Seducing the Viscount (22 page)

Raoul muttered a curse. “I will if I have any common sense.”

“And when have we ever been burdened with something so beneficial as common sense?”

“True enough.”

Ian entered his room, crossing the floor to rap on the connecting door.

“Reaver.”

Within a beat, the terrifying valet stepped into the room, his hard gaze flicking over Raoul before returning to Ian.

“Aye?”

“Step into the hall and make certain we are not interrupted.” Waiting until the servant had exited the room and closed the door behind his bulk, Ian turned toward his companion. “Now, tell me what you have discovered.”

“Wait.” Raoul moved to the sideboard, pouring two shots of whiskey before crossing back to Ian and thrusting the glass in his hand. “We both shall have need.”

Ian tossed the fiery liquid down his throat, not surprised when it did nothing to ease the cold ball lodged in the pit of his stomach.

“You are beginning to frighten me, Charlebois. Did my father commit murder?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“I suppose that is a relief. I should hate to think there was a body buried beneath the prized rosebushes.”

“Really?” Raoul sipped the whiskey, his expression wry as he perched on the edge of the sideboard. “I have always thought that most rose gardens could be vastly improved by a body or two.”

“Any bodies in particular?”

“My father comes to mind.”

“Understandable.” Ian set aside his empty glass. “There have been moments when I thought patricide should not only be legal, but encouraged.”

“I sense that this would not be one of those moments.”

Ian met Raoul's searching glance with a determined expression. “We shall see once you have halted your attempts to distract me and reveal what the devil you managed to discover.”

“
Mon Dieu
.” Pushing from the sideboard, Raoul paced toward the carved marble chimneypiece, his gaze seemingly captured by the Gainsborough framed above the mantle. Not that Ian was fooled. He knew his friend well enough to know when he was deliberately hiding something. “I tracked the theatre to an obscure building near Fleet Street. A near-damn-well-impossible task I must tell you since no one in the theatre world would claim knowledge of the place, let alone offer an address. I at last was forced to seek my information among the stews.”

“Ah . . .” Ian was more relieved than shocked. “A bawd house.”

“Actually, at first glance one would presume that it is just another of the gentlemen's clubs that litter London.” Raoul grudgingly turned to face Ian. “I rode past the damn building a dozen times before I accepted it was the proper location. Of course, discretion would be of utmost necessity for such an establishment.”

Ian clenched his hands. He had faced utter ruin at the card tables. He had risked life and limb for one foolish wager after another. Christ, he had just asked the one woman in all the world certain to drive him to Bedlam to be his wife. And he had done so without blinking an eye.

So why the devil did his palms choose to sweat and his heart thunder at this precise moment?

“I am quite prepared to pummel the truth out of you,
mon ami
. Get to the bloody point.”

Raoul arched a brow at the sharp command. “Perhaps you have forgotten I am an actor, Breckford. If you wish to threaten me, I will quite happily ensure my stunning revelations take as long as a Shakespearean tragedy to be revealed.”

Ian resisted the urge to beat the truth from his companion. He understood that Raoul was not attempting to torture him. Instead, the older man was hoping that he would change his mind before the truth was revealed.

“Then get on with it . . . please.”

Raoul sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. “As I said, the building appears unremarkable—until one attempts to enter the blasted place. It would be easier to waltz through the front doors of Carlton House than to step foot past the iron gates of the Adonis Club.”

“Adonis Club?”

Raoul lifted a slender hand. “I am getting to that. First I was telling you of the imposing barricades and vicious guards I was forced to battle my way past.”

Despite his dark premonition, Ian could not halt his grudging smile. Throughout his difficult childhood, Raoul could always be depended upon to tease him out of his black moods. It was a gift that Ian would never forget.

“Somehow I doubt they halted you.”

“Certainly not. It would take more than a few thick-skulled barbarians to best Raoul Charlebois.”

“Without question. So how did you get past them?”

“I arrived the next morning and knocked the coalman over the head so I could steal his cart and enter the club unnoted.”

Ian choked on his shock. “Good God.”

Raoul waved a dismissive hand. “Be at ease. I left the man enough money to compensate for the loss of his cart as well as the bump to his head. I do not doubt he devoted the day to toasting his good fortune in the nearest pub.”

“My distress was at the thought that anyone could be stupid enough to mistake you for a common coal-monger,” Ian corrected.

