by Olivia Drake
Though it was not yet ten o’clock, Alicia stifled a yawn, too. She found herself wishing the night would not be over yet.…
The coach slowed to a halt in front of Sarah’s mansion. Sarah whispered a good night to Alicia and accompanied Drake as he carried the slumbering boy inside. When he returned alone a few moments later, the coach started off again. Relaxed and happy, Alicia debated with him the merits of the various acts, trying to agree which was their favorite. Upon reaching home, he stepped out of the coach, then turned to assist her.
His firm grip stirred her pulse. She hoped he shared her longing to continue their evening together. But to her disappointment, he told the coachman to wait.
Escorting her up to the torchlit portico, he bent to kiss her cheek. “Until later,” he said.
Alicia ached for him to kiss her, though they stood only a few yards from the footman stationed by the front door, and in plain view of any pedestrians or carriages along Swansdowne Cresent. She yearned for him to come up to her bed. She wanted to feel his arms around her and his mouth on her bare skin. She wanted him inside her so that she could savor the sweet illusion that they were one heart, one soul.
“Must you go to the club tonight?” she murmured.
Standing in the shadow of a pillar, he gazed at her, his sinfully handsome features revealing nothing of his thoughts. But with a thrill, she knew he desired her. She knew because he held her gloved hand, and the increased pressure of his fingers gave subtle indication of his interest.
With a subtlety of her own, she took a step toward him, so that her breasts touched his dark gray coat. “Please, Drake,” she whispered, curving her lips into a provocative smile. “Stay with me.”
The night breeze stirred his black hair. His eyes glowed through the gloom. Then he released her hand and stepped back. “I’m afraid you must excuse me,” he said. “I’ve duties to attend to.”
Disappointment needled her. Ever since that torrid encounter at his club, they had been playing a sensual dance of power, she alternately tempting and rebuffing him, and he subjecting her to his seductive skills, then drawing back. But perhaps the time had come to force him to view her as more than a physical need or an engaging companion at the circus.
She took a deep breath. “Will you come to Pemberton House tomorrow afternoon? At two o’clock?”
“Why?”
Giving him a deliberately mysterious look from beneath her lashes, she shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you. This is something you’ll have to see for yourself.”
His gaze made a slow sweep from her face down to her low-cut bodice and back up again. For a moment she feared he would refuse her. Then he smiled, his dimples deepening. “I’ll be there.”
With a final caress to her cheek, he strode down the steps and entered the waiting carriage. The coachman touched his whip to the pair of horses and with a clattering of wheels and hooves, the vehicle set off into the darkness.
She was alone.
Shivering, Alicia noticed for the first time the damp chill in the air and an overwhelming weariness in herself. She walked slowly into the house, her footsteps echoing in the vast entrance hall with its tall brown pillars rising against the buff-colored walls. In the quiet, her ears still rang with the sounds of the amphitheater. As she climbed the grand staircase, she let her thoughts center on Drake.
In the weeks since she had given him her innocence, he had taught her many inventive ways to make love. Often he would enter her bed while she was still asleep, and she would feel his touch like an erotic dream come true. Sometimes she would awaken to him already inside her, and with only a few strokes he transported her to ecstasy. Other times, he would torture her with a slow building of pleasure. In turn, she would tantalize him in the afternoons, playing the valet as he dressed until they would end up in bed again or making love in the Roman bath.
But even when he was at his most aggressively charming, she could never be certain he felt any more than an infatuation. He seemed determined to keep their relationship light and amusing.
And she was just as determined to make him love her. That was why she wanted him to see her school. Perhaps then he would realize they had more in common than bodily pleasure.
Several wall sconces lit the upstairs corridor, and her slippers made no sound on the plush carpeting. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice her mother’s door partly open until she was almost upon it.
Mrs. Philpot hovered in the doorway. The lamplight glinting off her silver hair, she made an urgent beckoning motion. “Thank heavens you’re here, Mrs. Wilder.”
Her heart jolting, Alicia hastened to her side. “What’s wrong? Has Mama run off somewhere?”
