Deborah Raleigh

by Bedding the Baron

  For the first time in his life Fredrick came perilously close to falling into a swoon. What else could explain the light-headed dizziness and sensation that he was tumbling into a deep tunnel?

  Sheer pride allowed him to battle through the encroaching darkness, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the window frame.

  “Where? Where was the ceremony?” he rasped.

  “At the small church just around the corner, St. Mary’s,” the elder woman retorted absently, her gaze trained on Fredrick’s pale countenance. “Really, Mr. Smith, I think you should sit down. You do not look at all well.”

  “I am fine.” Knowing that he was incapable of conducting a reasonable conversation, Fredrick instead moved to take one of the older woman’s hands and performed a stiff bow. Later he would no doubt return and question Mrs. Greaves more thoroughly, but for the moment he needed time to adjust to the shock he had just received. “I must thank you, Mrs. Greaves.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “For agreeing to meet with me and being so patient to answer my questions.” He reached beneath his jacket to withdraw a handful of coins that he pressed into her hand. “You have been of great assistance.”

  “I do not know what I have done, but I will happily accept your gratitude.” The blue eyes abruptly twinkled as she hastily tucked the coins into her pocket. “Oh, if you do not mind, you might keep this between the two of us. My daughter is a fine woman, but she has a distressing lack of imagination. She would no doubt insist that this little windfall be used for something quite tedious.”

  “My lips are sealed,” he promised as he headed for the door.

  “Bless you, lad.”

  Leaving behind the woman who was happily plotting the secret treat she intended to purchase with her coins, Fredrick managed to make his way down the stairs to the front foyer without falling and breaking his neck. He even managed to fumble open the door and was headed down the walk when Ian abruptly darted from the side of the house and grasped his arm in a painful grip.

  “Good Lord, it is about time,” he hissed directly into his ear. “I thought you meant to leave me with that rabid spinster ...” He broke off his words and conjured a smooth smile as Miss Greaves grimly charged in his wake. “My dear, I cannot tell you how much I have enjoyed our brief stroll. Now, I fear, we must be on our way.”

  “You will remember that the Boar’s Head is not at all suitable for a gentleman,” the woman puffed, out of breath as she attempted to prevent Ian from slipping away without a proper farewell.

  Covertly, Ian inched Fredrick closer to the gate. “Yes, indeed, and I will be sure to have my luncheon at the Royal Oak.”

  “And, of course, I do have a tidy tea tray prepared every afternoon at precisely five o’clock.” The broad face was faintly flushed and the pale eyes glowing with an unmistakable enchantment. “You and Mr. Smith are always welcome.”

  “Ah ... yes,” Ian muttered. “We will most certainly keep that in mind. Good day.”

  Fredrick would have found the entire encounter stunningly amusing at any other time.

  The hardened spinster, batting her lashes like a dewy-eyed chit. Ian, the Casanova, awkwardly retreating from the frontal attack like a skittish greenhorn.

  Fredrick, however, felt inexplicably numb as he allowed Ian to hustle him through the gate to gather their horses. Even when he was mounted and headed down the cobblestone street, he could manage no more than a vague sense of unreality.

  Swaying in his saddle, Fredrick managed to make it out of the neighborhood when Ian abruptly reached out to grasp the reins he held loosely in his fingers, pulling them both to a halt.

  “Holy hell, Fredrick, you look as if you have seen a ghost. What the devil did that old lady say to you?” The golden gaze searched Fredrick’s countenance that was bathed in a thin coating of perspiration. “What you need is a drink, Freddie boy.”

  Fredrick managed a short nod. Perhaps a few pints would help to clear the fog in his brain.

  “Here, boy, see to our horses.” Tossing the reins to a nearby lad, Ian helped Fredrick dismount.

  The urchin caught the reins with a practiced ease. “Aye, sir.”

  “Do not get any foolish notions unless you wish to be strung from the nearest tree. Understood?” Ian growled as he pulled Fredrick firmly toward the nearby pub.