“Once again I remind you that I am an actor.” Raoul gave a lift of his glass before polishing off the last of the whiskey. “I have not always played the role of kings.”

“So I assume you managed to penetrate the fortress?”

“I did.”

Ian counted to ten. “And?”

“And I discovered that the cook was a good deal more pleasant than those brutish guards.”

“There has not been a woman born who is not a good deal more pleasant when you are near,” Ian pointed out dryly. “It is one of the great mysteries of the world.”

An unexpected frown marred Raoul's perfect features. “In truth, it was not nearly so easy as I presumed it would be. I comfort myself with the thought that the club must make a practice of only hiring those who can be trusted to remain discreet. Otherwise I must accept that my charms are not what they once were.”

Ian was genuinely amused by his friend's pique. “We must all grow older, Charlebois. Of course, some of us are older than others.”

The blue eyes flashed with amusement. “You love to travel a dangerous path, my friend.”

“What other paths are there to travel?”

Raoul's amusement faded to a strangely wistful expression. “I do not know, but I believe I should like to discover them.”

“Yes,” Ian agreed softly, the image of Mercy's delicate features and comforting arms sending a warm flare of delicious heat through his body. With a pang of regret, he forced his thoughts back to the matters at hand. The sooner he was done with this damnable business, the sooner he could be with Mercy. “Tell me what you managed to charm from the cook.”

Raoul paused. Then, muttering a curse, he squared his shoulders. “She admitted that the establishment is a private club and there is a small theatre in the cellars that caters to a select handful of gentlemen.”

“Why the devil would they have the theatre in the cellars?”

“No doubt because the audience who attends such plays would be tossed into Newgate Prison if they were discovered.”

“Treason?” Ian breathed, shaking his head. “No, that I will not believe.”

“Not treason. The actors and those who come to watch them are all men who possess a specific taste.”

“Which tells me precisely nothing,” Ian growled. “What specific taste do you speak of?”

“For . . . one another.”

Ian was genuinely puzzled. “What the devil do you mean?”

“It is a Molly house, my friend.”

Molly house? Christ.

“That is absurd.” Ian abruptly paced to the window, gripping the window frame until his knuckles turned white. That sick feeling in the pit of his stomach was expanding until it filled his entire body. “Why would my father have a playbill from such an establishment?”

“Because he is a member of the Adonis Club, and, from the quarterly accounts that I managed to catch a glimpse of in the private office, he has stayed there at least one or two nights a month over the past year.”

Ian leaned his head against the windowpane, painfully allowing the clues to fall into place. His father's connection to Summerville, who had obviously shared his taste for men. His refusal to wed. His solitary shield that kept others at a distance.

Still, there was one glaring flaw in the logical explanation.

“You are certain?”

“I am sorry, Ian.” Raoul moved to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I knew that the truth would distress you. It cannot be easy to discover your father harbors such tendencies. I should have followed my instincts and remained in London.”

“I am more baffled than distressed.” Sucking in a raw breath, Ian forced himself to turn and meet his friend's worried gaze. “How the hell does a viscount who possesses a preference for his fellow man father a bastard?”

“There are many such gentlemen who successfully hide their true nature.” Raoul grimaced. “In truth, most of the members of the Adonis Club are married and managed to produce the proper heirs.”

Ian was not particularly shocked. A man could not be a rake and a libertine without knowing that the parlors of Mayfair were littered with gentlemen who harbored any number of sexual appetites.

“Always presuming those heirs are truly their offspring,” he absently muttered. “Women are exceedingly practical when necessary.”

“My point is that these gentlemen are willing to put aside their natural tendencies for the sake of appearance.”

Ian shook his head, unconvinced.

“But my father did not wed and produce the expected heirs to disguise his secret,” he pointed out. “Instead, he supposedly had a clandestine tryst with a common maid, and it was only because my mother was inconsiderate enough to die and leave me an orphan that my father even bothered to claim me as his own.”

Raoul took a step back, his brow furrowed. “Damn, you are right. A bastard son might assist in maintaining the image of virile manhood, but he would have been far better served to have wed and produced a legitimate child.”

“Unless . . .”

“What?”

“Unless he is the sort who cannot bear the mere thought of being with a woman.”

