Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,92
brought her mouth to his in a kiss.
Chapter Twenty-two
“Now, there’s a sight,” Drake said, surveying the audience at Astley’s Amphitheatre. “Lady Markem’s lover just pinched her bottom.”
Alicia had been enthralled by the amazing fire-eater in the center ring. She had been enjoying little William’s delight as he stood with his mother at ringside, too excited to sit. Seeing Drake’s lazy grin, Alicia couldn’t help but smile back. “Lady Markem?” she scoffed. “Impossible. She’s the doyenne of propriety.”
“Have a look, then.” He handed her the opera glasses. “First balcony over there.”
Unable to resist, she peeked through the magnified circles. To the left, leaning over the wall of the balcony, stood the buxom, middle-aged lady with a gangly young man who was definitely not the staid Lord Markem. The man tickled her beneath her fleshy arm. Even above the din of the crowd, Alicia could hear her squeal as she playfully slapped his hand.
Aghast, Alicia let the opera glasses fall to her lap. The fire-eater took a bow and left the ring. Amid cheers from the crowd, she murmured to Drake, “It is Lady Markem. How can she behave so immodestly in public?”
“Her iron underdrawers must have finally rusted through.”
Working her features into a severe expression, she whispered, “Mind your tongue. And behave yourself.”
Drake flashed her a grin, his teeth white against his swarthy skin, his blue eyes full of the devil. “Never. This is a night made for amusements.”
A shivery awareness danced over her skin. He sat beside her, his leg brushing her skirt, his coat sleeve pressed to her arm. As he turned his attention back to the entertainment, she reveled in the excitement of his presence. He took genuine enjoyment in the spectacle, laughing easily, clapping with vigor.
She was especially impressed that he had kept his promise to William, procuring excellent seats for the early evening show almost within touching distance of the performers. Barely tall enough to see over the side, William stared agog as an acrobat rode into the ring, standing on the backs of two white horses. They cantered side by side around the huge ring, kicking up sawdust, passing so close that Alicia could see the slender man’s straining thigh muscles and hear the faint jingle of the harness. The man did a back flip, followed by a handstand, and the onlookers roared their approval.
With undukelike abandon, William jumped up and down. Sarah crouched to say something to him, her eyes sparkling in the brilliance of the magnificent glass chandelier. They laughed together at a roly-poly clown who skipped into the arena.
Alicia’s heart overflowed with a yearning delight. How much happier Sarah had been this past fortnight. She and James had flirted rather than fought, and Alicia suspected a romance, though neither would admit to it. With a pang, she wished that James could have accompanied them tonight.
But Drake didn’t yet know about the school, let alone that Lord Hailstock’s son was assisting her.
The horses rode out of the ring, and a surge of music from the orchestra drew attention to the adjoining stage. The green velvet curtains lifted, and a barrel-chested announcer proclaimed the next act. He made a sweeping gesture at a man in a red-lined black cape, who removed his tall hat and bowed to the audience.
William ran to Drake. His brown eyes large in his small face, he said with reverent awe, “The magician.”
“So it is,” Drake said, smiling as he tousled the boy’s dark hair. “I told you he’d be here.”
His easy affection toward the child warmed Alicia’s heart. She hoped someday they would have children, for Drake would be a wonderful father. They would be happy together, and he would surely love her.
In a haze of dreamy contentment, she watched as the magician pulled endless scarves from his sleeve and then drew a rabbit out of his hat. The finale of the evening was a mock battle between performers dressed as the French and British cavalry. The clash of their swords, the leaps of their horses, made a grand spectacle that had William cheering his country and booing the enemy.
Afterward, in their coach, the young duke talked enthusiastically, asking Drake questions about the training of the horses and how many hours the acrobats must practice. Then, in the midst of one of Drake’s answers, William gave a great yawn, tucked his head against Sarah’s side, and fell promptly to sleep.
Though it was not yet ten o’clock, Alicia stifled a yawn, too. She found herself wishing the night would not