The Baroness Affair

by Jean Wilde

  “Good, you’re awake,” she said, noticing his return to consciousness. She poured something into a cup before approaching the bed.

  Piers propped himself up on his elbows, accepting the cup with a thanks. A quick sniff told him the contents were brandy, and he took a big gulp feeling the soothing, burning liquor settle in his belly.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked in an almost dispassionate tone.

  His ribs hurt like the Devil, and he could feel his swollen cheekbone throbbing from the force of the blow that had knocked him out. He cringed inwardly at the embarrassing reminder but smiled at her before replying, “If it wasn’t for this ache in my head, I would think I was in Heaven with a fair angel tending to me.”

  She let out a choked sound which might have been laughter and mumbled something about ridiculous dandies and their fancy ways. It pleased him, though, to see the rosy blush stain her cheeks. Before he could question her about his whereabouts, the door swung open, and Jonathan walked in. He had a slight limp in his step and sported a cut lip and bruised left eye. He must’ve twisted his ankle when he’d stumbled earlier. Good, Piers thought gleefully.

  “Well, what’s the damage?” Miller asked the woman.

  She shrugged and said, “He’ll live.”

  Piers watched her as she collected the bandages and ointments laid out by the bedside table. Before she turned to leave, he caught her hand and planted a kiss on the back of it. “Thank you for tending to me, most gracious angel.”

  She giggled. “You’re welcome, m’Lord. If all men made such charming patients, we’d have no shortage of nurses in town.”

  Once she left the room, Miller snorted and shook his head. Then he turned to face Piers, flashing him an unabashedly smug smile. “So, tell me, Corinthian, do I measure up to your London standards?”

  Piers chuckled and sat up on the bed, swinging his legs over the side. “You certainly have potential. Gentleman Jackson himself would be thrilled to train you.” He paused, looking around the small apartment. There really wasn’t much in the way of furniture. There was a bed which he was currently occupying, a round table with two chairs, a small kitchen area, a wardrobe, and a screen set up in the corner of the room barely revealing a wash basin and his folded clothes. There were no pictures or personal effects decorating the room. Brows raised, Piers asked, “Where am I?”

  “My apartment,” his companion replied. “I rent a room above the Golden Anchor. It seemed more sensible to bring you here rather than drag you to the doctor. You were just knocked out, nothing life-threatening.”

  “And the woman?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “My mam. She knows a thing or two about herbs and healing. Don’t worry, I haven’t permanently damaged your pretty face.”

  “That would’ve been a crime, indeed. You would have had half the women in London demanding your head.”

  “Just the women?” Jonathan asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

  Piers leaned back slightly on the bed, studying the young man before giving him a lazy smile. “Well, there might be a gentleman or two who would’ve been put out as well.”

  “What a relief! I wouldn’t want to be run through by a bunch of pasty-faced lords for bending your nose out of shape.”

  Piers chuckled. “They’re not all pasty-faced…but yes, you’re in the clear, so to speak.” He started to stand up carefully, when the room began to spin, however, he hastily lowered himself again.

  “You should lie back down,” Miller said, pulling up a chair and taking a seat at the foot of the bed. “Head wounds can be tricky, and the last thing we want is for you to fall down the stairs and break your neck.”

  “I’m touched by your concern, especially when you’re the reason I’m in this state.” He sighed before continuing, “Very well, since we’re forced to endure one another’s company, perhaps you might care to shed some light on a few matters.”

  “I might,” Miller demurred. “If you tell me what it is you do for Hastings.”

  “I’m the architect hired from London to work on repairing the West Wing.”

  “Balderdash. I shared a pint with two of your stonemasons; you know nothing about architecture. If anything, you’re apprenticing under the Clerk of Works. The role of architect is a good excuse, however, for you to be in the house all day and, uh, all night.”

  “Then, I suppose, you already know what it is I do.”

  Miller looked surprised by his easy acquiescence. “You won’t try to deny it, then? You don’t deny you’re Hastings’s whore?”

  “Is that the pot calling the kettle black?” Piers asked, somewhat amused. “Well then, now that the subject of my employment has been sorted, it’s my turn to ask some questions.”

  The young man scowled. “And if I choose not to answer?”

  “That’s your prerogative. You’re still young, but you’ll learn with time that it’s in your best interest to make people like you.”

  His companion snorted. “I’m the bastard son of a foreigner with four siblings and a mother dependent on me. I have no time to waste on false flattery and relationships that lead nowhere.”

  Brows raised, Piers said, “Yet, you had the time to conduct an illicit affair with Hastings.”

  Miller seemed to hesitate at that. “Whoring myself to the wealthy son of a baron is not what I’d consider a waste of time. Most times it doesn’t seem worth it, though. It turned into such a bloody mess—one I can’t extricate myself from.”

  That statement confused Piers. From what he’d gleaned, the affair between Hastings and his footman had occurred almost six years ago. How was Miller still involved in his previous employers’ affairs? “I don’t understand,” he said finally. “Didn’t you get what you wanted, money and a good position in a shipping company?”

  “With the threat of blackmail always looming over my head,” Miller retorted.

