A Baron in Her Bed (14 page)

His expression lightened. “We all make mistakes, my dear. We shall speak no more of it.” He glanced at her. “Mr. Oakley called. He left some very fine vegetables with Cook.”

“How kind.”

“I planned to play faro at Mr. Broadbent’s this evening, but I’ve half a mind not to leave you alone. And it has begun to rain.”

“It is only a few miles up the road,” she said in a teasing tone.

“I suppose I’d best not let them down. You will be all right here on your own?”

“Of course, Father.” A deep sense of shame lowered her spirits. She was neither a dutiful daughter, nor was she honest.

After dinner, her father went off in the carriage with Simon. When it turned onto the lane, Horatia lit a lantern and slipped out to the stable. The light rain was dismal, and it matched the gloom in her heart.
Familiar stable smells, warm hay, manure, and the sounds of horses snuffing in their boxes greeted her. She pulled her cloak close, her nerves on edge. It had been a frightful day; she had never hurt a living soul before. The memory of Guy’s kisses and how it had affected her seeing him lying in the hay tugged at her. Her worry, anger, and frustration were overlaid with something far stronger, a heady sense of desire that clenched her stomach. Hooves rang on the gravel drive, and she hurried to the doorway.

Guy appeared through the misty rain and dismounted. He led his horse inside, his shoulders slumped with weariness.

Horatia was immediately contrite. “Come into the house by the fire. Father has gone out.”

“In front of the servants? I believe I have compromised you enough,” he said.

“Don’t be so stuffy. I want to know what happened at the village.”

He glared at her, his eyes bloodshot, but didn’t resist and followed her to the house.

An unmarried lady receiving a gentleman alone at night showed a sad lack of propriety to heap on top of her recent misdemeanors. Did Guy disapprove of her? She was glad of her loyal servants, but she couldn’t make herself care about matters of etiquette. Not when matters of life and death were involved. She couldn’t wait to learn what had happened after Guy had left her.

They settled in the library where she had lit a fire earlier. It was a cozy room lined with bookshelves and held the faint lingering odor of pipe smoke and old tomes.

Guy sat beside her on the leather chesterfield. Horatia sipped a glass of sherry and watched him nurse a brandy. He wore a drab olive coat, and his linen was fresh and white against his dark skin. He appeared more vulnerable tonight. Somehow, it made him even more attractive.

He turned the glass in his hands, his gaze on the crystal that sparkled in the candlelight. “I found a map in the man’s pocket, detailing the roads surrounding Rosecroft Hall, in relation to Sherrardspark Wood. He recovered his senses but refused to say who hired him. I’m at a loss. The one person who benefits by my death is Eustace.”

Horatia sucked in a breath. She still could not believe it. “Eustace doubts you are the real Baron Fortescue.”

“I know. But he’s so dopey with laudanum he’s not thinking clearly.”

“He’s in pain.”

“He’s become dependent upon it.”

“Oh!”

“I lost my portmanteau when the highwaymen attacked me. It contained important papers and a letter from my father with his seal.”

“Have you looked for it?”

“
Bien sûr!
I look every day.”

“Perhaps I…”

“No!”

“There’s no need to snap my head off.” She pushed out her bottom lip in thought. “I can’t anyway, I promised Father I wouldn’t go out alone again.”

Guy’s eyes widened. “He knows?”

“Yes. But not that I rode The General.”

“He will find out.”

“Most likely.” She would probably confess it before long. “What will you do?”

“I plan to search further for my papers then travel to London to see my solicitor. After that, I will pay Eustace a visit.”

“What will you tell him?”

“I’ll inform him of my new will, which disinherits him from all my unentailed fortune. I cannot stop him from inheriting the Hall though, unless I leave behind an heir. I shall also tell him of my plan to marry as soon as I have established my identity.” He gazed steadily into her eyes. “I can do nothing until I find those papers.”

“I’m sure you will have no trouble finding a suitable bride. You are, for the most part, perfectly acceptable.”

“For the most part?” He raised a dark brow.

“You are attractive, undoubtedly. And a baron...”

He gave a cautious laugh. “I seem to detect a ‘but’ in there somewhere. Unless my English...”

“Don’t try and fudge,” she scoffed, looking at her hands. “Your understanding of English is excellent.”

He took her chin in his big hand and turned her head to meet his gaze. “Then what?”

She tried to ignore his touch, which always caused her breath to quicken. “Your bride would have to be prepared to obey her master in all matters. Merely sit and embroider and keep the hearth fires burning, whilst you have shooting parties and visit your club in London and…”

His blue gaze heated, and he gripped her shoulders hard, making her wince, more from his closeness than discomfort. “
Mon dieu
, but you are a tease, Horatia!”

She wriggled out of his grasp. “Fanny Kemble is the perfect choice. She is so very sweet natured. Is it to be Fanny?”

“
Non
! Fanny? Where did that harebrained idea come from?”

“You have flirted with Fanny every time you’ve been in her company.”

“Flirted? I?
Mon dieu
! What about you and that
échalas
, Oakley!”

“You are not exactly short yourself, my lord.” Beanpole did describe tall, thin Frederick rather well, and she stifled a giggle. “Frederick called today while I was out,” she said coolly. “He has asked me to marry him.”

“He has? Impudent man.” His eyes narrowed.

“Father likes him.”

He gave a derisive laugh. “Since when do you rush to obey your father?”

She firmed her lips. “I refused Mr. Oakley.”

“Kind of you, you would
fatigue
him to death within the first year.”

“I don’t believe I would. In fact, I might reconsider. You are behaving like a bore, my lord.”

