The Naked Baron

by Sally MacKenzie

  His mind was a complete blank. He couldn’t think of a single name.

  The spider slowly drifted down to the next shelf and started crawling over the books. He watched it scale A Few Theories on Household Management.

  He didn’t know many of the ton. He’d never been to Eton—Grandda and Grandmamma had thought it better that he be schooled at home. He’d spent a few years at Oxford, but all the other men there had seemed little more than boys, more interested in pranks and whoring than their academic studies. He’d had very little in common with them.

  Perhaps Lady Grace knew a likely host.

  The spider moved on to Several Highly Efficacious Tonics and Cordials.

  They definitely needed to arrange a house party. The country with its greater privacy—and more opportunities for assignations—would be a far more likely location for Alex and Lady Oxbury to effect a reconciliation. And if Alex and Lady Oxbury were no longer estranged…He smiled at the spider. He could build his own little web to catch a certain spirited young lady.

  There were so many delightful spots in the country to steal a kiss or two. Picnics by the lake, strolls through the gardens, a ramble through the woods. Rules were always more relaxed there and, in any event, Grace’s meddle-some chaperone would be too busy with his uncle to be popping into every secluded room or leafy bower. He should be able to have Grace saying “I do” to any number of delightful activities.

  He would be certain to procure a special license before they left just in case he could persuade her all the way to the altar.

  He consulted his pocket watch. Had enough time elapsed since Lady Grace departed? Surely so. He would go out into the ballroom—

  Wait a minute. He’d forgotten Viscount Motton. He’d seen him here tonight.

  The viscount was around his own age and brilliant—he’d been involved in a few investments with him. Even better, his estate was a long day’s ride from Clifton Hall—close enough to be almost in Alex’s neighborhood, but far enough that Alex would have to stay over. Hmm. And if he were not mistaken, Alex had spent part of the trip up to Town nattering on about some crop rotation scheme Motton was trying at Lakeland that he might want to implement himself. He’d even been talking about stopping by Motton’s estate. Perfect.

  Now he only had to come up with some subtle way to suggest a casual acquaintance hold a house party in the middle of the Season for his benefit.

  Right. That would be easy.

  He stood and straightened his waistcoat. Best be—

  The door swung open with an inordinate amount of giggling. Two very surprised people stared at him. He bowed.

  “Good evening, Lord Featherstone; Mrs. Fallwell.”

  “Ah.” They gaped at him, apparently unable to compose a coherent sentence between them.

  “I was just leaving.”

  “Ah.”

  He bowed again, stepped around them, and walked briskly toward the ballroom. He did not look back.

  He did not want to know…he did not want to think about anything concerning the old roué, the society gossip, and that very small room.

  Chapter 10

  Hermes was barking…in her ear?

  Kate cracked open an eye. Hermes’s large orbs stared back at her. She groaned.

  “Go back to bed. It’s the middle of the night.”

  Hermes begged to differ.

  “Ow!” He brushed up against her breast. It was uncommonly sensitive, perhaps because her courses were a few days late.

  Her courses were never late.

  She must have some odd malady. She was so tired, and she felt bloated and out of sorts all the time.

  Hermes was still staring at her; absently, she stroked his ears.

  It wasn’t surprising she was tired. She’d been keeping most irregular hours, and when she did find her bed, she didn’t sleep well.

  She sniffed, wiping away a sudden tear as she pictured the primary reason for her lack of sleep. Damn it all, men were supposed to want bed frolic without any emotional complications. Alex should have been happy she wasn’t demanding anything of him.

  She’d had a wonderful time, and then he’d had to go and ruin it by asking her to marry him. She couldn’t marry him. He must know that. Why had he teased her with the offer?

  She smiled slightly. But oh, what he’d done with her in this bed. His touch had been magical. There was no resemblance—none at all—between bed activities with Alex and with poor Oxbury. Just thinking about Alex made her body throb in embarrassing places. She craved his touch…

  But she could never have it again. She couldn’t flirt with scandal by carrying on an affair with him—and, in any event, he’d said he never wanted to repeat the experience. And then he’d left her—and London—so abruptly.

