Bedding The Baron

by Alexandra Ivy

  “And what of you, Fredrick?”

  He shivered as a sharp breeze managed to slip between the protective boundary of trees.

  “Me?”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Would you truly give up the business you have created to devote your life to mincing through London society?”

  He gave a lift of his shoulder. “If I were a nobleman then I should have an estate to keep me occupied.”

  “And you would be content to tend to your fields and settle the petty complaints of your tenants?”

  “I will admit that it hardly sounds appealing in such terms,” he said dryly.

  Realizing just how revealing her words had been, Portia offered a small grimace.

  “I suppose my opinion of noblemen and their positions has been tarnished by my past.”

  “Tarnished by your father?”

  She paused before forcing herself from the tree and continuing down the narrow path. She did not know how to lay Fredrick’s demons to rest. All she could do was be honest with her own.

  “No,” she muttered. “Not just my father.”

  Fredrick fell into step at her side. “Your fiancé?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me of him.”

  A shudder of ancient disgust raced through her body. It seemed almost impossible to believe that she had ever been so utterly stupid as to be deceived by a common rogue.

  Granted, she had been young and naïve. But even that was hardly a suitable excuse not to have seen through such shallow, immature charm.

  “I . . .” She was forced to halt and clear her throat. “I met Edward at one of the local assemblies. For a young maiden who had rarely been beyond the nearest village he seemed more like a fantasy than a flesh and blood gentleman.”

  She sensed Fredrick stiffen at her soft words. “He was handsome, I suppose?”

  Portia heaved a disgusted sigh. “Handsome and sophisticated and well-skilled in seducing any woman who might stray across his path. Had I not been such a bumbling innocent I would have spotted him as a rake the moment he approached me.”

  Fredrick lifted his hand to stroke his fingers over her chilled cheek. “Obviously he was not entirely a rake. He did offer you marriage, after all.”

  Despite her best efforts, Portia could not entirely repress the memory of her giddy happiness when Edward had gone to his knee and pleaded for her to become his wife. In that moment she had felt that all her dreams had come true.

  She still blamed that giddiness for the disastrous mistakes that were yet to come.

  “He only proposed because he was laboring beneath the mistaken belief that my rather large dowry was still intact.” She shivered beneath the heavy cloak. As easily as she remembered the romantic proposal she also remembered the frightening fury when Edward realized that he had wasted near six months in his pursuit of her. “Once he discovered that my father had already managed to plunder my fortune he could not abandon me quickly enough.”

  Reaching out to brush a dripping branch out of her path, Fredrick slanted her a small frown. “How did he learn the truth?”

  “He approached my father the day before our wedding with the intention of collecting my dowry before we left on our honeymoon trip. Imagine his horror when he discovered that instead of the money he had been anticipating my father greeted him with a stack of bills he hoped his soon to be son-in-law would settle for him.” She gave a short laugh. “Can you truly blame him from bolting?”

  “Yes, I can,” Fredrick gritted, a startling color flaring along his cheekbones. “I can also blame him for destroying a young maiden’s heart.”

  Coming to a halt at a small clearing, Portia flashed Fredrick a sad smile.

  “He did not destroy my heart, Fredrick. Do you believe that I would be so weak-spirited as to mourn the loss of a rank fortune-hunter?”

  “Portia, you may not wish acknowledge the wounds that you still carry, but it is obvious that you have never truly healed from Edward’s betrayal.”

  “No, Fredrick.” With a slow motion, Portia settled on a low marble bench and pointed to the small wooden cross that was nearly hidden beneath a pile of dead leaves. “This is the reason I still mourn.”

  With a startled frown, Fredrick bent down to read the name roughly carved into the wood.

  “Rosalind?” He turned his head to regard her with open puzzlement. “Who was Rosalind?”

  “My daughter.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fredrick’s eyes widened at her whispered words. “You and Thomas had a child?”

  There was a tense moment before she gave a shake of her head. “No. Not Thomas.”

  Barely aware of her tightening muscles, Portia steeled herself for Fredrick’s reaction. How could he not be shocked? Even horrified?

  Proper maidens did not allow themselves to get with child without the benefit of a husband. Not even if she happened to be engaged at the time.

  It was not shock, however, that settled upon the fine, elegantly chiseled features. Instead she would have sworn that it was a slow, swiftly hidden comprehension.

  “Edward was the father?” he said, his tone making it more a statement than question.

  “Yes.” She absently reached down to brush the leaves from the tiny grave. “As I said, I was very young and very stupid. It took little effort for Edward to seduce me.”

  “Did he know that you carried his child when he left?”

  “Yes,” she admitted softly.

  He muttered a string of foul curses as he settled on the bench beside her, and firmly gathered her hands in his.

  “What of your father?”

  She flinched as the memory of her father’s disgusted face flashed through her thoughts. He could happily behave with a complete lack of morals, but the mere hint of a scandal being attached to his daughter was unbearable.

  “I . . . I confessed the truth when I realized that I had been jilted. I believe that is one the reasons for his hasty flight to India.”

  His breath hissed between his teeth as Fredrick gave a shake of his head.

