Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,78
him. Then she spoke, so low he had to strain to hear. “Not many people did,” she whispered. “You see, he went out to the mews … it was late at night … very dark…” She paused, a little catch in her voice. “His death was … attributed to a thwarted robbery.”
He had to ask, “Who found him?”
“A groom … and by ill fortune Mama awakened … she went out there and saw…”
Hell. He could sense the pain in Alicia. Every fiber of his being urged him to go to her. But she wouldn’t welcome his comfort. She viewed him as a villain who bled men dry. Men like her father.
There was nothing he could say in his own defense. Nothing that would ease her grief and anger. Did she hate him enough to do something rash? Uneasy again, he peered through the darkness, seeking a glint of cold steel. “Why did you come in here?” he asked bluntly.
“I’ve a few questions for you,” she said, her voice brisk and sharp again.
She wanted to talk? He’d humor her. “Ask away.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Mrs. Yates?”
He tensed, sitting up straighter. “What about her?”
“She’s the woman you rescued in Whitechapel. Had I known, I might have been more understanding toward her. So why did you not identify her from the beginning?”
The question made him uneasy, so he dodged it. “How did you find out?”
“From Mr. MacAllister. He was most informative.”
Damn Fergus. What else had he told her?
“Yates doesn’t like people to know the story,” he said glibly. “So naturally I respected her wishes.”
“Naturally.” Her cool, patrician tone, faintly sarcastic, floated through the darkness. “Nor did you wish me to take notice of Kitty or Chalkers or Big Bill—among others in this house. That’s why you denied me any authority over the servants. You feared I would realize the truth.”
“What the devil is that supposed to mean?”
“You didn’t wish me to know … that you have a soft heart.”
A cold sweat broke out on his skin. “On the contrary,” he snapped, “I didn’t want you to get any ideas about discharging my servants—you with your haughty ways and highborn standards. It’s a well-known fact that ladies can’t abide the seamier side of life.”
Alicia rounded the bedpost. He tensed, half expecting the flash of a blade toward his groin. But she halted just out of his reach. “Most ladies,” she said mildly. “You forget that for the past five years, I haven’t led the typical life of a lady.”
He could say nothing to that. After her father’s violent death, she had cared for her dotty mother and her profligate brother, all the while struggling to make ends meet. Drake felt a surge of anger at the elder Lord Brockway. No man should subject his family to such horror and grief.
Yet all too often, wagering was a sickness in some men. He had witnessed it himself many times and exploited the weakness for his own profit. Damn her for making him doubt his actions.
“I will have authority in this house,” Alicia stated.
“What?”
“I promise not to discharge any of the servants, but I am taking over my rightful duties as mistress here. You will agree to that.”
Again, he found himself searching through the darkness for that knife. “Fine,” he muttered. “Do as you please.”
A silence stretched out. Shifting restlessly against the sheets, he braced himself for another slew of questions. Had Fergus mentioned anything about Hailstock? Surely not. By God, if Alicia found out that he had wed her for revenge on the man she regarded so highly—
“I will also take over my rightful duties as your wife.”
Drake’s attention snapped to her. “Duties?”
“I will have you in my bed,” she said, a husky note entering her voice. “Or in yours, if you prefer.”
His mouth went dry. She glided closer, a pale wraith in the shadows. Silk rustled, torturing him with the knowledge of what lay beneath it. She reached up as if to adjust her gown. Then she wriggled her shoulders and the garment slithered down to her feet.
At once he felt a desire so fierce it shook him. She stood naked, and he cursed the darkness that prevented him from seeing more than the glow of creamy flesh, a hint of ripe breasts. God! Despite all that had happened, she still desired him.
“Your duty,” he murmured, “is my pleasure.”
“No,” she corrected, “my pleasure is your duty.”
He chuckled at that, his body reacting with animal readiness. When she slipped into bed, he pulled her