Virginia Henley (30 page)

Alexandra dressed carefully. She knew she needed to look striking and decided to wear the cream silk faille whose low
décollatage
showed off her firm young breasts to perfection. Then she called Sara and asked her to thread the turquoise velvet ribbon through her curls, knowing that the vibrant color was a vivid contrast to her red-gold hair.

When Sara displayed curiosity about why she was dressing in evening clothes in the afternoon, Alex replied, “Don’t ask questions; you won’t like the answers, Sara.”

She put on her dark cloak and at the last moment decided she again needed Dottie’s ostrich-feather fan for dramatic effect. Then, before she lost her courage, Alex took a cab to Pall Mall.

When she arrived at the building, Alexandra knew she dared not hesitate, but must act while the impulse was upon her. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped across the threshold. Every female in the reception room stared at her knowingly. There was only one reason for a young woman to come here: She was on the game and hoped to be employed at the high-class brothel. When one of the girls approached her, she said, “I wish to speak with Charlotte King.”

Alex averted her eyes from the gentlemen who were in the reception room, bantering with the girls. She was weak with relief that she had never met any of them. It seemed like a lifetime before Charlie came strolling into the room; Alex noticed that she exchanged pleasantries with the men before she sauntered over.

Alexandra looked directly into the madam’s eyes. “I have a business proposition I’d like to discuss with you, Mrs. King.”

Charlie raised a perfectly curved brow. “Propositions are certainly my business.”

Alexandra laughed at the witty riposte. It was a nervous response she could not control.

Charlie swept her from head to foot with a glance that missed no detail. “Follow me.” Charlie led the way upstairs to her own private suite. When the door closed, she watched Alexandra remove her cloak. “Why do you want to work for me?”

“For the money, of course.”

Charlie laughed. “Of course. Are you good at what you do?”

“I don’t know; I’ve never done it before.”

Charlie’s eyebrows rose. “You’re virgin? I need girls with experience. Some of my clients have specialized sexual tastes. We don’t have amateur night; our business is pleasuring men.”

“Oh, the service I am offering will definitely pleasure men—but not physically.”

“Is there any other way?” Charlie couldn’t hide her amusement.

“There are many other ways. But I am speaking of
visually
pleasuring men. I would like to be a posing girl. It is like a little play or vignette behind a sheer curtain. Lamplight makes it more than a silhouette yet lends mystery to the exotic performance. Basically, a posing girl starts out fully clothed and ends up naked. She could remove her clothes and climb into bed, or remove her clothes and take an imaginary bath. All her poses are very tasteful and high-class yet extremely erotic. What makes it so provocative is the sheer curtain that separates her from her male audience, giving the illusion that she is untouchable, unobtainable. Which of course she must be.”

“Undress for me.”

Alexandra’s mouth went dry, and she swallowed with difficulty. Yet some instinct told her that if she hesitated, Charlie would show her the door. Alex drew herself up to her full height, lifted her chin, and slowly, proudly began to remove her garments. As her shift drifted to the carpet, she forbade herself to be embarrassed. If she could not show off her body to one woman, how on God’s green earth would she be able to posture before the opposite sex, with only a sheer curtain between herself and them?

When Charlie motioned for her to turn around, Alexandra did so slowly, gracefully, moving in a tiny circle. Then she reached for the ostrich-feather fan and wafted it before her, alternately concealing then revealing her body.

“Get dressed. You are a young enchantress, as well you know. Your figure is lovely, but that isn’t the reason I’m considering you. It is your attitude. It makes you look every inch a lady—a unique quality in a brothel. What is your name?”

Without hesitation, Alexandra replied, “Caprice.” She dressed much more quickly than she had disrobed.

“Well, Caprice, I’ll pay you two hundred and fifty, for five nights a week, and provide free room and board.”

Alex was dismayed. She had only anticipated performing once a week. “Two hundred for one night a week. More often than that would make it seem commonplace, rather than special. But, I shan’t need room and board; I cannot live here.”

“Two hundred guineas a performance? My best girls only command the high price of one hundred!”

