Virginia Henley (35 page)

When Alex glanced up, saw him, and gave him a fleeting smile, it was almost impersonal. The lion within roared its fury and refused to be dismissed. The game they played was
vingt-et-un,
and he immediately sat down at the table. It was only after he had taken his seat that he saw the Earl of Carlisle; by the pile of counters in front of him, their host was obviously winning. Since it was permissible for any player who wished to shuffle and cut the cards, Nick held out his hand. When the deck was passed to him, he turned to Carlisle. “I’ll cut you for the amount of the marker I gave you last week.”

“You play for high stakes, Hatton!” Carlisle declared loftily.

Nick knew they were the center of attention. He narrowed his eyes. “You are not dallying with a young boy, you know.”

Alexandra blinked. Was Kit blatantly referring to Carlisle’s predilection for young men? She glanced quickly at their host, saw him flush and cut the cards. It was a two, and any card in the deck would beat it. She saw Kit nod curtly and hand the cards back to the dealer without even bothering to cut them.

Even though he pretended otherwise, Nick was acutely aware of Alexandra. After she lost the next two hands, she stopped playing and watched Hart Cavendish. Nick decided then and there that the duke had had enough of her attention. He rose and casually walked around the table until he stood behind Cavendish. He placed a firm hand on Hart’s shoulder. “I’m stealing Alex for a dance. I’m sure you won’t object.”

Startled, Hart replied, “Of course not.” Though he actually objected strenuously, he was too civilized to say so.

Alex too was startled. Politely, she excused herself from Hart and with a quizzical expression accompanied Kit Hatton from the card room. “I thought your mourning barred you from dancing?”

“I have decided my mourning period is over, as of tonight.”

His voice was so deep it sounded like a soft growl. His words were pointedly decisive. Was he telling her by implication that now he was out of mourning, his wooing would begin? She took a deep breath and refused to panic. Questions arose in her mind, and thoughts of Nicholas intruded. She wondered why Christopher hadn’t mentioned that his twin was back. “Is Nick home yet?”

He nodded. “He’s enjoying being back in London so much, I haven’t seen a lot of him.”

Alex closed her eyes, and cursed herself for even mentioning the libertine’s name.

The moment they entered the ballroom he swept her into his arms. Alex caught her breath and focused on the waltz music so she would not misstep. She had no need to fear. Kit, it seemed, was an exceptionally confident dancer. He held her securely and firmly took the lead, boldly swirling her, then bringing her close on every third beat of the music. She gave herself up to the movement of his body, swaying with the gentle pressure of his powerful arms.

The rhythm of the dance insinuated itself inside her, and with half-closed eyes, Alex began to pretend it was Nicholas who held her so possessively. She was lost in a sea of warm sensation, yielding her softness to his hard, demanding length.

As he watched her face and felt the brush of her gown against his thighs, the ache inside him became unbearable. He pictured her in his bed, beneath him, her half-closed eyes languid with love. He looked down hungrily. “Why do you never flirt with me?”

Her eyes opened slowly.
I’ve been flirting with you for years
. Suddenly, she realized it was Kit with whom she danced; Kit who asked the question. She was flooded with guilt about daydreaming over Nicholas. “We—we are old friends; I feel no need to flirt.”

His lips curved sardonically. “Not a flattering answer.” He knew if he held her one more minute, he would crush her to him and devour the soft pink mouth that tempted him beyond endurance. “It’s hot in here, and such a lovely spring night; would you mind if we went out for a breath of air?”

She murmured her assent and followed him from the floor. He took her out the front entrance of Burlington House to Piccadilly. The building was well lit, and they moved into the shadows cast by its tall columns. When Kit seemed content with the silence, Alex decided this might be a good time to reveal that she had found her mother. As he listened, he slowly began to stroll past the waiting carriages, and Alex matched her steps to his. She expected him to thoroughly disapprove, but his reaction surprised her.

“And you took her home and made peace between Dottie and the daughter she had disowned? That was a generous, heartfelt thing to do, Alex.” The look of admiration he bestowed upon her made her feel special. “You are as lovely on the inside as you are on the outside, Alexandra.”