  He had hurt her—but she had hurt him. Why had she played the merry widow then? She should have given him the truth.

  Had she broken his heart? Well, they were even. Her heart was in pieces as well.

  She sniffed again. She was crying far more easily these days, too. She must get more rest.

  Hermes licked her face.

  “Stop it, you silly dog.” She lifted the covers. “Here, as a special treat you can sleep next to me. But this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, you know, so do not get used to it.” She was very fond of Hermes, but she’d learned early on that letting him sleep in her bed gave her uncontrollable sneezing fits.

  She closed her eyes to give him the proper example.

  His very wet tongue accosted her cheek once more.

  “Please go back to sleep. It’s too early to get up.”

  “But it’s not, my lady.” Marie pulled open the bed curtains.

  “Wha—?” Why was Marie here? And her bedchamber was full of light…but it faced west. “What time is it?”

  “Almost two o’clock.”

  “In the afternoon?” She’d never slept that late. She prided herself on being an early riser. She must definitely be sickening.

  “Aye. Jem took Hermes for his morning walk, but I thought ye’d want to take him out now.”

  It was two o’clock! How was that possible? She’d dragged Grace away from the Wainwright ball early last night because she’d been too exhausted to stay another minute.

  “I brought ye some chocolate.”

  “Ah.” Chocolate. A nice cup of chocolate would settle her nerves. She struggled to sit up—and inhaled the thick, sweet scent. Ohh. She put her hand over her mouth. “I don’t want any chocolate this morning—I mean afternoon. Take it away. Please.”

  Why was Marie giving her that look? And why was she staring at her chest? She looked down at her thin nightgown. She’d become attached to the old thing in the last few weeks since—she blushed…and saw her breasts darken slightly.

  Obviously the garment was too threadbare.

  Were her small breasts looking a little larger? And a little…different?

  Ridiculous. She crossed her arms over them and winced. They were definitely sensitive.

  “Yer courses are late, aren’t they, my lady?”

  Marie would know since she collected the soiled laundry. “A little late.”

  “How late?”

  What was this, the Grand Inquisition? “I don’t know. A few days. Perhaps a week.” She was feeling nauseous. Was there a basin handy? She might have need of it.

  Marie was frowning at her. “If I did nae know any better, I’d say ye were increasing.”

  “What?!”

  “Increasing. Ye know. Breeding. In the family way. With child.”

  “Ga.” She dove for the cupboard by the bed and flung it open. Thank God! She grabbed the basin and emptied her stomach. “Ohh.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Marie gave her another look. Kate clutched the basin more tightly. At the moment it seemed like her sole anchor to reality.

  “But I couldn’t…It’s not p-possible…”

  “Aye, I know.”

  “I’m forty years old.�
�

  “That’s not the impossible part. Many a woman past forty finds herself with a babe. As long as ye still get yer courses, ye can still get a child.”

  “Oh.” Surely she knew that—she just hadn’t thought about it. She’d been so regular all these years. And Oxbury had exercised his marital rights several times a month—almost daily when they were first married—yet she’d never conceived. “But I’m barren.”

  Marie shrugged. “Perhaps the fault was with yer lord. I’ve seen more than one barren woman bury her first husband and have a quiverful of children with her second.” Marie fixed her with a penetrating gaze. “And that’s the part that makes it impossible for ye to be increasing—ye have no husband.” Her gaze sharpened. “Or do ye?”

  “Of course not. You know I’m not married. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Ah, but church vows aren’t needed for a babe. It just takes a man in yer bed with lively seed and a strong plow.”

  She must be as red as a beet. She could barely get her breath. Could she be…had she and Alex made…but they had only done it once…

  “Had ye a man in yer bed, my lady?”

  “Ah…”

  “And it needn’t be a bed, ye know. A quick poke in the garden will do the trick as well.”

