Chapter One
London, 1813
Take care not to sire any bastards; they will haunt you
long after the pleasure of wenching has waned. -Anonymous,
The Art of Seduction Reveal'd, or A Rake's Rhetorick
They were late.
By lamplight, Alexander Black consulted the pocket watch
given him by Wellington. Damn. Twenty minutes late already.
He'd used his meager funds on the proprietor's best French
brandy, and now the men weren't coming.
At least the private dining room had cost him nothing. He
strode to the window, cocking an ear toward the stables by
force of habit. But no soothing sounds of horses settling
in for the night reached him above the watchman's bell and
the clacking of hackney wheels on cobblestone.
A knock at the door followed by a muffled "Lord Iversley?"
made him start.
Right, he was Iversley. After he had lived for years as
plain Mr. Black, returning to being a lord took some
getting used to. "Come in."
A lad opened the door, his nervousness inexplicable until
Alec spotted the man looming behind him. "L-Lord D-Draker
is here to see you." The cowering boy turned to the hulking
figure, whose reputation as the Dragon Viscount had clearly
preceded him. "W-Will that be all, m-my lord?"
Draker's fierce gaze swung tothe servant. Even dressed in
humble fustian, the shaggy-haired brute could crush stone
to dust with a stare. "Begone," he growled. When the lad
scampered for the stairs quicker than a skittish gelding,
Draker rolled his eyes. "They think horns grow on my
forehead."
"Then perhaps you shouldn't snarl at them," Alec said
dryly.
The giant's dark brown eyes pinned him in place. "A wise
man would keep his opinions to himself."
"A wise man would never invite you here. But I like taking
risks."
"I don't." Hesitating on the threshold, the viscount
examined the room warily. In keeping with a hotel popular
with army officers, it boasted heavy oak chairs and a table
borne on legs carved with lion heads in midroar.
Alec bit back a smile. Draker ought to feel right at home.
"So what's the reason for this meeting?" Draker demanded.
"I'll explain when my other guest arrives."
Draker snorted, but finally entered. "Did he also receive a
ridiculous note inviting him to come here 'if you want to
change your life'?"
"If you thought the note ridiculous, why did you come?"
"It's not every day that an earl I've never met is
foolhardy enough to approach a man of my reputation."
Alec offered no explanation. Taking his seat, he gestured
to another chair. "Make yourself comfortable. There's
brandy if you wish to indulge."
Draker had settled himself into a chair with a glass when a
tall auburn-haired gentleman sauntered in the open door.
Flashing them an insolent glance, he tossed a folded sheet
of foolscap onto the table with a white-gloved hand. "I
assume one of you is the sender of this peculiar note?"
"Yes, I'm Iversley." Alec rose. "You must be the owner of
the Blue Swan."
The man gave a dramatic bow. "Gavin Byrne at your service."
Noting how Draker stiffened, Alec gestured to the empty
chairs. "Thanks for coming. Take a seat anywhere - "
"Take mine." Jerking to his feet, Draker headed for the
door. "I'm leaving."
Alec tensed as he saw all his plans disintegrate before his
very eyes.
"What's the matter, sir?" Byrne drawled. "Not brave enough
to do business with me?"
Draker halted to frown at Byrne. "I don't think our host is
interested in business. You've probably heard of me, as
I've heard of you. I'm Draker."
He didn't have to say more. Shock suffused Byrne's angular
features before he turned on Alec. "What is this, Iversley -
some wager?" He crossed to the open window to glance out
onto the ledge. "Where are your friends hiding to watch
England's two most notorious half brothers meet for the
first time?"
"There's no one here but us," Alec said evenly.
Byrne whirled from the window, eyes glittering from the
shadows. "Ah. Then you're hoping for material reward,
blackmail perhaps? I hate to disappoint you, but everyone
in London already knows of my fine lineage."
"And mine." Draker dragged his finger down the scar barely
showing above his beard. Draker's natural father hadn't
been married to his mother, either. Fortunately for Draker,
another man had been married to her, making him
legitimate. "You've arranged this for nothing. Now if
you'll excuse me -"
"So the fearsome Draker is actually a coward," Alec
snapped, "afraid to spend a few minutes alone with his two
brothers."
Draker whirled on him. "Now see here, you damned -" He
broke off, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, 'two
brothers'?"
"Despite my apparent legitimacy, I'm a by-blow like the two
of you. More importantly, we share the same father." With
an unsteady hand, Alec lifted his glass in the
air. "Congratulations, gentlemen. You've just gained a half
brother. And the Prince of Wales has gained another bastard
son."
