Seduced by the Baron (The Fairy Tales of New York Book 4)

by Amy Andrews

  Seduced by the Baron

  A Fairy Tales of New York Romance

  Amy Andrews

  Seduced by the Baron

  ©Copyright 2015 Amy Andrews

  Kindle Edition

  The Tule Publishing Group, LLC

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-942240-81-5

  The Fairy Tales of New York series

  Book 1: Pursued by the Rogue by Kelly Hunter

  Book 2: Tempting the Knight by Heidi Rice

  Book 3: Taming the Beast by Lucy King

  Book 4: Seduced by the Baron by Amy Andrews

  Dedication

  To Kelly, Heidi, and Lucy. It’s been a pleasure and an honour.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Pursued by the Rogue

  The Fairy Tales of New York Series

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Writing is an isolated business so when you get the opportunity to be involved in a team effort with writers you admire and adore then you grab that with both hands. Big hugs and kisses to Kelly Hunter, Heidi Rice and Lucy King who made this such a fun ride.

  Many thanks to Tule who welcomed our books with open arms and gave us a platform to write them the way we wanted.

  And extra special thanks to two writer peeps who helped this Aussie write a book set in America. To Tessa Bailey for all my Brooklyn information. She was a font of knowledge and shared it so freely and I owe her a Guinness. And to Wendy Marcus who read through the manuscript with the eyes of a New Yorker flagging where I’d gotten things wrong and correcting all my English/Aussie-isms. I owe her a vat of whatever she’s drinking. Both these women helped me ground the book in the New York setting and for that I will be forever in their debt.

  Prologue

  ‡

  Ten years ago, St. John the Apostle Academy, Upstate New York.

  To say Faith Sullivan was shitting herself was putting it mildly. Her head ached, her hands were trembling and her gut was all hot and twisted.

  Tyrone – Ty – wasn’t making it any better. Her brother’s frequent whispered assurances that everything was going to be okay made her want to throw up.

  It wasn’t going to be okay.

  Dawn, who was at St. J’s on a scholarship, had been suspended, Zelda had been expelled, and God alone knew what disciplinary measures were currently being meted out to Mercy by a Mother Superior who was wholly unacquainted with the concept of mercy.

  Faith would have traded her precious annual membership to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to make it okay.

  Because the truth was, her friends were all being punished because of something she’d done. They were being systematically broken down, broken up, and it was all her fault.

  What on earth had possessed her to steal those two bottles of altar wine she had no idea. It wasn’t like booze was a mystery to her – she’d grown up in her parents’ pub in Brooklyn for crying out loud. But it’d been two years since her mom had died and she’d wanted to say thank you to her friends for being there for her at the most horrendous time in her life.

  She’d only known them since her mother’s death, since her father had sent her to St. J’s away from their all-male household for some female compassion. She hadn’t found it with the nuns but she’d gotten lucky with her roomies.

  Dawn and Mercedes had taken her under their wing. She’d been instantly drawn to super-smart Dawn who was gangly and awkward and self-conscious about her looks and she’d had so much in common with Mercy who’d grown up on a vineyard at the same time Faith had been growing up in a pub. And then a year later Zel had joined them and completed their circle. Zel with her long blonde hair and her Central Park address who had lost both parents and was hard and fearless and so very broken. So very screw-you, -world.

  Why was a…little private party such a big deal?

  It wasn’t like she’d stolen the last two bottles for Pete’s sake – there were crates of the stuff sitting in the kitchen. It had just been a bit of harmless fun. A celebration of finally feeling whole again after two long, hard years. But Faith hadn’t counted on the stealth of Sister Ignatius.

  Iggy had the nose of bloodhound. Able to sniff out all kinds of contraband, from Mercy’s latest Cosmo with the enticing sealed section, to Dawn’s racy romance novels to Zel’s hot pink nail polish and now, apparently, booze.

  Faith should have known Iggy would be the one to find them giggling like loons, high on the sickly sweet liquid that Mercy had assured them no self-respecting vintner would ever call wine.

  The ancient grandfather clock that sat under the majestic stained glass window at the end of the vaulted hallway chimed eleven. Alone with just Ty in the hallway now, Faith felt every bong like a bullet to her chest.

  Nausea rolled through her gut and her hands trembled some more as she absently watched the play of light streaming from the stained glass window, bathing the hideous tartan of her uniform in splotches of red and blue.

  Like…tears from heaven.

  A bubble of hysteria rose in her throat and she swallowed it. Tears from heaven? She felt a fraud even thinking it. Faith didn’t know whether she believed in God anymore. Taking her mother two years ago had really messed with that. And then there was the accident that had killed Zel’s parents…

  If there really was a God up there he was doing a lousy job.