His understanding and praise pleased her. Perhaps he wasn’t shallow after all. “Thank you, Kit.” She searched for another topic. “I hope the Canaletto you bought wasn’t a fake,” she said earnestly.

“Canaletto?”

“When you bumped into Hart and I at the opera, he seemed to think he already owned the painting you had just bought.”

“Just a misunderstanding.” Nick dismissed the topic but tucked away the information. “Hart Cavendish escorts you quite frequently.” He tried to keep the resentment from his voice.

“I enjoy his company,” Alex said lightly.

“That’s perfectly understandable; any lady would enjoy being escorted by a Duke of the Realm.”

“It has nothing to do with his title,” she insisted.

“His dukedom makes him a leader of the
beau monde
and bestows deference not accorded to others. He has more wealth and privilege than royalty; don’t deny that you enjoy these things, Alex.”

“I do admit that I enjoy them! What pray is wrong with that?”

“There is nothing wrong with that, unless you expect him to make you his duchess. Hart is not looking for a wife, Alex. He is looking for a mistress, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The truth of his words touched her vanity, and she wanted to fly at him and scratch his face. Instead she used words to wound him. “Hart has been completely honest with me, Kit. He has made it quite plain that he wishes to be my lover.”

Nick halted and took forceful hold of her shoulders. “I’ll take a horsewhip to him!”

She looked up into the dark, dangerous face and shuddered. She pulled out of his grip and kept walking. “I don’t need a keeper; I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

He took two strides to catch up with her. “I don’t want you to go out with him again, Alex!”

“You are jealous of him!” she accused incredulously.

“Why would I be jealous of the wealthiest duke in England, who has the physique and looks of a golden god?”

She stopped beneath a gas lamp and looked up at him. She gazed at the fathomless gray eyes above the slanting cheekbones, then her glance lowered to his beautiful mouth and the deep cleft in his chin. “You are one of the handsomest men I have ever laid eyes on in my life.” She glanced around and saw that they were now walking on Berkeley Street, which opened into Berkeley Square. She threw back her head and began to laugh.

“What’s so bloody funny?” he growled.

“You deliberately stole me away from Hart Cavendish and escorted me home, you devious devil!”

His mouth curved. “I admit it. My rival doesn’t stand a chance.” His glance licked over her lovely, laughing face. “That amuses you, Alex?”

“I am amused because Hart Cavendish isn’t your rival—never has been and never will be. Your rival is your own twin. I was infatuated with Nicholas for years.”

“Was?”

She heard the intensity in his voice and could not bring herself to hurt him further. “Not any more, of course. It was a young girl’s fancy. Before he went away, Nick made it plain that he thought of me as a sister.”

“Nick is a fool. He always did have an exalted sense of honor.” He drew her into his arms and captured her lips with his. He felt her stiffen but refused to let her pull away. His possessive mouth moved on hers, coaxing, savoring, wooing her to soften toward him. He was exultant when he felt her lips cling to his and took pleasure from the physical, intimate contact.

Alex was reluctant to have Kit kiss her, but found him as competent at kissing as he was at dancing. When she closed her eyes, it felt exactly like she was kissing Nicholas, and her reluctance melted away. Delicious sensations spiraled through her body as she gave herself up to him and clung to the demanding mouth that was giving her untold pleasure. “Nick,” she murmured against his lips. Her eyes flew open and she pulled away quickly. “Good night, Kit.” Alex ran the short distance to her house, hoping he hadn’t heard her say his twin’s name.

Nick watched Alex go, giving thanks that she had whispered his name, yet feeling guilty at the same time. He stood at the corner of Berkeley Square a long time after she had gone, wondering how he would solve the dilemma that raged within.

When Nicholas returned to Curzon Street, he found the butler still on duty. “There’s no need to wait up for me, Fenton; your day is long enough. I’ll lock up and see to the lights.”

“Yes, sir,” Fenton replied. He moved down the hall, then turned and came back hesitantly. “I hate to trouble you, sir, when you’ve just returned from France. I hoped Lord Hatton would take care of the matter before he left . . .”

