A Secret Deal With The Devilish Baron (Historical Regency)

by Lucy Langton

  She traced her finger along the scars, and as she made to bring it down, he caught her hand in mid-air. He looked fiercely into her eyes, and she reciprocated. Then, he dropped the hand down and helped her down on the log.

  “So, like I believe you know, I lost my mother during the delivery of Lady Beatrice.” He said it like nothing happened a few seconds back.

  She was flabbergasted by the torture he gave her and wondered if he did it on purpose or on impulse.

  “Yes, she told me. How did you feel about her death?”

  “Terrible! My Lady, terrible! I felt like I lost the real grip on life.” He shook his head, pain written all over his face. “I could beat my chest and say that her death was the reason Father died too. It was visible on his face. His actions spoke the same. He became a shadow of himself, one of the reasons I said I would never get married to someone I love so much. Love is painful. Isn’t it, My Lady?”

  She reached for his left hand and squeezed it assuredly, the pain in his heart dissipating with each squeeze.

  “Who, then, took care of baby Beatrice?” she asked, not knowing what to say afterwards.

  “The maid I had before Rachel,” he responded. She left her position shortly before Rachel arrived. Janet Hopkins was a trusted employee, and I was sorry to lose her, but she did quite well for herself by marrying a merchant.

  Isabel nodded.

  “As for Rachel,” the Baron continued, “she was simply looking for a position, and as Janet had just left, I thought I’d see how she adapted. And I must say, she’s turned out to be a trustworthy member of staff. Now she oversees the other staff on the estate.”

  Isabel nodded again. She felt for him for standing up for so long and urged him to sit beside her.

  “No, my dear. You can see the log can’t contain us comfortably. Moreover, I love standing. It makes me feel like I’m protecting my lady sitting before me.”

  She chuckled shyly. “So, tell me more about your parents.”

  It was obvious he had carried baggage of pain in his heart for a very long time. Sharing his story with her helped to ease the pain away. She could feel it from his voice.

  “My mum was a beautiful woman, just like my sister. She was tall and athletic, with an innocent face. She could barely hurt a fly. My father had a temper issue and could destroy things without feeling any remorse. But, she came into his life and calmed his nerves. She was a blessing to him.”

  “I love such women. My mother’s carbon copy,” she appended.

  He smiled, then said, “You could see the carcass her demise made out of my father. We became his only solace. Still, we were not enough for him. A few years later, he developed a deadly disease that left him bedridden, and he subsequently gave up the ghost.”

  “Oh! What a painful and pitiful way to die!” she exclaimed.

  “I was left to protect my sister and the estate alone. I was so young to be given such a great task to perform alone. At a point, I lost it, and the resultant effect was my sister’s poor health and this scar on my face.” He pointed at it. “I became dangerous, and that was the beginning of my rascality. I hated the life I am living. It doesn’t connote responsibility.”

  “You are right, My Lord. But, that doesn’t mean that you are a total failure or that you can’t change.”

  He ignored her, determined to pour out all the content of his heart and make it bare. He had developed weariness from the baggage of hurt he had carried for so many years.

  “I hated going to church because I felt God disappointed my family and failed me. I hated Him with passion for being cruel towards us. If He liked us, why did He allow calamity to befall us?”

  “Do not talk that way, My Lord. We all have had a fair share of life. No one can boast of a clean slate.”

  He continued, “People are scared and wary of me. The only people willing to associate with me and who are my closest friends are gamblers and drunkards and men of questionable character. Sometimes, I became ashamed of myself and the life I live. But, how do I turn back the hand of time and clear off the negative mindsets people have about me and live an exemplary life?” he rhetorically stated.

  “To be frank, My Lord. It is a mission impossible to turn back the hand of time; nevertheless, you still have enough time to make amends for the previous life lived.”

  He felt something inexplicable towards her. Her demeanour was calm, assuring, and compassionate. Some of the words that had exited people’s mind towards him.

  She got up, traced the scar again, and asked him how he came about it. She had always wanted to know but lost the nerve to interrogate him. As the opportunity presented itself before her, she grabbed it with both hands. He exhaled heavily and declared, “It’s a long story, My Lady.”

  “So long that I would not be let into the past of My Lord?”

  “Not at all, My Lady. In that case, you may have to sit for long.”

  “As you wish, My Lord,” she replied, caressing his beard gently and feeling the sturdiness. Finally, she sat back gently, giving him room to express himself.

  “It happened shortly after the death of Father, during the London Season. I had accompanied my sister for her first London Season. Being carried away by the presence of beautiful girls and dancing with one during the ball caused me to lose track of Lady Beatrice. When I got my senses intact, I couldn’t find her.”

