Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,57

timid, freckle-faced gentleman in tow. He stammered an invitation to dance, and Alicia lacked the heart to refuse him.

Drake gallantly relinquished her. As he walked away, he scanned the assemblage again, and again she had the odd impression that he sought someone in particular. Who? A member of his club? Someone else who owed him money?

As the evening progressed, she caught sight of him from time to time. He had no trouble finding dance partners. The ladies congregated nearby, drawn by his notoriety and the suggestion of wildness behind his civilized appearance. Time and again, Alicia saw him leading a woman onto the dance floor, conversing with her, flattering her no doubt, using his charm to demolish the barriers that had barred him from this exclusive circle.

He had made himself a social success. The thought was oddly dispiriting. He had needed his wife only to get him through the door.

So be it. She was glad to be rid of any obligation to him. Glad to have discharged her debt. So why did she feel this confusing jumble of fascination and longing?

Her face began to ache from smiling. She sat out a set and sipped champagne. There were only so many sprightly comments that one could make to gentlemen who were either too snooty to acknowledge the bride of a gamester or too preoccupied with their own conceits. Had they been so dull five years ago? Had she been so impatient for the company of one man alone?

She lost sight of Drake. He wasn’t anywhere among the colorful lines of dancers. Champagne glass in hand, Alicia left the ballroom and glanced into the other reception rooms. She felt pleasantly woozy, unable to lie to herself. In all good conscience, she couldn’t say that she sought a respite from the press of people. No, she was looking for her husband.

Downstairs, tables had been set up in the drawing room and guests sat playing cards. The library echoed with the voices of gentlemen discussing politics. The dining room rang with the clatter of china and silver as footmen carried in platters from which eddied the aromas of roasted beef and fresh-baked bread. Supper would be served at midnight. But Alicia had no interest in food.

Then she saw him.

In a dimly lit room toward the rear of the house, Drake stood in the shadows, speaking urgently to someone behind the partly closed door. The lamplight from the passageway cast his profile into sharp relief. A concentrated intensity kept his attention focused on his companion. He spoke in a voice too low for her to discern the words.

A sickening possibility lurched in Alicia. Was he alone with a woman?

Fury eradicated the brief stab of pain. Blast him. She would not be shamed by his philandering. Not here, in front of the entire ton.

Marching forward, she thrust back the door. And stopped, struck by recognition of the tall, familiar figure standing in the gloom. His haughty facade radiated hostility.

Lord Hailstock.

Chapter Fourteen

Drake had been too impatient to choose another dance partner. They held no interest for him, these women of privilege who would condescend to flirt with a man of ill repute only in the safety of a crowded ballroom. He had borne their insipid company for one reason alone. So that he could watch the arched doorway for a late arrival.

But the Marquess of Hailstock did not appear.

His absence gnawed at Drake. He had been certain his father would attend this gathering. Hailstock prided himself on being a pillar of society. He liked to prowl his exclusive territory—and Drake burned for the moment when his lordship came face-to-face with his bastard.

Intending to look elsewhere, Drake strolled restlessly toward the door. He scanned the ballroom one last time. And spied, through the resplendent swarm, the one lady who could rivet his attention.

Alicia. His wife.

Her slim back to him, she walked alone toward the refreshment tables. The candlelight cast a halo on her fair hair. With each sinuous movement, her gown brushed womanly curves. She held her chin high as if to mock anyone who might dispute her right to be here.

This had been an ordeal for her, to face disapproval and scandal. Yet she comported herself like a queen.

For one mad moment, the pull of his wife’s attraction surpassed his need for vengeance. He was tempted to go after her, to make lewd remarks so that he could enjoy her reaction. He wanted to touch her, to remind her that she belonged to him, to see that