  “It is no wonder that you lost faith in men, poppet. You must have been terrified to have been abandoned when you were at your most vulnerable.”

  Dear God, she had been beyond terrified at the disappearance of her father. For the first few days she had been in a state of near panic, pacing the empty rooms with mindless shock.

  She shivered, not even noticing that the rain had halted and the wind trailed to a mere breeze.

  “I did not know where to turn,” she admitted, her gaze lowering to where her hands lay in Fredrick’s comforting fingers. “I had no close family to take me in and while I could live at my father’s estate I had no income to pay the servants or even to put food on the table. There was also the knowledge that soon enough my neighbors would discover I was with child and I would be ostracized by those few friends I had left.”

  His thumbs absently rubbed the sensitive skin of her wrists. “What did you do?”

  “I wish I could claim that I awoke one morning and took matters in hand. That is what a woman of genuine courage would do.” She gave a faint shrug. “But in truth, I was still cowering at my father’s estate when Thomas came to my rescue.”

  “What do you mean, came to your rescue?”

  A portion of her tension eased as the thought of Thomas Walker chased away the more unpleasant memories. Unlike Edward, he had made no effort at sophistication. He had been a large, barrel-chested man with shabby coats, a shock of grey hair, and an expression of kindness that had been desperately needed by a young, frightened maiden.

  “At first I did not even realize he was visiting the estate. Not until my sparse meals began to include fresh fish and venison. Quinn at last confessed the bounty was a gift from Thomas Walker, the local innkeeper.” She smiled wryly. “Naturally, I was rather suspicious of his unexpected generosity and I sought him out to discover what it was he desired of me.”

  An unexpected anger darkene
d Fredrick’s eyes. “I believe I can guess what he desired.”

  “You could guess, but you would be wrong,” she said tartly.

  He arched a honey brow. “Would I?”

  “Thomas had once been in love with my mother, despite the fact she was well above his touch, and even after she had been compelled to wed my father he had continued to care for her.”

  “Your mother.” His short, scoffing laugh revealed his disbelief. Not entirely surprising. At first Portia had not been entirely certain it was not merely a ploy by the older gentleman. Time had proven the depths of his sincerity. “That is what he told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “He weds the daughter of the woman he once loved. Rather Shakespearean of him, was it not?”

  She tugged her hands from his grasp as she offered him a fierce glare.

  “No, it was not, and I will not endure that tone of voice when you speak of Thomas,” she warned. “He was the one person in my world who offered me friendship with no ulterior motives. Never once did he attempt to manipulate me or gain anything from me.”

  “Good God, he gained you as his wife,” he rasped.

  “It was never his intention to have me as his wife, Fredrick,” she said. “He looked upon me as the daughter he might have had if his social standing had been different. But then he discovered . . .”

  There was a brief pause as Fredrick sorted through her words and then understanding dawned.

  “Ah,” he breathed, the brittle expression softening. “He discovered that you were with child.”

  “Yes.” Portia rose to her feet as her stomach twisted with emotion. Those terrifying days would be branded into her mind for an eternity. “He was so kind. He offered to send me away so that I could have the child in secret and return without anyone ever knowing the truth. He even offered to foster the child for me.”

  Fredrick rose to his feet, careful to move slowly as if sensing that she might bolt at any unexpected movement. And perhaps she would, she ruefully acknowledged. She felt as if she was wound as tightly as a child’s top.

  “That seems as if it were a reasonable offer. Why did you not accept?”

  “No doubt I would have if I possessed any sense whatsoever, but I could not bear the thought of giving up my child.” She wrapped her arms about her waist. Despite the heavy cloak she felt chilled to the very bone. “I cannot rationally explain my feelings, but I knew in my heart that I would do anything, sacrifice anything, to hold that baby in my arms.”

  “And so Walker married you so that you could keep your child?”

  “Yes.”

  He lightly touched her shoulder. “You would have made a wonderful mother, Portia.”

  “I like to think I should have, but it was not to be. I had been married only a few weeks when . . .”

  Portia was caught off-guard when her voice broke and a sudden flood of tears filled her eyes. The swell of sadness seemed to come out of nowhere and as Fredrick gathered her into his arms she was incapable of denying the need to snuggle against his warmth and welcome the silent sympathy he offered.

  Mercy, it had been so long since she had lowered her guard enough to take comfort from another.

  So long since she had not been battling the world all alone....

  Fredrick briefly closed his eyes as he held Portia’s trembling body close.

  For a moment he regretted having forced her to reveal such painful memories. She had surely suffered enough without him stirring up the loss and betrayal she had endured. And nothing could be altered by confessing her secrets.

  But as Portia’s tears began to lessen, he could not deny a fierce flare of pleasure at her display of trust. At last she had lowered her walls and allowed him to see into her heart.

  Whatever the future might bring he would ensure that she never regretted her faith in him.

  “Shhh. I have you, poppet,” he whispered, his lips lightly brushing over her temple.

  “I do not know what is the matter,” she muttered. “I never cry.”

  Fredrick readily believed her. While many females might use tears as a potent weapon, Portia would view them only as a weakness.