  The lad swallowed heavily. “Aye.”

  “This way,” Ian commanded his silent friend, managing to maneuver Fredrick down the worn steps that led to the dark, open-beamed room with a handful of tables scattered across the planked floor. “You, there,” Ian called toward the man standing behind the heavy bar at the back. “Two pints of your finest.”

  Fredrick discovered himself settled at a small table in a shadowed corner as the barkeep hurried to place two mugs of ale in front of them.

  “Here you are, sir,” the round-faced man said, expertly pocketing the shilling that Ian tossed in his direction before bowing back toward the bar.

  A silence descended as Ian studied Fredrick with a discomfited expression. “You are not intending to cast up your accounts, are you?”

  Fredrick smiled wryly, knowing just how difficult it was for Ian to remain at his side. He was the sort who preferred to solve troubles with his fists, not dole out comfort over mugs of ale.

  “Not at the moment, no.”

  “Good. I do not play nursemaid, not even for my brother,” he muttered.

  “You never fail to touch my heart, Ian.”

  Watching as Fredrick drained his mug, Ian at last leaned forward with a frown.

  “Can you tell me what you have discovered, or would you prefer to keep it to yourself?”

  Fredrick battled back the hysterical urge to laugh.

  Good Lord. He had been so stunned by the mere possibility that his parents had been wed that he had not considered what the truth might mean to others.

  Rather ridiculous since there was a great deal more at stake than the fact that he was not a mere bastard.

  Did he reveal the extraordinary truth and change the future of the entire Graystone clan, or allow the lie to continue?

  “Fredrick?” Ian prompted, his expression hard with concern. “What the devil is the matter?”

  Scrubbing his hands over his face, Fredrick made a determined effort to gather his shattered wits.

  “Mrs. Greaves confirmed that Dunnington was a tenant at her boarding house,” he at last admitted.

  Ian took a sip of his ale as he made an effort to disguise his puzzlement. “That is what you suspected, was it not?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And my father was a tenant as well.”

  “I’ll be damned.” Ian sat down his mug with a short laugh. “It was a brilliant plan after all.”

  “So it would seem.”

  “Whatever your father’s secret, it must have occurred while he lived in the boarding house. That would explain how Dunnington came to know of it.”

  “Oh, yes,” Fredrick muttered. “It did indeed occur while he was at the boarding house.”

  The golden eyes narrowed. “Did you discover what the secret is?”

  “I ...” Fredrick sucked in a steadying breath. “I at least discovered a secret he has been harboring for the past twenty-eight years.”

  “Bloody hell.” Ian reached out to slap him on the shoulder. “You have done it.”

  “Yes.”

  Sensing Fredrick’s seething turmoil, Ian slowly leaned back in his seat and folded his arms over his chest.

  “You know what, Freddie boy, it does not matter what the damnable secret might be,” he said firmly. “We might have been burdened with worthless wastrels for fathers, but we have managed to do quite well.” He paused, a determined smile curving his lips. “No, you have done better than well, Fredrick. As difficult as it might be for me to admit, those ridiculous gadgets of yours have managed to make you one of the most influential men in all of England. Whatever your jackass of a
father did twenty-some-odd years ago cannot change all you have accomplished.”

  Fredrick smiled at his friend’s obvious attempt to distract him from his troubles. “Actually, Ian, it might very well change everything.”

  “Not unless you allow it to.”

  “True ...” Fredrick shuddered at the thought of the turmoil and tumultuous pain the truth would cause. “I suppose it is now my decision whether to go forward or let well enough alone.”

  “Come, let us forget our troubles in a barrel of ale,” Ian commanded gruffly, his golden eyes dark with worry. “Troubles are always best left for tomorrow.”

  “Ian Breckford’s philosophy of life?” Fredrick demanded wryly.

  Ian shrugged. “’Tis not a bad one, even you must admit.”

  “No, not a bad one.” Fredrick gave a sharp, bitter laugh as he abruptly rose to his feet. “Oh God, Ian, what am I to do?”

