Bedding The Baron by Alexandra Ivy Read Free Book Online Page B

that your grandmother was a great dragon of a lady who was the terror of the entire district, even after she had been confined to her bed.”
    “I would not doubt that for a moment. Just walking past her portrait made me break out in hives,” Fredrick retorted, recalling the painting of a silver-haired matron with a haughty expression and cold blue eyes. “Still, it is odd that even if Lady Graystone should desire a new staff she would not have hired a few from the local village. I believe that is the usual practice of large estates.”
    Mrs. Shaw shrugged, her expression revealing her less-than-complimentary opinion of Lady Graystone.
    “Perhaps she thought to impress her neighbors by hiring city folk. She is always trying to prove she is as good as the rest of the nobs.”
    “Perhaps.” Fredrick polished off his soup and reached for the plum pudding, his expression deliberately indifferent. “Are there any of the old servants still in the village?”
    “I don’t rightly know.” The woman regarded him with a frown. “Is there something you are wanting?”
    “I suppose that I am just curious. During my past visits I was too young to think about anyone but myself. Now I realize that I know precious little of those of you who helped to raise me, or even my own family.”
    “Is that why you have come back? To find your past?”
    Fredrick resisted a wry smile. As far as he was concerned his past could stay bloody well buried. He was far more interested in his beloved father’s past.
    “Not at all,” he said smoothly. “I have business in Winchester and it seemed churlish to be so close and not stop by to at least see how you and Morgan go on.”
    The plump face lightened. “Then you’ll be staying?”
    “Not at Oak Manor,” he corrected gently. “But I intend to be in the area for several days. I hope to return as long as . . .” His words trailed away as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, his stomach knotting with the familiar sense of dread and frustrated yearning.
    Mrs. Shaw abruptly reached out to pat his shoulder. “He’ll be happy to have you home, my dear,” she whispered softly. “He may not ever admit it, but he’s missed you.”

Chapter Four
    Portia was arranging a vase of flowers in the front salon when Molly abruptly burst through the door, her hand pressed to her heart.
    “Oh, come quick, mum,” she breathed.
    Puzzled, but not unduly alarmed, Portia set aside the flowers and wiped her hands on the apron that covered her sensible gown.
    “What is it? Is the coal wagon stuck again?”
    “Nay, it is Quinn and that London gent,” Molly said, tugging Portia through the door and toward a window that overlooked the yard. “It looks as if he were hurt.”
    “Good Lord, Quinn is hurt?” Portia demanded as she rushed to the window.
    “Not him, the other one. Looks like he busted his head.”
    Portia’s expression hardened as she caught sight of Quinn with his arm about the waist of her latest guest, assisting him toward the inn. It did not take a great deal of intelligence to realize Mr. Smith was deep in his cups and that he had somehow managed to take a blow to the head.
    “Typical,” she breathed in annoyance.
    At her side, the ever romantic Molly heaved a deep sigh. “Gawd, but he is a handsome one. Just like an angel fallen from heaven.”
    Of course he looked like an angel, Portia thought sourly. How could a devil possibly seduce the innocent unless he had tumbled honey curls and features that could make a woman’s knees feel weak?
    Even in the fading light and foxed to the gills his beauty made her breath catch and her heart lurch in response.
    “Heaven?” Her voice was sharp. “More like an imp from hell. Go to the kitchens and have clean towels and hot water sent to the blue chambers.”
    With a knowing glance, Molly bobbed a swift curtsy. “Aye, mum.”
    Giving a shake of her head, Portia moved to pull the door open and stood aside as Quinn managed to half carry