Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,5

felt ill from the terror of failure. She could plead with him, but his contemptuous expression told her it would be useless. She could appeal to his humanity, but he was a cold, cruel man who knew nothing of kindness. She could rage at him, but all she had left was her dignity.

A bitter taste in her mouth, she took a step backward. “You have proven one fact, Mr. Wilder. That wealth will never make you a gentleman.”

She turned to leave, but his fingers closed as tightly as manacles around her wrist. His expression was rigid, his cheekbones prominent in his despicably handsome face. “Now, there you’re wrong,” he said with soft-spoken menace. “Wealth will enable me to take a place in your exalted circle.”

“If this is another attempt to mock me—”

“I’ve decided to forgive your brother’s debt, after all.” He silenced her with an intense, calculating stare. “On one condition.”

She hated him for resurrecting her hopes. “What? What is it?”

“The condition, my lady, is that you marry me.”

Chapter Two

He watched her as he had done for weeks.

Standing at the window of his office, Drake held back the heavy velvet drapery and peered down at the sunny street below. He paid no heed to the fine carriages that rattled over the cobblestones, the elegant buildings made of Portland stone, the columned facade of White’s Club at the top of St. James’s Street. His attention was fixed on one pedestrian.

Her head held high, Lady Alicia Pemberton left through the front gate and walked at a stately pace past the wrought-iron fence in front of his club. The spring breeze fluttered the white feathers on her bonnet and molded her gown to her curves. He knew the softness of those curves pressed against him, the warm silken skin of her neck and shoulders, her subtle scent of roses. Even now, the memory of her untutored kiss aroused him.

His response to her had surprised him. He’d thought her too frigid and aristocratic for his tastes. He preferred a warm, earthy woman without inhibitions. A woman who knew how to give as much as she took. Not a nose-in-the-air blueblood who believed herself superior to him.

He was a man who controlled his physical urges. Though he savored sensuality in many forms, he must not allow lust to distract him. Not until he had achieved his purpose in marrying Lady Alicia.

She had refused him, of course, though not without a momentary pause. He had waited, anticipating her rejection, until a trace of alarm had clouded those clear blue eyes. She did not want a husband, and he knew why. His informants had done a thorough job of investigation.

And he, too, had observed her from afar. Several times, he’d waited in a closed carriage while she headed out on her early morning errands to the fish market or the greengrocer. He took care to use a different vehicle each time so that she wouldn’t grow suspicious. Watching her wasn’t vital to his plan, yet he’d felt the burning need to learn all he could about the woman who was being courted by his sworn enemy—the Marquess of Hailstock.

Drake’s fingers clenched around the drapery. With narrowed eyes, he stared down at his quarry. Lady Alicia had reached the corner and paused as a coalman’s dray approached. One of the wheels struck a puddle and splashed her with filthy water. She didn’t leap back or shake her fist; she merely waited on the curbstone until the vehicle passed by and she could cross the busy street. Her unruffled, ladylike demeanor intrigued him.

More than he could have imagined, he had enjoyed baiting her, testing that genteel composure. He could admit to a grudging admiration at the way she’d stood up to him. And he’d been stunned by her willingness to do almost anything to protect her family, even relinquish her chastity to a scoundrel.

How he would relish telling Hailstock of her offer.

With cool satisfaction, Drake knew he had read the nobleman’s character well. Lady Alicia must have gone to Hailstock first, and despite his wealth, the marquess had refused to lend her the twenty thousand unless she married him. She had refused him, too. Because Hailstock wouldn’t tolerate her mother.

But Drake could. It was a vulnerability he intended to exploit to ruthless advantage.

“I ken what ye’re up to,” said a gravelly voice behind him. “Dinna think ye can pull the wool over these auld eyes.”

Drake released the drapery, letting it fall across the window as he turned to face