Found: Bare With a Baron: Calling All Rakes Page 2

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Her mother gave her a thin smile. “Too much on my mind.”

  “Me too,” Alexi said, pressing her cheek to her mother’s. “But I’ve written Charlotte. If anyone can help, she can.”

  Nodding stiffly, her mother crossed to the desk. “Good idea.” She skimmed the letter, her mouth set in a deepening frown. “No idea who the woman was?”

  “No,” she said as she slowly followed. Her hands twisted as she approached her mother’s back, the question she hadn’t wished to ask rising up on her tongue. She swallowed, trying to hold back the bile. “What does Papa say?”

  “He says”—her mother swiped a hand across her brow—“that if any whiff of this is discovered by society, he will not allow you to be ruined. You will wed the baron.”

  Alexi inwardly cringed. She should have known. Her father was not a man to be trifled with, and as a viscount, he could easily press the issue with the baron. But the baron wasn’t even likely to remember her this morning let alone agree to marry her. “Wed to a man I barely know?”

  Her mother frowned as she looked back at the page. “I know, my love.” Then she reached out and pulled Alexi into a hug. “Your luck is truly awful.”

  Alexi could hardly argue with that.

  She untangled herself from her mother and carefully folded the parchment, sealing it closed with wax before she rang the bell to have the missive delivered. Hopefully, Charlotte would see the note sooner rather than later.

  But as she stared at the seal, she realized there was one way she could guarantee the letter arrived in Charlotte’s hands this morning. “I think I shall deliver it myself.”

  “I agree,” her mother said, her hands fluttering at her sides. “Charlotte will surely be able to make a plan with haste. Take Esther with you and leave before your father wakes. Might as well avoid confrontation until he’s had some time to calm down.”

  “Good idea.” Alexi left the room, her hurried stride carrying her down the hall. She hoped her mother was right about Charlotte’s ability to create a plan quickly. Alexi was in desperate need of help.

  The pounding at Dillan’s door matched the dull ache thrumming through his head.

  The sound was a familiar one. An unfortunate consequence of being a degenerate drunk. “Go away,” he barked, pressing his face further into the pillow under his head. But the feel of the pillow was his first indication something was wrong. It wasn’t crisp cotton under his cheek but brushed velvet. Was that a tassel in his mouth?

  He spit the bit of fringe out, lifting his head as sunlight seared his barely cracked eyelids.

  The banging sounded again, and this time his stomach joined the fray, roiling even as his head continued to pound.

  He forced himself up, realizing he’d been sleeping on a settee and not in his own home, either. The cream silk on the walls, the polished mahogany, the tasteful yet expensive décor was all familiar to him.

  He’d passed out drunk at his grandmother’s. “Bollocks,” he muttered, his head dropping into his hands.

  “I’m coming in in ten seconds, so you had better be decent.”

  Grandmother.

  What time was it?

  A quick glance at the mantel showed the hour to be well past noon. “I’m decent.”

  The door opened and the matriarch of his family came into the room. A tiny woman, impeccably groomed at any time of day or night, his grandmother always managed to give the appearance of looking down her nose at everyone. He mustered the energy to stand out of respect, but swayed on his feet.

  “Happy with yourself?” She crossed her arms over her thin ribcage, her gaze narrowing at her only grandson.

  “Rarely.”

  She harrumphed then. As a child, he’d dreaded that noise, knowing he’d disappointed her terribly. “That’s all you can say?”

  He combed back his hair several times with his fingers as he looked at the settee, wishing to lie down once again. “Is it possible to get some tea? A scrap of bread? I’m feeling a bit…” He looked at the coffered ceiling, searching for the right word.

  “No,” came her reply. “Not until you answer my question.”

  He let out a long breath, praying for patience and a reprieve from the throbbing pain. “Your question was not very specific. In what particular way should I atone? My drunkenness? My failures as a baron? As a family member?”

