Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,49
the housekeeper was so possessive of him.
Rounding a corner, he took a shortcut through the darkened gallery, his heels ringing on the pale marble floor. Here he kept many of his acquisitions, the paintings and statues that proved his wealth. But tonight he took only peripheral notice of his surroundings. He reminded himself he should be reveling in the closeness of success.
Already Alicia had finagled an invitation to a ball. In a week’s time, he would insinuate himself into the ton. But not for the purpose she believed. He smiled grimly to think of Hailstock’s face when he realized he could no longer bar his bastard son from society.
“Oh!”
The quavering gasp came from the shadows. He turned sharply. In an alcove, a pedestal diplayed an alabaster statue of Diana the huntress. Behind the sculpture, a small cloaked form peeked out from the gloom.
A plumed cavalier’s hat topped the pale oval of a face. He recognized the costume from a production of Blackbeard, or The Captive Princess.
“My lady,” he said, executing a deep bow. “Forgive me for startling you. Where is Mrs. Philpot this evening?”
Lady Brockway tiptoed out to regard him quizzically. Through the dimness, those fine-boned features bore a haunting resemblance to Alicia.
“Mr. Wilder?” Lady Eleanor asked, obviously in one of her saner moments. Ignoring his question about her companion, she stammered, “Oh, dear … for a moment there I thought … I thought you reminded me of someone.…”
Drake went ice cold. Hailstock.
He had lulled himself into believing the similarities were too subtle to notice. Certainly Alicia had never seen a resemblance. But Lady Eleanor had known Hailstock for many years; she would remember him in his younger, more vigorous days, when he’d been closer in age to Drake.
The last thing Drake wanted was for anyone to guess the truth.
Stepping closer, he took her hands; they nestled like dainty birds in his palms. “Who, my lady?” he asked urgently. “Who do I remind you of?”
“Someone … years ago…” A quiver stirred the cloak around her small shoulders. “Oh, I’m so afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid … to remember…” Pulling her fingers free, she groped underneath the cloak, and he realized she wore that shabby moleskin cape. Her eyes brimmed with tears and she swayed, weeping as if her heart were broken.
Drake acted without thought. Sliding his arm around her, he held her close, and she burrowed into him, the cavalier’s hat tumbling to the floor. He drew out a clean handkerchief and pressed it into her fingers. He didn’t know how to soothe her. The crocodile tears of a mistress he could handle, but not the profound anguish of the dowager countess. His mother-in-law. Strange to think that.
Was she weeping because she feared Hailstock? Did she know that he had threatened to lock her away in Bedlam Hospital?
His jaw clenched, he said, “I assure you, my lady, you’ve no cause for distress. You’re safe in this house. Safe with me.”
Huddling her face against his chest, she took a shuddering breath, her sobs slowing. “Oh, but it is not I who needs protection.”
That jolted him. Who could she mean? Alicia?
“Look at me,” Drake said. Placing his forefinger beneath her chin, he nudged up her face. Silvering strands of blond hair framed her guileless features. Her eyes, like bruised pansies, blinked slowly, as if she struggled to place him. He sensed her withdrawing into herself, into her secret sorrow. Willing her to remain rational, he went on, “You must tell me who requires protection. It’s the only way I can help.”
Dabbing at her cheeks with his crumpled handkerchief, she mournfully shook her head. “No one can help. Alas, it is too late.”
“I don’t understand, then. Why are you still afraid?”
She gazed blankly at him. Then she patted his hand as if he were the one who needed comforting. “I like you,” she said in a musing tone. “You are a very kind man.”
He curbed his impatience. “My lady, please try to think. If someone has made a threat to you or to anyone dear to you, I should like to hear of it.”
Lady Eleanor reached inside her cloak and drew a toy dagger from her sash. “Threaten me? Why, no one would dare, sirrah. I am Anne Bonny, queen of the high seas.”
Frustration churned in Drake. The dreamy look in her eyes told him he would coax no more out of her. Hissing out a breath, he picked up her hat and presented it to her. “I believe this is yours, Madame Pirate.”