Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,60

of her hip. He was struck by the fantasy of following those contours to hidden places, to moist womanly heat and soft inner flesh. To a place that belonged to him alone, though Alicia didn’t accept that fact.

Yet.

The sounds of conversation and music drifted from the reception rooms. Spying a doorway beneath the staircase, Drake steered her into a small, darkened chamber. The cloakroom, he knew by the scents of wool and leather, the brush of fabrics against his coat sleeve.

Alicia’s face formed a perfect oval in the gloom. He could just see the innocent blue of her eyes. “Why are we in here?” she asked.

“Because I prefer privacy when I kiss my woman.”

He dipped his head and claimed her mouth. She was warm and velvety, sweet and feminine. Her lips parted in surprise, and he took swift advantage, tasting the tang of champagne on her tongue as he caressed her with his mouth. Her fingers caught at the front of his coat. He expected resistance. But instead of pushing him away, she leaned into him, releasing a little sigh. Heat surged hard in him, spreading fast, igniting the need to delve deeper into her mysteries.

Cupping her bottom, he lifted her against him, and she quivered, her arms wreathed around his neck. Her eagerness enflamed him. His wife. He wanted to plunge into her, to brand her as his once and for all.

The barrier of clothing frustrated him. He grasped her skirt, intending to draw it to her waist, but the trill of female voices intruded through the fog of passion. Out in the corridor, two women passed by, chattering.

Hell. What madness to take her here. In the midst of a party.

She would enjoy it, of course. But she would never forgive him.

Raising his head, he gazed down into her dreamy eyes. She clung to his shoulders, her breasts crushed to him, her submissiveness utterly unlike the prickly puritan he’d married. Though he knew his effect on women, he had the sudden suspicion that something more had caused that dazed look.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not!”

“The truth, now. How many glasses of champagne have you had tonight?”

Her brows drew together as she considered. “Only two. No, three. Oh, bother … perhaps four at the outside.”

His mind leapt to a nefarious plan. He fought—and won—a brief tussle with his conscience. Bargain or not, she was his wife. His by the laws of God and man.

Inhaling her heady scent, he caressed her cheek. “Find the duchess and see if she can’t ride home with someone else. I’ll fetch our carriage.”

“We’re leaving?”

“You’re in no condition to remain here.”

“But … we should mingle. There’s still the supper dance—and hours of dancing afterwards.” She tilted her head as if confused. “You do wish to be accepted by the ton, don’t you?”

He couldn’t admit he had already accomplished his purpose here. Brushing a kiss over her moist lips, he told her a version of the truth. “I’ve had my fill of the aristocracy for one night. I’m taking you home.”

* * *

As the coach pulled away from the Cuthberts’ mansion, Alicia watched the torches slide past in a blur of brilliance. Then there was only the light from the colza oil lantern mounted on the inside wall of the coach, the enclosed flame flickering with the motion of the vehicle. The intimacy of the setting made her heart beat faster. She felt giddy, and from more than a few glasses of wine.

You’re damn beautiful, and well you know it.

Drake sat beside her on the plush velvet seat. His leg brushed hers. She should be offended by his vulgar cursing, by his aggressive behavior, by his high-handed insistence on leaving the ball. Yet his mastery fed fuel to the banked fire within her.

That kiss. It had been even more wonderful than the first time, at their wedding. He had tasted her deeply, and she had done the same to him. Taking shocking license, he’d pressed their bodies together, and she had liked it. His touch had aroused an almost frantic ache deep within her. The memory made her breathless—but not with indignation. She yearned to feel his hands on her again.

Was this love?

As quickly as the intolerable thought flitted into her mind, she rejected it. She couldn’t possibly love a gambler, a man so disreputable he’d forced her into marriage. He was a cad, a knave, a scapegrace. Though, granted, he wasn’t entirely wicked. He had done a few worthy acts.…

Baffled by the contradictions in him, she turned her head