Seducing the Viscount

by Alexandra Ivy

  Ian counted to ten. “And?”

  “And I discovered that the cook was a good deal more pleasant than those brutish guards.”

  “There has not been a woman born who is not a good deal more pleasant when you are near,” Ian pointed out dryly. “It is one of the great mysteries of the world.”

  An unexpected frown marred Raoul’s perfect features. “In truth, it was not nearly so easy as I presumed it would be. I comfort myself with the thought that the club must make a practice of only hiring those who can be trusted to remain discreet. Otherwise I must accept that my charms are not what they once were.”

  Ian was genuinely amused by his friend’s pique. “We must all grow older, Charlebois. Of course, some of us are older than others.”

  The blue eyes flashed with amusement. “You love to travel a dangerous path, my friend.”

  “What other paths are there to travel?”

  Raoul’s amusement faded to a strangely wistful expression. “I do not know, but I believe I should like to discover them.”

  “Yes,” Ian agreed softly, the image of Mercy’s delicate features and comforting arms sending a warm flare of delicious heat through his body. With a pang of regret, he forced his thoughts back to the matters at hand. The sooner he was done with this damnable business, the sooner he could be with Mercy. “Tell me what you managed to charm from the cook.”

  Raoul paused. Then, muttering a curse, he squared his shoulders. “She admitted that the establishment is a private club and there is a small theatre in the cellars that caters to a select handful of gentlemen.”

  “Why the devil would they have the theatre in the cellars?”

  “No doubt because the audience who attends such plays would be tossed into Newgate Prison if they were discovered.”

  “Treason?” Ian breathed, shaking his head. “No, that I will not believe.”

  “Not treason. The actors and those who come to watch them are all men who possess a specific taste.”

  “Which tells me precisely nothing,” Ian growled. “What specific taste do you speak of?”

  “For . . . one another.”

  Ian was genuinely puzzled. “What the devil do you mean?”

  “It is a Molly house, my friend.”

  Molly house? Christ.

  “That is absurd.” Ian abruptly paced to the window, gripping the window frame until his knuckles turned white. That sick feeling in the pit of his stomach was expanding until it filled his entire body. “Why would my father have a playbill from such an establishment?”

  “Because he is a member of the Adonis Club, and, from the quarterly accounts that I managed to catch a glimpse of in the private office, he has stayed there at least one or two nights a month over the past year.”

  Ian leaned his head against the windowpane, painfully allowing the clues to fall into place. His father’s connection to Summerville, who had obviously shared his taste for men. His refusal to wed. His solitary shield that kept others at a distance.

  Still, there was one glaring flaw in the logical explanation.

  “You are certain?”

  “I am sorry, Ian.” Raoul moved to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I knew that the truth would distress you. It cannot be easy to discover your father harbors such tendencies. I should have followed my instincts and remained in London.”

  “I am more baffled than distressed.” Sucking in a raw breath, Ian forced himself to turn and meet his friend’s worried gaze. “How the hell does a viscount who possesses a preference for his fellow man father a bastard?”

  “There are many such gentlemen who successfully hide their true nature.” Raoul grimaced. “In truth, most of the members of the Adonis Club are married and managed to produce the proper heirs.”

  Ian was not particularly shocked. A man could not be a rake and a libertine without knowing that the parlors of Mayfair were littered with gentlemen who harbored any number of sexual appetites.

  “Always presuming those heirs are truly their offspring,” he absently muttered. “Women are exceedingly practical when necessary.”

  “My point is that these gentlemen are willing to put aside their natural tendencies for the sake of appearance.”

  Ian shook his head, unconvinced.

  “But my father did not wed and produce the expected heirs to disguise his secret,” he pointed out. “Instead, he supposedly had a clandestine tryst with a common maid, and it was only because my mother was inconsiderate enough to die and leave me an orphan that my father even bothered to claim me as his own.”

