Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,64

fire burned on the hearth. The muted lighting wrapped the room in cozy intimacy. In the canopied four-poster, the linens had been turned down and the pillows lay plump and white against the gilded headboard.

Alicia felt caught in a strange dream. She watched, helpless with longing, as Drake set the champagne bottle on a rosewood table, then unbuttoned his frock coat and shrugged out of it. All the while, his dark and determined gaze held hers.

Controlling a tremor, she picked up the bottle and poured champagne into a glass. For one night, she wanted to forget all the reasons he was wrong for her. She wanted to forget the past and pretend they had a real marriage, the happiness her parents had known long ago.

Before she could lift the glass to her lips, Drake caught her wrist. “You’ve had enough of that.”

“I thought you wanted me tipsy,” she said, lifting her chin in dignified defiance. “So that I would do as you willed.”

“I did,” he admitted. “But I’ve changed my mind. I want you to be fully aware of who I am.”

Her brief rise of rebellion died. It would serve no purpose to delude herself. He was the man who had forced her into marriage. Tonight she would give herself into the power of Drake Wilder, gamester, scoundrel, pirate of noble fortunes.

He took the glass and set it on the table. Then he moved his hands to her upper arms, caressing lightly over her bare skin. “Alicia,” he murmured. “There is but one way to rid ourselves of this obsession we have for each other. One way to be done with it.”

She couldn’t answer. She could only stare mutely at him.

“I am going to make love to you,” he went on, and the confidence in his voice raised an inexplicable pleasure along her nerves. His fingers left a trail of sparks down her arms and over her breasts. “I will touch you and kiss you as I please. And when it is over, you will no longer be a virgin.”

She felt incapable of denying him. The bargain that had been so vital to her pride and her self-preservation seemed unimportant now. She could think only of the need burning inside herself, the need that made her lie awake in the darkness, her mind and body too restless for sleep. If one night with him ended this torment, then it would be well worth the price.

And she might conceive a child. A healthy child. A child to hold and love and guide. The possibility shone like a bright beacon in the dark turbulence of her desire.

I would never, ever forsake my child.

Did Drake want an heir to his fortune? Most men did. Yet she knew little of his thoughts, his dreams, his past.

He unbuttoned his silver-striped waistcoat, tossing the garment onto a chair. As he shed his shirt, the firelight bronzed his broad, muscled chest with its dusting of dark hairs. His abdomen looked hard and trim above the waistband of his breeches. He had the robust physique of a workman.

She stared, dazed by his splendor, stunned by his lack of modesty. Did he expect her to disrobe, too? Right here in front of him?

He must.

Turning unsteadily around, she took a deep breath and tugged off her gloves. He was a stranger to her. They had been wed less than a fortnight. A month ago, she hadn’t even been aware of his existence. And now she would surrender herself to him in a manner so private, no lady ever spoke of it. Yet she wanted to know the passions of the flesh; she craved him with an unladylike hunger.

Faintly horrified at herself, she stepped to the bedside table and arranged her gloves in a neat pile. She leaned down, but before she could extinguish the lamp, Drake caught her from behind and pulled her away.

“Leave it,” he said, his voice rough and low. “I wish to look upon you.”

Glancing back at him, she was relieved to see that he still wore his breeches. She couldn’t yet reconcile herself to shedding her clothes in front of him. The notion seemed shameful … and furtively exciting.

Standing behind her, he undid the buttons of her gown. She stood quietly, bemused by the shivers that prickled her skin. How extraordinary, to be tended by a man, to feel his fingers brush her undergarments in so familiar a fashion. He pushed the small cap sleeves from her shoulders, and the silk slithered downward in a whisper