Raoul snorted. “Obviously he can do some bearing. At least enough to produce you.”

Ian paced back across the carpet, sorting through the chaos in his mind. He reached the Flemish ebony cabinet at the same moment he reached the only logical conclusion.

“Not if he did not actually produce me.” Rubbing the aching muscles of his neck, Ian turned. “He was traveling through Rome, after all, when he claimed to have filled the mysterious maid with his seed. Perhaps he plucked me out of a gutter with the hope that a bastard would be enough to still any suspicions of his lingering bachelorhood.”

There was a shocked silence. Then Raoul's laughter echoed through the room.

“
Mon Dieu.
”

“What is so damned amusing?”

“Have you ever glanced in the mirror?” Raoul demanded. “Whatever the circumstances of your birth, there is no doubt that you have Breckford blood flowing through your veins. Just take a walk through the portrait gallery if you do not believe me.”

Ian stilled. As much as he hated to admit it, his chortling friend was right.

“I suppose my lineage is rather difficult to deny.”

“Does your father have any close relatives? Uncles? Cousins?”

“No, there is only Ella . . .” The entire world tilted as Ian was smacked with the horrifying possibility. “Holy hell.”

“What is it? You look positively ill.” Raoul moved forward in obvious concern, but he was a step too late. Even as he reached out, Ian was yanking the door open and heading down the hallway. “Dammit, Ian.”

It was only when Ella opened the door attired in her velvet robe that Ian realized just how late the hour was. Not that the knowledge would have halted his mad flight. He was here for one purpose, and one purpose only.

He wanted his aunt, the one person in his miserable life he had ever trusted, to assure him that she had not deliberately betrayed him.

“Ian.” Blinking in surprise, Ella studied his pale face. “Good heavens, what are you doing here?”

“Am I disturbing you?”

“Not at all.” Ella stepped back. “Please join me. Shall I ring for tea?”

Stepping into the sitting room that was filled with French mahogany furnishings and bright buttercup wall panels, Ian ignored the pain that stabbed into his heart.

This room had always been his sanctuary. The one place he could enter and know that he was welcome.

Christ, what if it was all a lie?

“No, I thank you.”

“I fear I do not keep any strong spirits in my chambers. When one reaches my age, warm milk is all you are allowed before retiring.” Ella moved to take a seat by the fireplace, folding her hands in her lap. “A pity, since I have always enjoyed a nice sherry after dinner.”

Ian remained standing in the middle of the floor, his nerves coiled so tightly he could barely breathe.

“Is that a habit you acquired during your travels through Europe?”

Ella froze, whether from shock that Ian had learned of her trip to the Continent or because of his clipped tone was impossible to know.

“No, it was a ritual that has always been in place at Rosehill,” she slowly admitted.

“But you did travel to Europe, did you not?”

“Years ago.” Ella toyed with the ribbon that tied her robe. A sure sign of unease despite her carefully guarded expression. “It was quite the fashion for young ladies to take the Grand Tour in those days. So unfortunate that the war brought an end to such a pleasant treat.”

Ian's jaw knotted, his blood running cold. “It seems odd that you never mentioned your journey.”

“What interest would a young man have in my ancient travels?”

“Actually, I should have been very interested, considering you were traveling in the company of my father and must have at least taken notice of my mother, even if she was beneath you socially.”

The ribbon abruptly ripped from the robe. “It was all a very long time ago.”

“I know precisely how long ago it was,” Ian rasped. Christ, Ella was hiding something. He knew it as surely as he knew it was going to alter his life forever.

With a wary frown, Ella pressed herself upright. “You are in a very strange mood this evening.”

“Maybe it has something to do with the information Raoul Charlebois brought me.”

“Oh yes, my maid informed me we are to have an additional guest,” Ella breathed, a hint of relief flashing through her eyes. “I have ordered the Orchid Rooms to be prepared, but perhaps I should—”

“Do not bother. He will not be remaining,” Ian interrupted, the mixture of pain and disbelief brewing deep inside him making his tone sharp.

“Surely he cannot intend to return to London at this hour?”

“It is not that great a distance, and he will have a performance tomorrow evening to prepare for. Something that seems to take an appalling amount of time.”

Ella made a grim path toward the door. “Then at least we must ensure that he has a warm meal before he leaves.”

With smooth steps, Ian was blocking her retreat. “Are you not interested in what information Raoul brought for me?”