“Never fear, Lady Eleanor is well,” Mrs. Philpot whispered. “Though she has been terribly distraught this evening. Perhaps I ought to have administered her nightly posset, but I thought you might wish to speak to her first.”
She stepped back to allow Alicia into the bedchamber. Across the candlelit room, her mother sat curled up on a chaise, her favorite cape tucked around her shoulders as she stared out the darkened window. She appeared to be unaware of their presence.
“You were right to wait.” Not for the first time, Alicia appreciated Mrs. Philpot’s devotion to her mother. Her throat taut, she asked, “Has she been remembering Papa?”
“No, it is something else entirely. You see, while you and Mr. Wilder were gone this evening, Lord Hailstock paid her a visit.”
Alicia frowned. What could the marquess have said to Mama? Like many people, he loathed her illness and went out of his way to avoid her. Not only that, she couldn’t imagine why he would deign to set foot in Drake’s house. “Do you know what they spoke about?”
Mrs. Philpot shook her head, her lips pursed. “He ordered me out of the drawing room. But afterward, your dear mama was weeping, and she kept going on about some letters.”
Letters? Alicia’s heart clenched painfully. Mama never received mail anymore. When the madness had descended on her after Papa’s death, all of society had forsaken her.
Then a peculiar memory struck Alicia. Lord Hailstock in the study at Pemberton House, his hand in the drawer of the desk. He’d said he was looking for letters … letters he’d written to Papa.
“I am sorry,” Mrs. Philpot murmured. “I fear I should not have left them alone.”
“Don’t be troubled. You couldn’t have known.” Alicia patted the older woman’s hand. “Please give us a few minutes alone. I’ll put Mama to bed.”
“As you wish, my lady.” With one last concerned look at Lady Eleanor, Mrs. Philpot left the chamber, quietly shutting the door.
The yellow and white bedchamber had a cozy aura with a fire burning cheerily on the hearth. A fanciful painting of clouds and cherubs danced across the ceiling. On the four-poster bed, the snowy-white counterpane had been turned down to the soft linen sheets and feather pillows.
Alicia hurried to the chaise, where her mother huddled in cape and nightdress, her feet curled beneath her, a braid of silvering fair hair draped over her shoulders.
“Mama, it’s Alicia. I’ve come to visit.”
For a moment her mother continued to gaze blankly out into the night. Moisture matted her eyelashes, though no tears fell. Then slowly she turned her head. Her blue eyes blinked and focused, growing lucid with awareness. “My daughter. I haven’t seen you in ever so long.”
Clearly she didn’t remember that Alicia had taken tea with her that very afternoon. Mama had been dressed as a fairy princess in gauzy, flowing robes, insisting they use a child’s tiny tea set while sampling morsels of cake.
But thank heavens, now must be one of her moments of sanity.
Aching with bittersweet relief, Alicia perched on the edge of the chaise and took hold of her mother’s thin, cold hand. “Mama,” she whispered. “Oh, Mama, I heard you were sad, so I came to see what was wrong.”
“You’re a dear girl to worry about me.” Her gaze took in Alicia’s gown of muslin over a lavender sl
ip, the gold silk spencer over her bare shoulders. “Are you going out for the evening? I mustn’t keep you.”
“Drake and I have just returned from Astley’s circus. Then I heard what happened and—”
“Is your husband here?” Her eyes bright, Lady Eleanor straightened up and looked toward the door. “I should so like to visit with him.”
Alicia shook her head. “I’m afraid he had to go back out.”
“Oh,” her mother said on a sigh of disappointment. “He is such a gallant gentleman. He sometimes stops by to see me, you know.” Frowning, she tapped her chin with her forefinger. “I have been trying to remember of whom he reminds me.…”
There was no one like Drake. A sweet softness curled in Alicia’s breast. Surely any man who could take the time to humor her befuddled mother had to be capable of a deep, abiding love.…
She wrenched her thoughts back to the present. “Mama, you had a visitor this evening. Can you tell me what Lord Hailstock wanted of you?”