  She clucked her tongue as the swish of skirts caught his ear. Lifting his bleary gaze, he noted that Laurel had also entered the room, looking fresh and lovely with her dark hair and her pale pink muslin gown. His chest tightened, an ache radiating out. She looked more like Daniella every day.

  And she carried a tray of food that she set in front of him, loaded with a steaming pot of tea and small, neatly cut sandwiches.

  Sweet and beautiful. At nearly eighteen, she’d grown into a woman while he’d been drowning himself in alcohol. Nearly thirty himself, he’d spent a good decade drunk.

  His gran was right.

  He should be ashamed.

  And as his sister poured him a cup of steaming hot tea, her hazel eyes meeting his, she winced ever so slightly.

  Dillan glanced down at his wrinkled eveningwear, his cravat untied, his vest stained with unknown liquids from the previous evening, and he understood her reaction.

  He likely should show more restraint in front of her, but he couldn’t seem to muster anything but appetite and so as they all sat, he took a giant swallow of the still-scalding tea, eating several of the sandwiches in a single bite.

  His grandmother’s tongue clicked again.

  “Don’t judge me. The sandwiches will ensure that the alcohol still in my stomach doesn’t wind up on your lovely carpet.”

  “Dillan,” the older woman bit out, hard and sharp. Then she turned to Laurel, her tone softening. “I need to speak to your brother alone.”

  Laurel nodded, her hand brushing Dillan’s sleeve before she exited the room without a word of complaint. That was how a good grandchild behaved.

  “What do you wish to speak to me about that Laurel cannot be present?”

  “I think you know.”

  Perhaps he did. “Tell me what I’ve done this time. Or perhaps you’re just fed up with me in a general sort of way?”

  It wasn’t until she unfolded her arms that Dillan realized his gran had been holding a newspaper in one of her hands. She held out the folded sheets to him, neatly pressed, unlike his clothing.

  He furrowed his brow. Was he responsible for the paper now? Not even he could claim that amount of wrongdoing. But the moment the words came into focus, he realized that he was, in fact, responsible for the contents. Of one article, anyway.

  His blurry gaze ticked down the column; any good the sandwiches and tea had done were erased as the contents of his stomach pitched wildly.

  He’d been found in a lover’s embrace in the garden. And while the identity of the lady was not mentioned, it was hinted at. Strongly. The writer went on to mention that several witnesses could identify said lady and ought to come forward for the betterment of society.

  “Fu—”

  “Save it,” his grandmother bit out, never one to take his guff. “There’s more.”

  “More?”

  Her mouth pinched. “You had your carriage drop you here after the ball, which is how you came to be sleeping on my settee. But since your driver dropped you, your staff knew you were here—”

  He stood then, too quickly, the room spinning. Holding his head, he kept going with the conversation. Why hadn’t he just gone home? Why had he come here? But he remembered this vague need to apologize. To try to make amends for ruining yet another family evening. “What does my staff have to do with anything?”

  “You had visitors at home this morning. The Countess of Westmoreland and her dear friend, the Honourable Miss Alexi Starlight.”

  The name tickled something deep in his skull. “Miss Starlight?”

  “When you didn’t return home, and be
cause the ladies insisted the business was urgent, they were sent here by your driver.”

  He sat back down, a loud thump on the cushioned seat. His teeth jarred together as he attempted to make the room stop spinning.

  “They are waiting to be seen in so that they might speak with you.”

  “Send them away.”

  “I will not.” Grandmother turned, heading toward the door before she stopped, looking over her shoulder at him once again. “You can clean up your own mess.”

  Then she exited the room, slamming the door behind her, the echo reverberating through him with such force that he had all he could do to not curl into a ball and heave.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Alexi sat next to Charlotte, growing increasingly fidgety. At least mentally.

  Even she’d learned that a lady could not fidget outwardly. Her hands tightened in the ball they’d formed some hours ago.