  She shut her eyes and waited for the bolt of lightning to come arcing down through the window for such sacrilegious thoughts from a first generation American of good Irish Catholic stock. If it got her out of having to face the music, it’d be worth it. She opened her eyes seconds later when it was clear that no inclement weather was going to come to her rescue.

  And then the door to the Mother Superior’s office opened.

  Faith stood as a crying Mercedes exited with her grim-faced parents.

  Oh no. What had they done to Mercy?

  She sensed Ty standing too as her pulse thrummed through her ears. “Mercy?”

  Her friend ran to her and hugged her hard and Faith buried her face in the fan of Mercedes long, gently wavy, dark hair. Hair she’d envied in the way only those inflicted with unruly curls could.

  “They’re pulling me out,” Mercy sobbed.

  Faith frowned. They’re?

  “That’s enough, Mercedes!” Mrs. Hernandez’s thick Spanish accent could have frosted grapes on the vine. Mercy’s parents had always been strict but this? “It’s time to come home.”

  Mercy was pulled unceremoniously away. Faith turned to watch her friend being dragged from her life, Mercy’s sobs echoing down the hallway as she disappeared from sight.
<
br />   Faith felt sick as guilt rode her hard. Three of her friends had been punished for something she’d done.

  Sister Ignatius was standing there when Faith finally turned around. “Mr. Sullivan?” She addressed Ty in that irritatingly serene way of hers. “Faith.” She nodded at Faith with a little less serenity. “Mother Superior will see you now.”

  Ty squeezed her hand as they followed the black clad figure. “It’s going to be all right,” he murmured. “Just tell the truth and it’ll be fine.”

  Faith squeezed back. Her father sending Ty in his stead had been a wise decision. Ty, a third year law student, was level-headed and logical, exactly what was needed, and it felt good to have his support. But there was no way she could tell the truth and she knew Ty wouldn’t understand.

  Her brother saw everything in black and white, it was in his makeup. Comprehending the loyalties of teenage girls not so much. Dawn, Zel and Mercy had been there for her when she’d most needed support. Even today they’d been there, covering for her despite God knew what pressure and resultant heinous punishments.

  And they’d made a pact.

  They’d all agreed. It didn’t matter who had taken the wine. They were all guilty of drinking it. So it was all for one and one for all.

  Screw them. That’s what Zelda had said after Sister Ignatius had left them to think over her announcement that unless the thief was found they’d all be punished. Gestapo tactics she’d railed in her typically dramatic fashion. Dawn and Mercy had agreed. Faith had tried to talk them out of it. Had been prepared to fall on her sword but the other three were having none of it.

  All for one and one for all.

  And she’d do anything for her three brave musketeers.

  They entered the office and the door shut behind them with a clang. Like a prison cell. Weakness slammed into Faith’s legs but she refused to crumple.

  Screw them.

  The Mother Superior stood and offered her hand to Ty. Faith vaguely took in the introductions, her heart beating so loud in her ears it was roaring like a tornado, then she was sitting, facing down the Mother Superior who looked at her as emotionlessly today as she had the day Faith had first arrived – two weeks after her mother’s death.

  It was darker, gloomier in the office than the hallway. The two small arched windows embedded into the thick stone behind the Mother Superior threw little light into the large room with its stone walls and stone floor.

  And stone heart.

  There should be candles, Faith thought absently. It was that kind of room.

  “Who took the wine, Faith?”

  Faith startled at the direct salvo. She lowered her gaze to her lap where her hands sat clasped together in a sweaty heap.

  No comment.

  “Faith,” Ty prompted, clearly unhappy with her sudden muteness. She could hear the frown in his voice.

  No comment.

  “Faith,” the Mother Superior tried again. “Look at me.”

  Faith found herself following orders despite her resentment. “Altar wine is the blood of Christ. It is sacrosanct. What you were a party to last night is a grave sin.”

  The blood of Christ? They’d gotten pissed on the blood of Christ? “But…it wasn’t consecrated, was it?”

  The Mother Superior gave a dismissive sniff. “I know you. You’re a good girl. I know it wasn’t you.”

  She launched into a lecture about honesty and integrity and character. But that boat had sailed. Despite what the old nun thought, Faith had stolen the wine. And she was only compounding the sin by not cooperating. But if her friends could go through this for her and not crack then she sure as hell could.

  The Mother Superior finally ran out of half veiled threats. “Now,” she said looking down her imperious nose, “I’m going to ask you one more time, Faith. Who stole the wine?”

  Faith shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Faith.” Ty’s voice cracked into the ominous silence. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  She looked at Ty. “I don’t know,” she repeated as calmly as she could considering she had a jackhammer pistoning inside her chest.

  “For crying out loud,” he spat. “It was Zelda, wasn’t it? Just tell the Mother Superior the truth and it’ll all be over.”

