She took a bath and climbed into bed to enjoy the exploits of Emma Hamilton. Suddenly, she remembered the letter for Dottie that she had stuffed into her reticule the previous evening. Alex got out of bed, found her bag, and extracted the torn envelope. It was addressed to Lady Longford and came from Coutts Bank. Alex, consumed by curiosity, was tempted to read the letter.
Guilt at such a despicable act stayed her hand … for about thirty seconds.
Please be advised that the payments on your bank loan have never been met and are overdue. This is the third and last reminder Coutts Bank will provide regarding the account, which is now in arrears. If you continue to ignore this matter, it will be placed in the hands of our solicitors.
Respectfully,
Alex couldn’t quite make out the signature, but it looked suspiciously like Thomas Coutts. She let the letter slip from her fingers, totally confused. Why on earth, with Dottie’s wealth, had she taken out a loan from Coutts Bank? In any case, wasn’t Barclays her bank? And if she had taken out a loan for some eccentric, whimsical reason, why hadn’t she paid the interest due? Alex ran her fingers through her curls, absently noticing that her hair was no longer short. I must have a serious talk with her in the morning. She picked up the book, and soon all thoughts that tried to intrude were banished as she lost herself in the story.
When Alex awoke the next morning, her first thoughts were of Champagne Charlie’s Vaulting Academy. Her subsequent thoughts were of Emma, who had become Horatio Nelson’s mistress. Then she remembered the dunning letter from Coutts Bank. She slipped a chamber robe over her night rail and tapped on Dottie’s door. She found her grandmother in bed, enjoying her morning chocolate. “Was the gallivanting good?” she asked, tentatively.
“Relentlessly! After the usual regimental piss-up, we engaged in mindless pranks like sticking our arses out the window.”
“Dottie, please be serious. I am in a serious mood.”
“Ah, I cannot be serious after the hilarity Lady Spencer and I enjoyed last night. We were invited to play mah-jongg at Melbourne House. When we arrived we realized Liz Melbourne was showing off the new chinoiserie décor. It is in such execrable taste that it will make the Prince of Wales feel perfectly at home. My face almost cracked from trying to hide my amusement, and the mah-jongg tiles rattled merrily in my hand as I strove to keep my laughter silent. The conversation was an orgy of pejorative blather; there was enough hypocrisy in the air to choke a rhinoceros!”
“I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself.” Alex handed her the letter. “This was among the mail I delivered to Rupert the other night. He opened it by mistake, then gave it back to me.”
When Dottie read the letter, she did not even raise an eyebrow. “Darling, perhaps we should attend the Hardings’ dinner. Wouldn’t it be absolutely divine if we both wore puce?”
“It would be more divine if you could stay on the subject. What’s all this loan nonsense about?”
“You’ve put your finger on it exactly, Alexandra. It is a jest. Thomas Coutts is a dear old friend of mine. Once offered me carte blanche … must be in his second childhood!”
Alexandra wanted to believe her, but some intuition told her to probe deeper. “It’s not a jest, Dottie. It is a demand for money, and if the money is not forthcoming, it threatens legal action.”
“Tush, darling! You mustn’t fret about such things. I’ll take care of the matter in a trice.”
“Dottie, I know that you are older and wiser than I, but I’m no longer a child. Please talk to me, woman to woman.”
Alex saw a speculative look come into Dottie’s eyes, as if she were assessing her granddaughter. The look changed to one of acceptance, then complete capitulation. “You would be much happier not knowing, darling. But if you are the young woman I believe you to be, the truth will not destroy you. I only hope it won’t make you feel as desperate as I do sometimes.”
Alex touched Dottie’s liver-spotted hand. “Tell me.”
“My wealth is a myth, a mirage. It was true once upon a time, but it slowly evaporated into the mists of time. Your grandfather drank and gambled away his fortune. To his credit, he set aside a sizable dowry for your mother, but the untitled lout she married followed in her father’s footsteps. When the money was gone, he left her with two children, and to solve her problem, she ran off with another untitled lout. Fortunately, she left you behind.”
“Fortunately?” Alex asked softly.