As he downed the liquor, a silence settled on the room as
thick and deep as a London fog. For a moment the other two
men only stared at him.
Then Draker stalked up to the table, scowling as fiercely
as the carved lions supporting it. "Is this some sick joke,
Iversley? No scandal of that sort has ever been whispered
about your family."
"Perhaps no one knew," Byrne put in. "But I'm inclined to
believe him."
Draker glared at Byrne. "Why?"
"Because what newly minted earl would lie about a thing
like that?"
Alec released a breath. "Sit down, gentlemen, have some
brandy, and hear me out. I swear you won't regret it."
Byrne shrugged. "Very well. I could use a stiff drink." He
splashed a generous portion of brandy into a glass, dropped
into a chair, and drank deeply. After a second's
hesitation, Draker followed his lead.
So far, so good. Alec took his own seat and poured himself
more brandy. The three of them drank in silence, looking
each other over, searching for resemblances with furtive
glances.
Hard to believe these were his brothers. Thick-chested and
muscular, Draker had inherited the stocky build of the
Hanovers, but without their sire's abundant flesh. Or
concern for fashion. Draker's untrimmed chestnut hair,
heavy beard, and suit of dull fustian bespoke a man who
eschewed society and all its rules.
Then there was Byrne, who must have come straight from his
highly successful gentlemen's club. His white marcella
waistcoat and black Florentine silk breeches were finer
than anything Alec could afford, yet except for the ruby
pin winking in his cravat, Byrne's rig was surprisingly
sober.
Especially considering the exalted circles Byrne moved in.
His wry wit and clever hand at cards made him as popular
with the Duke of Devonshire as with the lowliest waiter at
White's, despite his illegitimacy.
"Your revelation does explain the odd gossip about you."
Byrne ran his finger along the rim of his glass. "They say
your father sent you on the Grand Tour, where you stayed
for ten years pursuing pleasure, even after your mother
died."
Alec fought down a surge of anger. Of course his "father"
had spread lies about him. The old goat would hardly tell
anyone the truth.
"Odd thing, though," Byrne went on. "Nobody ever spoke of
seeing you at entertainments abroad. And I met your ...
er ... father once, who didn't seem the sort to tolerate
his heir's defection for long. Not to mention the pesky
matter of a war going on."
Alec drank deeply from his glass. He hated laying his life
open before these half brothers he barely knew, but he had
no choice. "There was no war when I left England. It was
during the short-lived Peace of Amiens."
"Where exactly did you go?" Draker asked gruffly.
"To Portugal. The old earl sent me to live with his
sister." Whose Portuguese husband believed in stiff
punishments for wayward English boys. "I stayed only a few
years. But I couldn't come home - my father had forbidden
me to set foot on the family estate or speak to my mother."
Bile rose in his throat. "He didn't even write me of her
death until weeks after she was buried."
"He did all that because you were Prinny's by-blow?"
"Yes, though I didn't know it at the time." Alec swallowed
some brandy. "Shortly after the old earl's death and my
return to England, I found a letter Mother had hidden for
me that revealed the truth." And transformed everything
he'd thought about himself and his parents. "Apparently,
when she conceived me my 'father' hadn't shared her bed in
months. But he claimed me rather than let it be known
Prinny had cuckolded him. He even tolerated my occasional
presence at home until a prank at Harrow got me sent down.
That's when he banished me from Edenmore for good."
"Bloody hell, what sort of prank was that?" Byrne asked.
Alec swirled his brandy, watching the play of lamplight on
liquid. "I tried to obtain an expensive meal for me and my
chuckleheaded friends by ... er ... impersonating a famous
person. But despite my faint resemblance to the man and my
padded clothes, I was a bit too young and thin to be
convincing."
"You don't mean you pretended to be -" Byrne began.
"Oh, yes." Alec lifted a rueful gaze to them. "Unwittingly
I picked the one fellow I should not have impersonated. The
earl was not amused."
Both men blinked, then burst into laughter. After a second,
Alec joined them. How odd to laugh over what had been the
worst disaster of his young life.
"God, the irony ..." Draker choked out. "Your father ... I
can only imagine -"
Their laughter erupted again, dissolving the earlier
tension. By the time their laughs died, the warmth settling
between them was almost ... brotherly.
"Now that you mention it, there is a resemblance," Byrne
managed as he brought his amusement under control. "You've
got Prinny's eyes."
