Fergus surged past him and planted himself like a tall oak in front of the door. “Cheever’s feelin’ puirly. Go on up to yer office, and I’ll bring the books to ye.”
Something in his manner roused Drake’s suspicions. “I’ll get them myself.”
As he reached for the door handle, Fergus thrust out his arm to block him. “Ye mind yer manners, now. Else ye’ll have me to answer to.”
Even now, that stern gaze could reduce Drake to a scrappy lad of ten. Refusing to quail, he gave the old man a challenging look. “Move aside.”
Fergus scowled at him for another long moment, then stepped out of the way. Leaving him standing in the outer passage, Drake pushed open the door. A long corridor stretched out with several doorways leading to the club offices. Here, no carpet softened the stone floor, so the bookkeeper could negotiate his wheeled chair more easily.
The hum of voices eddied from the farthest room.
Wondering what—or who—Fergus was trying to hide, Drake walked quietly toward the back office. The door was cracked open, and he could see only a slice of blue-painted wall and a low filing cabinet. He raised his hand to knock when the conversation inside stopped him.
“How do you get around in that contraption?” A stranger’s voice, a man, his question spoken with cultured disdain.
“The upstairs is unquestionably a problem,” said Lazarus in his mellifluous tone. “But Wilder installed a ramp at the rear of the building. I can maneuver in and around the ground floor quite on my own.”
“There, you could move your chambers to the ground floor.” That cool female voice sounded familiar. The duchess? “At least you wouldn’t have to rely upon footmen to carry you about like a baby.”
“And I could get away from the likes of you,” the stranger snapped. “That is the greatest advantage to such a chair.”
“Please, no quarreling. You two are worse than children.”
Alicia. Drake’s heart surged against his rib cage. What the devil was she doing here? And why was Fergus protecting her?
Thrusting open the door, he stepped into the office. All conversation halted. Four heads turned to stare at him. Behind the desk, Lazarus Cheever leaned back in his wheeled chair, his hands folded over his stout belly. Across from him, Sarah, the Duchess of Featherstone, perched on a plain wooden chair as if it were a throne. Beside her, Alicia sat slim and pretty in bronze silk, her fair hair soft around her pale features, a familiar stubborn firmness to her shapely lips.
And the stranger—not a stranger at all.
A band of tension tightened around Drake’s chest as he stared at the man. He reclined in a sort of litter that was gilded and cushioned, as if he were a damned Egyptian prince. His eyes were a piercing blue, his shoulders broad beneath a finely tailored coat, his hair a rich tawny hue. And his mouth was curled into a thin smile.
For the barest flash of time, Drake thought he saw a spark of recognition on those haughty features. And he was aware of something like a bond stretching between them. An affinity, a kinship.
Impossible. This pampered aristocrat could know nothing of a bastard’s existence. And Drake didn’t intend for him to know … yet.
Focusing his mind, he felt the rise of a familiar hatred. At last, he’d come face-to-face with his half-brother, James.
Hailstock’s heir.
The favored son.
Chapter Twenty
Alicia turned in her chair to see Drake looming in the doorway of the office. The air felt suddenly suffocating. All belligerent, overbearing male, he afforded her and Sarah only a passing glance. His gaze riveted to James.
With a sinking heart, she knew he had recognized Lord Hailstock’s son.
“What the devil’s going on here?” he demanded.
Until now, she had been pleased with the meeting. Once James had seen the rolling chair, the light of interest had entered his eyes and things had proceeded well. She wouldn’t allow Drake to interfere. “We’re visiting with Mr. Cheever,” she said coolly. “James, this is my husband. Drake, Lord Scarborough.”
“I’m heir to the Marquess of Hailstock,” James drawled, his mouth twisted into a sly, superior smile. “My family and Alicia’s share a longtime closeness.”
“I’m aware of that,” Drake said. “So perhaps it’s time for my wife to broaden her horizons.”
