Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,33
had underestimated his power over her.
She wouldn’t do so again.
She stepped down onto the wet drive. A freckle-faced footman held an umbrella to keep off the rain. As they walked, Drake’s arm circled her back and his fingers splayed over her hip, as if to claim ownership of her. She would not cause a scene by flinching from him.
His mouth curved into that smile of lethal charm. “Welcome home … Mrs. Wilder.”
Mrs. Wilder.
His keen gaze unnerved her as much as her new status, and she turned away to view Number Ten, Swansdowne Crescent. Her new home was not the vulgar monstrosity she had expected of an upstart gambler. The magnificent four-story house had the fluid grace of a Greek temple. Tall white columns supported the carved pediment of the portico. The many windows shone with a warm golden light, and Alicia seized on the distraction. “Do you always burn so many candles in the middle of the day?”
“It’s a paltry expense.”
“If you’re a spendthrift.”
“Better a spendthrift than a skinflint.” He arched an amused eyebrow. “Besides, if ever I run low, there are always vast funds to be won from aristocratic gentlemen.”
On that outrageous remark, he drew her up the broad marble stairs to the porch. Once they reached the shelter of the overhang, the footman sprang ahead to open the large front door. Alicia slowed her steps, glancing down the drive and past the dark green iron fence with its opened gate. A few pedestrians hurried along the quiet, curved street, their heads bent against the drizzle.
“Mama and Gerald should be arriving soon,” she said.
“Afraid to be alone with me?”
She wouldn’t admit to the grain of truth in that. “I am concerned about their coachman. He seemed a trifle … slow-witted.”
The massive man with the battered face had had an almost vacant look in his beady eyes. He had made several wrong turns on his way to the church, and Gerald had been forced to redirect him.
“Big Bill was once a pugilist, so perchance his brain is rattled.” Under his breath, Drake added, “He should never have taken the reins today.”
“What’s wrong?” she cried out. “If he causes an accident—”
“He won’t,” Drake said, though he flashed a frown at the street. Then his expression smoothed. “Ah, there they are now.”
Moving at a sedate pace, the fine black coach trundled around the far curve of the crescent, with Big Bill hunched on the coachman’s box. Relieved, but still perturbed, Alicia wrinkled her nose. “A prizefighter. Why would you employ such a brute?”
“Ask my steward. He handles the outside staff.” Drake applied pressure to the base of her spine. “Come, they’ll be a few minutes yet. There’s no sense standing out here in the damp.”
The chilly air made her shiver—there could be no other reason for her sudden tremor—and she glided past the liveried footman who held open the door. The soaring beauty of the entrance hall took her breath away. A chandelier sparkled from the high-domed ceiling. The rich brown pillars against the buff-colored walls gave the vast room an understated elegance, while the mahogany chairs and side tables lent an air of comfortable grace.
Hard-pressed not to gawk like a bumpkin, Alicia lowered her gaze and noticed the long line of servants who awaited the customary introduction to their new mistress, the grooms and footmen in dark blue livery with silver buttons, the maids in matching blue gowns with white aprons. The sight brought a measure of calm to her. Before Papa had lost his wealth, she had been trained to oversee a large household. Though her marriage was not the love match she’d once dreamed about, she would make a place for herself here. She would forget her despair in the performance of her duties.…
Realizing that Drake was leading her to the grand staircase, she murmured, “The staff has assembled to meet me.”
His handhold restrained her from veering toward the servants. “That won’t be necessary,” he said in a low-pitched voice.
“Not necessary?”
“You heard me. Wait here.” He strolled toward the group; Alicia ignored his edict and followed him.
At the head of the line stood a stoop-shouldered, elderly man in the garb of a butler, and beside him, a voluptuous, red-haired woman who wore a ring of keys at her waist. In her daringly cut bodice, she looked more like a female of ill repute than a housekeeper.
“You disobeyed my order,” Drake said.
“I tole her you shed not to gather here,” the old man slurred. He blinked his rheumy eyes at