Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,58
spark of defiance in her eyes. He wanted to lure her into a darkened room and make long slow love to her. The craving shook him with its intensity.
Turning toward the door, he ruthlessly banished her from his mind. Lady Alicia meant nothing to him—nothing beyond his means to get back at Hailstock.
The familiar acid of anger burned inside him. He walked through the crowds, ignoring the murmurings as he passed. Though he’d had no dearth of dance partners, these snobs didn’t truly accept him. They would tolerate an outsider in their midst only because he had been forced upon them. Little did they know, their petty animosities merely amused him.
Descending the grand staircase, he glanced around. A quick accounting of the card players in the drawing room elicited no success. A red-haired dandy gave a languid wave, inviting him to join their game, but Drake politely shook his head. His heels rang out as he rounded the corner past the staircase. There must be a library where the politicians would gather. It was a likely spot to check.
The rumble of male voices grew louder as he neared a doorway. Then a man walked out, his movements jerky and fast. The light from the wall sconce fell on his thickly silvered black hair and arrogant features.
No surprise widened those frosty gray eyes. Hailstock didn’t so much as flinch. He merely regarded his son with cold contempt.
Someone had told him. He already had heard that an infamous commoner had invaded his privileged circle.
Drake wanted to drive his fist into the wall. He’d been cheated. Cheated of the moment he had anticipated for twenty years. And the more fool he for not anticipating this turn of events.
Wheeling around, Hailstock stalked down the corridor and thrust open a door. He stood waiting, his face stern, his hands pushing back his finely tailored coat. He looked like a father intending to thrash his son.
“Get in here,” he growled.
Drake had never hated him more than in that moment. He was forced into the position of either obeying like a chastened child or refusing to accede, thereby flouting his own plans. Cursing under his breath, he strode forward. The supercilious tyrant would not direct the course of this confrontation.
As befitting his self-importance, Hailstock led the way into a dimly lit chamber. He made a move to shut the door.
Drake caught the panel and stopped it. “Afraid someone might see us together and guess the truth, Father?”
The marquess’s lips thinned. “Desist in this fantasy of yours. I am no more your father than the Prince Regent himself.”
“Deny it all you like. But you did have an affair with my mother in Edinburgh thirty years ago.”
“You have no proof beyond that stickpin she stole.”
Once, just once, Drake wanted to hear Hailstock acknowledge his paternity. And by the devil he would. “Tell me, my lord, if your net worth is presently four hundred sixty thousand pounds—”
“Wretch!” Hailstock broke in angrily. “Where did you come by that knowledge?”
“—and through various investments, you earn a tidy four percent annual interest, what size will be the fortune that you leave to dear James, should you die in, say, eighteen years’ time?”
Those eyes narrowed slightly in calculation. He made a sharp, dismissing motion with his hand. “So that’s what this is all about—you’re planning to blackmail me. Name your price, then. Tell me how much it will cost to send you back to the sewer out of which you crawled.”
Drake’s chest muscles tightened. “Keep your bloody fortune. I have my own. Just answer my question.”
“I’ll not discuss my personal finances with the likes of you.”
“Then I’ll solve our hypothetical problem. Your worth will be precisely nine hundred forty-three thousand, nine hundred eight pounds.” Tasting triumph, he went on in a low tone, “But you already knew that, of course. Because you, too, have the ability to figure complex sums without resorting to paper and pen. It is a talent I inherited. From you.”
Hailstock said nothing. He stood, shoulders stiff, fists clenched at his sides.
“Go on, test me if you like,” Drake said softly. “Give me any combination of numbers and I’ll give you the answer.”
“I’ve no interest in parlor tricks. Now step aside.”
“No. You can’t walk away and pretend I don’t exist. Not any longer.” He focused the full force of his will upon this man who had abandoned him to poverty as an infant. “Know this, my lord. Every time you enter a ballroom, you will see me. Every time you attend