Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,90
he rolled the chair away, picking up speed far too quickly. Worried, she hurried out of the study to see the chair careening down the corridor toward the front of the house. The wheels clattered over the bare marble floor. As they neared the foyer, a workman stepped out of the library.
He spied them and leaped back. The chair swerved.
Sarah’s heart surged into her throat. The scene seemed to freeze into agonizing slowness. They would crash.…
Then James glided into a neat turn. They came racing back, and a squeal of laughter barely registered through her petrified senses.
William’s laughter.
They were both laughing, man and boy, as the chair rolled to a smooth halt, the wheels caught by James’s deft grip. But Sarah barely noticed him.
With a strangled cry, she snatched her son up into her arms, hugging him close, kissing his soft cheek, touching his small form to reassure herself of his safety. With each shaky breath, she drew in his little-boy scent. Awash with a numbing relief, she glanced over his head at James.
The wretch was smiling at Alicia, bantering with her as she delivered a good-natured scolding.
Sarah had forgotten his smile. She had forgotten that flash of white teeth, the dimpling of his cheeks, the twinkle in his blue eyes. And she had forgotten how her insides could twist into a knot at the sight.
“Mama, you’re squashing me,” William complained, wriggling in her arms.
She loosened her grip. “I’m sorry, darling,” she said, giving him another kiss before reluctantly letting him down and smoothing his rumpled hair. “It’s just that … I’m glad you’re happy.”
James looked at her, and his smile vanished. By the sardonic curl of his lips, she knew that he had seen her unguarded emotions. She loathed him for exposing that vulnerability in her. Fury welled up in a choking flood, and she pressed her lips together, determined to hold her temper in front of her son.
Alicia glanced at both of them, then took hold of William’s small hand. “How would you like to go down to the kitchen with me? Mrs. Molesworth, our cook, has baked a chocolate cake.”
Obediently, he took her hand and they walked away, disappearing through a door that led down to the basement rooms.
James cast her a hooded glance. “He was never in any danger, Duchess.”
“Never in danger?” Beset by rage, she curled her fingers into fists. “Is that all you can say? You nearly killed my son.”
“Don’t be theatrical. Will enjoyed it. You oughtn’t shelter him so much.”
“His name is William,” she said again through gritted teeth. “And I’ll be as theatrical as I bloody well please. After all, he is my son, not yours.”
A granite stillness descended over James’s features. Into the silence came the faraway sound of workmen pounding somewhere upstairs. Then James swung his chair around and rolled into the study, leaving her standing alone in the corridor.
In spite of her anger, Sarah felt ashamed of her thoughtless cruelty. Of course, he would never have a son. Why had she not considered that?
She marched after him. “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
Flanked by bars of sunshine from the windows, he sat watching her. His lips curled ever so slightly as if he contemplated a scathing riposte. But he said the last thing she’d expected. “You really ought to marry again, Duchess.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Will needs a father.” James paused, his blue eyes intent on her. “So why don’t you run along to one of your social events and bedazzle the gentlemen?”
A dozen retorts sprang to her tongue. But she could only sputter, “Are you telling me to leave?”
“How perceptive of you,” he went on in that biting tone. “And before you go, let me give you some friendly advice. This time, try to choose a man who won’t leave you for another woman.”
A wallop of pain rendered her speechless. “How dare you … presume to pass judgment on me—”
“It’s Will I’m thinking of. You need a husband who will give him the attention he needs.”
Restless with anger, she paced before James. “What can you know of my son’s needs? You’d never even met him before today. I’ve cared for him since he was born.” She remembered that day, the agony … and the joy of holding him to her breast for the first time.…
“Tell me, Duchess, do you know what Will wants to be when he grows up?”
She scowled at the insolent, godlike expression on his handsome face. “He is the duke, of course,”