He took her hands. “Let’s not quarrel, Horatia.” His eyes softened. “You might help me.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not in a position to ask anyone to marry me. But I have need of a fiancée. It will give Eustace something to think about. He is very fond of you. Would you agree to it? It would be only for a period of time, until I am in a secure position to marry.”

She stared at him. “You wish a false betrothal?”

“
Oui
.”

“But what would my father say?”

“He doesn’t need to be told the truth of it right now. I know you don’t wish to marry, but you want to go to London, no? This offers you a good reason to visit. You won’t remain bound to me, and if something should happen to me, you are free.”

It was duplicitous, but he was right. For Eustace to learn her happiness depended on Guy would give him pause,
if
he was behind this. But if it wasn’t Eustace who on earth could it be? She buried the thought as disloyal. Father would agree at last to let her go to her aunt. And as Guy’s fiancée, she would have much more freedom. She gazed into his eyes. She must keep it a business arrangement. She couldn’t bear it otherwise.

“No lovemaking,” she said, wishing to make it clear before she weakened. “A business arrangement only.”

“If that is your wish,” Guy said, lowering his gaze.

“Look at me, Guy,” she demanded. “I must have your word.”

“You have my word.” He held out his hands with a virtuous look she didn’t trust. “No lovemaking unless you desire it.”

She wasn’t sure she liked the way he said that. It sounded like a challenge. She shrugged it off as excitement gripped her.
London
. “Very well.”

“You agree?”

“Yes.”

“
Bon
!” He jumped up and kissed her hand. “I thank you with all of my heart. Now I must go. I will return to ask your father tomorrow.”

“Ask my father?” She clearly hadn’t thought it through.

Oh dear.

Chapter Ten

Her father’s enthusiastic reaction to Horatia’s engagement caused a heavy sinking sensation to settle in her stomach at yet another falsehood. Not so Guy. He discussed Horatia’s dowry and the marriage settlement with her father in the library. That done, he and her father shared a joke while discussing salmon fishing and crop rotation. A good deal of bonhomie and laughter emerged from the library along with the smoke.

Guy prepared to ride off for his daily search of his portmanteau. Whether he found it or not, he planned to depart for London first thing the next morning, this time in the carriage with a footman riding shotgun. They would see each other when Horatia went to her aunt’s the following week. He gazed down at her as they stood together by the front door.

“You needn’t look quite so pleased at this ruse.” She wished him to suffer at least a twinge of guilt like she did.

His lips curved upward, and a dimple appeared near the corner of his mouth. His charming smile caused her to take a steadying breath while she tried to focus on the fact he was neither a little repentant nor her true beau.

“Goodbye, fair Horatia.” He bent his head and dropped a feather-light kiss close to her mouth before she could turn her head away. “I’ll count the days until I see you in London.”

Horatia glowered at him; he’d come close to breaking the rules of their agreement already. “You plan to stay with Eustace?”

“I am invited to put up with a friend, Lord Strathairn, as my townhouse is unavailable.”

“You might improve matters if you stayed with Eustace.”

His eyes clouded. “I don’t believe Eustace and I shall ever be friends. Even if he is innocent, he has doubted me from the first.”

“But, Guy…”

He scowled. “I expect to be given the benefit of the doubt. You have given it. Why can’t he?” She opened her mouth to argue in Eustace’s defense, and he shook his head. “Horatia, I suspect as a wife you will give a man little peace.”

Incensed, she fired back, “Well, it’s a good thing we don’t really plan to marry, wouldn’t you agree?”

He gave her a look that was annoyingly inscrutable. “You think so?”

“You are so stubborn. There seems to be no possibility of persuading you to be reasonable.”

Adroitly ignoring her accusation, he took her hand and held on to it, stroking her fingers with a thumb. “I’ll have to see about a ring.”

“But the arrangement wasn’t to go that far,” she said breathlessly, distracted by his words and the touch of his fingers on her skin. “I mean, I understood it was to be temporary, a matter of days or so and made known to Eustace and Father only. And that you would make some excuse for the delay in placing the announcement in the newspaper…”

His blue gaze locked with hers. “It must appear real. And remain in place until all things are set to rights.”

Disconcerted, she tried to discern what he was thinking. “But how long might that take?”

“I thought spending a season in London would appeal to you.”

“It does. London offers so much. My aunt’s poetry readings particularly.”

He firmed his lips. “Poetry is all and good, but it pales beside life experience, Horatia.”

“And real life sometimes pales beside poetry,” she said coolly.

He arched a brow. “That would depend on what one experiences, I should image. And with whom.”

Her cheeks heated. “Miss Fanny is in London. You might call on her. I can give you her direction.”

“I would be pleased to,” he said. “I like Miss Fanny.”

Horatia watched him ride away. London and its charms awaited her, with the promise of a visit to the museum and the Tower, art galleries and literary soirées, plays and the opera. The prospect should thrill her. Instead, she turned away troubled. She doubted they would extricate themselves from this fine mess without someone hurt. She prayed it wouldn’t be Guy, but it was just as likely to be her.

In the parlor of her small townhouse in King Street, Mayfair, Aunt Emily expressed her delight at having Horatia stay for the whole season and how excited she was at the news of the engagement. “A baron no less,” she repeated. “Nuptials between gentry and the aristocracy happen, of course, but a love match is rare.”

Unable to weave a web of lies, Horatia fell silent.

Aunt Emily finished her tea and wandered to her desk. She picked up a quill pen and prodded her topknot with it, her gaze alighting on a piece of paper on the polished desktop. “This morning, I penned a short verse in iambic pentameter. An
Ode to Spring
. Would you care to read it?”

Horatia put down her cup. Having just arrived, stiff and weary, and consumed with trembling excitement at the sight of the big, bustling city, she’d never felt so little enthusiasm for rhyme. But she took the proffered page and read through it.