Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,36
arrogant face.
Deliberately Drake took a deep breath. For now, he had Gerald to pacify. He would deal with Hailstock later.
Beads of rainwater slid down the outside window. A fire burned on the hearth, dispelling the damp chill, and a branch of candles flickered on the nearby desk. Here Drake liked to read in the dark, predawn hour after returning from his club. And here he liked to plan.
An alabaster vase on the mantelpiece held a tuft of white ostrich feathers. No one but him—and Fergus—knew the feathers were the remnants of a fan his mother had carried long ago, playing the part of an Egyptian princess in some long-forgotten drama. She’d delighted in recounting how he’d made his theatrical debut as baby Moses in the bulrushes, squalling with indignation until she’d picked him up and cuddled him close.
He needed that reminder now. Muira Wilder had raised him with the fierce devotion of two parents. She hadn’t deserved to be used and abandoned by a haughty English lord.
Stalking to the sideboard, he lifted a crystal decanter. “Brandy?”
The Earl of Brockway flexed his puny fists. “I didn’t come here to drink, Wilder. I demand to know your intentions toward my sister.”
“That is a private matter.”
“You promised her a chaste marriage. She told me so herself. If you’ve gulled her, you’ll answer to me.”
“Have a care whom you call a liar.”
Like a foolhardy pup, Gerald took a step closer. “I witnessed that unmannerly embrace at the altar. You mean to use her ill, to force your attentions on her.”
Drake curbed his angry impatience and splashed amber liquor into two glasses. In any other situation, he would put an end to such insolence in no uncertain terms. But Gerald was family now.
Besides, coercion of Alicia would be unnecessary. Drake had only to bide his time—and charm his bride. “I’ve never forced myself on any woman. And I don’t intend to start now.” His footsteps silent on the Turkish rug, he walked over and handed Gerald a brandy. “Sit down.”
The young earl accepted the glass, but didn’t drink—or sit. “I shan’t let you play the devil with my sister.”
“May I remind you, she is my wife now. By the laws of God and man.” Moderating his stern tone, Drake placed a hand on Gerald’s shoulder. “Rest assured, I will not harm her. You have my word on that.”
Gerald blinked uncertainly, and at a slight push from Drake, plopped down into one of the leather chairs. He took a gulp of brandy and coughed deep in his chest, his eyes watering. All the fight seemed to drain out of him. He slumped with his elbows perched on his bony knees, his head bowed over his glass. “’Tis my fault. I’ve been a cork-brain, and Ali’s the one to pay for it.”
Drake settled himself in the opposite chair. Stretching out his legs, he crossed them at his ankles. Against his will, he felt a tug of kinship with the young earl. His brother now.
He had seen his own half-brother James close up on only one occasion, as a cherubic two-year-old toddling toward his father. And he had witnessed the pride on Hailstock’s face. He wondered if Hailstock still felt such pride now that his heir could walk no more.
Taking a tasteless swallow of brandy, Drake regarded Gerald’s glum face. “What’s done is done,” he said. “Don’t flog yourself over that game we played.”
“But only a hen-hearted knave would risk his mother’s home, his sister’s happiness. I was a fool to think I’d win, just because I held two bloody aces.”
Drake had known Gerald’s cards that night. Not by sleight of hand, but by cold calculation. The earl was like most men, relying on luck, hoping for fortune to turn, rather than analyzing the odds.
Nagged by restlessness, Drake rose from the chair and went to the gleaming mahogany desk. From the top drawer he extracted a paper, which he carried to the fire and dropped into the flames. The I.O.U. curled and blackened, turning to ash.
He pivoted on his heel. “There, your vowels are paid in full. Twenty thousand guineas.”
“It might as well have been thirty pieces of silver,” Gerald said morosely.
“Nonsense. Alicia and Lady Eleanor will lead a far more comfortable life here. You haven’t betrayed them.”
“Alicia ought to have had a choice. Women set great store by love.”
“Women have married for monetary reasons since the beginning of time. This is no different.” Gerald didn’t look convinced, and it was pointless to argue. Now that she was