  Piers let out a bark of laughter. “Blackmail? I think you have things the wrong way around, young man.”

  Suddenly agitated, Miller leapt to his feet and ran a hand through his dark hair in frustration. He growled, “Yes, I blackmailed Hastings. It was wrong of me to divulge his secret to his father. I was reckless and stupid. But mistakes made in one’s youth shouldn’t follow them all the way into adulthood. I want to move on, I want to get on with my life without constantly looking over my shoulder.”

  “I don’t believe you. Hastings couldn’t possibly be blackmailing you. If the man wanted to destroy you, he would’ve done so already. He certainly had a compelling motive.”

  “Of course it’s not Hastings. He’s too soft for that kind of dastardly behavior.”

  “Very well,” Piers responded warily. “Who is blackmailing you, Mr. Miller?”

  “Someone who wants to use me to turn Hastings’s world upside down. Someone who isn’t happy with the way things are and wants to destroy everything to rebuild it the way they see fit.”

  “You speak in riddles,” he said impatiently, even though a shiver of dread ran down his spine at Miller’s words.

  “Since you’re an instrumental part of this plot, I can’t very well spell it out for you, now can I?”

  “A plot, is it? Come now, Miller, we only just met yesterday. Shouldn’t we get to know each other a little before you start embroiling me in your schemes?”

  Miller snorted. “Oh, I’ve known about you for far longer than that.”

  Piers despised vague, single-sentence answers. Impatiently, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed—relieved to find that the room no longer spun. He studied the young man standing before him, arms crossed and chin lifted in defiance. Miller obviously wanted something or else he wouldn’t have divulged anything at all.

  “You have information you wish to trade. All right—if what you have to say proves useful, what do you want in return?”

  Miller paused for a beat before responding, “As you may be aware, I’m employed at the Wright and Sons’ Shipyard. Mr. Wright was an old fri
end of the late Baron Hastings and is looking to retire soon. He has no sons or anyone to pass his family legacy onto. He’s grown fond of me over the past few years and has taught me everything he knows. So, he has agreed to sell me his shipyard at a reduced price. I need two things: a loan from the bank to help secure the funds needed and someone to convince Mrs. Wright not to talk her husband out of underselling his business. Mine is a fair offer, but to be honest, he can get far more for it.”

  He wanted Hastings’s help, then. Piers seriously doubted his lover would ever agree to assisting the man who’d almost ruined him. “I can’t guarantee either of those things, even if the information you have is good.”

  The young man sighed and dropped his arms to his sides. “It would’ve been too much to hope for, I suppose. I don’t wish to hurt Hastings. However, if it comes down to helping him or ruining myself, I’d choose to save my own skin.”

  Piers rose from the bed and took a menacing step toward him. “You’ve done enough harm to that family already,” he growled. “You were lucky to get away with your crime the first time. If you try anything again, I’ll make certain you don’t get off so easily.”

  Refusing to back down, Miller glared at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. This isn’t some game where you lofty lords tear each other down with a cutting word or a mocking sneer. This is far more menacing than you can imagine. You need to go, Benson. Leave Delaval Hall. Leave Newcastle for your own sake as well as the Hastings’s. With you out of the picture the plot cannot continue.”

  “I should simply take your word for it, then?”

  The young man considered him for a moment then turned to the table, tore a piece of parchment, and began to write. “There’s a house in Sandgate, not far from here.” He straightened and handed Piers the paper with an address scrawled inelegantly across it. “Don’t knock or go in, just…just watch the house.”

  * * * *

  Half an hour later, Piers shifted in his spot in an alleyway feeling both conspicuous and ridiculous. Like a common thief, he thought with an inward grimace. He had no idea what he was supposed to be looking for in this shady area of town. Sandgate was made up of narrow lanes that boasted a surprising number of ale houses and a large bustling market that occupied an entire side of the street. Its proximity to the river and docks explained the larger-than-usual number of seamen he’d come across. As fascinating as it all was, Piers forced his gaze away from an exceedingly voluble women intent on selling a pair of shoes to the house located across the busy street.

  There was nothing special about the building he was spying on. The only thing he could concede was that it was in a slightly better condition than its neighbors. He was inwardly debating how long he ought to wait before giving up and returning to Delaval Hall when the front door opened. At first, couldn’t see anyone, but then two female voices carried across the street. One of them sounded oddly familiar. Before he could place it, however, the Dowager Baroness of Hastings—dressed in a plain brown gown and no finery—exited the building and stepped into a waiting carriage further up the street.

  Well…that was unexpected.

  Chapter 16

  Caroline had the niggling sensation that something was amiss. Piers had returned late that afternoon with a bruised cheek and a tale of a sparring match that had taken a serious turn. He’d laughed and joked about it, waving off all of their concerns. Even throughout dinner, he’d seemed in high spirits and kept up a steady stream of conversation. Horatio hadn’t seemed to notice that anything was wrong, but Caroline had seen the distracted look that had crossed Piers’s face whenever he’d thought nobody was watching. Something had happened in town earlier that day, and he didn’t want to tell them.

