Page 2 of In the Prince's Bed
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 manhadbeen 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, ‘twobrothers’?”
“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 ofthatsort 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 shouldnothave impersonated. The earl was not amused.”