  “But…”

  Marie crossed her arms. “Ye may as well tell me, my lady. There’s no point in lying. I’ll know soon enough when yer courses don’t come and yer belly swells.”

  “Ah. Ah. Oh.” She threw up again and then burst into tears.

  Marie took the basin carefully from her hands, sat down on the bed next to her, and gathered her into her arms. Kate hugged her and sobbed into her sturdy shoulder.

  “Ye know, my lady,” Marie murmured in her ear, “ye need to send a note to Mr. Wilton.”

  She was increasing.

  What in God’s name was she going to do?

  Hermes tugged on his leash, pulling Kate down the hall. It was a good thing he knew the way to the park. She couldn’t find her way out of her room at the moment. She was locked in a nightmare.

  Could she be increasing? After all those years with Oxbury, month after month of disappointment…

  Marie must be wrong.

  But her courses were over a week late and they were never late. And she’d never felt this way before—so tired and…odd.

  It could be the strain of coming to Town, couldn’t it, and of seeing Alex again?

  Alex. She had done much more than see him. She had tasted him and touched him and felt him deep inside her…

  Dear God. She must be increasing.

  She grabbed hold of the banister before she pitched down the stairs. If she fell, she might hurt the baby.

  The baby…ohh.

  “Are you all right, Aunt Kate?”

  “Wha—?” Grace was standing next to her. Where had she come from? “Yes. No. Ah.”

  Grace and Hermes stared at her.

  “Perhaps you’re sickening.” Grace laid her hand on Kate’s arm. “I was worried when you slept so late, but maybe…do you think you need to go back to bed? I’ll take Hermes out for you.”

  Going back to her room, pulling the covers over her head, hiding from…No, that would do no good. Even if she hid in her room for all nine months, she’d still have a baby at the end…

  Dear God, a baby! How was she going to tell Alex? Marie was right. He deserved to know. But the man was forty-five years old. He could not want a child. And she’d promised him she was barren before he’d even ventured into her bed. Would he think she’d lied to him intentionally? He thought she’d lied about her engagement to Oxbury.

  This wasn’t the sort of news one put in a letter. She should tell him face to face—but he had left London.

  And if Marie knew Alex was the father, would all the ton guess as well?

  She wet her lips and swallowed. “N-no. It will do me good to get out, I’m sure.”

  Grace was still frowning at her. “Why don’t I accompany you then? You still look pale.”

  “All right. Yes. That would be fine. Delightful.”

  “Let me just go get my bonnet. Wait for me in the entry hall, all right?”

  Kate nodded. Grace gave her another worried look and then hurried to her room. Kate stumbled down the stairs.

  Sykes was standing by the hall table. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Sykes.” She clutched Hermes’s leash more tightly. Mr. Sykes looked unpleasantly serious. Surely he didn’t know about the scandalous state of her womb? “Do you have something to say?”

  Sykes let out a gusty, rather depressing sigh. “Unfortunately I do, my lady. The new Lord Oxbury has sent word he is coming up to Town. He should be arriving shortly. I’m sure you understand, but the staff will need to move you and Lady Grace to other accommodations as Lord Oxbury”—Sykes swallowed as if he’d just had to down a draught of extremely nasty medicine—“will expect to be occupying the master suite.”

  “Of course, Mr. Sykes. I understand completely.” Dear heavens! The situation had just got horribly worse. Why was the Weasel coming to Town? He was certain to note the moment her waist got half an inch larger—though he shouldn’t care. Oxbury had been dead over a year. There was no chance anyone would think the baby legitimate.

  She let herself down slowly onto a handy chair.

  If she didn’t marry, her baby would be a bastard.

  “My lady, are you feeling quite the thing?”

  She couldn’t meet Sykes’s eyes—she merely nodded and waved a hand in his direction. Hermes came over and put his paws on her knees, barking and waving his tail in an encouraging fashion.

  He was a dog. He did not understand the depths of her despair.

  What would the Weasel do when he discovered she was increasing? Would he throw her out into the street?

