hated himself for instigating the revenge that had brought them all to this crisis.
Wheels clattered from the doorway. “Father!” James called out, his voice echoing in the immense ballroom. “What the deuce are you doing?”
Hailstock had started to reach down for the letter. His face stark with alarm, he straightened. “Leave here at once. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Indeed I should. I want to know why you’re holding a gun to Alicia.”
“I’m protecting your inheritance from this vulgar upstart.”
“I told you, James can keep his inheritance,” Drake said in a tight voice. “Harming Alicia will gain you nothing but a hangman’s noose.”
James rolled to the dais, staring up at his father. “Have you gone completely mad? Put down the gun. Release her and we’ll forget this nonsense.”
“It isn’t nonsense. If I don’t stop him, he’ll take everything when I die.” Hailstock’s voice quavered with strong emotion. “You’ll be left destitute. A helpless cripple.”
“I’m not helpless, and I never was,” James said forcefully. “I was sulking, and you encouraged me so I’d be dependent on you. As for the title, I shan’t take what isn’t mine. You raised me to be a better man than that.”
His forehead furrowed, Hailstock stared down at his younger son. “You don’t understand. You have blue blood—your mother was a Quincy. The title must go to you.”
“No, Father. I shan’t accept it. So you see, there is no purpose to holding Alicia hostage.”
The pistol wavered. Drake tensed his fists, concentrating, willing the marquess to drop the gun. He feared to say anything that might antagonize him.
Lady Eleanor chose that moment to reappear out of the gloom. She tugged on Drake’s sleeve. “Hsst.”
“Stay back, Your Majesty,” he whispered.
She jerked harder on his arm. Standing on tiptoe, she murmured in his ear, “But I have something for you, my lord.”
My lord.
Clenching his teeth in denial, Drake glanced over to see her standing beside him, the moleskin cape draped over her arm. A piece