Forced to a reluctant halt, the older woman nervously pushed back a silver curl that had escaped her braid.

“Should I be?”

Ian swallowed his wild burst of laughter. Ella's strange behavior warned him that he was charging down a path of disaster. Nothing unusual in that. He often awoke in the morning regretting his empty pockets or the homicidal husband scouring London for him.

But this . . .

This could destroy him.

So why the devil could he not halt this reckless plunge to disaster?

“I most certainly found it astonishing,” he muttered, unable to listen to the warnings whispering in the back of his mind. “It has to do with a playbill that I found in the conservatory.”

Ella managed a chiding frown. “Good heavens, Ian, were you searching through your father's private papers?”

“As a matter of fact, I was.”

“Why would you do such a disgraceful thing?”

“Because I desired answers, and I am well-enough acquainted with my supposed family to realize that the only means of acquiring the truth was to seek it out for myself.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, Ella turned to pace back to the fireplace, dropping onto the edge of the chair as if her knees had given way.

“You are not only babbling in the most incomprehensible manner, but you have most rudely abused your father's hospitality.” Her rings flashed in the firelight as Ella found another ribbon to tug. “I had hoped that I raised you with better manners.”

“If you will recall, it was Dunnington who had the honor, or perhaps dishonor, of raising me, and while he did attempt to impart a modicum of good manners, he was far more interested in ensuring I understood the importance of honesty.”

She nervously wet her dry lips. “Dunnington was certainly a fine gentleman.”

“You may not be so pleased with my old tutor when you discover he is the reason that I returned to Rosehill.” A cold smile touched his lips. “You see, when Dunnington died he left me a legacy of twenty thousand pounds, along with a cryptic message that the money had been extorted from my father. I wanted to know what sin would be worth such an outrageous sum. It was not until Raoul arrived this evening, however, that I realized that Lord Norrington was not the only member of my family to harbor secrets.”

“Stop this, Ian. It can serve no purpose.”

“I thought that the truth was supposed to set you free,” Ian mocked.

Ella's eyes darkened with pain. “What do you want of me?”

Clasping his hands behind his back, Ian ignored the answering pain in his own heart.

“I want to know how a gentleman who possesses no desire for women could possibly have fathered a bastard son.”

“How did you—”

“The playbill is from a theatre at the Adonis Club that caters to a very specific clientele,” Ian overrode Ella's shocked words. “A club where your brother happens to be a member.”

“Yes well, many gentlemen belong to such clubs.”

“Do not force me to embarrass the both of us by discussing the particulars of the Adonis. It is enough to say that the viscount's membership there means he could not be my father, and since there is no denying that I am of genuine Breckford blood, that leaves only you as the donor of that blood, dearest
Aunt
.”

Ella's stark pallor was replaced by a surge of crimson heat as she shakily rose to her feet, one hand outstretched in pleading.

“Please, Ian.”

“Please, what?” he rasped. “Continue to believe the lies I have been told my entire life?”

“They were for your own good.”

That was the last thing Ian wanted to hear. Ella of all people understood the anguish of his childhood. Hell, she had been the one to comfort him when his supposed father had rejected him time after time.

His hands clenched, the sickening sense of disappointment flooding through his body.

“It was for my own good to believe that a man who treated me with barely concealed contempt was my father? It was for my own good that I believed I was not only a bastard but utterly unworthy of love?”

“I have always loved you, Ian.”

“If you loved me, you would have told me the truth.”

She bit her bottom lip, her hand dropping as Ian's fury pulsed through the room.

“You know that it was not nearly so simple, Ian. The truth never is.”

“You are my mother.”

There was a pause at the blunt question. Then Ella offered a small dip of her head.

“Yes.”

Ian flinched, feeling the blow to his very soul. “And my father?”

“A handsome, wretchedly poor nobleman whom I fell in love with during my first Season.” Ella pressed her hands together, an edge of bitterness in her voice. “I was naïve enough to believe his intentions were honorable, and perhaps they were in the beginning. He might have wed me if my father had not threatened to disinherit me.” She gave a shake of her head, perhaps hoping to dismiss the bleak memories. “In any event, once he realized I might lose my dowry, he could not jilt me swiftly enough.”