“For a hundred guineas they are pleasuring only one man; I will be pleasuring many.”

A long silence stretched between them. “One hundred; take it or leave it. I’ll give you a trial. If you increase my business, we have a deal. You can start on Friday.”

“Saturday. I shall come on Saturday, so that the gentlemen will have something pleasant to think about while they are in church, enduring the Sunday sermons.”

Champagne Charlie threw back her head and laughed. “You have wit, a quality I admire.”

“A quality you possess.” Alex picked up her cloak. “Thank you, Mrs. King.”

Alex’s knees felt weak as wet linen as she walked home. She had certainly torn a page from Dottie’s book. She wasn’t just eccentric; she too was raving mad!

 

There were times when Captain Nicholas Hatton thought he would go raving mad during the long winter nights. The days were filled with desperate fighting—Napoleon had added another fourteen thousand troops to General Soult’s command—and they went by in a quick blur of blood, guts, destruction, and death. He and his men had no time to do anything but advance and retreat, attack and defend. But the nights were endless, almost unendurable. The hours spent on watch brought a longing for Hatton Hall, with its verdant green pastures filled with the horses he had bred. He was desperately homesick for England, his ancestral home, his twin brother, and his dog, Leo. In his memory, the night sounds and scents of England were different, even the air seemed softer in retrospect. His need was like a craving in the blood.

Soon, it would be Christmas and then a new year would dawn. It would be a difficult time for the men he commanded, who were far from home with no idea when they would be able to return. He reflected that it would be a lonely time for Kit too; until now, the twins had spent every Christmas together. It would be the first holiday season since his brother had accidentally shot their father, and Nick felt guilty that he would not be at Hatton to comfort him. At night he was haunted by the thought that he could easily die here in France. Yet it wasn’t death that he feared, it was the thought that he might never see England again.

With a rigid control, he kept his thoughts to himself, for he knew that if he felt this way, the men who fought under his command must have the same longings and fears. Nick had come to hate war with a vengeance. He had started out a fervent warrior, ready to take on the enemy with a knife between his teeth, but then he’d faced so many moral dilemmas and demons that his conscience had become shadowed. Some of the men he commanded, like Jake Smith, were no more than boys, risking their lives and killing people in the name of England. This war had made Nick lose an innocence he hadn’t known he possessed. War was insanity; it made killing a virtue rather than a vice. He had killed so many that he feared that his eternal soul was damned—if there were such a thing, he reflected cynically.

He banished all thoughts of Alexandra, for that way lay true madness. But his dreams took on a life of their own, and in them he did not deny his hunger for her. They always began the same. His kisses were hot and demanding, taking not giving. His lips were ravenous, rapacious, and savage. Yet once he slaked himself with kisses, his arms clasped her tightly. The feel of her body was so comforting it gave him solace. When he was at his lowest ebb, she never failed to restore and replenish him. He always awoke at the same point in the dream, immediately after making love to her with his possessive mouth but before he made love to her with his body. Even as he cursed, he knew the reason for never consummating their union, even in his dreams, was obvious. Alexandra was forbidden to him; she belonged to Christopher.

Christopher Hatton, along with his friend Rupert, became members of the prestigious sporting Four-In-Hand Club. Kit agreed because there was no actual racing involved. Whenever they met, the club members simply drove their perch-phaetons and curricles to Salt Hill, about twenty miles from London. There, they dined at The Windmill, imbibed until they were cup-shot, then returned to town.

As Kit tooled along St. George Street to Hanover Square, where the club members gathered for their outing, the street was fast becoming clogged with sporting vehicles. Thinking he saw Rupert in his new white drab driving coat, he drew up to the curb and jumped from his phaeton. When the tall, slim man turned, however, Kit saw that he had mistaken Jeremy Eaton for Rupert.

“What the devil are you doing here?” Kit could not hide his irritation. The members were mostly titled lords; this was the last place he had expected to see Eaton.

“Hello, Harm. Seems we frequent the same haunts.”

“Nice cattle; I heard you’d bought yourself a perch-phaeton. Your investments must be paying off. Mine didn’t pan out.”

