Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,71
a congenial smile, he strolled toward them. “Keeble. Duxbury. I trust the both of you have been staying out of trouble.”
Viscount Keeble patted his stout belly. “We were about to toddle into the dining room for that fine roast beef your chef prepares. That is, until Ducks here put me to a wager.”
“I bet fifty guineas that he’d be leg-shackled before I am,” Duxbury said, towering over his crony, a fool’s grin on his baby face. He gestured at the open betting book, where members of the club recorded such wagers. “If you will stand witness, Wilder.”
“This makes me want to find an heiress to feather my nest,” Keeble said, rubbing his hands in glee. “And if I do, you’ll have your fifty, Ducks, and I’ll have my thousands.”
Duxbury poked him in the ribs. “Mayhap we’ll both find a plump pigeon. We’ll be birds of a feather.”
“’Tis better than being bird-witted.”
Looking at each other, they chortled with laughter.
God pity the woman who married either of these idiots, Drake thought. Picking up the quill, he dipped it into the silver inkpot and scrawled his name beneath theirs in the betting book. “If you gentlemen will excuse me now.”
“One moment,” Keeble said, his eyes avid beneath his thinning brown curls. “We hear you’re to be congratulated, Wilder, for moving up in the world.”
“By snaring yourself a ladybird,” Duxbury added.
Both men hooted with mirth again.
Gripped by an icy tension, Drake fisted his fingers into each man’s coat sleeve. Their merriment ground to a halt, and they gaped at him, Keeble short and plump-cheeked, Duxbury tall and slack-mouthed.
“Never describe my wife with a name reserved for whores,” Drake said in a tautly pleasant tone. “Is that understood?”
“Right-o,” Keeble blurted out. “’Twas only a jest, old boy.”
“No need to fly off the handle,” Duxbury added.
Drake released his grip. Like rats fleeing a tomcat, the two men scurried toward the dining room.
They were cork-brained fools, Drake knew. Still, he resented their implication, that Alicia had lowered herself by marrying him. She had benefited from their union as much as he had—and in more ways than wealth. Were it not for him, she would still be a sour-mouthed spinster instead of a well-satisfied woman. Remembering her carnal awakening, he wanted to strut with all the pride of a conquerer. But he had the uneasy sense that she had conquered him, too.
Oh, Drake, I do want you … I liked what you did to me … I wouldn’t change a moment of it …
Those soft words still had the power to blot out reason and logic. One night had not sated him. His loins still burned for his wife. He wanted her with a maddening urgency that defied comprehension. And there was no reason not to indulge himself.
Striding into the deserted foyer, he headed for the front door. The club could function without him for a few hours. No doubt Fergus would glower and grumble about the extra work, but he’d survive.
Drake was the master now. And there was no one he wanted to master more than his wife. Would she welcome him into her bed this time? Or would she act the prickly puritan again? He couldn’t wait to find out.
As he neared the door, the frosted glass panel swung open. Reacting fast, he caught it with his hand. “What the devil—?”
He bit off the curse and stopped in his tracks. As if summoned by the dark force of his fantasies, Alicia walked into the club.
Or rather, marched would have been a more apt description, he thought, admiring the swish of her skirts as she spun around to face him. A close-fitting jacket outlined her bosom and defined her slim waist. Her lips were pursed, her gaze icy, her manner stiff. Ah, the puritan.
So much the better. He would enjoy seducing her all over again.
The epitome of an arrogant aristocrat, she lifted her chin and raised one eyebrow. Without preamble, she asked coldly, “Where is my brother?”
So she had found out. With deliberate nonchalance, he kissed her soft cheek. “Good evening to you, too, darling.”
She turned her head away. “Don’t waste your charm on me. I know what a villain you are beneath all that male posturing.”
“And I know what a beauty you are beneath all that feminine outrage.”
He reached out to caress her, but she slapped his hand away. “Don’t try to work your wiles,” she said in a low-pitched voice. “I’ve found out that you’ve been corrupting Gerald.”