Sitting back against the cushions of his litter, James cocked a sardonic eyebrow. “Indeed? Will you have her seek her acquaintances from among the lower orders? I hardly think that worthy of a lady.”
“Your opinion doesn’t matter. She is my lady.”
Good heavens, must she contend with this hostility again? Alicia sprang to her feet. “I am quite capable of choosing my own friends,” she said firmly. “James, have you any more questions for Mr. Cheever?”
James shook his head, his attention still narrowed on Drake.
The bookkeeper cleared his throat. “I am happy to assist as I can,” he said. “But Mr. Wilder can better answer any questions about the chair’s construction. He saw one like it in Rome, determined how it was made, and then ordered one for me.”
Sarah had been watching the exchange with avid interest. “How enterprising of you, Mr. Wilder. You must direct us to whomever did the workmanship. We shall be ordering one posthaste.”
“There is no we about it,” James said, casting her an irritated glance. “I daresay I can handle the details myself.”
“But you’re helpless,” the duchess said blandly. “You said so yourself.”
“And you’re impertinent. Run along now, Your Grace. At least the shopkeepers will be happy to see you.”
“How will you get home?” she asked.
“I’ll send for my coach.” Dismissing her with a wave, he studied Drake with a strangely secretive interest. “Have a seat, Wilder. I’m interested to hear how you managed to build this gambling club from nothing.”
“Sorry, I’m too busy for idle chatter,” Drake said flatly. “Cheever, I’ll need the account ledger for last month.”
His rudeness angered Alicia. Where was his generous spirit now?
As the bookkeeper wheeled around and plucked a leather-bound book from the shelf behind the desk, she bent to James and murmured, “Please wait for me in Sarah’s coach. I need a word with my husband.”
“You must promise we’ll return here very soon.” That cunning smile hovered about the younger man’s mouth. “Perhaps I’ll even bring Father next time. I’m sure that once he gets over his little fuss, he’ll want to become better acquainted with your husband.”
James knew that Lord Hailstock had no such desire. Was it boredom that made him so determined to stir up trouble? Alicia could only hope that once the wheeled chair gave him more mobility, he would develop other interests.
A pair of footmen carried the litter out to the coach, and Sarah followed, giving Drake and Alicia a droll glance as she departed. “Take your time,” she murmured. “It will annoy James exceedingly.”
Then Lazarus Cheever discreetly exited the office, leaving Alicia alone with Drake.
As she closed the door, intent on remonstrating him, his strong arms enfolded her from behind. The feel of his hard body caused a traitorous leap in her pulse, and the aroma of his shaving soap tantalized her. Without subtlety, his fingers spread over her belly. As he rubbed his cheek against her hair, his warm breath tickled her ear, raising a flurry of goose bumps over her skin.
“I thought they’d never leave,” he said in a husky growl.
“I thought you were busy today,” she said, holding herself rigidly.
“I’m never too busy for you, my lady.” His lips brushed the nape of her neck and his hands roamed to her bosom. Shivery desire swelled in her, threatening to obliterate her anger.
She twisted away, pivoting to face him. “Enough,” she stated. “I wish to know why you were so uncivil to James.”
“Was I uncivil? Perhaps my mind was on other matters.” Stunningly handsome in a dark blue coa
t and buff-colored breeches, he stalked her with aggressive sensuality. “I could think of nothing but being alone with my wife.”
Her heart beating faster, she retreated behind the desk. “And I can think of nothing but how rudely you treated my guest—my longtime friend. James deserves your compassion, not your contempt.”
“If he wanted my compassion, he ought to have behaved better.”
“You despised him before he even said a word. Why is it that you can show sympathy toward Cheever but not toward James?”
“Cheever is a hardworking man. His lordship is a vain, self-serving aristocrat.”
“That isn’t why. You dislike him simply because he is Lord Hailstock’s son.”
Drake’s eyes glittered with an intensity that had little to do with physical passion. His features darkly compelling against the white of his cravat, he braced his palms on the desk and leaned toward her. “Speaking of Hailstock, I’d like to know why you disobeyed me and went to his house.”
