Virginia Henley (17 page)

“Royalty can’t hold a candle to the Devonshires . . . the Germans are a tatty lot! I hope you didn’t sit with young Hatton, and instead reserved all your smiles for Hart Cavendish.”

“I didn’t sit with Christopher.”

“Serves the young bounder right. Competition from Hartington will bring him up to snuff, mark my words.”

Alex refrained from saying she didn’t want to bring him up to snuff and changed the subject. “What are you reading?”

“Rousseau’s
Confessions,
the bible of Romanticism. I’ll let you have it when I’m done, but in the meantime you’ll have to content yourself with something less prurient from my bookcase.”

Alexandra ran her finger along the titles, avoiding the romances, and finally selected a book about astrological signs. She had kept all thought of Nicholas safely caged until she gained her own chamber, but once she was alone it was impossible. She relived the delicious, demanding kiss, then wondered why he had bid her good-bye, rather than good night. She did not want to examine it too closely and pushed the thought away, where it crouched like a lion, waiting to pounce.

She climbed into bed and opened the book at her astrological sign of Sagittarius.
You are an unforgettable and charming character with a blithe and friendly spirit, who attracts attention and affection
. “Ha, I wish I could attract his affection,” she muttered aloud.
You always have a sparkle in your eyes, an easy laugh, and magically light up a room. Your gregarious nature and sense of humor are powerful forces in any social situation. However, you often rebel and live according to your own laws which require personal freedom
. “Well, I cannot deny that part,” she admitted.
You are far more romantic than most people think. Your ideal mate will be someone strong enough to hold you, yet flexible enough to let you spread your wings.

Alexandra’s fingers rapidly turned back the pages until she found the sign of Leo the lion.
This is the ruler of all the signs. The big cat has an arrogant pride and sunny playfulness. There are no introverted or timid Leos. They are strong, determined, and dignified as they await their royal moment in the sun. He walks straight and proud with feline grace. The lion always has a commanding air and stately bearing. He holds center stage with dramatic action, and his commands are effective because he is a master of straightforward speech. The lion has a knack for telling you with a superior, condescending manner exactly how you should manage your life.
“This is what Kit has always accused Nick of doing,” she murmured, “and he does it to me too.”

The lion never leans on others; he prefers others lean on him. He is fierce, wild, passionate, and courageous, and can bear anything with stoic dignity. He is a spectacular gambler, who will bid higher than anybody, anytime on anything. He is a loyal friend, but a powerful enemy. Leo has a forceful temper, and often gets away with murder
. Alex closed the book, slid down beneath the covers, and thought about Nick. Was it possible that he had murdered his father? No, no, murder was a coward’s act, and Nicholas was the most courageous boy and then man she had ever known. She began to daydream about the kiss he had given her tonight; it had been both tender and savage. A good-bye kiss!

When Alex slept, Nicholas once again dominated her dreams, and it seemed that indeed she
was
able to attract his affection. He kissed her for hours, in all the ways she had dreamed of being kissed. Sometimes his lips were tender and teasing, persuasive and playful, sensual and sinful. Then his mouth became rough and ravenous, hot and hungry, passionate and possessive. But finally he withdrew and stood apart from her, and she heard herself begging, “Please, Nick, please don’t leave me.” He would not heed her, and as he walked away, she saw that he carried a gun and wore a scarlet jacket. A feeling of dread began to overwhelm her.

 

A few hours before dawn, Nicholas had returned to the Hatton town house in Curzon Street with plenty of time to change from his damp, wrinkled evening clothes, bathe, shave, breakfast, and present himself to Prince Frederick’s secretary, Sir Herbert Taylor, in the War Office at the Horse Guards in Whitehall.

After he introduced himself, mentioned the Prime Minister’s name, and informed Taylor that he had been supplying the Guards with horses for the past year, Nick Hatton had no difficulty in purchasing himself a lieutenancy with the Royal Horse Artillery for the sum of two hundred pounds.

“The war effort is strapped for cash, my boy, as well as fighting men. In Wellington’s last dispatch to Lord Bathurst, the new Minister of War, he revealed that his Spanish soldiers had been robbing, murdering, and burning so viciously he had to send them packing in disgrace.”