“Richard.” Her eyes glazed as if her thoughts turned inward. “Now that you mention it … I believe he was here.”
“He inquired about some letters,” Alicia prompted.
A starkness came over the countess’s face. Sinking deeper into the cushions of the chaise, she moved her head in a violent shake that stirred her braid. “I don’t know anything about any letters.”
“Could he mean letters he’d written to Papa long ago?” Alicia asked gently. “Do you know where they might be?”
“I know nothing of it. Nothing at all.”
It? Was there one letter in particular that he’d wanted? “Did Lord Hailstock tell you why he needs this letter?”
“I can’t say. Truly, I can’t.” Lady Eleanor hunched into her bedraggled moleskin cape, the satin lining rustling. “Oh, he is a cold man. But I never dreamed he would break Claire’s heart.”
“Break her heart?” Hailstock’s first wife had died very young, but this was the first Alicia had heard of an unhappy marriage. “But I thought … they were in love. They ran off together to be wed.”
“Richard never believed her good enough for him. The dear girl couldn’t help it she was born of common blood.” Pressing a crumpled handkerchief to her face, the countess lapsed into piteous weeping.
Anger nudged at Alicia as she hugged her mother, patting her back through the bedraggled cape. “I know, Mama. I know.”
She wasn’t entirely surprised to hear that the marquess had looked down on his first wife. Noble bloodlines meant everything to him. Was it possible Drake was right to despise him?
Over the past weeks, they had encountered the marquess at a number of society events. Each time, he disdained Drake; each time, Drake insulted him back. And Lord Hailstock had even made her bristle by insinuating that she had married far beneath herself.
The memory of her own prejudice troubled Alicia. She, too, had thought herself superior to her husband. She had condemned Drake as a good-for-nothing gambler—until she had witnessed the extent of his generosity, a munificence he strove to hide behind the dynamic charm of a scoundrel.
He had done far more than she for those in need. But tomorrow, he would come to Pemberton House and see her school. He would realize that she shared his goodwill toward less fortunate souls.
She pressed a kiss to her mother’s brow, her skin bearing the faint, familiar scent of lily of the valley. It would do no good to question her further. The next time Alicia saw Lord Hailstock, she would ask him about the letter and insist that he come to her with his questions, rather than badger Mama.
Lady Eleanor lifted her head, blinking her tear-wet eyes. Like a veil lifting from her face, the anxiety and grief vanished, and a wondering quality illuminated her gaze. She gently cupped Alicia’s cheek. “My dear girl,” she said musingly. “I do believe … you have that look about you.”
Mystified, Alicia frowned at her mother. “What look?”
“Why, that certain softness. Your papa said he could tell simply by gazing at me.”
“Tell what?”
Lady Eleanor smiled very tenderly. “Why, that I was breeding, of course. As you must be.”
Alicia drew an astonished breath. Had she conceived a child? Had that marvelous intimacy with Drake wrought the miracle of a baby? An awed happiness rose in her, but she held it at bay. She mustn’t hope too much. No one could look at her face and know she was pregnant. This had to be another of Mama’s mad fancies.
Lady Eleanor patted Alicia’s hand. “It is too wonderful to believe, isn’t it? But there are certain signs in a woman. Have you been exceedingly weary of late?”
Alicia couldn’t deny the fatigue dragging at her. “Yes … but I’ve been teaching the servants to read during the day and that could account for it.”
“When did you last have your monthly?”
“Right before … before my wedding. Nearly six weeks ago.”
Alicia wasn’t used to discussing personal matters with her mother. And for many years, she hadn’t had a circle of friends from whom she might have gleaned knowledge. Consequently, she had only a vague understanding of the changes that pregnancy could cause in a woman’s body. But now she realized the significance of her delayed cycle.
Gently placing her hand over her flat abdomen, she breathed deeply as an indescribable joy blossomed within her. A baby. In less than nine months, she would give birth to Drake’s son or daughter. She would hold their child to her breast, and they would be a family.