Ian briefly wavered beneath a jolt of pity for the young girl who had not only suffered a broken heart but had been left to confront the results of her affair alone.

“You did not tell him you were breeding?”

“By the time I realized the truth of my condition, he was already wed to an heiress by special license.”

“His name.”

“Lord Mayfield.” The older woman's expression hardened. “He broke his neck during a fox hunt not long after I gave birth to you.”

Ian was not particularly shocked to discover that he was created by a scoundrel who could abandon a young maiden he'd seduced without a second thought. It made far more sense than having a paragon as a father.

“So it is true that bad blood will show,” he muttered dryly. “He never knew he had a son?”

“No.”

Ian sucked in a deep breath, thrusting away the unsettling combination of pity for Ella and loathing for the father he had never met.

There were still answers he desired. Answers he
needed
.

“So how did you convince the viscount to go along with your mad scheme to travel to the Continent and pass me off as his bastard child?”

Pulling a dainty handkerchief from her sleeve, Ella dabbed at her eyes, the strain of the past few minutes clearly taking their toll.

“Actually, it was his notion to bring you to Rosehill.”

Ian's fury returned with a scorching blast. “You must be jesting. Lord Norrington never wanted me. Christ, he can barely tolerate having me beneath his roof.”

“That is not true, Ian. Norry—”

“Just tell me what happened.”

Ella looked as if she wished to continue the argument, but a glance at Ian's relentless expression was enough to make her concede defeat with a heavy sigh.

“When I discovered that I was with child, I was numb with horror. You do not recall my father, since he died while you were still a baby, but he was a loud, overbearing man who frankly terrified me.”

“He seemed to evoke that emotion in many people.”

“I knew beyond a doubt that if he discovered my secret he would have me thrown from the house without so much as a quid.” Ella shuddered. “My father was a prolific sinner, but he possessed no sympathy for the weaknesses of others.”

“A genuine bastard, then.”

“Unfortunately, I had nowhere to turn but to Norry.”

Suddenly restless, Ian paced across the carpet to the delicate rosewood writing desk. Among the clutter of parchment and quills was a charming collection of Venetian vases that no doubt had come from Ella's travels. Why the devil had he never noticed them before?

“I understand leaving the country to have the child. What I don't comprehend is why you did not foster me off to some family in Rome. It is what most women would have done.”

“That was what I intended. I even had a family chosen who was anxious to take you into their home. But once I held you in my arms, I could not endure leaving you behind. It was like cutting out my own heart.” Ella was forced to halt and clear her throat. “That was when Norry suggested that we take you back to Rosehill in the guise of his bastard son.”

“And his only motive was to please you?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does if the reason you have lied to me all these years was to maintain Lord Norrington's image of bloody perfection.”

There was a heavy footstep, then the sound of a familiar male voice that had Ian spinning in surprise.

“That is enough, Ian,” Norrington commanded, still attired in the pale gray jacket and black breeches he'd chosen for dinner. “If you wish to be angry with someone, then it should be me.”

Ian folded his arms across his chest, refusing to be intimidated. Those days were gone forever.

“Trust me, I possess enough anger for the both of you.” He met the older man's wary gaze. “Did you use me to hide your . . . unusual preferences?”

Ian had to give the viscount credit. He did not so much as flinch at the bald question.

“It is true that I hoped that bringing you to Rosehill would divert my father's suspicions, but once he died I made no effort to thrust you into the attention of society.”

“But you did not bother to deny the assumption that you fathered me.”

The handsome features tightened. “No, I did not deny the assumption.”

Ian slowly shook his head. “You know, I might have been able to forgive you lying to the rest of the world if you had told me the truth.”

“Do not blame, Ella. I was the one who insisted that we maintain the charade. Can you even imagine the damage that would be done to us if the truth were ever revealed?”

“So you did not trust me?”

“It was not a simple matter of trust,” Norrington stated. “Obviously when you were a child you could not be burdened with the responsibilities of such a secret. And as you matured, I feared that your desire to punish me for my lack of fatherly affection would lead to disaster. I . . .” The older man squared his shoulders. “I realize now that it would have been best to have taken you into our confidence years ago.”

Ian pressed his fists to his throbbing head. He was not an idiot. Well, at least not most of the time. He perfectly understood the reasoning behind his mother's deception. He even appreciated the fact that she had chosen to return him to England just so he would be near.