Nick learned that he would be serving under General Rowland Hill, who was presently fighting in Spain, close to the French border. Reinforcements were sailing every week from Portsmouth to Bilboa and San Sebastian, so he could embark immediately. He went directly from the War Office to be outfitted for his uniform and equipment.

When he arrived back at Curzon Street, he found that Christopher had only just arisen. His twin was dressed for riding and intended to meet his friend Rupert in Hyde Park’s Rotten Row, which was conveniently close by at the end of the street.

Kit eyed Nick’s morning coat, which told him that his twin was not just crawling home from a night’s debauch. “Where did you get to last night?”

“I visited a friend.”

“I’m surprised you still have any, now that you are
persona non grata,
” Kit jested. “I don’t remember a thing past midnight. Rupert must have brought me home and poured me into bed. The post just arrived, by the way, and it appears John Eaton sent the accounting as promised. I asked Hart Cavendish about him last night. Seems Eaton has so many wealthy clients he has opened an office here in London. He’s nicknamed the Corkscrew since he can prise money out of anything. So you can stop worrying and making noises like an old woman.”

“Well, I’m relieved you can get along without my advice, Kit,” Nick said good-naturedly, “since I’ll be leaving in a day or two.”

“Leaving for where?”

“Portsmouth.”

“I warrant Brighton has much to recommend it, but what the devil is in a
démodé
place like Portsmouth?”

“A ship that will take me to Bilboa. I’ve joined the army.”

“The devil you say!” When Kit saw Nick was not jesting, he slashed his riding boot with his crop. “Well, that was a selfish, vainglorious thing to do. How the hell do you expect me to run Hatton on my own? Being a land baron carries a great deal of responsibility.”

“Kit, let’s be honest. You reject my advice and abhor my interference.”
Learning responsibility will do you a world of good
. “We have an agreement not to meddle in each other’s affairs.”

“Actually, this move is absolutely brilliant on your part. A military man embodies the masculine ideal of the
ton
. In uniform you will represent all the essential male traits of honor, fearlessness, and aggression. Martial readiness paints a rugged picture of masculinity and brute strength. The
beau monde
will forgive a military man anything.” Kit sounded resentful. “What’s your regiment?”

“I am a lieutenant in the Royal Horse Artillery.”

“You fool! You’ll be on the front lines . . . in the thick of all the gunfire.” He shuddered. “Well, better you than me. What’s the uniform? Blues like the Royal Horse Guard?”

“Dark blue, yes, riding breeches and short tunic jacket with gold buttons, collar, and epaulets.”

“I suppose it has those tall, black riding boots that come halfway up the thigh?”

“Yes, they cover the knee to protect it.”

“And a polished breastplate and helmet with black and red plumes? Christ, the women will grovel at your feet.” Kit couldn’t hide his envy. “What’s the dress uniform?”

“I don’t know. I can’t afford one. And there will be no time for the women to grovel; I’m leaving tomorrow or the next day.”

 

Alexandra hurried along Charles Street, then crossed over into Curzon Street. When she had awakened this morning, only fragments of her dreams remained with her. The strong image of Nick’s red jacket and his guns floated in and out of her mind, though she tried to banish it. She remembered kissing. Had she dreamed it, or had it actually happened? Then she remembered what she preferred to forget: He had kissed her good-bye! Her dream insinuated once again and she saw Nick clearly. She suddenly realized that he was not wearing a hunting jacket, he was wearing a uniform!
Dear God, is that what he meant by good-bye?
She knew she must stop him.

As she neared the tall, stone mansion, the front door opened and Nicholas, she assumed, dressed in his favorite gray riding clothes, descended the steps. He saw her and stopped to wait. “Oh, thank heaven I have found you before you do anything rash!”

“Alex, you look particularly lovely today.” His gray eyes looked her over with appreciation.

“Don’t change the subject! Tell me truthfully: Do you intend to join the army?” As she gazed up at him, his dark beauty was so compelling her breath caught in her throat.

“On my sacred honor, Alexandra, I have no such intent. Where did you hear such a rumor?”

