Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,17
she would suffer abuse.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw. “I’ve already told you, I bear no ill will toward Lady Brockway.”
“And why should I believe the brute who would coerce a woman into marriage?” A knot aching in her breast, Alicia shook her head. “You’ll sign the agreement, else I’ll never stand with you before a clergyman.”
He gave a terse nod. “As you wish. And your second stipulation?”
“That we will have a chaste marriage.”
His guffaw echoed through the foyer. “Don’t be ridiculous. Yesterday, you were eager to be my mistress.”
She battled an angry blush. “The game has changed now. The stakes have been raised.”
“My prim little virgin,” he said, shaking his head, his expression one of droll charm. “You can’t imagine what you’d be denying yourself.”
His cocky grin only fueled her fury. Lest she fly at him again like a fishwife, Alicia held herself rigid. “I assure you, Mr. Wilder, I have never been more serious. I will not allow you in my chambers. Not ever.”
“People often regret vows made in anger.”
“Then you know only riffraff who lack moral fiber.”
“I know that moral fiber is a cold bedfellow.”
Alicia compressed her lips, then said calmly, “We will make a fair exchange. I require cancellation of my brother’s debts. And you require an introduction to society. I owe you nothing else.”
He regarded her with a faintly calculating stare. Sunlight limned his powerful form; he had the brawny physique of a street fighter garbed in the trappings of a gentleman. A gentleman’s thoughts she could read, but not this man’s. Drake Wilder had risen from the criminal underworld where honor was a weakness to exploit.
“I’ll accept both of your conditions with a provision of my own,” he said. “You will permit me the right to coax you into my bed.”
Into her mind flashed the image of herself, stark naked, sprawled wantonly astride him. She staved off a shudder as a shameful warmth slithered past her defenses and curled low in her belly like a snake. “No. I can’t trust you not to force yourself on me.”
Those impenetrable eyes watched her with shrewd amusement. “Quite the contrary. You can’t trust yourself to resist me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’d sooner kiss a hedgehog.”
His smile broadened with a flash of white teeth. “You could use a few lessons in kissing.”
“You could use a few lessons in manners.”
“I propose we educate each other, then.”
He strolled toward her, and Alicia refused to give ground, though a brittle panic enveloped her. Would he kiss her now? Would he show her how a scoundrel seduced a woman? If he dared to ridicule her again …
But he didn’t touch her. He slid back his coat and planted his hands on his hips in a gesture of masterful male assurance. “So, Lady Alicia. Give me your answer before you take me on a tour of my new town house.”
It rankled her, to obey this arrogant upstart. “Planning to move in?” she said icily.
“As a matter of fact, we’ll live at my house near the club.”
“Not without Mama. And you’ll allow Gerald to stay here without charge.”
“Agreed.” He looked more amused than angered by her demands. “And now I will have your promise to be my wife.”
His superior height required her to tilt up her chin to hold his gaze. With studied poise, she clasped her tense fingers together. “Only if you promise to cease your attentions when I tell you so.”
That sly grin came again. “If you tell me so.” His heavy-lidded gaze caressed her, roving up and down, lingering at her breasts and hips until her skin prickled. “Beneath all that refinement, my lady, you’re flesh and blood. And before the Season is out, you’ll come begging to share my bed.”
* * *
Gloom shrouded the sparse furnishings in the bedchamber. Standing by the night table, Alicia measured several drops of laudanum into a cup of weak tea. She added a crumbling of coarse brown sugar, stirred the liquid until the lumps dissolved, and then turned to the woman in the four-poster. “Your posset is ready.”
Sitting against a bank of goose-feather pillows, Lady Eleanor looked lost in the huge bed with its swags of aging rose velvet. A white lace nightcap perched on her silvering fair hair. She kept her tattered moleskin cape tucked close like a young child might hold a beloved blanket. The sputtering tallow candle added luminescence to her blue eyes.
“Ah, ye’re a dear,” she said, accepting the chipped china with the reverence worthy of a communion cup. “Bless ye