“What is it?”

“It’s the wine merchant, sir. He left this account two days ago and said he’d be back tomorrow. When I gave it to your brother, he threw it in the wastebasket.”

Nick took the bill and read it. “Three hundred pounds for whiskey? That’s outrageous! There must be some mistake.”

“The bill is most likely padded, sir. The wine merchant has a rather threatening way about him. I would have paid him something on account, except . . . I haven’t received my wages yet.”

“You’ve been owed wages since December?” Nick was angry.
What the devil is Kit playing at?
“None of the staff has been paid?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

Inside, Nick was livid, but he did not display his temper in front of the servant. He took out his winnings. “There is more than a hundred pounds here. That should take care of it. Please give my apologies to the staff.” He waved the bill for the whiskey. “Don’t worry about this, Fenton. I shall go and see him tomorrow.”

Nick went upstairs to Kit’s room and opened the desk, looking for the household account book. He uttered a foul oath when he found it stuffed with overdue bills. Kit had not made a single entry in the book. There was one receipt from an art dealer for a Canaletto; it was for nine thousand pounds.
Jesu!
He remembered Alex’s words about a fake Canaletto. Nick’s glance swept the chamber, then he looked beneath the bed. Nothing! He opened Kit’s wardrobe, swept aside the garments, and found the painting.

He took it and the receipt to his own room. He undressed and opened the casement window.
Kit needs a bloody keeper; he is totally irresponsible!
He thought of the markers he had retrieved tonight.
No wonder he ran home to Hatton, before I found out about all this!
As he filled his lungs with the spring air, Nick knew he would have to take matters into his own hands. His resolve hardened. Tomorrow, he would start with the art dealer.

 

Early the next morning, Nick paid a visit to Spinks & Co. The old art dealer was one of the shrewdest men in the business, and Nick guessed he would know what went on, on both sides of the law.

Spinks glanced at the name and address on the receipt. “That’s not his real name. It’s Wicklow. Shuts up shop and moves every month. Try Warwick Lane, by St. Paul’s.”

Nick knew he had found Wicklow when the man immediately dodged into the back room. In a flash, Nick strode into the huge storage room and confronted him. Two boys at a worktable fled out the back door. “You sold me a fake Canaletto. I am here for my money.”

“You have no proof,” he countered. “Choose another painting.”

Nick selected an oil painting, struck a match, and set fire to it. “My money, or by morning this place will be ashes.”

“Christ, stop!” Wicklow stomped on the flaming canvas. “Come into the shop, my lord. We’ve both been the victims of a fraud. Let’s split the difference.”

Nick Hatton stepped close, towering above him, his dark face threatening, his gray eyes cold as steel. “You dare to bargain?”

Wicklow tried to mask his fear but failed. He opened a cast-iron safe and counted out nine thousand pounds.

“A thousand pounds interest.” Nick’s voice was implacable. Before Wicklow could hesitate, he added softly, “Did I mention that your bones would be found among the ashes?”

Within five minutes, Nick was on his way to the wine merchants in Thames Street. The small shop was part of a large warehouse on the docks. He produced the bill. “I’m here to settle my account.” Nick knew there wasn’t a business in London that wasn’t on the take. “I have reason to believe this bill has been padded.” The offensive tactic worked; they knocked a hundred off the bill.

By the time Nick got back to Curzon Street, he knew he had little choice. Tomorrow, he must go to Hatton and confront his twin. Lord Hatton or no Lord Hatton, Kit could not be allowed to conduct Hatton affairs in this careless, irresponsible manner.

 

Dottie knocked on her granddaughter’s bedchamber door and opened it softly. “Darling, I have to talk with you.”

“Please come in. I was just working on my newspaper article.” In reality, there was no newspaper article. Alex had been working out the amount of interest she must take to the bank tomorrow.

“It’s about Margaret. Though we pretend otherwise, you and I both know that her condition is deteriorating. We should take her home to Longford so she can sit in the sunshine in the garden. It may not help, but she will be surrounded by beauty and serenity.”

“That’s a splendid idea. I’m so glad that you don’t regret that I found her and brought her here.”