Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,77
for worse, Drake was her husband. Wishing wouldn’t change that fact.
Did she even want to change it?
A ridiculous question. Of course she wouldn’t choose to be wed to a gambler. Especially not a man who owned a gambling club, a man who was aggressive, blunt-spoken, domineering. Yet Drake also had a surprising decency beneath all his masculine swaggering. He could be generous to those in need, kind enough to return Pet to her brother, patient with her befuddled mother.
And he could be seductive. Oh, yes, he could make his wife burn with desire.
A wave of intense longing swept over Alicia, bringing with it a realization that shone brightly in the maelstrom of her emotions. She wanted to feel the warmth of Drake’s arms around her. She wanted to learn the secrets of his past, to share his innermost thoughts. Though her mind rebelled at the notion, her body reveled in anticipation.
Whether it be foolishness or folly, she wanted to make the best of their marriage.
Chapter Eighteen
Stretched out naked between the sheets, Drake pillowed his head on his crossed arms and listened for sounds from the adjoining chamber. He could hear only the hissing of the coal fire. Except for a faint, reddened glow from the hearth, the bedroom was black as night, though beyond the closed shutters, dawn was lighting the sky.
Scowling up at the darkened canopy, he told himself to forget about Alicia. He had no wish to invite her scorn. Although he couldn’t purge her from his mind, he felt reluctant to face her. Now he understood the depths of her hatred of him.
No wonder she had fought against their marriage. She had told him that wealth wouldn’t make him a gentleman, and he had seen it as proof of her snobbery. But her coldness hadn’t arisen from a belief in her own superiority; rather, she’d despised his profession. For good cause.
Damnation! He ought to have investigated her past. He would have discovered the truth about her father.
And had he known, would he have desisted?
Drake had to admit he’d have gone through with his plan regardless. She was the one woman Hailstock wanted. And stealing her for himself made Drake’s revenge all the sweeter.
Remembering her tears, though, he felt a sour distaste for himself. He told himself he shouldn’t care how miserable she felt. He had given her wealth and a comfortable life, when most women had to scrabble to put food on the table. But he did care, and that angered him.
He wanted to hold her close and comfort her. Hell. Soft embraces were for milksops. He wanted her for one purpose, and one purpose alone. If he wasn’t so certain she despised him, he would join her in bed and awaken her for his pleasure. She would be sleepy and warm, her silken blond hair streaming over the pillow. He would push the nightgown to her waist and come down on her. Even as awareness darkened her eyes, he would touch her and tame her—
The connecting door opened.
He lifted his head, his heart jolting, his gaze narrowing. Alicia stood in the doorway. The pale light of dawn outlined her slim figure, and her flimsy nightdress hinted at womanly curves. His desire turned to hard, pulsing arousal. She couldn’t resist him, after all.
“Drake?” she called softly. “Are you awake?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. He wanted her too fiercely for words. Curse this obsession. Alicia was no different from any other woman he’d bedded. He would slake his lust and be done with her.
“Come in,” he said.
She ventured inside and shut the door. The room plunged into darkness again. His eyes still dazzled by the light, he couldn’t see her in the dense black shadows. Yet he was keenly aware of her presence … and the erotic thrill inside himself.
He pushed up against the pillows, raising one knee and resting his arm on it. By the faint glow of the fire, he found her. She stood at the foot of the bed, a ghostly shape in the gloom. He hadn’t even heard her move.
“I need to speak to you,” she said, her voice too firm and too restrained for a seductress.
Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps she had another purpose. She could have a knife in her hand, ready to cut off his ballocks.
He felt an involuntary twinge in that part of his anatomy. Annoyed with himself, he nonetheless felt compelled to say gruffly, “I’m sorry about your father. I didn’t know.”