Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,69
And therein lay danger. The last thing she wanted was to give him her heart.
* * *
All her life, Alicia had taken her troubles to one person. Today she needed to talk to someone who knew Mama well, to find out if her condition had been caused by traumatic events. But the moment she walked into the foyer of Pemberton House later that afternoon and hugged Mrs. Molesworth, all thought of her own worries vanished.
Exuding a familiar floury scent, the housekeeper stepped back, her sturdy fingers bunching her apron in a distraught manner. “M’lady! ’Tis time you’ve come to see me, and today of all days.”
Guiltily, Alicia said, “I should have brought Mama to visit, I know. And I promise I shall very soon—”
She paused, noticing for the first time the canvas that covered the floor of the drawing room. Scaffolding stood against the wall, and a painter balanced on the high platform, his brush whisking up and down, leaving swaths of yellow against the dull gray plaster. The acrid scent of paint hung in the air, and a distant hammering echoed from somewhere upstairs. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Gerald can’t afford to renovate.”
“’Tis your Mr. Wilder who’s payin’ the bills, m’lady. Fer fixin’ that rickety stair rail, and all the other repairs. An’ there be tables an’ chairs an’ all manner of furniture comin’, too.”
Softness crept into Alicia’s heart. This was another of Drake’s good deeds. Though, of course, he would claim to be merely protecting his property. “Where is Gerald? Has he returned home yet?”
“Why, ’e’s gone, m’lady. Slept till noon an’ rode off not thirty minutes ago.”
“I don’t understand.…” If her brother held a position in a bank, then why would he be sleeping late? Had he been discharged? Another possibility distressed her. “Is he ill? You should have sent word immediately.”
Mrs. Molesworth shook her head so vehemently, her mobcap slipped slightly askew. “Nay, ’e’s been right as rain. But there be other trouble brewin’, I fear.” Taking Alicia’s arm, the housekeeper urged her into the empty library. She glanced around as if half expecting a spy to pop out from behind the faded draperies. In an nervous whisper, she said, “’Tis Lord Hailstock.”
“What do you mean?”
“’E’s ’ere, m’lady. ’E arrived a few minutes ago.” Setting her hands on her broad hips, Mrs. Molesworth pursed her lips. “An’ ’e’s pokin’ through the earl’s study.”
* * *
The oak-paneled room was situated at the rear of the house. Here, many generations of earls had tended to business matters. The study belonged to Gerald now, though with their family holdings vastly reduced, Alicia knew there was little but bills left to occupy him.
She had been unable to bring herself to sell these furnishings. The chamber held too many memories of sitting on her papa’s lap while he told her a tale of knights and dragons, or running to him when she’d been hurt so that he could soothe her tears. Pain thrust into her. Of course, she hadn’t realized back then his ineptness for managing money. Or his weakness for playing cards.…
The door stood ajar, and she pushed it open. Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunlight, and the air held a haunting trace of her father’s pipe tobacco. The study looked as it had always been, spartan and masculine, with comfortable leather chairs and dark brown draperies.
Lord Hailstock crouched before the oak desk. He had his arm thrust to the elbow into an opened drawer, as if he were feeling for something stuck far in the back. His gaze met hers, and he went still.
His unorthodox pose stunned Alicia, as did his odd air of furtiveness. She advanced toward the desk. “My lord! What on earth are you doing?”
He stood up, brushing at his fine gray coat. His debonair smile seemed forced as he rounded the desk and walked to her. “My lady. You gave me quite a start.”
Still baffled, she dipped a curtsy. “May I help you find something?”
“As a matter of fact, no.” The marquess laughed a trifle self-consciously. “There were some letters I wrote to your father a long time ago. I wondered if he had kept them.”
“I went through his papers after his death, and I don’t recall seeing any letters from you.” Though Lord Hailstock had been a family friend for as far back as she could remember, Alicia somehow mistrusted his explanation. Why would such a principled man lower himself to snooping? “I would be happy to look again if you