  There was a long pause, then, he continued, “In my search for her, I went towards the back of the hall. A soldier was harassing a young girl. Without minding who he was, I bawled at him. He released his hold of her to find who was challenging him. Then, I found her. She was the unfortunate lady. I went berserk, not ready to know how she got there; though it was obvious he coerced her as a result of his authority. I slapped him twice subsequently. He charged at me, and we had it man to man. I gave him enough punches and tried to strangle him. When I almost snuffed the life out him, he drew his rapier in defense and got one good slash in before I could win the trophy.”

  “Where was your sister during the exchange?” Isabel threw at him.

  “She saw everything that happened. It was such a great burden on her to see her beloved brother in a pool of his own blood in his defense of her. I guess she felt helpless and could not forgive herself for putting me in that condition. That, coupled with the demise of our parents, triggered her moodiness and subsequently having a nervous breakdown. I felt I had failed her for not being able to find solutions to her problem, part of the reasons I became what I have become today.”

  He felt a heavy weight fall off his heart as he relayed his experience to her. That was the first time he had relayed his story to anyone since the incident took place. She tried her best to fight back the tears trying to escape from her eyes. He saw her struggles and said to her, “I’m glad you never judged me. Many people have done so, and no one associates with me, though I’ve learned to survive my own way.”

  She was filled with compassion and empathy towards him. He knew. She was a different lady. He admired her poise and guts. He loved ladies with confidence. She loved men who had fought great emotional battles and still lived to tell the tale. That’s what bravery, to her, was all about. He was brave. And handsome. With a soft heart.

  “Far be it from me that I would judge you! Your stories have a way of drawing me closer to you and wanting to know more about you. You are such a handsome soul with a beautiful heart. I think people need to stop judging others by their outward appearance. It dampens the spirit and kills the spirit of love. Better still, every saint was once a sinner, and every sinner has a future. I see you as a sinner turned saint. I want you to drop the lifestyle that paints you black in the sight of people and embrace a better living. You are a great eagle, keep soaring and stop feeding among the vultures. Eagles do not eat rotten meat; they love it fresh and clean! I believe in you. I believe in what you can become. I believe that one day, you will become a saint.” Her voice became quaky, and she managed to control her emotions.


  He was touched too. He knew that he had found the real woman and was not going to let go of her. Love was an expensive commodity, and he had got his on a platter of gold. He looked deep into her eyes again, sending out passionate flames into them. Then, he held out his right hand for her. She put her left hand into it. Gently, he drew her up. She stood, her hand still into his, and with their eyes searching each other, he brought her closer to himself. She showed no sign of resistance, which encouraged him the more. He wrapped his arms around her, and she did likewise. It was their first embrace.

  They stayed that way for a long time, finding solace in each other’s body. She felt him down there, sturdy and rigid, and shuddered. It was the first time she was coming so close to a man’s turgidity. His hands caressed her body and set every part of her aflame. He deliberately brushed his lips against her ears. She froze. No, melted.

  He knew the impact of his actions on her and inwardly laughed raucously. He couldn’t remember when last a woman melted in his arms. Yet he would not deny the fact that he felt the same. He brought his tongue to her face, ravishing every part, except her lips which were already trembling and luscious, waiting to be devoured. Then, slowly, but, gently, he released her. Eyes clicked. She looked down, weak and emotional. Night was quickly overshadowing the day. Sounds of different animals were heard with those of the crickets overtaking them all. He cleared his throat and said, “Let’s go, My Lady.”

  It was a great relief to her. No, she longed for more but feared things could escalate out of control, and something drastic could happen. She knew that the only thing she needed that moment was him inside her and making her feel like a perfect woman; however, she loved decency and respect. No matter how weak she was, she would never love to be taken in the woods. She would prefer the soft bed on her back and moans escaping her mouth as she finally became the woman she dreamt to be.

  They walked down the pathway, each scared of breaking the silence between them. The stars glazed the sky and the moon smiled down at them, evidence that Mother Nature had made everything beautiful, even their meeting each other. As they neared the estate, there was an overwhelming feeling in their heads with a calm influence on their bodies and their hearts beating rhythmically for each other. It was love. The one made in heaven.

  Chapter 18

  Rachel was sitting on a little stool by the portico working on her nails. She had finished her duties for the day, except for the fact that the Baron hadn’t returned. Duty and responsibility bestowed upon her to sleep last in the manor, whether the Baron returned early or not. Hers was the highest rank of servantage, and she had been devoted to her duties, an action Lord William always put into consideration and specially remunerated her once in a while. Despite that, Rachel seemed to always want to bite more than she could chew, or better still, bite the fingers that fed her. Not that anyone was aware of her hidden agenda. It was an act conceived in her heart, and she vowed to make it a reality, but she had to tread cautiously and subtly in order not to be an enemy of herself or the enemy stopping herself from getting to the next rank, an enviable position any lady would accept with open arms and a heart filled with gratitude. She had been plotting the plan for the past two years, and recently, it seemed like luck was shining on her and her vision getting clearer by the day.