  Of course, she was forty years old. It was possible she would miscarry…She put a protective hand over her middle. She didn’t want any harm to come to her baby—hers and Alex’s.

  She sniffed and searched for her handkerchief.

  “Lady Grace, please, look to Lady Oxbury,” she heard Sykes say. “I fear she is unwell.”

  “Aunt Kate.” Grace put a hand on her shoulder and bent to look searchingly into her face. Kate focused on Hermes. “Are you certain you’re all right?” She dropped her voice. “Is it that time of month, perhaps?”

  Kate’s head shot up. That time of month? She began to laugh, she feared a touch hysterically. “No. It’s not. Definitely not.”

  Grace stepped back, looking hurt. Thankfully, Sykes—probably assuming her malaise was a female complaint—had taken himself off.

  “I sometimes get weepy at that time,” Grace said.

  Kate stood. She had to get out of this house and into the park, into the open, the fresh air. She had to get a grip on her emotions. “Yes, I know. I thank you for your concern, it’s just…” She let out a long breath. What could she say? “Mr. Sykes just told me the Weasel is coming to London.”

  “Oh.” Grace grimaced. “I see why you might be crying.”

  “Yes, well, I am better now, and Hermes has been very patient. Shall we go?”

  “Did you see Miss Hamilton dancing with Mr. Dunlap at the ball last night? Or, more to the point, did you see the Duke of Alvord watching Miss Hamilton dancing?” Grace was grasping for conversational straws. This was her fifth attempt; if she met with as little success this time as she had with her previous efforts, she was going to give up and just sit quietly on the park bench next to Aunt Kate watching Hermes chase squirrels.

  “Hmm?” Aunt Kate fiddled with Hermes’s leash and stared off into space.

  “Alvord did not look at all happy—not that I blame him. I had one set with Mr. Dunlap. I grant you, he’s very handsome, but…well, I found him unsettling. He reminds me of a rotten apple—big and red on the outside, but brown and soft and nasty on the inside.”

  “If the apples are rotten, tell cook to throw them
away.”

  Grace rolled her eyes. It was hopeless.

  Hermes, barking maniacally, dashed after another squirrel. This one scampered back toward Oxbury House and dove into some large, dense bushes. Hermes followed in hot pursuit.

  Grace jiggled her foot; Aunt Kate frowned at Hermes’s leash.

  Hermes’s barking faded.

  “I think I’ll go see what happened to Hermes, Aunt Kate.”

  Aunt Kate did not reply—she probably hadn’t even heard. She was sniffing again and dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.

  Something was seriously wrong.

  “I’ll be right back.” Grace spoke a little louder. Aunt Kate nodded and blew her nose.

  Grace strode across the lawn. What could be the problem? Aunt Kate had been fine last night. Well, not fine. A little sad—she’d been sad ever since Mr. Wilton had left London—and tired, but not the watering pot she was this afternoon.

  She reached the bushes. She was not going to plunge into the greenery. “Hermes?” No response. The stupid dog. Where had he got to? Surely Hermes had the sense to turn around and come back once the squirrel took to the trees. She walked around the shrubbery—

  “Oof!” Her stomach collided with a masculine shoulder. A masculine hand shot out to grab her hip.

  Her heart flew into her throat; she opened her mouth to scream—and then saw who was crouching in front of her.

  Lord Dawson.

  Oh. Her heart paused, took stock of the situation, and changed from the rapid tattoo of panic to the slow thud of something else entirely. It dropped from her throat to her stomach. Lower even. To…She flushed.

  The last time she’d seen Lord Dawson, they’d been standing very, very close together in Lord Easthaven’s tiny waiting room. He had been on the verge of kissing her. If only Aunt Kate had not arrived at precisely that moment—

  No. It was very good Aunt Kate had arrived. If she hadn’t, who knows what might have happened.

  A little shiver ran up Grace’s spine. She knew what would have happened—exactly what had happened in the Duke of Alvord’s garden.