Now she had an even more compelling reason to win his heart.
* * *
The following afternoon, his head bent against the pouring rain, Drake strode up the steps at Pemberton House. He didn’t bother to knock; this town house belonged to him. He couldn’t feel any regrets about how he’d acquired the place, either. Winning that deed had assured him of Alicia’s hand in marriage.
Alicia.
In the dimly lit foyer, he removed his damp overcoat and flung it over a chair. She would not be expecting him quite yet. He’d arrived early, wild to learn what surprise she had in store for him. It would be an erotic interlude, he hoped. She had been hot for him when they’d parted company the previous evening. What a delight she had been at the circus, her eyes shining, her face animated with unguarded enjoyment. He’d wanted to see a similar joy on her face while he bedded her, and he’d had the very devil of a time resisting her invitation to make love. It wouldn’t do for her to think him too taken with her.
His obsession for his wife showed no sign of abating. Indeed, though he would never admit so to Alicia, he’d had to fend off the urge to follow her around like a besotted mooncalf. He didn’t understand himself. He had always been able to separate his physical needs from the rest of his life. He would take his satisfaction of a woman and then be done with her. But he couldn’t forget Alicia.
Since that one dawn when she had come to him, she hadn’t spoken of love again. Not even in the throes of ecstasy. She’d acted both aloof and alluring, slowly driving him mad. It wasn’t enough to possess her hand in marriage. He wanted to own her, body and soul.
Perhaps today he would.
Anticipation seared him. He would take a quick look around here on the ground floor. Then he would go upstairs and search the bedrooms. Perhaps he’d find her naked, ready for him. Or perhaps she would titillate him by wearing a sheer gown with nothing on underneath.
Yes. He looked forward to undressing her, kissing every inch of her body, hearing her sweet sounds of pleasure, her whispers of love.
Running his hand through his rain-slicked hair, he stepped into the drawing room. The painters had completed their work, and the pale yellow walls glowed behind the mahogany furnishings. But he took only cursory notice. Alicia wasn’t lying on the chaise, waiting to seduce him.
He crossed the foyer and looked into the library. The shelves had been filled with books, and the scent of new leather bindings filled the air. Tables and chairs were arranged on the blue and gold rugs. But Al
icia wasn’t beckoning to him from the desk, where he might have pressed her down on the flat surface, lifted her skirts, and slid into heaven.
He walked down the long corridor, glancing into a morning room, the dining chamber, and a butler’s pantry. She must be upstairs, then. So much the better. They would conduct their little tryst in complete privacy. There would be no one at home but a few servants, who would know better than to disturb the master and his lady.…
As he neared the back of the house, he heard the rumbling of a man’s voice. The sound came from the chamber at the end of the passageway. From Brockway’s study.
He cursed under his breath. If Gerald hadn’t yet left for the club, his presence would put a damper on Drake’s plans. He’d have to get rid of the stripling, think up an errand to occupy him.
He was considering various excuses when he paused at the partly open door, arrested by a curious sight inside the study. In place of the leather chairs there were rows of desks occupied by an assortment of servants, both male and female.
Before them, his back to the door, sat James in his wheeled chair.
The heat in Drake’s veins chilled to ice. In a rush of angry understanding, he realized the truth. There would be no idyllic afternoon spent in his wife’s arms.
Alicia had tricked him. Again.
Chapter Twenty-three
James shook his fist at the group. “You will never be welcome in my home,” he railed at them. “Do you understand me? Never!”
That venomous tone enraged Drake. Damned haughty blueblood. The servants quailed in their desks, their fearful eyes focused on James.
Drake thrust back the door so hard it banged against the wall. The room fell silent. In a swift glance around, he spied the Duchess of Featherstone seated in a straight-backed chair near James. Across the chamber, Alicia sat with her legs tucked beneath her on the window seat, her rose-pink gown bright against the gray day.
Her eyes widened on him; she sprang to her feet. Her lips formed his name, though no sound emerged.
He gave her a scathing glance. She condoned this injustice?