Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,3
flickering firelight, his eyes glinted at her. Predator eyes.
Dear God, help me.
She rose from the chair and took a step toward Wilder. They faced each other like combatants in a boxing ring. A faint smile tilted one corner of his mouth. He seemed to relish her dilemma, but that only fired her resolve.
She could bend him to her will. He was only a man, after all. And men could be manipulated.
Deliberately she relaxed her tense muscles and curved her lips into a cool smile. Then she untied the ribbons beneath her chin and removed her bonnet, letting it drop to the chair behind her. “Perhaps I could interest you in another form of repayment.”
Wilder cocked an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“I am offering to be … your mistress.”
A scowl darkened his face. His fingers closed around the dice until his knuckles showed white. She could have sworn he looked angry, but that made no sense. Bitterly she wondered how else he’d thought she would repay him.
“Do you know the odds of rolling a seven?” he said unexpectedly.
“Sir, I am not a gamester. I truly don’t care—”
“The odds are one in six.” With a lightning-quick motion of his wrist, he tossed the dice into a shallow box on the desk. “Come, see how I fared.”
Wondering at his purpose, she slowly approached him. A lock of black hair dipped onto his brow, enhancing his rakish look. His subtle male scent wrapped around her like a silken noose. Up close, he had an arresting face, a clean-shaven jaw and strong cheekbones, a mouth with a slight sensual curl that made her think of stolen kisses in the darkness.
Alicia blinked down at the black velvet-lined box, where the ivory cubes displayed a two and a five. “A lucky throw,” she murmured, fighting to keep the venom from her voice. If rumor were truth, Drake Wilder had the luck of Lucifer.
He shook his head. “This pair of dice is weighted,” he said, turning one in his long fingers. “A tiny quantity of lead is secreted beneath certain numbers, which causes the die to overbalance and fall to the opposite side. If the dice are thrown just so, the odds of winning greatly increase. Quite handy for the unscrupulous gambler.”
Gripped by angry suspicion, Alicia frowned. “Are you saying … you cheated my brother?”
Something hot and frightening flashed in his eyes. It vanished in an instant, leaving a flinty chill. “Hardly. Lord Brockway played the faro table.”
“You could have rigged the game in favor of the house,” she said, unwilling to let go of the notion.
“There is no cheating permitted in my club. These”—he dropped the ivory cubes back into the box—“were taken from a gentleman who disobeyed that rule.”
“Then what is your point?”
“That things are not always as they appear to be.” His eyes sharp and piercing, he lowered his voice to a silken growl. “And I am no fool.”
Again, she had the discomfiting urge to step backward, to put a safe distance between them. But that would be tantamount to admitting he held the upper hand. “I never said you were.”
“Yet you expect me to forgive a marker of twenty thousand guineas in exchange for a romp in bed. Either you think me a fool—or you vastly overrate yourself.”
His scorn struck a blow at her confidence. Did he not find her attractive?
He must.
Drawing on the charm that had once made her a sought-after beauty, Alicia managed a throaty laugh. “Why, you mistake me, Mr. Wilder. I certainly don’t expect to discharge the debt in one night. I’d hoped we could agree upon a mutually satisfactory length of time.”
“Indeed.”
Encouraged that he hadn’t refused outright, she fluttered her lashes like a coquette. “I should think you’d appreciate a woman who would never beg you for trinkets or favors. A lady who knows how to behave discreetly.”
“I might get you with child.”
Alicia controlled a shudder. There was shame in bearing a bastard, yet long ago she had set aside the dream of marriage and family, the tender yearning for children of her own. She had resigned herself to spinsterhood for a reason he couldn’t know.…
Having no other choice, she pushed away that dread. “Then I would care for the child. You need fear no obligation.”
“How considerate of you.”
His face was inscrutable. Her palms damp, she slowly unbuttoned her spencer, slid the short jacket off her shoulders, and let it drop to the chair. “You’ll find me pleasant company,” she murmured. “I’m able to visit you each evening at nine—or later,