Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,26

the elegant guests milling in the foyer below. But after Papa’s horrible death and Mama’s loss of her senses, the nobility had ceased to visit.

Mrs. Molesworth rushed forward, her hands clasped to her stout bosom. “Mrs. Philpot is a dear,” she said. “I couldn’t’ve chose a better companion for ’er ladyship. We ’ad us a nice little chat, that we did.”

“Thank you, madam,” Wilder said with a flourishing bow. “Your approval will mean a great deal to Lady Alicia.”

Then he winked at the servant. Winked.

And the stern Mrs. Molesworth blushed!

Alicia stared from one to the other. How had he won over the cook? Just the other day, she had threatened to spit him and roast him for dinner!

“Mrs. Philpot’s competence remains to be proven,” Alicia pointed out. “Where are her references?”

Her sharp tone appeared to amuse Wilder. “M’lady is a strict one, is she not?” he asked the cook. “Likely, she wouldn’t believe me if I said Mrs. Philpot has a glowing recommendation from the Duchess of St. Chaldon. But we know better.”

She nodded vigorously, her chins jiggling. “That we do.”

“And I trust you’ll keep a close eye on Lady Brockway.”

“Right-o, sir. And might I say, ’tis a blustery day, so I took the liberty of fetchin’ m’lady Alicia’s bonnet an’ cape.” The cook gestured at the accessories, which were draped over the newel post.

“Excellent,” Wilder said. “I like efficiency in a woman.”

While Mrs. Molesworth tittered in a most ridiculous fashion, Alicia gritted her molars to keep from retorting that he also liked his women vulgar and immoral. “Speaking of efficiency, I’d rather go alone. Men have no patience for shopping.”

“Then you haven’t known the right men.”

Taking the bonnet, he settled it over Alicia’s head. As he tied the frayed ribbons into a bow, his long fingers brushed the underside of her chin, and his touch set off another quake of sensation inside her. A peculiar breathlessness seized Alicia. It could only be frustration at his high-handed behavior.

“There you go,” Mrs. Molesworth said, removing Alicia’s apron and then brushing the wrinkles from her skirt. “We can’t ’ave you dressin’ like a common milkmaid. Besides, you need an outin’. ’Twill put the roses back in your cheeks.”

Alicia opened her mouth to protest, but realized it would be her pride talking. Nor could she truly say he was abducting her. Allowing him to purchase a wardrobe for her was the sensible thing to do. After all, she would be entering society again for his sake, to promote his ambitions. She would be satisfying their bargain, that was all.

Preoccupied, she stood quietly while Drake fastened the cape at her throat. He escorted her downstairs and out into the chilly sunshine, where a sleek black coach waited at the curbstone.

His arm around her, he ushered her into the luxurious interior. The burgundy velvet seat provided a comfortable support for her back. Brocaded trim framed the doors, and pleated damask lined the ceiling. The ivory silk shades were raised, each with a gold tassel hanging at the top of the window.

Instead of sitting in the opposite seat, Drake settled himself beside her, his knee almost touching hers. He looked far too elegant in his dark blue frock coat and buckskin breeches, the crisp white cravat tied at his throat.

Resenting him for his perfection, she edged closer to the corner and folded her bare, chapped hands in her lap. She’d planned to spend the afternoon picking apart the seams of outmoded garments and determining how to refashion them. As much as she felt relieved to be denied that task, she didn’t like to contemplate where he had obtained the funds that would pay for her new clothes.

Yet to her shame, she tingled with excitement as the coach started off with barely a jolt. It had been so long since she had ridden in a well-sprung coach with a handsome man at her side. So long since she’d set out on a carefree excursion. She could almost imagine her companion to be an attentive suitor, could almost let herself believe he would be as kind and considerate to his wife as he was to her mother.…

“Our wedding will take place on Thursday,” he said.

She turned to stare at him. “Two days? From now?”

“Yes.”

“But … I will need at least a month to make arrangements, to send out invitations—”

“We’re inviting no one outside the family.”

“I thought you wished the ton to attend.”

“And how many would deign to do so?” Wilder aimed an indolent glance at her. “As my