Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,40
love match.”
“Love.” Saying the word like a curse, Sarah shook her head, her eyes haunted. “I deluded myself.… I didn’t see his true character. All his pretty words … they were lies. Lies.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Nor did I … for too long. After getting me with child … after I gave myself to him with all my heart … he would have nothing more to do with me.”
Alicia’s heart wrenched. “But why?”
“I was too highborn, he said, too virtuous and naïve … and he … he preferred his doxies.” A breath shuddered from her. “He died of a heart seizure … in the bed of his mistress.”
Horrified, Alicia understood so much now. “That’s why you despise my husband. You believe he’s like the duke.”
“All men are the same,” Sarah said derisively. “I’ve yet to meet one who can resist temptation. And we women are blind to their faults … until it is too late.”
Alicia wasn’t blind to Drake’s faults. She knew he’d had many paramours before their marriage, and she didn’t harbor any illusions about his fidelity. Yet Sarah’s pessimism disturbed her in some elemental way. “So let the men do as they will. You shall do as you will, too. You can’t allow one rotted apple to spoil the rest of your life.”
“I haven’t done that.…” But she looked dubious, thoughtful.
“Listen to me,” Alicia said, wanting fervently to help. “You mustn’t let Timothy defeat you even from the grave. You must forget about him and go out into society again.”
Sarah’s expression slowly lightened. “How right you are. You always did have such good sense.”
Trying for humor, Alicia said, “A number of my former suitors would disagree with that.”
“We did have a lot of admirers, didn’t we? Remember how we would divide the gentlemen?” A smile spread over the duchess’s face, transforming her beauty with a wistful humor. “You would have first choice of the fair-haired ones—”
“And you would have the dark-headed men.”
“The ginger-tops and graybeards and bald pates—”
“We’d leave for the other ladies.”
“How generous of us not to charm them all.” Sarah gave a laugh reminiscent of the girl she’d once been. “Oh, I do wish I could go back to those days. I miss the parties, the amusements, the light-hearted fun.”
“You can go back,” Alicia said, the tug of nostalgia as strong as her vow to a dark-haired knave. She was married now. But oh, how carefree they’d been, before Papa’s death and Mama’s illness. If only she could forget the need to use Sarah for her own purpose.
No, for Drake’s purpose.
“Once your mourning period is over,” Alicia added, “you can dance and flirt to your heart’s content.”
“Perhaps so. Perhaps it’s past time I shed my widow’s weeds.” A calculating excitement in her violet eyes, Sarah squeezed Alicia’s hands. “And if I am to set society on its ear, then you shall be at my side.”
* * *
Returning to Swansdowne Crescent, Alicia went in search of Drake on the chance that she might find him still at home. Though their paths seldom crossed—she made sure of that—she had learned his schedule from hearing his footsteps in the corridor or the rumble of his voice in the foyer. For a short while in the afternoon, he often worked at his desk in the library. Then he would leave for his club, spending the evenings there and not returning until near dawn. She would awaken at first light to hear him moving about the suite of rooms adjacent to hers. He seemed to require very little sleep.
She handed her wraps to the butler, who waited at the front door. “Thank you, Chalkers. You’re a dear.”
The stoop-shouldered old man blinked his rheumy eyes at her. “Mishish Wilder? Good evenin’ … er, good day, that ish.”
The odor of spirits drifted from him. He was drunk again, Alicia realized. Though annoyed that Drake hadn’t dealt with the problem, she wondered briefly what would happen to the elderly servant if he were let go. For that reason alone, she wouldn’t pursue the issue with her husband. Drake would undoubtedly throw him out on the streets.
Deciding that she couldn’t bear for that to happen, she hastened through the foyer to the library, where one of the double doors stood ajar. She tapped on the oak panel and without waiting, stepped inside and paused.
The rich perfume of leather and paper greeted her. She breathed deeply, savoring the quiet joy of being surrounded by books. The walls held floor-to-ceiling shelves, stained a deep brown and filled with row