Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,8

for trapping an unwary young man.

And after all that, he had expected her to marry him. The shock of it sent chills over her skin. She was ashamed to admit that for a fleeting instant, she’d been tempted by his offer. It would mean an end to their debts. To the effort of putting food on the table. She might even enjoy the luxury of having new, pretty garments to wear.…

Then she had remembered Mama. She could never, ever let Drake Wilder practice his cruelties on her mother.

To her chagrin, Drake Wilder had witnessed her brief indecision. She pictured him as he’d made his proposal: smug, overconfident, superior. With cool conceit, he had explained that he wished to be the equal of the noblemen who frequented his club. Her blue blood and impeccable lineage would grant him entrée to society.

Alicia no longer considered herself superior to any other human being, though at one time she had been concerned unduly with appearances. She had been vain and self-centered, reveling in her position as one of the leading debutantes of the Season. All that had changed in a flick of the cards when her father had lost everything but this town house and a modest annuity. His death still haunted her. And now, after five humbling years of toil and grind, she had formed an appreciation and respect for the hardworking lower classes.

But Drake Wilder was a breed apart. She felt a deep resentment that he aspired to be a gentleman. An ill-gained fortune did not entitle him to mingle in aristocratic circles.

How gratifying it had been to refuse the scoundrel. He belonged in the rookeries with the coiners and thieves.

Someone touched her back and she started. She looked up to see the familiar, care-worn face of the cook. “Mrs. Molesworth. I’m sorry, I was woolgathering.”

“There, now, dearie. Don’t be frettin’ about ’is lordship. The lad wishes to make amends for ’is foolishness.” Shaking her head, Mrs. Molesworth pursed her lips. “Though ’e won’t get near twenty thousand for the mare.”

“I know.” Alicia despaired of obtaining the remainder of the money. God help them if they were forced to sell the house. In its dilapidated state, it wouldn’t fetch much, and they needed a place to live anyway, where no one would heckle her mother. For the cook’s sake, she put on a brighter face. “At least we have a roof over our heads. Mama’s happy here, so we should count our blessings.”

“Humph,” Mrs. Molesworth snorted, and lifted her thick arm to brandish a butcher knife. “I’d sooner take this blade and carve out the innards of that Drake Wilder.”

So would I.

Disturbed by her own savagery, Alicia said, “We mustn’t talk like that. I shan’t lower myself to his level.”

“May’ap a lady like you wouldn’t, but by jings, I will. Let the bastard so much as sneeze in my ’earing, and I’ll spit ’im and roast ’im for dinner.”

Alicia wondered what Mrs. Molesworth would do if she found out about Alicia’s visit to Wilder’s Club. That Alicia had offered to be his mistress. That he had laughed in her face and proposed his devil’s scheme instead.

Hiding her trepidation, she left the table and collected the teapot from a shelf. The chipped china with its pink roses was the only item left of their once magnificent dinner service. Measuring out a spoonful of tea leaves from a drawer in the cupboard, she said over her shoulder, “I’ll take a breakfast tray up to Mama. She’ll be awakening soon.”

Mrs. Molesworth bustled to the iron pot and dumped in the sliced carrots. “Soup’s on, and you’ve other matters to tend to, m’lady. I’ll take the first turn with ’er.”

Alicia was painfully conscious of the fact that she’d been forced to let go the other servants, leaving a burden on the older woman. “But you do too much already.”

“Bosh. I’ll get a’ead on the mendin’ whilst I sit with ’er ladyship.” Mrs. Molesworth thrust a plate into Alicia’s hands. “You sit back down and eat. ’Eaven knows when we’ll see beef for pasties again.”

* * *

Alicia was crouched on her hands and knees in the drawing room, fiercely polishing the baseboard, when someone rapped on the front door. Lost in thought, she kept working until the knocking sounded again and she remembered there was no longer a footman to answer the summons.

Bedraggled and dirty, Alicia sat back on her heels, stuck out her lower lip, and blew a tendril of hair off her forehead. She was