  As Rachel sat there, her countenance displayed that of a sad person. Something had been bothering her for the past few weeks, each day that passed by saw her character getting moodier and lacking cheerfulness. It grew worse because she felt she was closer to achieving her plans than before. Now, she had a great obstacle she must overcome if she must achieve her plans. She wasn’t happy about that. It meant she had to increase the tempo and deploy other strategies to get through. The obstacle was Isabel; an innocent girl brought to the estate by fate. She had no business with the inhabitants of the Gregorian estate and never planned to until fate, through her brother’s foolishness and negligence, landed her there. Now, she wasn’t just there to focus on the business that brought her there; she had decided to take that which should be seen as a taboo. The worst part was that Isabel was effortlessly and stylishly having her way. And she was beautiful enough to get what she wanted. She had the right figure and well-curved at the right places. So many things willing the possibilities her way. Rachel hated her for that. Nay, for everything. She wasn’t going to give her the chance to walk into the estate, grab that which she had spent the better part of her two years to nurse and walk away unhurt and her dignity intact; not as long as she, Rachel, was living and serving the Baron and his sister.

  Beatrice used to be fond of her if her mood was bright enough as to greet someone, no longer needed her services. She either confided in Isabel, or she did whatever she needed by herself. Now, even her clothing was being selected by Isabel. Rachel who had been her wardrobe mistress for almost a decade had been sent to the backdoor. She wasn’t happy about that, though she could forgive Isabel for that. However, under no circumstances should she forgive her for trying to turn the Baron’s attention towards herself. She knew how much effort she had put to get to the level she had reached.

  Now, Rachel could go into her master’s bedchamber at her own will and confidently too. She had learnt how to turn his drunken behaviour to her advantage. Just the previous night, he was drunk and was not able to recognise anything happening around him. It was a great opportunity for her, but her plots failed. However, she was not a complete failure; if she was able to kiss him deeply, and he reciprocated, she knew that she was making progress, no matter how little. That was the second time she had come so close to becoming his mistress. The first time was three months before...

  The Baron staggered into the estate, drunk and disorderly, a condition he had constantly found himself in for so many years. The maid was already in the mood and waiting for his arrival. As soon as she saw him, she rushed towards him and helped him to his room. She helped him to clean up and get ready to sleep. Immediately that was over he climbed the bed. Before he could turn the other way and order her to put off the light, she swiftly, like a serpent, drew the strap of her gown at the back, and everything came crumbling at her feet. She bared everything for him to enjoy.

  She stood there, facing him like Eos, the Greek seduction goddess. He was overwhelmed by the slender figure before him. Her eyes squinting and destructive. Her lips, luscious and inviting. Her breasts stood firm with her nipples hard and pointing towards him as if accusing him for not taking charge. He stared at her erotically, his eyes devouring everything with each stare.

  He fought hard to look away, but the pressure to devour had blindfolded his sense of reasoning and responsibility. Then, he looked down, beholding the apple, clean and shaved and invitingly drawing him closer. She stood there, hands akimbo and enjoying the effect of the torture her presence was doing to him.

  Slowly, but skillfully, she stepped out of her dress and boldly advanced towards him like an articulated seductress, making him sit up. She planted her lips on his, and he responded, devouring them like a hungry lion. His lips left her mouth to the nape of her neck, his right hand searching for her left breast.

  Then, like one who had been released from the claws of the enemy, he stopped abruptly, pushed her away, and ordered her out of his room. He slammed the door behind her and laid back on the bed. Before his back landed on the bed, sleep had overtaken him, scarcely washing away the memory of what happened between them and leaving him with a vague idea of the scenario that played out.

  ... Rachel was so desperate to carry the Baron’s bastard. There was no way she would leave the estate with all its wealth and glamour, and nothing was going to stop her from achieving her aim. Nothing! Not even Isabel. She knew how much he cherished family bond and would never love to father a bastard, which meant if she could get him to spill his seed inside her, there would be chances that he would make her not just his mistress, but his wife. And that would make her a Baroness, which was equivalent to rising from a nonentity to a noble lady. She sm
iled at the thought of the odds being in her favour and exclaimed to herself, “I am getting there!”

  The smiles quickly evaporated, and her countenance changed to a sorrowful one. The clip in her hand suddenly fell off and dropped on her right foot. She winced as Isabel and the Baron walked into the estate looking like a perfect match.