  The level of affront Faith felt on Zel’s behalf nearly swallowed her whole. It was so deep she almost confessed just to see the look on his face. But Zel’s darkly imparted remember, no ratting just before they were all frog marched to the Mother Superior’s office held her in check.

  Why would Ty, her fair-minded, justice-for-all brother, jump to such a conclusion? How could he? He didn’t even know her. Yes, okay, Zel was kind of wild and Faith had told him about some of Zel’s crazier exploits but the leap Ty had just made did not befit him.

  “I’m exercising my right to remain silent,” she said. Mostly because she knew it’d get up his nose but he deserved it for being such a judgmental ass.

  “Oh no, not here you don’t,” he snapped. “Not with me.”

  Faith looked away, glancing back down at her hands, her pulse tripping so fast she was afraid her heart might just suddenly give out. She’d never defied Ty like this. Hell, she’d practically hero worshipped him from as early as she could remember.

  But blood was not thicker than water in this case.

  Nor wine either.

  She wished her father had sent Finn instead. They were closer. He would have understood. But Finn was only a year older and not studying law.

  The Mother Superior raised her hand at Ty as he opened his mouth again. “It’s okay, Mr. Sullivan. Faith has chosen her path, now I must choose mine.”

  Faith knew from that it wasn’t going to be good.

  If she was expelled it would break her father’s heart. She almost prayed to be spared that particular penance but decided it was hypocritical. She would take her punishment, whatever it was, as the others had done.

  “You are suspended for a month.”

  Faith supposed that the Mother Superior wanted her to weep and protest then back down but she was so damn relieved she almost slumped forward.

  “Thank you for being so lenient,” Ty said, his voice brisk as he spoke to the Mother Superior. “I can only apologize that it’s come to this.”

  At some level Faith had expected Ty to object. To be on her side. But it was clear she’d disappointed him and suspension was far preferable to expulsion.

  The Mother Superior nodded. “We’ll see you back here in four weeks, Faith. I trust there won’t be another incident like this again?”

  “No, Mother Superior.”

  Faith responded as was expected of her, her mind on other things completely. Like what was going to happen to Dawn and Zelda and Mercy and their friendship now? And how she was ever going to forgive herself?

  At least she’d have her art for company during her exile. And one day when they were all adults and she was a famous painter with her own studio overlooking Central Park, they’d all get together and laugh about this.

  One day…

  Chapter One

  ‡

  Ten years later, Sullivan’s Pub (Sully’s), Brooklyn.

  It was official. Rafael Quartermaine was freezing his gnads off. Too much longer out on the streets of Brooklyn and his ability to father a child at some stage in the future was going to be seriously impaired.

  He hunched further into his jacket as he picked up the pace, the tops of his ears burning, his gloveless fingers curling deep into the pockets. He needed gloves. And a better scarf. Maybe a pair of long johns for under his Levis.

  Minus five the CNN weather chick had said this morning. Or, more correctly, twenty-three. He really needed to wrap his head around the whole Celsius/Fahrenheit thing. But whatever way it was measured, New York in February was brutal! A far cry from a sweltering Australian summer.

  Cold enough to freeze the tits off a bull as his old bushie grandfather would say.

  For a moment Raf almost wished
he was back home straddling his surfboard, the hot Aussie sun on his back, his feet dangling in the ocean, waiting in a line of surfers for the next big one to come in. Instead of here, killing off his sperm cells.

  At the very least he should have decided to launch into the west coast market. It was warmer than this in California and he’d been there several times since his mother had moved back to the place of her birth after the divorce.

  And they had some wicked surf.

  But he’d been looking for the right pub to launch Baron lager on the US market and Mercedes Hernandez, an old friend whose opinion he valued highly, had persuaded him that Sully’s in Brooklyn was the perfect neighborhood pub. And she could get him an intro to the owner.

  So here he was. In New York. In February.

  Freezing his gnads off.

  But at least now he could see the sign up ahead proclaiming Sullivan’s to not only be open and established since 1950 but a mere half a block away. Raf sped up, reaching for the brass handle on the heavy wooden door in under a minute, his fingers almost adhering to the cold metal as he yanked it open.

  He paid little heed to the thick welcome mat at his feet or the dark wood paneling that lent the interior an old world charm, he just shut his eyes as warmth enveloped him like a long lost lover. His fingers and ears tingled as blood returned to his extremities. He had a feeling it would take longer for his balls to drop back down from inside him but it was a start.

  He opened his eyes to find himself being thoroughly scrutinized. Three elderly guys sitting at the end of the long wooden bar, looked surprised to see him. Not that he could blame them – who would come out into this weather without good reason?

  They continued to stare much to Raf’s amusement. Clearly they weren’t used to strange faces around here. A check in the pro column. A bar that attracted loyal regulars would be a good test market for him.

  “G’day, gentlemen,” he murmured cheerfully. “Bloody cold out there today.”