  Raoul took a step back, his brow furrowed. “Damn, you are right. A bastard son might assist in maintaining the image of virile manhood, but he would have been far better served to have wed and produced a legitimate child.”

  “Unless . . .”

  “What?”

  “Unless he is the sort who cannot bear the mere thought of being with a woman.”

  Raoul snorted. “Obviously he can do some bearing. At least enough to produce you.”

  Ian paced back across the carpet, sorting through the chaos in his mind. He reached the Flemish ebony cabinet at the same moment he reached the only logical conclusion.

  “Not if he did not actually produce me.” Rubbing the aching muscles of his neck, Ian turned. “He was traveling through Rome, after all, when he claimed to have filled the mysterious maid with his seed. Perhaps he plucked me out of a gutter with the hope that a bastard would be enough to still any suspicions of his lingering bachelorhood.”

  There was a shocked silence. Then Raoul’s laughter echoed through the room.

  “Mon Dieu.”

  “What is so damned amusing?”

  “Have you ever glanced in the mirror?” Raoul demanded. “Whatever the circumstances of your birth, there is no doubt that you have Breckford blood flowing through your veins. Just take a walk through the portrait gallery if you do not believe me.”

  Ian stilled. As much as he hated to admit it, his chortling friend was right.

  “I suppose my lineage is rather difficult to deny.”

  “Does your father have any close relatives? Uncles? Cousins?”

  “No, there is only Ella . . .” The entire world tilted as Ian was smacked with the horrifying possibility. “Holy hell.”

  “What is it? You look positively ill.” Raoul moved forward in obvious concern, but he was a step too late. Even as he reached out, Ian was yanking the door open and heading down the hallway. “Dammit, Ian.”

  Chapter 19

  It was only when Ella opened the door attired in her velvet robe that Ian realized just how late the hour was. Not that the knowledge would have halted his mad flight. He was here for one purpose, and one purpose only.

  He wanted his aunt, the one person in his miserable life he had ever trusted, to assure him that she had not deliberately betrayed him.

  “Ian.” Blinking in surprise, Ella studied his pale face. “Good heavens, what are you doing here?”

  “Am I disturbing you?”

  “Not at all.” Ella stepped back. “Please join me. Shall I ring for tea?”

  Stepping into the sitting room that was filled with French mahogany furnishings and bright buttercup wall panels, Ian ignored the pain that stabbed into his heart.

  This room had always been his sanctuary. The one place he could enter and know that he was welcome.

  Christ, what if it was all a lie?

  “No, I thank you.”

  “I fear I do not keep any strong spirits in my chambers. When one reaches my age, warm milk is all you are allowed before retiring.” Ella moved to take a seat by the fireplace, folding her hands in her lap. “A pity, since I have always enjoyed a nice sherry after dinner.”

  Ian remained standing in the middle of the floor, his nerves coiled so tightly he could barely breathe.

  “Is that a habit you acquired during your travels through Europe?”

  Ella froze, whether from shock that Ian had learned of her trip to
the Continent or because of his clipped tone was impossible to know.

  “No, it was a ritual that has always been in place at Rosehill,” she slowly admitted.

  “But you did travel to Europe, did you not?”

  “Years ago.” Ella toyed with the ribbon that tied her robe. A sure sign of unease despite her carefully guarded expression. “It was quite the fashion for young ladies to take the Grand Tour in those days. So unfortunate that the war brought an end to such a pleasant treat.”

  Ian’s jaw knotted, his blood running cold. “It seems odd that you never mentioned your journey.”

  “What interest would a young man have in my ancient travels?”

  “Actually, I should have been very interested, considering you were traveling in the company of my father and must have at least taken notice of my mother, even if she was beneath you socially.”

  The ribbon abruptly ripped from the robe. “It was all a very long time ago.”

  “I know precisely how long ago it was,” Ian rasped. Christ, Ella was hiding something. He knew it as surely as he knew it was going to alter his life forever.

  With a wary frown, Ella pressed herself upright. “You are in a very strange mood this evening.”