“Because I won’t abandon my friends just to suit your whims.”
“You were to wait for me to escort you there at my convenience.”
“And when would it suit your convenience? Next year? Or perhaps five years from now?”
His mouth quirked into a tolerant smile. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I’ve no wish to associate with those who think themselves superior to me.”
That confused her. Did his bitterness extend beyond Lord Hailstock? “You’re contradicting yourself,” she said slowly. “You married me in order to seek acceptance by society. You knew that many in the ton would view themselves as your better. And now you’re saying that you don’t wish to associate with them?”
His eyes narrowed to a deep, impenetrable blue. Again, she sensed mysteries in him that eluded her understanding. If he despised all the nobility, then where did that leave her?
In a flash of movement, he rounded the desk and caught her to him, locking her in his embrace. Putting his face to her hair, he inhaled deeply. “I scorn any man who dares to touch you. And Hailstock has dared. He is determined to woo you for himself.”
His fervent tone softened her as no amount of badgering or blustering ever could. Didn’t he realize that no other man could ever tempt her? Yet she wouldn’t voice her love again, not until he had earned it. “You must think I’m a hussy who would leap into another man’s bed!”
“I’m merely saying that Hailstock is an arrogant snob. He’s not to be trusted.”
“And you are to be trusted?” she said tartly. “The circumstances of our marriage prove otherwise.”
His gaze burned down to her breasts, then back up to her face. “Our marriage was your salvation, Alicia. Were it not for me, you’d still be an untried spinster.”
With unbridled confidence, he lowered his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss that laid siege to her resistance. How could she love a man who insulted her and enticed her all in one breath? But she did; there was no denying the longing that flowed deep within her, the ache that tempted her to surrender to his caresses. He tasted her deeply as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Then he kissed a path down to her throat, licking and nibbling, casting delicious shivers over her skin.
He wanted to distract her. He wanted her to forget that Hailstock’s son waited outside in the coach. This was his way of resolving their differences, to use his power over her body.
Flattening her palms against his coat, she pushed at him. “I won’t be seduced,” she said. “Not until we settle this quarrel.”
“There’s nothing to settle,” he said in a roughly stirring tone. “We want each other. That’s all that matters.”
“No, you just want to distract me. There’s more to marriage than making love.”
“Ah, but making love is the best part.”
His mouth claimed hers in another ravenous kiss, and his hands clasped hard to her backside, lifting her against him so that she felt the strength of his arousal. Her tenuous hold on her control began to slip. She clung to his neck, her entire being focused on holding still, not moving, not succumbing to his lethal charm.
But when he moved his hand to her breast, caressing her through her bodice, she couldn’t restrain a moan. Through the haze of her passion, she sensed him reaching down, pushing up her gown and petticoat.
Shock clashed with forbidden longing. Furiously, she squirmed against his iron embrace. “Drake, no!”
“Yes,” he muttered, his hand beneath her skirt, heavy on her bare thigh where garter met silk stocking. “Let me touch you. Just touch you.”
He slid his finger into her cleft, and the exquisite pleasure of it blotted out rationality. Oh, sweet heaven. She pressed deeper into his hand, instinctively seeking gratification. His clever strokes wrested another moan from her, and she hid her face in his cravat to muffle her uninhibited cries. Yet even as her desire soared, she held to a vestige of discipline. She wouldn’t let go. She wouldn’t let him win.
Seeming to sense her resistance, he held her firmly, one arm strong against her back, his other hand plying its slow, relentless magic. He whispered naughty, indecent phrases that should not arouse her, but did. Against her will, she felt the gathering tension and could no more stop it than she could halt an approaching storm. With his touch, with his voice, with his skill, he lured her to the pinnacle and compelled her over the edge, so that she shattered into a thousand falling stars.
Dazed and drained, she came to an awareness of their surroundings. Daylight streamed into the office through a high window. She clung weakly to him, her skirts hiked to her waist. His hand still cupped her between the legs.
