Page 41 of Charlotte's Kisses

Ravenforde shoved the pistol back into its hiding place and stood.

“This better be good, Fletcher. I do not know if you noticed, but I was engaged.”

Oh, Hugh had noticed, although currently, he was looking into a high corner so that he did not have to observe a naked bloke hobbling about.

“There, dressed,” Ravenforde said.

Hugh slowly lowered his gaze. Ravenforde stood before him, trousers on, shirt hanging open, long dark hair disheveled, and a couple of days of unshaven beard poking through his skin.

“You might want to sit down for this,” Hugh said, inclining his chin toward the blow job chair.

He strolled to a half-empty decanter and poured two glasses, handing one to Ravenforde, who sat leisurely, a bare foot crossed over his tree trunk-sized thigh. Hugh gulped from his glass before pulling a chair across the room so that he could sit besidehim.

“What is this all about? You cannot still be angry over that fight at Cambridge,” Ravenforde declared with an arrogance that made Hugh want to relocate the ape’s nose.

“Nay,” Hugh said. Although perhaps he was still irritated over being called a guttersnipe. He may not have been titled, but he had hardly been a pauper. Ravenforde had a good three inches and at least twenty pounds on him, but he’d bloodied the fool’s nose and given him a hellish black eye.

“I won that game of cards fair and square,” Ravenforde said.

“You cheated like a son of a bitch,” Hugh said.

Ravenforde threw his head back and chuckled. There was one positive thing about this shite situation—Ravenforde was more coherent than Hugh had anticipated.

“Get on with it, I’ve got cunny calling my name.”

Hugh rolled his eyes. “Keep the bloody pistol away.” He inclined the drink in his hand toward Ravenforde’s hiding place before asking, “Do you know the Marquess of Chesterhill?”

“What the hell kind of question is that? Of course, I do. Mayhap you do not realize that we all know each other, being titled lords and all.”

It would be rewarding as hell to tell the rat bastard he did not have a legitimate title. However, no matter Hugh’s personal feelings, he needed to handle this diplomatically, so he exhaled his anger.

“Do you not recall that we went to school with Alexander,” Ravenforde said. “He was one of my mates.”

“Then are you aware that his father was quite the libertine in his youth?”

“None of my concern,” Ravenforde said. “But what about it?”

“He had an affair with your mother,” Hugh declared before he lost his nerve.

Ravenforde waved a dismissive hand. “Lies.”

“Perchance. But why claim you are his son? What could he possibly gain from it?”

Ravenforde’s posture remained relaxed, but his voice rose. “His son? Me? What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Look, Ravenforde, it brings me no pleasure to tell you this, but Chesterhill is your legitimate father.”

Hugh braced himself for a tantrum of major proportions. However, Ravenforde sat quietly, staring into his drink. “What the deuce does he want from me?”

“Just to talk to you. He has hired me to find all of his bastards so that he can do right by them.”

“Do right by us? Bloody hell, I am to be a viscount. Does he expect me to simply relinquish my title? My father will kill him. Kill me.” He sighed, then practically whispered, “Kill my mother.”

“Why not meet with Chesterhill and talk to him? At this point, what could it hurt? I do not think he means to destroy anyone’s life. He can be rational.” His wicked wife was another story entirely.

“How many of us are there?” Ravenforde asked.

“From my investigations so far, at least six. Chesterhill kept detailed records of all of his indiscretions.”