Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,119

his vengeful nature? If he conquered the hatred inside himself, might he then learn to love? She wanted to believe it. Too much.

Gerald’s green eyes bored into her. “You should also know that Drake gave away the old marquess’s fortune to James—except for the entailment, of course.”

Alicia straightened, scarcely noticing the shower of petals when her shoulder brushed a spray of drooping roses. “James didn’t tell me that.”

“Drake wanted it kept quiet. Doesn’t like to brag, especially about his brother. They’ve become fast friends, you know.”

She had surmised as much. James, too, had nothing but praise for Drake. He’d come here every day to teach at their school, often accompanied by Sarah. The two of them had privately announced their betrothal, though out of respect for his mourning, they would wait until the following spring to marry. Their love stirred a yearning in Alicia, the awareness that a part of herself was missing.

It seemed forever since she’d felt Drake’s embrace, his arms strong and warm, holding her close. Over the past weeks, she had thought about him often, in anger and pain … but also with love. She had reflected on his befriending of James and his generosity to the misfits who had experienced the hardships of life on the streets.

And she had imagined Drake as a little boy, eager to meet his father for the first time and profoundly hurt to be accused of thievery instead. Such cruelty might have defeated many a child. Instead, Drake had fought back, using his wits and his genius to amass a fortune at the gaming tables. In the only way he knew how, he had striven for recognition from his father. Who was she to blame him for that?

Besides, if he hadn’t been bent on revenge, they might never have met and married. She wouldn’t have his child inside her now, the miracle of their lovemaking.

“Open the letter, Ali,” Gerald urged again. Working his boyish features into the severe countenance of an earl, he placed his hand on her shoulder and added, “The fellow’s besotted with you. It’s only fair that you give him a chance to redeem himself.”

Mama tapped the folded letter. Her gaze full of mysterious wisdom, she whispered, “Go ahead, my dear. Do not be afraid. The crystal ball says ’tis time to seek your future.”

Basking in their love, Alicia allowed herself to let go of her doubts. The hurt and confusion of the past weeks floated away like petals on a warm wind. She felt light and free, secure in her decision. She was Drake’s wife, and she wanted to be with him. Even if he kept his emotions locked away, even if he could share only his body and not his heart, she would love him anyway.

And so, with trembling fingers, she broke the seal on his letter.

Chapter Twenty-nine

At precisely three o’clock that same afternoon, Alicia followed Fergus MacAllister up the grand staircase at Wilder’s Club.

Their brisk footsteps echoed in the vastness of the entrance hall, with its elegant white columns rising against the dark green walls. Few members occupied the premises at this early hour: only a pair of gentlemen engrossed in a card game in the salon, and another man by the bow window, his nose stuck in a newspaper.

Alicia remembered the first time she’d come here, desperate and determined, intending to offer herself as mistress to the most notorious gambler in London. Now she would come to him willingly as his wife.

A shiver of yearning prickled her skin. She had bathed and primped and changed her gown at least ten times, finally settling on this soft copper silk that clung to her curves. A gold-braided spencer covered a bodice cut low for a man’s pleasure.

For Drake’s pleasure.

“’Tis time ye put the auld fusspot out of his misery,” Fergus said as they reached the top of the stairs and started down the corridor. “The master’s been moping ’round here like a whipped dog.”

In spite of herself, Alicia appreciated knowing that Drake, too, had suffered. “Has he, now? I should rather enjoy seeing such a sight.”

Fergus peered down at her, his unpatched eye showing a secretive amusement. “There’s an even better sight awaiting ye, m’lady. He’s gone daft fer ye, that’s fer certain.”

Without further ado, he swung open the gilt-trimmed door and motioned her inside. Then he bowed out, leaving her alone.

An even better sight? What did Fergus mean by that?

She would find out in a moment.

Awash in giddy expectation, she hurried through a dim antechamber