“Send the carriage away,” he murmured against her mouth. “There’s a bedroom upstairs, connected to my office. We’ll spend the afternoon there.”
She couldn’t think. “Drake, I…”
His hand applied a persuasive pressure. “My darling Alicia,” he said in tone so raspy it made her toes curl. “I’ve imagined making love to you up there. Having you waiting for me each night, my love slave, ready to fulfill my every command.”
Distracted by the fantasy, she burrowed her fingers inside his coat. “No, you would be my slave. Pleasuring me as I command.”
“I am yours, then, O exalted mistress.” Stepping back, he placed his palms together and bowed low. “Pray tell, what is your delight?”
Entranced, she stared down at his dark head, his mock submissive pose. Temptation again threatened her better judgment. In a few minutes, he could be undressing her in private, indulging her desires, pleasing her with his leisurely love play. Oh, would it not be exciting to have him do as she commanded?
She put out her hand, but stopped short of touching him.
Only moments ago, he had shown a forceful disregard for her wishes. Now she sensed a practiced quality to his seduction. Rather than a true warmth of feeling, he exuded a cold ruthlessness of purpose. Did he see lovemaking as a convenient way to keep her from James … and Lord Hailstock?
He must.
Drake kept his emotions locked in a place where she could not venture. No matter how hard she tried to probe deeper, he wanted only physical pleasure from her. Perhaps because she was a member of the hated nobility, he could admit only to an obsession for her, nothing more.
How long would his infatuation last?
Willing strength into her wobbly legs, she stepped away and adjusted her gown. “I must go. You know why.”
“The devil you say,” he bit out. “You can’t walk out now.”
His eyes were dark with unslaked passion. She could see the turgid outline of his manhood straining against the placket of his breeches. His unsatisfied state stirred a wicked satisfaction in her.
The balance of power had shifted, she realized. It might prove useful to keep her husband at a disadvantage. To find some way to make him view her as more than an object of lust.
Walking to the door, she turned and smiled at his angry features. “You said you would do whatever pleasures me. Well, i
t pleasures me to wait.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Holding a large map of England against the wall, Sarah stole a glance at Alicia, who used a hammer to tack down the corners. In the morning sunshine that lit the study at Pemberton House, her friend looked fresh and pretty. The periwinkle gown enhanced her blue eyes and golden hair, and a serene strength shone on her delicate features.
Sarah saw nothing of her own jaded bitterness there.
She breathed deeply to dispel the tightness in her breast. If only she could be so caught up in life again. She would relinquish her title, her wealth, her standing in society, if only she could eradicate the unhappiness inside herself.
Her gaze strayed to the far end of the study, where several rows of little desks stood empty, except for the last one. There, William sat in a desk beside James in his new wheeled chair made of caned beechwood. The two of them had their heads together in conversation, her son small and dark-haired in contrast to James with his vast shoulders and even vaster conceit.
Sarah burned to know what he found to talk about with her quiet son. If he dared to speak an unkind word to William …
Alicia stepped back to survey the map. “There. Do you think the place looks ready?”
“I suppose so.” Still baffled by her friend’s unorthodox plan, Sarah glanced around the study at the plain oak desk with its piles of primers, the standing globe, the slates and chalk. “But I cannot approve of this eccentric whim to open a school for servants.”
Alicia set her chin in a stubborn pose. “Opening a school isn’t a whim. I wish to do my small part to help those in need. It’s a worthy occupation, instructing the less fortunate so they may better themselves.”
Sarah couldn’t deny Alicia’s kindness. She wished she herself could be so unselfish. But this school went far beyond the charitable works appropriate for a lady of the ton. “If anyone in society finds out, you’ll be ostracized. Need I remind you, you’re barely accepted as it is.”
With a shrug, Alicia walked to the desk and set the dictionary on its stand. “The good opinion of the nobility doesn’t concern me.”
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