Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,55
a dark burgundy coat with gold buttons topped a green waistcoat and tan breeches. “Wilder,” he said with a sniff. “Haven’t you toddled into the wrong place tonight? This is a party for respectable folk.”
“If respectable is the measure of a man, Mountjoy, I must question your presence, as well.”
Those thin lips curled. He focused his pale eyes on Alicia. “I understand this is the new Mrs. Wilder?”
She remembered Baron Mountjoy. Long ago, when she was still in the schoolroom, his mother had befriended Mama, dropping hints about a match between their families, though even then, Alicia had never liked his shallow pretensions. Politely, she said, “My lord. What a pleasure to see you again. Is your mother well?”
“Quite so. She is visiting with the Marchioness of Bancroft.” He inclined his head toward a grouping of gilt chairs occupied by the matrons of society.
“If you will excuse me, I must pay my respects to her.”
She took a step. He neatly blocked her path, regarding her and Drake with an almost triumphant conceit. “Spare yourself the humiliation. She would never acknowledge you.”
Alicia held on to her smile. “Surely she can accept my marriage for the sake of an old family friendship.”
“Ah, but it is more than your unfortunate marriage—far more.” He gave a nasty chuckle. “There is also the matter of your mother. She has … how shall I say it? Bats in her belfry.”
The breath left Alicia’s lungs. The music faded to a dull echo. Before the heat of rage could unfreeze her tongue, Drake took hold of Mountjoy’s arm. Only Alicia was near enough to discern the pressure of that grip, to see the baron’s face whiten.
“Apologize to the lady,” Drake said in a pleasant tone.
“You … oaf…”
Drake’s fingers moved slightly, squeezing all the tighter. “I’m waiting.”
Mountjoy’s desperate gaze flashed to Alicia. He babbled, “F—forgive me, my lady. I spoke out of turn.”
Drake released him. “Not very prettily done, but we’ll overlook your lack of manners.”
Mountjoy rubbed his arm. “How dare you,” he whined. “You nearly broke a bone.”
“A pity I didn’t. One must behave oneself when out in public.”
The two men exchanged a look, Mountjoy glaring, Drake unsmiling. With a huff of contempt, the baron turned on his heel.
“I haven’t yet dismissed you,” Drake said in a low-pitched voice.
The nobleman glanced over his shoulder. “Do not speak as if you have any rights over me—”
“I expect your vowels to be paid in full. Tomorrow.”
That narrow face grew even paler. “Cad! You agreed to wait. You know I haven’t the funds till next quarter—”
“Tomorrow,” Drake repeated in that firm, civil tone.
Mountjoy’s thin lips opened and shut; then he slunk away, disappearing into the throng of people.
Alicia fought the unladylike urge to gloat. She shouldn’t be glad he owed Drake a gambling debt. She shouldn’t rejoice to see another person defeated. It wasn’t charitable of her. But he had voiced the one insult she had feared to hear tonight.
“He has no right to mock Mama,” she said murderously. “Even in a fit of madness, she is far sweeter and more genteel than he or his mother could ever hope to be.”
Large and comforting, his hand settled at the back of her waist. “Don’t give Mountjoy another thought. He is a pompous ass.”
“He is a prune-faced weasel,” she corrected, seeking a more demeaning image.
“A hen-hearted coxcomb,” Drake offered.
“A ham-fisted clodpate.”
“A brainless sapskull.”
“A pudding-headed” —she scoured her mind for another slur—“nincompoop.”
Drake chuckled, his fingers stroking lightly over her back. “Running out of insults, are you? I never thought to see the moment.”
She tried to hold on to her anger. But his eyes crinkled at the corners and his dimples carved an attractive humor into his rogue’s face. A smile nudged at her mouth; then she laughed so gaily that a cluster of ladies aimed outraged glares at them.
Alicia didn’t care. Let the ton spread their petty gossip. They wouldn’t dampen her spirits tonight.
“Thank you,” she murmured. Then, lest he think she needed him to fight her battles, she added, “For defending Mama.”
“I did it for you.”
Her heart gave a little jump, and she had to remind herself not to trust that lazy smile of his. He was more interested in fighting for his own respect than for hers. Still, his protectiveness pleased her somehow.
She felt suddenly alive, her senses attuned to the magic of the night. In the candlelight, the ballroom glowed like a fairyland. The orchestra played softly, though the dancing had not yet begun. The tension weighing on Alicia lightened