“Oh, thank God, Nick. It wasn’t a rumor; it was just a silly dream I had about you.”

Kit’s white teeth flashed in a smile. He knew she had mistaken him for his twin, but he wasn’t about to enlighten her. “You know, Alex, you shouldn’t be walking the streets without an escort, or at least your maid.”

“Please stop treating me like a child.”

“I’m treating you like a lady, Alex. It’s very sweet of you to be concerned, but I assure you I will never, ever join the army.”

“Then why did you bid me
good-bye
rather than
good night
?”

“Did I do that? It was just a figure of speech, I warrant. I’m not going anywhere, and I shall probably see you at Burlington House on Friday.”

Alex went weak with relief, and she felt more than a little foolish to have come running to Curzon Street like a lovesick girl. “You’re going riding; I won’t keep you.”

“Why don’t you get Rupert to take you riding in the park one morning, and I’ll join you?” he asked.

Alex couldn’t believe her ears. Was Nick actually inviting her to ride? Her heart skipped several beats as she thanked him and bade him a breathless good-bye.

Dottie, desperate for money, decided to pay a visit to Coutts Bank. In her younger years Thomas Coutts had been an admirer, and if she remembered correctly, had once offered her
carte blanche
. Since Barclays Bank knew she did not have two coppers to rub together, Coutts it would have to be, she concluded. All the banks were in distant Lombard Street, so she decided to pay a visit to Spinks and Co. to see if the disreputable devil Spinks had sold her Lawrence paintings. If not, she’d demand an advance from the old reprobate, then take a hackney to Lombard Street.

“Oh, are you going out, Dottie? I’d love to come too; I am simply dying to have a ramble about London,” Alex said eagerly.

“You don’t want to be shackled to a dowager, darling. You may explore on your own, providing you take Sara with you, of course.”

Alex was privately delighted at her grandmother’s suggestion, for a maid would undoubtedly go wherever she led without voicing grave disapproval. She found the young maid belowstairs, ironing petticoats and some of Rupert’s starched neckcloths. “I have something much more
pressing
for you to do, Sara, pun intended. I want you to accompany me about London.”

Sara bobbed a curtsy. “Do you wish to go shopping, mistress?”

“No. Actually, I wish to go prowling. I need you more as a guide and fellow conspirator, than a
chaperon
. Are you game?”

Sara’s eyes sparkled. “I know how to keep my mouth shut, if that’s what you mean.”

“That is exactly what I mean! How perceptive of you, Sara. Let me get my sketchpad and put on my comfortable half boots, and we shall be on our way. You don’t mind walking, do you?”

“I’m a servant, mistress; shank’s mare is my usual mode of transportation.”

“When we are out together, and I warn you now that it will be often, I want you to call me Alex.” She decided a little discretion might serve her at this early stage and did not tell Sara that she planned to sometimes dress as a male.

When they were safely outside the Berkeley Square house, Alex said, “Now, first I want you to show me all the exclusive men’s clubs where they gamble, dine, and whatnot.”

Sara raised her hand to her mouth to cover a giggle. “The closest is Alfred’s.” She led the way from the square along Berkeley Street to Albermarle and pointed to number 23. “ ’Tis rumored to be the dullest place in existence.”

Alex watched two octogenarian gentlemen enter. “I can see why!”

Sara laughed and led the way across Piccadilly. “Down there on the corner of Bolton Street is Watier’s. He used to be the Prince of Wales’s chef, and the food is reputed to be the best in London, not that females will ever get the chance to eat it.”

They entered St. James’s Street. “Boodle’s is number twenty-eight, and Brooks’s is number sixty, both on the west side, and directly facing is White’s, the oldest club in London.”

“Oh, I’m particularly interested in White’s; it’s where my brother and his friends went last night.” Half a dozen fashionably dressed dandies gave Alex and Sara appraising, speculative looks before they strolled inside, but Alex ignored them, pulled out her pad, and began to draw the famous bow window.

“There’s a gentleman in the window waving at you.”

“Good God, as if I’d be interested in the sort of wastrel who idles away his daylight hours in a gaming house.”