"But why are you telling us all this?" Draker asked. "Don't
you care who knows?"
"Believe me, I've no desire to spawn more gossip about me
and my family. But the truth is, I need your help."
Just that quickly, the tenuous connection between them was
broken.
Byrne eyed him with cool cynicism. "Money. You think to
turn to your wealthy 'brothers' for funds, is that it?"
Alec tensed. "I do need money, but I don't want any from
either of you." At Draker's snort, he rose to face
them. "When I discovered my connection to Prinny, I
searched for information about his other by-blows. I
learned that we're the only ones who haven't profited from
the connection." He nodded to Draker. "You've been an
outcast from society ever since you forcibly evicted the
prince and your mother from your estate at Castlemaine."
Alec turned to Byrne. "And Prinny has callously refused to
acknowledge your connection to him. You dine with dukes at
your club, but though they call you Bonnie Byrne to your
face, they call you Byblow Byrne, the Irish whore's son,
behind your back."
"Only if they want their tongues cut out," Byrne snapped.
Alec shrugged off the threat. "And - as you've guessed -
I'm penniless. The earl spent my mother's entire fortune."
In his last days, the old goat had invested in risky
ventures that decimated what family monies hadn't been
stolen by his corrupt steward. Thanks to that and the
earl's obsessive - and expensive - pursuit of quack cures
for some supposed illness, Alec had inherited an estate in
shambles, but no blunt to save it.
"Each of us lacks something. I have no money." Alec glanced
at Byrne. "You have no legitimate name." He nodded to
Draker. "You have no acceptance in society."
"What does Draker care about society?" Byrne said. "He
seems content enough moldering out there at Castlemaine."
"Ah, but I suspect he sometimes finds his outcast status
inconvenient." Although Draker scowled, Alec noticed he
didn't deny it. "Aren't you guardian to the daughter your
mother bore the viscount? And isn't she approaching the age
to marry? You may not care about your own situation, but
I'll wager you care about hers."
"All right," Draker grumbled, "so my sister has been
plaguing me with this maggoty idea about having a season.
I've told her it won't work. Who would sponsor her?
Besides, after the lies my mother spread about me, Louisa
will be treated like a leper for my sins."
"But if you don't give her a season," Alec pointed
out, "how long before she runs off with the first footman
or local idiot who shows her any affection?"
"Is there a point to this?" Draker asked tersely.
Alec cast Byrne a studied glance. "If all she needs is a
sponsor and invitations, I'm sure Byrne knows several lords
whose ... er ... indebtedness to him would persuade them
and their wives to do as we ask."
"We?" Byrne queried.
"Yes, we. Thanks to our sire, we've been denied the
advantages of most normal families - friendship, loyalty,
unconditional aid. But that needn't stop us from success."
Heartened by how intently they listened, he
continued. "Each of us possesses something the others need,
so I propose that we form an alliance. It would act as a
family - we are half brothers, after all. Together, we
could change our fortunes. We could help each other attain
everything we desire."
Byrne lifted an eyebrow. "Which brings us back to what you
desire. But if you think I'll lend you money because of our
mutual connection to Prinny -"
"I don't want any loans," Alec retorted. "The earl left me
sunk in debt up to my chin as it is."
"Yet you must want something from us. And since we're
clearly not Prinny's favorites, you can't be hoping we'll
get you money from him."
"Absolutely not," Alec said firmly. "I doubt he knows I'm
his son, and I'd rather keep it that way. Besides, he
doesn't have enough money for what I need."
Draker's eyes narrowed. "How much are you talking about?"
"To restore Edenmore to a working estate and the house to a
livable condition -" He dragged in a heavy breath. "Roughly
seventy-five thousand pounds. Perhaps more."
At Draker's low whistle, Byrne said, "You're damned right -
nobody would loan you such a sum. I doubt you could even
make it at the tables."
"If borrowing money will sink me further, gambling would
bury me." Alec set his glass down. "No, I've thought about
this, and I can find only one solution to my need for
funds - marriage to an heiress."
"You're not getting Louisa, if that's what you're
thinking," Draker growled.
Alec rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, I don't want a chit
fresh out of the schoolroom. I'd prefer a mature woman who
understands the rules of English society: Do as you please
as long as you're discreet. Raise hell in private as long
as you behave well in public. Pretend that marriage is
about love, when we all know it's about money and
position."
"Sounds rather cynical," Draker said.
"You of all people know it's accurate.
Continues...
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