Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,19

I’ll answer all your questions later.”

The countess’s eyelids drooped. “Such a sweet daughter you’ve always been. I don’t mean to be a burden.”

“You’re not! You’re my pride and joy,” Alicia said fiercely, leaning down to kiss her mother’s pale cheek. The faint comforting fragrance of lily of the valley clung to her skin. “How ridiculous to think otherwise.”

“I am silly, aren’t I? Your papa always teased me about my fancies.” A dreamy smile smoothed the lines of tension from Lady Eleanor’s face. She shifted onto her side and rested her cheek on her folded hands. “In the morning, we must plan your nuptials. And you must promise to invite your betrothed here to meet me. If you love him, then so shall I.”

“Of course,” Alicia said woodenly.

“It shall be the event of the Season. Gerald will escort you down the aisle at St. George’s. You’ll carry lilies trimmed with white satin ribbons…” Her voice drifted off, and her breathing became quiet and regular with slumber.

A familiar twist of melancholy encircled Alicia’s heart. She couldn’t be certain her mother would even remember the news come morning. The countess’s recollection of the distant past could be sharp and clear, while present events often slipped through her muddled awareness like water through a sieve. Though perhaps in this case, her tendency to forget was a blessing. Heaven forbid Mama should learn the true circumstances behind the marriage. Or the brutal nature of the man Alicia intended to marry.

Before the Season is out, you’ll come begging to share my bed.

Too restless to sleep, she snatched up the candlestick and hastened to the door. The laudanum would ensure that her mother slept deeply for hours, and it was the only time Alicia felt safe leaving her alone. She would make her way down to the kitchen and brew a pot of tea. Then perhaps a tome from the library would provide sufficient distraction from her emotional turmoil. An hour or two of deciphering Latin never failed to exhaust her. Especially a difficult work of essays like Plutarch’s Moralia.

Drake Wilder had traveled to Rome searching for that particular work. Was book collecting such a lucrative investment? Surely the hard-bitten owner of a gaming club could have no liking for intellectual pursuits. When would the ruffian find time to bilk his customers and seduce his whores?

When would he find time to prey upon mad widows and naive earls? To coerce a desperate woman?

In a fit of ire, Alicia surged out into the darkened corridor. And collided with a solid shape.

A yelp pierced the gloom.

Startled, she lifted the candle and saw her brother. Gerald hopped on one stockinged foot, a small box tucked beneath his arm. His hair was mussed and his cravat untied, baring his prominent Adam’s apple. “Ye-ouch! You trod on my toes.”

“Hush.” She quietly shut the bedroom door. “You’ll waken Mama. She’s just now taken her draught.”

“You almost burned me, too,” he grumbled. “You should watch where you’re going.”

“It’s time you came home. I’ve been wanting to speak to you.” Prodded by anger, Alicia grabbed her brother by the arm and marched him down the passageway and to the grand staircase. “Drake Wilder came here today. On a small matter regarding ownership of this house.”

“Oh … that.” Clutching the box, her brother hunched his shoulders. “I meant to tell you, Ali, truly I did.”

“When? After he had served us an eviction notice?”

His green eyes rounded. “He swore he wouldn’t. By God, I’ll call him out for going back on his word.”

When Gerald would have leapt down the stairs, Alicia stepped in front of him. The candle flame wavered as she pressed her other hand to his scrawny chest. “Mr. Wilder has done no such thing. Instead, he has agreed to absolve the debt.” The disclosure nearly stuck in her throat. “You see, he and I … shall be married.”

“Married—?” Gerald’s jaw dropped. He stared at her as if she’d sprouted whiskers. “You’ll marry him?”

“Yes.”

“But … you’re not his sort. He likes wenches who—” Gerald cleared his throat, his cheeks turning ruddy. “That is, he likes common women.”

Bitterness choked Alicia. “Nevertheless, we’ve come to an agreement. We shall be wed as soon as arrangements can be made.”

“No! I’ll find the money somehow.” Her brother plunked the box down onto the floor, and the muffled chink of coins rang out in the shadowed upper landing. Dropping to one knee, he untied the twine and opened the top. The meager candlelight glinted off a small mound of gold