“Too bad. You should ask your father for advice.”

“My father and I are forever at odds . . . rather like you and your father were,” he drawled.

“What the devil do you mean? My father doted on me.”

“Bloody ironic, isn’t it, that your hand was the one to pull the trigger?”

“Look here, I’ve had about enough of your insinuations. If you want to shout it to the world that I, not my twin Nick, accidentally shot my father, be my guest. None will believe you.”

“Accidentally?” Jeremy queried, blowing on his hands to warm them. “If I reveal there was nothing
accidental
about it, all would be ready to believe me, I warrant.”

Kit began to shiver, and he pulled his caped coat closer about his neck. “I’d keep my mouth shut, if I were you.”

Eaton laughed. “Mouths aren’t for shutting unless there are flies about.”

“How much?”

“Ten thousand sounds fair enough to me.” He glanced up at the sky. “Could be in for trouble. There’s a storm threatening; wouldn’t want you to get caught in the deluge. I’ll see you at White’s tomorrow evening; I’m always there on Tuesday. Or better yet, I’ll see you at Barclays Bank in the morning. Ten o’clock sharp.”

As his second cousin left him, Kit reached into his greatcoat pocket and pulled out his flask. He raised it to his lips and noticed that his hand shook.
That fucking parasite! If I ever see him in the road, I’ll run him down!
The whiskey warmed and comforted him.
What the hell’s the difference? If I empty my bank account, his old man will fill it up for me.
Kit began to laugh.
Now there’s irony for you!

 

Alexandra had second thoughts about what she had done; then she had third and fourth thoughts, all filled with misgivings. She removed Dottie’s long, silvery-blond wig and the flesh-colored net garment she had worn as Lady Godiva from the costume trunk. It was her only hope; Alex knew she could never perform stark naked. She also knew that if some other way to acquire money presented itself, she would jump at the opportunity. To take her mind off her performance tomorrow at Charlie’s, which was rushing upon her with the sickening speed of a runaway carriage, she agreed to attend the Covent Garden opera with Hart Cavendish.

The moment she accepted, the Duke of Devonshire penned a note to Aberdeen, the Prince of Wales’s secretary, asking if he could use Prinny’s box at Covent Garden. When Aberdeen gave his consent, as he had in the past for the duke’s father, Hart went shopping. He knew what he wanted and laid his plans carefully.

When Hart arrived at Berkeley Square, Alexandra came down the stairs with an indulgent smile on her face. It would make a pleasant change for him to take her out dressed as a female.

“You look so lovely you take my breath away. I love that lavender gown on you; I hoped you would wear it tonight.”

Alex picked up her violet cashmere shawl and handed it to him. “How very gallant, Your Grace.”

As he wrapped it about her shoulders, he bent to whisper in her ear, “What happened to
darling
?”

“That was a wager, and if you remind me of that particular evening, I shall no longer think you gallant.”

“I promise to make it up to you tonight, Alexandra.”

In the carriage, Alex was relieved that Hart behaved like a perfect gentleman and sat opposite her. Bemused, she wondered how long that would last. The area around Covent Garden was thick with the carriages of the
ton
. Everyone was eager to see the new opera, or more precisely,
to be seen
seeing the new opera. Few of them even liked opera, let alone understood it.

The Covent Garden piazza was crowded. She glanced about, searching for Hart’s sisters, but didn’t see them. Hart reached for her hand and said, “Follow me.” She was surprised when he led her upstairs and they were ushered into the Prince of Wales’s private box. “How on earth—? Hart, I thought we were joining your family.”
I shouldn’t be alone with him in the Prince of Wales’s private box. Being on public display will cause gossip and set up clear expectations!

Hart held her chair. “I wanted you to feel special tonight.”

Alexandra sat down, surveyed the theater, and suddenly froze. Every eye in the gallery was upon her. Upon
them
. She saw ladies whisper behind their fans. By displaying her in the Regent’s private box, the Duke of Devonshire was declaring them a couple. Just before the lights dimmed, she saw Christopher Hatton gazing up at her with stunned disbelief.