Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,42
cheek, as chilly as her resolve. She would bide her time. And when Drake returned home, she would confront him.
Chapter Ten
Drake stood for a moment in the darkness, staring up at his father’s house. The grand facade built of Portland stone featured Palladian columns and tall, corniced windows. The ground floor was dark, but lamplight glowed in a chamber above. He wondered what his life would have been like if he’d grown up here. If he had been raised as the son of a powerful lord.…
To hell with it. He’d done better for himself without a father at all.
Reaching into his pocket, Drake fingered the slender gold band encrusted with sapphires and diamonds. The reminder of Hailstock’s audacity filled him with rage.
Though the hour was late, he knew the marquess had just returned home from a dinner engagement. Drake had instructed his coachman to wait around the corner. He didn’t intend for anyone to see him here. The time was not yet right for him to reveal his paternity.
He strode up the broad steps and rapped on the front door. A footman clad in black and silver livery admitted him. As Drake stepped into the entrance hall with its marble archways and soaring staircase, an eerie sense of familiarity came over him. He remembered standing here as a boy of ten, his neck craned in awe at the magnificence of the place. And his chest aching with hope that he would at last know his father.
Addressing the footman, he said coolly, “Tell his lordship that Drake Wilder is here to see him.”
“Yes, sir.” After casting him a curious glance, the servant mounted the grand staircase.
As soon as he vanished out of sight, Drake followed. He didn’t intend for Hailstock to refuse to see him.
At the top of the stairs, Drake glanced around at the fine statuary in niches and the passageways leading off in several directions. He strode past the shadowed gallery and toward a short corridor that led to the front of the house. Sure enough, he saw the footman conferring with a silver-haired man out in the corridor.
Hailstock.
Controlling a surge of loathing, Drake walked toward them, and the marquess pivoted on his heel to stare. The footman scuttled off in the opposite direction. Swiftly, Hailstock marched away from a large salon, where lamplight glowed and a fire glimmered on the hearth.
“How dare you invade my house,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice low. “I’ll have you tossed out like the rabble you are.”
Ignoring him, Drake frowned into the salon. On a chaise by the fireplace, a young man reclined, his crippled legs covered by a blanket. The firelight glinted off his tawny hair and petulant profile. His eyes closed, he appeared to be dozing.
Drake felt a sharp twist inside himself that could only be anger. James, Lord Scarborough by his courtesy title. His half-brother.
He swung to Hailstock. “What’s the matter?” he jeered. “Are you afraid your other son might hear?”
Alarm flashed into those frosty gray eyes. His face ashen, Hailstock glanced into the salon. “Damn you,” he muttered. “Keep your voice down. Now go on downstairs. We can talk there.”
Drake held his ground. “There’s no need to talk. I merely wish to return this.” Reaching inside his coat, he drew out the ring and tossed it to Hailstock.
The older man caught it reflexively, gripping the small circle in his hand. “This ring belongs to Alicia.”
“My wife doesn’t accept gifts from you.” Savoring a cold triumph, Drake took a step toward the man he had abhored for so many years. “And if you dare to come near her again, I’ll kill you.”
* * *
In the salon, James lay with his eyes closed.
It amused him at times to pretend slumber while his father entertained guests. James knew how to concentrate his attention, blotting out distractions. He had garnered juicy tidbits of gossip that way, and a few times he’d had difficulty restraining laughter while an old dowager flirted with his widowed father. No one realized the keenness of his hearing. They seemed to think that being crippled had somehow impaired his other senses, too.
When he’d heard the footman out in the corridor announce Drake Wilder, James’s ears had perked with interest. Wilder was the baseborn gambler who had married Alicia. James had known his father was furious about the wedding, but had attributed it to the fact that he liked to control those around him, a trait James had noticed more since he’d been crippled and had so much