  “Why did you keep the child a secret?” he demanded, more baffled than shocked.

  Pulling back she blotted her cheeks with her handkerchief and gave a loud sniff. Fredrick felt his heart melt at the sight of her tangled lashes and reddened nose. She looked young and vulnerable and delectably sweet.

  “I was ill for a very long time and when I at last felt well enough to leave my bed I realized that no one in the neighborhood realized that I had ever carried a child,” she admitted in thick tones. “At least no one beyond Thomas and Quinn.”

  “And they were too loyal to spread gossip?”

  “Precisely. Thomas thought it was best not to mention the baby since our marriage had already been a rushed affair that had raised more than a few brows.” She gave another sniff as her gaze strayed to the wooden cross. “He buried Rosalind here so I could visit her.”

  He tightened his arms around her slender body, wishing that he could somehow ease the grief that continued to plague her.

  “Do you come every morning?”

  “Most mornings,” she admitted. “It is peaceful here and I can prepare for the day without interruption.”

  “And that is all?” he pressed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This grave seems almost a . . . shrine,” he said softly. “A reminder that you are no longer a young, vulnerable girl who is forced to depend upon others.”

  She stiffened at his words, wrestling away from his clinging arms to regard him with a wary frown.

  “I can easily look in the mirror if I wish to be reminded I am no longer a young girl, Fredrick,” she retorted, the edge in her voice warning that she had revealed all that she intended to on this cold, grey morning.

  “Come.” Firmly regaining her arm, Fredrick turned his companion toward the inn. “It is too cold on this morning to linger.”

  They traveled the narrow path with only the whistle of the wind to break the silence. Fredrick kept her close to his side, but he hesitated to break into her broodings. She would share her thoughts when she was prepared to speak, he told himself sternly. And he had demanded enough of her on this day.

  At last she sucked in a deep breath and turned her head to meet his concerned gaze.

  “You do not seem to be particularly shocked by my confession.”

  He gave a lift of his brows at her unexpected words. “Did you believe I might be?”

  “Most gentlemen would condemn me if they knew the truth.”

  “I am not most gentlemen.”

  Her lips reluctantly twitched. “True enough.”

  “Surely, Portia, you have not forgotten that my own mother conceived me without the benefit of marriage vows?” he reminded her gently. “From all I have discovered she was a warm, loving woman who I would be proud to have as my mother. Just as you are a warm and loving woman who Rosalind would have been proud to call mother.”

  She stumbled, her breath rasping through the air as Fredrick tightened his hold to keep her upright.

  “Gads, you are amazing,” she breathed.

  He gave a startled chuckle. Even with all that was upon his mind he could not help but be pleased by her words. What man did not desire to be amazing in the eyes of a beautiful woman?

  “Am I?”

  “You always seem to have the perfect words to make me feel better.”

  “They are not just words, Portia,” he said, catching and holding her gaze. “If I could take away the pain you were forced to suffer, I would, but as you have so eloquently informed me, it is your past that has molded you into the woman you are today.” He reached up his free hand to lightly outline her lips. “You are like a fine sword that has been perfectly tempered.”

  A hint of color touched her pale cheeks before she was offering a small laugh.

  “Quinn says that I am like a mule that plod
s behind a carrot of the wrong color.”

  “That certainly sounds like something your groom would say, although I will admit I do not know what the devil it means.”

  “Actually, neither do I.” She gave a faint shrug. “I assume that it has something to do with my being set in my ways.”

  “Or blindly stubborn.”

  Her eyes flashed with a dangerous fire. “I beg your pardon?”

  Fredrick smiled, happy to note her usual spirits returning. “Astonishingly, beautifully stubborn?”

  She hid her amusement behind a mock frown. “Why is it that any gentleman who refuses to bend to the will of another is considered firm in his resolve, while a woman is readily chastised as being stubborn?”

  “Being a gentleman of firm resolve I have no intention of answering such a question,” he wisely retorted, slowing his steps as they left the woods and entered the stable yard. Although it was still early, he knew that once at the inn Portia would be swiftly consumed by the heavy responsibilities that she shouldered. He was not yet prepared to bring an end to their time together. “Portia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you come to my rooms?”

  Portia caught her breath at his blunt request, her entire body tingling with the thought of those slender fingers stripping away the damp wool of her gown.

  It was a temptation that she found nearly impossible to resist. Only the knowledge that her entire staff would notice her absence kept her from leaping at his offer.

  “I should see to my guests,” she murmured. “Perhaps later we could . . .”

  “Portia, I would not ask if it were not important,” he interrupted softly, his expression oddly somber. “I assure you that I only wish to converse.”

  She studied him for a long moment, accepting that there was more to his offer than a mere desire to seduce her. A knowledge she was not sure pleased or disappointed her.

  “Very well,” she agreed with a small nod of her head.

  “Thank you.”

  Keeping her arm in his grasp, Fredrick was careful to enter the inn from a side door and used the servants’ staircase to reach the upper floor. She had no need to remind him of her reluctance to be seen sneaking to his rooms. Fredrick always sensed what she desired without having to say the words.