  She’d left her home by eight in the morning, arrived at Charlotte’s by nine, they’d set off by nine-thirty, having decided that they should first speak with Baron Brightmore and see what he remembered of the evening. And then, if necessary and depending on what the baron recollected, they would visit the home of Lord and Lady Parkhurst to search the garden for clues.

  But what Alexi had expected to be a short, if not painful, conversation with the baron had turned into a goose chase over respectable London. Because the later the day grew, the busier the streets became. Now at well past noon, they’d finally received an interview with the Dowager Baroness of Brightmore.

  The woman had appeared skeptical at best when two ladies had called upon her grandson in her home. Alexi could hardly blame her. What grandmother wouldn’t be protective of her family and heir?

  Alexi had not been able to look the dowager baroness in the eye when she’d been forced to admit that she had met the baron last evening under questionable circumstances, an issue she hoped to clear with this interview.

  Lady Brightmore was several inches shorter than Alexi, and yet her penetrating gaze had pinned Alexi to her seat, her breath held in her lungs.

  Finally, the baroness had given the briefest nod of consent. “I shall fetch the baron.”

  And now they waited.

  Again.

  She let out a slow breath, her head down into her chest as she murmured a silent prayer under her breath. If the baron could remember who he’d been with last night, then this nightmare might be over and she could return to finding a real suitor. One who might actually like her.

  Was that too much to ask?

  The door opened and she snapped her chin up, her eyes flying open. Baron Brightmore stood in the doorway.

  She flexed her fingers as she swept her gaze down him, taking several details in at once. The pallor of his skin, sallow and a bit yellowed, the thinness of his frame despite his large shoulders, the rumpled state of his clothing, and the drawn skin about his eyes.

  She stood, unclenching her fingers to press them to her outer thighs. “My lord.” She dropped into a curtsey and then bobbed back up, lifting her gaze to his again.

  “Miss Starlight, I presume?” His voice still melted over her like butter on a hot pan.

  But his words had the opposite effect, making her stomach twist with apprehension. “You don’t remember?”

  He gave her the same inspection she’d just given him, his gaze traveling down the length of her and then back up to meet her eyes. “A Starlight nymph,” he said, his voice so low that she hardly heard it.

  But she did.

  And so did Charlotte, who straightened next to her. “You’re mistaken. If there was a nymph last night, it was not my friend, but another.”

  Alexi winced at the memories of last night as she looked at Charlotte and then back at Brightmore. He didn’t argue, his gaze still fixed on Alexi.

  They all stood like that as seconds passed, waiting for the baron to leave the doorway and enter the room. Finally, he stepped past the door and closed it behind him.

  He moved across the room, a grace to his gait that spoke not of a drunkard, but of one with an athletic ability that far surpassed her own. Which wasn’t difficult. To be fair, his lithe movements surpassed most men’s, which reminded her of her first impression of him last night. Of the man who’d set her insides aflutter with excitement.

  He sank down on the settee across from her, putting the Times down on the table between them as he relaxed into the seat.

  Is that what had taken him so long? He’d been reading the paper? Alexi gave her head a shake as she sat too. Why he’d delayed didn’t matter. He was here now and they had business to attend to.

  Was that the proper word? Business? Perhaps the better term would be life—they had lives to restore to normal and she had a husband to find…

  “Explain,” Brightmore said with a clipped tone so at odds with the teasing drawl he’d used the night before.

  “Explain what?” she asked, her brow crinkling as she attempted to discern what he meant. She honestly wasn’t certain. “Why I’m here?” Perhaps she should be frightened of this man, but after their first meeting, she just couldn’t summon the emotion. He’d had an almost teasing air about him the evening prior and now he just looked worn to the bone.

  He scrubbed at his jaw, giving her a tired glance that she received far more often than she cared. Her hands clasped again. While she might not be outright afraid, his irritation called to mind her many failures.

  “That’s as good a place to start as any, but I was referring to your friend’s comment that you were not my nymph from last night.”