  “Damn, Fredrick ... tell me what it is.” Ian was swiftly standing at his side, his hands clenched in frustration as he helplessly studied his friend’s tortured expression. “Tell me what it is so that I can hunt down your father and beat the bloody hell out of him.”

  “They were wed.”

  The words tumbled from Fredrick’s lips before he had ever realized he intended to confess the truth to his friend. Not surprisingly, Ian’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

  “What?”

  “My mother and father, they were wed before I was born,” Fredrick rasped, shoving his hands roughly through his hair. “I am not a bastard.”

  Ian appeared nearly as stunned as Fredrick felt, his golden eyes wide with shock and his mouth opening and closing a half a dozen times before he could speak.

  “Holy hell, Fredrick. If you are not a bastard, then ...”

  “Then I am the legal, legitimate heir of the Graystone family.”

  “Holy hell.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Casting a glance about the taproom that was slowly beginning to fill with the local tradesmen, Ian gave a slow, disbelieving shake of his head.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Mrs. Greaves claims that she attended the wedding at St. Mary’s,” Fredrick muttered. “It should be a simple matter to search the church records and discover the truth.”

  “Then why the hell are we at this shoddy pub instead of at the church?”

  For a moment Fredrick struggled to sort through his tangled emotions. He could not deny a reluctance to charge off to the church and find the proof of his legitimacy.

  It was not so much fear, he slowly accepted. Or at least not precisely fear.

  No, it was more a sickening sensation at the thought of discovering the truth of his birth written upon some crumbling piece of parchment.

  Surely any man deserved better than that?

  Fredrick forced himself to meet the searching golden gaze. “Because as ridiculous as it might seem, I want the truth from my father’s lips.”

  Ian made a sound of disgust deep in his throat. He had always been a man who held a simple, if rather cynical approach to life.

  Always believe the worst in others and one is never disappointed.

  “You believe the old man will tell the truth after all these years?”

  “Since I do not know why he felt compelled to hide the marriage in the first place, I do not know what he will do.” His heart gave a painful squeeze even as his thoughts shied from the staggering implications. “Of course, it is rather difficult to deny a wedding that was attended by Mrs. Greaves and Dunnington.”

  “Dunnington was at the wedding?” Ian sucked in a sharp breath, his brows jerking together. “No, I do not believe it.”

  “That is what the old lady claims.”

  “Then she must be batty. I mean ...” Ian gave an angry shake of his head. “Surely to God Dunnington would not have allowed you to be tossed aside as a bastard if he knew for a fact that you were the legitimate heir to the Graystone estate?”

  Fredrick gave a sharp jerk at the blunt question. Gads, he had not yet given thought to Dunnington’s culpability in keeping such a secret. It seemed bad enough that his father had spent eight and twenty years lying to him.

  Dunnington’s seeming betrayal would have to be pondered and mourned later.

  “Perhaps my father managed to convince him to keep his silence,” he muttered. “Dunnington did, after all, manage to extort a fortune from the old miser.”

  “You think Dunnington sold your legitimacy for twenty thousand pounds?”

  “It is a possibility.”

  Ian muttered a foul curse. “If it is true then it’s a bloody sin. It is one thing to keep a secret, it is quite another to steal a man’s name.” Reaching out, Ian grasped Fredrick’s arm and gave him an impatient shake. “By God, Fredrick, you have been cheated of your very destiny.”

  Fredrick swallowed a choked laugh as Ian’s furious words rang through the room with enough force to turn the heads of the half a dozen patrons. His own anger was still rigidly contained behind a thick layer of shock.

  Given time he would no doubt be ranting and raving like a lunatic. For now, however, he was uncannily calm.

  “Come, we are attracting attention,” he said, taking Ian’s arm and firmly steering him out of the pub. Once on the street he loosened his grip and halted in the shadows of the building.

  Ian studied his tight expression with undisguised concern. “What are you going to do?”

  “The first thing I must do is speak with my father.”

  “Do you desire me to accompany you?”

