Bedding The Baron by Alexandra Ivy Page A

anyone to be forced to stand aside and watch his home being ruined.” He paused, knowing better than to blatantly demand why his father was forced to leave Oak Manor. He was a fool, not a stupid fool. “Did you go to London?”
    “Winchester,” his father retorted in clipped tones.
    “Of course. That is where Lady Graystone comes from, is it not?”
    “Yes.” Turning, Lord Graystone regarded his son with the guarded, closed expression that Fredrick had become all too accustomed to. The brief few moments of intimacy were at an end. “I believe luncheon should be ready. Shall we?”
    “Of course.”
    In awkward silence they moved through the hushed corridors to the dining room. Despite the long, polished table that could easily seat twenty guests, there was a cozy warmth to the darkly paneled room with its vast fireplace and towering windows that provided a fine view of the rose garden.
    The silence remained as they were seated and the footmen arrived with trays of turtle soup, stewed trout, and Fredrick’s favorite lobster curry.
    It was not until his father had waved the servants from the room that the older man made a visible effort to lower the stiff guard he had built around himself.
    “Are you comfortable at your inn?” he demanded as he poured them both a glass of wine.
    Fredrick hid his startled expression. What the devil was his father up to? He never made personal inquiries of his bastard son. Not even bothering to ask after his health.
    Savoring the lobster curry, Fredrick gave an inward shrug. Whatever odd compulsion had come over Lord Graystone, it suited Fredrick’s purpose.
    The man had already revealed that he had been forced to leave Oak Manor when he was young. And that after his inheritance he had made some painful sacrifice. Vague clues that might lead to precisely nothing, but still it was more than he had before he arrived.
    Besides, his father’s past sins were not the only puzzle currently plaguing him.
    Perhaps Lord Graystone could assist with unraveling the mystery of Mrs. Portia Walker.
    “I am quite comfortable,” he said with a faint smile. “I do not believe I have ever rented rooms that are quite so ruthlessly clean or enjoyed meals so exquisitely prepared. Mrs. Walker possesses a true talent in running a first-rate establishment.”
    “Walker?” His father frowned as if the name were somehow familiar. “Of course. Melford’s daughter.”
    “You know her?”
    “I know of her,” his father corrected. “Her father was a friend to my brother. As I recall they shared many interests, including their addiction to expensive courtesans and the gaming tables.”
    Which meant that Portia’s father was definitely an aristocrat. The Graystones did not rub elbows with the unwashed masses.
    “It is rather odd that a woman of her obvious social standing would become a proprietress of an isolated inn.”
    His father shrugged. “I seem to recall there was some scandal attached to the woman.”
    Fredrick reached for his wine. “I did happen to learn that her father disappeared to India when his debts became too great.”
    Lord Graystone frowned, as if scouring his mind for memories of the long ago gossip.
    “Yes, it had something to do with that . . . ah, now I recall. The daughter was engaged to some minor nobleman or another, not a local man, and he turned out to be a true bounder.”
    Fredrick stiffened. “What do you mean?”
    “The cad left her standing at the altar. It was only a few days later that her father fled from his creditors.” Lord Graystone gave a wave of his hand. “I suppose he had hoped his new son-in-law would settle his accounts and when that did not come to pass he was forced to flee.”
    Fredrick downed his wine in one swallow, a dark anger flaring through his heart. What sort of man would abandon his young daughter just days after her heart and her future had been destroyed?
    And who the blazes was the minor nobleman who would leave his bride at the altar? A