  “Maybe it has something to do with the information Raoul Charlebois brought me.”

  “Oh yes, my maid informed me we are to have an additional guest,” Ella breathed, a hint of relief flashing through her eyes. “I have ordered the Orchid Rooms to be prepared, but perhaps I should—”

  “Do not bother. He will not be remaining,” Ian interrupted, the mixture of pain and disbelief brewing deep inside him making his tone sharp.

  “Surely he cannot intend to return to London at this hour?”

  “It is not that great a distance, and he will have a performance tomorrow evening to prepare for. Something that seems to take an appalling amount of time.”

  Ella made a grim path toward the door. “Then at least we must ensure that he has a warm meal before he leaves.”

  With smooth steps, Ian was blocking her retreat. “Are you not interested in what information Raoul brought for me?”

  Forced to a reluctant halt, the older woman nervously pushed back a silver curl that had escaped her braid.

  “Should I be?”

  Ian swallowed his wild burst of laughter. Ella’s strange behavior warned him that he was charging down a path of disaster. Nothing unusual in that. He often awoke in the morning regretting his empty pockets or the homicidal husband scouring London for him.

  But this . . .

  This could destroy him.

  So why the devil could he not halt this reckless plunge to disaster?

  “I most certainly found it astonishing,” he muttered, unable to listen to the warnings whispering in the back of his mind. “It has to do with a playbill that I found in the conservatory.”

  Ella managed a chiding frown. “Good heavens, Ian, were you searching through your father’s private papers?”

  “As a matter of fact, I was.”

  “Why would you do such a disgraceful thing?”

  “Because I desired answers, and I am well-enough acquainted with my supposed family to realize that the only means of acquiring the truth was to seek it out for myself.”

  Sucking in a sharp breath, Ella turned to pace back to the fireplace, dropping onto the edge of the chair as if her knees had given way.

  “You are not only babbling in the most incomprehensible manner, but you have most rudely abused your father’s hospitality.” Her rings flashed in the firelight as Ella found another ribbon to tug. “I had hoped that I raised you with better manners.”

  “If you will recall, it was Dunnington who had the honor, or perhaps dishonor, of raising me, and while he did attempt to impart a modicum of good manners, he was far more interested in ensuring I understood the importance of honesty.”

  She nervously wet her dry lips. “Dunnington was certainly a fine gentleman.”

  “You may not be so pleased with my old tutor when you discover he is the reason that I returned to Rosehill.” A cold smile touched his lips. “You see, when Dunnington died he left me a legacy of twenty thousand pounds, along with a cryptic message that the money had been extorted from my father. I wanted to know what sin would be worth such an outrageous sum. It was not until Raoul arrived this evening, however, that I realized that Lord Norrington was not the only member of my family to harbor secrets.”

  “Stop this, Ian. It can serve no purpose.”

  “I thought that the truth was supposed to set you free,” Ian mocked.

  Ella’s eyes darkened with pain. “What do you want of me?”

  Clasping his hands behind his back, Ian ignored the answering pain in his own heart.

  “I want to know how a gentleman who possesses no desire for women could possibly have fathered a bastard son.”

  “How did you—”

  “The playbill is from a theatre at the Adonis Club that caters to a very specific clientele,” Ian overrode Ella’s shocked words. “A club where your brother happens to be a member.”

  “Yes well, many gentlemen belong to such clubs.”

  “Do not force me to embarrass the both of us by discussing the particulars of the Adonis. It is enough to say that the viscount’s membership there means he could not be my father, and since there is no denying that I am of genuine Breckford blood, that leaves only you as the donor of that blood, dearest Aunt.”

  Ella’s stark pallor was replaced by a surge of crimson heat as she shakily rose to her feet, one hand outstretched in pleading.

  “Please, Ian.”

  “Please, what?” he rasped. “Continue to believe the lies I have been told my entire life?”

  “They were for your own good.”