  Fredrick debated for a silent moment. A part of him wanted Ian to travel to Oak Manor with him. Despite the man’s sharp tongue and sardonic wit, he possessed an unwavering loyalty and would readily commit murder if he thought it would make Fredrick happy.

  “No,” he reluctantly muttered. “I believe it would be best if I confront him alone.”

  “Are you certain?” The dark, elegant features hardened. “It might take some ... effort to make him amenable to confessing the truth. I happen to have a talent in making unwilling gentlemen amenable.”

  Fredrick gave a short laugh. There were few in London who did not know the dangers of stirring Ian Breckford’s ready temper.

  “So I have heard.”

  “If nothing else I can help you bury the corpse.”

  “A most generous offer.”

  “What are friends for?”

  Fredrick stilled as he regarded the man who had been such an essential part of his life for so many years. The bond between them went far beyond the ties of blood. Whatever happened, whatever he learned from his father, he would never be alone. Ian and Raoul would always be at his side.

  It was a knowledge that offered a deep, unshakable comfort that nothing could touch.

  Not even his father’s treachery.

  Reaching out, Fredrick placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Ian, I do not know what stroke of fortune brought you to my side just when I needed you, but I am grateful.”

  Ian shifted, his expression revealing his discomfort. “Good Lord, you need not become maudlin, Freddie boy. I am here because it suits me to be here, and the moment I decide otherwise I shall disappear without a care as to whether or not you have need of me.”

  “Oh, yes,” Fredrick drawled in tones of patent disbelief. “Of course you will.”

  Ian gave him a small shove toward his waiting horse. “Hell and damnation, would you be on your way already? I intend to devote the rest of the evening to becoming corned, pickled, and salted. And after that ...” A wicked smile curved his lips. “After that I intend to find a beautiful, willing woman to ease my loneliness.”

  Fredrick reluctantly accepted the reins to his horse from the waiting urchin. He could not deny a hint of envy.

  A few drinks and the night spent in the arms of a beautiful woman (so long as that woman happened to be Portia Walker) sounded far preferable to the upcoming confrontation with his father.

  Unfortunat
ely he knew that until he had settled matters with Lord Graystone he would be unable to concentrate upon anything else.

  With a smooth motion he was in the saddle, and with a brief wave in Ian’s direction, he was headed down the street.

  Before this night was through he intended to have the truth.

  After that ...

  He gave a shake of his head.

  He would worry about “after thats,” well ... after that.

  Fredrick pulled his mount to a halt as he turned onto the lane that led to the manor house.

  Before this moment the towering oaks and sprawling parkland had meant nothing to him. At least nothing more than the fact that he had arrived at his father’s estate for another tedious, painful visit.

  There was no sense of homecoming, no innate pride of ownership, no pondering of how he would alter this or that once his father came to his timely end.

  Now he forced himself to truly study the estate. The sculpted gardens with their fountains and Greek statuary. The untamed woodlands. The refurbished conservatory. The rich farmlands that offered an endless source of income for a proper and diligent owner.

  It was truly beautiful.

  A graceful, elegant testament to the rich tradition and power of the Graystone family.

  A tradition that could very well belong to him once he forced his father to confess the truth.

  Fredrick abruptly urged his horse forward as an unpleasant shiver raced down his spine. He had never been a mercenary gentleman. The wealth he had accumulated over the years had been nothing more than an unintended result of the success of his business.

  Certainly he had never eyed a statue or tidy outbuilding and considered the worth when the lord of the manor was dead.

  Gads, it was little wonder that Simon had become such a pathetic twit if that had been the manner he had passed his days rather than pursuing a decent career. Could there be anything more disgustingly morbid than waiting for your own father to die?

  At last reaching the house, Fredrick readily handed his horse over to the waiting groom and climbed the stairs. He had barely managed to make the top step when the door was yanked open, and Morgan was regarding him with an expression that lacked its usual impassiveness. Indeed, there was very nearly relief etched on the long, stoic countenance.