  Horatio excused himself after dinner, saying he wanted to catch up on some of his reading in the library. So, she slipped an arm through Piers’s and invited him to take a stroll with her in the gardens. It was dark when they emerged from the house, but the moon was full and the occasional gas lamp lit the path well enough to find their way. They walked in silence as they had over a dozen times before. But it was not a companionable silence, at least not for her. Caroline felt nervous and on edge for some reason that evening. “Piers,” she began. “Do you trust us, Hori and me?”

  He flashed her a grin. “Of course I trust you. You’re good, honorable people—I haven’t seen anything that would imply otherwise. Why do you ask, my Lady?”

  She was silent for a moment, knowing it wasn’t her place to pry into his affairs. He didn’t have to answer any of her questions, but over the last few months she’d considered him less as an employee and more as a friend and confidante.

  “You know you can talk to me,” she finally said. “If something is troubling you or if you just need someone to listen…you know you can always come to me.”

  He gave her a sideways glance before responding, “What makes you think there’s something on my mind?”

  Caroline shrugged. “You’ve been distracted this evening, and I was wondering if something happened while you were in town.”

  “I told you what happened, my dear. Are you disappointed that I spared you all the gory details of the fight?”

  “You barely told us anything about it. Who did you spar with?”

  “A local chap—big ego but with the skill to back it up.”

  “Did anything happen after the fight?”

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “I’m embarrassed to say that I was knocked out. It took me a while before I was fully recovered and could ride again.”

  He steered her back toward the house, discussing the progress made by Mr. Hill and his men. Caroline knew what he was doing, and she allowed him to believe that he had effectively distracted her. If he’d been Horatio, she would have pushed harder for information. She didn’t wish to alienate him, though, and while they’d been intimate in the gamekeeper’s hut in a way she’d never been with a man before, there was still much they didn’t know about each other. She’d bide her time. After all, she had lots of practice.

  * * * *

  That night she joined them in Horatio’s bedchamber. Piers’s face was buried between her thighs as Horatio took his own pleasure from him. It was a heady experience, watching them together, one which she never seemed to tire of. After all three of them were spent, she curled on her side, Piers at her back and Horatio at her front. They’d started sleeping in that position a few weeks ago with Piers always rousing before dawn to return to his room. Once, she’d thought she’d caught a look of resentment on his face before he’d left.

  Piers gave her shoulder a kiss then stretched his long limbs and rose from the bed. Horatio looked at him in surprise. “It’s early, there’s no need to rush off yet.”

  “I need to make arrangements for molding to be delivered this week. I thought I’d ride into town early—best get it done in the morning.”

  She caught his wrist. “Wait! Before you go, I have something to tell you. To tell both of you, actually,” she added looking between her husband and lover.

  Piers turned to look down at her expectantly, and Horatio propped himself on his elbow to do the same. She cleared her throat and said, “I haven’t had my courses in almost three months now, so I went to see a midwife. She confirmed what I’ve suspected for a while now; I’m with child.”

  Horatio gave her a delighted smile, sat up, and pulled her to him for a tight hug. “Oh, Caro, that’s wonderful. My clever, clever wife!” He kissed her firmly on the lips before jumping out of bed. “This is great news,” he continued enthusiastically. “I’ll write to Mama at once informing her that you’re expecting. You should invite your aunt and cousins over for dinner tomorrow, so they can share in our good fortune. Perhaps I’ll invite Michael and Sylvester as well. I’ll have Finch bring out bottles of champagne from the cellar. Everyone in the household will drink to the health of my baroness and our future child!”

  His smile was contagious, and Caroline couldn’t help grinning back at h
im. “Should we send a notice to the papers as well? Or hire a town crier to let everyone in the county know?”

  Horatio looked at her in mock surprise. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  She listened in amusement as he began making plans for the nursery and debating—if it was a boy—whether they ought to hire a tutor or send him to boarding school. She cut a glance at Piers and found him smiling fondly at her, although there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. He was exceedingly good at exuding an air of ease and nonchalance, which often left her wondering how he truly felt.

  When Horatio stopped his ramblings to take a deep breath, Piers bent down and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. “Congratulations, Caroline. I hope your child knows just how loved and wanted they truly are.”

  She squeezed his hand in silent thanks and watched as he put on his nightshirt and quietly slipped out of the room.

  * * * *

  The next day, his heart feeling surprisingly heavy, Piers rode into Newcastle to arrange the delivery of the molding. After he was done, he couldn’t resist riding through Sandgate, past a certain house, in hopes of catching a glimpse of its unlikely occupant. He saw nothing, however, and after almost an hour of fruitless lingering, rode back to Delaval Hall.

  Caroline found him in the gardens a while later and pulled him aside to talk privately. “I didn’t get the chance to thank you properly yesterday,” she said, her eyes suspiciously bright. “I can’t thank you enough, Piers. I never thought…well, I had begun to think that I’d never have a child of my own.”

  Piers chucked her under the chin. “Nonsense! You did this, Caroline. You wanted something, and you were bold enough to do everything in your power to get it. You’re the most determined woman I’ve ever met. I, on the other hand, merely did what I was paid to do.”

  “I don’t know if I should be flattered or appalled. Are we only a commission to you, then?”