  That was the last thing Ian wanted to hear. Ella of all people understood the anguish of his childhood. Hell, she had been the one to comfort him when his supposed father had rejected him time after time.

  His hands clenched, the sickening sense of disappointment flooding through his body.

  “It was for my own good to believe that a man who treated me with barely concealed contempt was my father? It was for my own good that I believed I was not only a bastard but utterly unworthy of love?”

  “I have always loved you, Ian.”

  “If you loved me, you would have told me the truth.”

  She bit her bottom lip, her hand dropping as Ian’s fury pulsed through the room.

  “You know that it was not nearly so simple, Ian. The truth never is.”

  “You are my mother.”

  There was a pause at the blunt question. Then Ella offered a small dip of her head.

  “Yes.”

  Ian flinched, feeling the blow to his very soul. “And my father?”

  “A handsome, wretchedly poor nobleman whom I fell in love with during my first Season.” Ella pressed her hands together, an edge of bitterness in her voice. “I was naïve enough to believe his intentions were honorable, and perhaps they were in the beginning. He might have wed me if my father had not threatened to disinherit me.” She gave a shake of her head, perhaps hoping to dismiss the bleak memories. “In any event, once he realized I might lose my dowry, he could not jilt me swiftly enough.”

  Ian briefly wavered beneath a jolt of pity for the young girl who had not only suffered a broken heart but had been left to confront the results of her affair alone.

  “You did not tell him you were breeding?”

  “By the time I realized the truth of my condition, he was already wed to an heiress by special license.”

  “His name.”

  “Lord Mayfield.” The older woman’s expression hardened. “He broke his neck during a fox hunt not long after I gave birth to you.”

  Ian was not particularly shocked to discover that he was created by a scoundrel who could abandon a young maiden he’d seduced without a second thought. It made far more sense than having a paragon as a father.

 
; “So it is true that bad blood will show,” he muttered dryly. “He never knew he had a son?”

  “No.”

  Ian sucked in a deep breath, thrusting away the unsettling combination of pity for Ella and loathing for the father he had never met.

  There were still answers he desired. Answers he needed.

  “So how did you convince the viscount to go along with your mad scheme to travel to the Continent and pass me off as his bastard child?”

  Pulling a dainty handkerchief from her sleeve, Ella dabbed at her eyes, the strain of the past few minutes clearly taking their toll.

  “Actually, it was his notion to bring you to Rosehill.”

  Ian’s fury returned with a scorching blast. “You must be jesting. Lord Norrington never wanted me. Christ, he can barely tolerate having me beneath his roof.”

  “That is not true, Ian. Norry—”

  “Just tell me what happened.”

  Ella looked as if she wished to continue the argument, but a glance at Ian’s relentless expression was enough to make her concede defeat with a heavy sigh.

  “When I discovered that I was with child, I was numb with horror. You do not recall my father, since he died while you were still a baby, but he was a loud, overbearing man who frankly terrified me.”

  “He seemed to evoke that emotion in many people.”

  “I knew beyond a doubt that if he discovered my secret he would have me thrown from the house without so much as a quid.” Ella shuddered. “My father was a prolific sinner, but he possessed no sympathy for the weaknesses of others.”

  “A genuine bastard, then.”

  “Unfortunately, I had nowhere to turn but to Norry.”

  Suddenly restless, Ian paced across the carpet to the delicate rosewood writing desk. Among the clutter of parchment and quills was a charming collection of Venetian vases that no doubt had come from Ella’s travels. Why the devil had he never noticed them before?

  “I understand leaving the country to have the child. What I don’t comprehend is why you did not foster me off to some family in Rome. It is what most women would have done.”

  “That was what I intended. I even had a family chosen who was anxious to take you into their home. But once I held you in my arms, I could not endure leaving you behind. It was like cutting out my own heart.” Ella was forced to halt and clear her throat. “That was when Norry suggested that we take you back to Rosehill in the guise of his bastard son.”