  Alexi swallowed, attempting to delay her answer as she organized her thoughts. Whatever she said next was crucial to Brightmore’s understanding and her own future. “My lord, we did meet in the garden last evening.” Her hands spread out on her thighs.

  His gaze narrowed as he stared at her. “You are a very tempting morsel. I can see why I chose you.”

  Her brows lifted and just the tiniest bit of pleasure niggled at the back of her thoughts. Not many men articulated her attractiveness. Despite the fact that he thought her amoral enough to have a clandestine meeting in the garden, she did appreciate his…appreciation.

  Charlotte made a half-choked noise next to her.

  “Actually, my lord, that’s what I came to discuss. You did not choose me, you see.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I was in the garden, taking a brief repose, when I heard…” Color flamed in her cheeks as her fingers twisted into her skirts. How did one explain? “I overheard your meeting.”

  Comprehension began to dawn on his features. “I see.”

  “When I tripped, I must have alerted both of you to my presence, and your lady—mmh—friend then ran.” She drew in a somewhat shaky breath. “The reason I am here is because I hoped you would remember the identity of that lady. You see—”

  “So you are not the woman referred to in the article?”

  Her words and her breath clogged her throat, nearly choking all the air from her lungs. “Article?”

  Blotchy red spots appeared on his face, making his complexion look even more sickly as he reached for the paper and handed it to her. “I’m sorry to be the one to inform you.”

  With trembling fingers she reached across, delicately pulling the pages from his hand. The words began to blur as tears pricked at her eyes. She’d gotten the gist.

  Someone else had seen the lover’s tryst in the garden and she was not the only person looking for the lady in question.

  The problem, of course, was that at the very least, Lord and Lady Parkhurst suspected that the lady was her. If they came forward… They’d said they wouldn’t and she believed them, but still.

  If for some reason, any reason, they changed their mind, she’d end up a spinster for certain. No one believed her capable of making a suitable match. She’d rather hoped to prove them all wrong.

  Charlotte wrapped an arm about her. “We’ll find the lady who was with t
he baron and prove your innocence.”

  Brightmore cleared his throat. “Is that what you’re here for, to clear your name?”

  She gave a tentative nod. “No one knows the details yet. But I’d like to make certain I can prove my innocence before I can even be accused…”

  He leaned forward, his head cocking to the side as he studied her. “Who is your father, Miss Starlight?”

  “Viscount Rustledon.”

  “The Hon, if I prefer to be more formal,” he said as one corner of his mouth quirked up in a devilish little smile.

  “Some details are returning.” Relief washed through her as she edged forward then, watching his reaction to her next question. “Since you seem to remember a few details about me, do you perchance remember anything about the lady with whom you were actually in the garden?”

  The smile disappeared, his brows drawing together. She wasn’t entirely certain what she was looking for as she searched his features. Perhaps it was a spark of recognition, a light that would lead her out of the darkness in which she’d found herself.

  “I don’t.” His brow scrunched. “I believe she had dark hair.”

  She shook her head, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. It was a habit she often engaged in when thinking, but his gaze seemed to catch the movement, fixing on her mouth. Her own breath drew in with a sharp, quick inhale and then she pulled her tongue back in. “But you remember several details about me and all we did was converse. How can you recall so little about her?”

  “That is curious,” he said as he resumed scratching his chin. “But then again, you’re here in front of me now.”

  Charlotte raised a finger. “I agree. It was always my plan to go to the Parkhurst home and search the garden for clues. Perhaps being there with us will help facilitate your remembrances as well?”

  Finally, his gaze left her and moved to Charlotte. Alexi’s shoulders slumped in relief. His eyes disconcerted her with their intensity. They held a promise that made her wish to squirm in her seat.

  “You think being seen together wise?”

  Charlotte met his gaze with an even stare. “You’ll be chaperoned by myself, and Lord and Lady Parkhurst are fully aware of the situation. They are the people who happened upon you in the garden with Alexi.”