“Most fortunately. She left behind the real treasure—one of purest gold. Oh, death and damnation, I’ve sunk to being maudlin! Russell left me Longford Manor, and when the well dried up at Barclays Bank, the furnishings, the paintings, and finally the servants slowly evaporated. Your suggestion that we come to London bought us time. I closed up the manor and left it with trustworthy caretakers. I took out the loan with Coutts to help Rupert secure a rich wife, and to set aside a small dowry of a thousand pounds for you, darling, which I will not touch on any account.”
Alexandra felt as stunned as a bird flown into a stone wall. Then her thoughts winged back to the signs that should have told her Dottie’s actions were more frugal than eccentric! “The solution to our money problems is staring us in the face. If you sold this town house, it would bring a very good price, certainly enough to safeguard Longford Manor. This London house is a luxury we must manage without.”
Dottie’s bark of laughter was sharp. “Ah, darling, if only it were that simple. Lord Staines owns this town house. He pays the servants’ wages, even pays the food and wine accounts. It’s a well-kept secret; Neville is generous enough to allow people to believe it belongs to me.” Dottie heaved a sigh. “Well, at least Rupert’s money problems are solved.”
Alexandra’s eyes widened. “Rupert married Olivia for her money. Of course! That answers so many puzzling questions. How naive I was to think he married her for love.” She sat down on the bed as a horrendous thought struck her. I offered to marry Nick Hatton so that he could share my fortune! Good God, how utterly humiliating if he had accepted me! His rejection still stung. How very fortunate that he was not attracted to me!
“Love, Alexandra, is a bigger myth than my wealth. I’ve attempted to instill that since the day you came to live with me. I imagined I was in love with Russell Longford, your mother imagined she was in love with Johnny Sheffield, and look where it got us both. Men don’t fall in love, darling; they marry for expedience, then take their pleasures where they find them. A woman, if she has any intelligence, will do the same. And I do credit you with intelligence, Alexandra.”
“That’s the reason you made me promise to marry Christopher Hatton. It’s not just the title; it’s the money and security.”
“Exactly! Thank God you understand. But you must keep this secret as sacred as I have. In Society, money is everything. The ton will fall on us like a pack of hounds and rend us apart like foxes, if they discover we are not wealthy.”
Nick said the same thing when I was the only one who would sit with him! She heard his words clearly: As well as tenderhearted, you are endearingly naive. The worthy matrons of the ton are not snubbing me because I shot my father; I am being ostracized because I now have no part of the Hatton wealth.
Alex gathered her thoughts to focus on the problem at hand. “We must pay the interest on this loan. I have thirty guineas I won at cards, and I have expectations of a little more with my latest lampoon. Did you win anything at mah-jongg?”
“A couple of pounds. I shall take it round to Coutts to shut them up. We shall manage somehow, darling.”
“I suppose you pledged your precious jewels for this loan.”
“Jewels, my bum! I had to sell those long ago. I pledged Longford Manor; what else did I have?”
Alexandra’s heart plummeted. Judas Iscariot, Dottie! You’re not just eccentric, you’re raving mad!
Dressed again as Alex Sheffield, she delivered the lampoon to the newspaper. When she was paid only five shillings for it, her despair deepened. On the way
back to Berkeley Square, it dawned on her that she would never be able to earn enough to get Dottie out of debt. The amount of money she earned from scribbling wouldn’t even feed them, let alone keep a manor like Longford from being devoured by the wolves. Circumstances had left Alex homeless when she was a child, and the specter of it happening again frightened her. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t even asked Dottie how much she had borrowed, nor the interest rate she was being charged.
When she got home, she ran up to Dottie’s room but found that the bird had flown. She tried to control the rising panic within. She glanced up at the portrait of her grandmother and murmured, “What have you done?” The naked redhead gazed back at her with an enigmatic smile, and Dottie’s words from the past floated back to her: A little sin in the soul makes a woman irresistible. Alex realized that this painting was displayed above the fireplace because it belonged to Neville Staines.
Back in her own chamber, Alex rifled through the pages of the book about Emma Hamilton until she found the chapters she was looking for. As she reread them, the glimmer of an idea began to form in the back of her mind. She put down the book and stripped off her clothes, then she stood in front of the mirror and assessed her naked form with critical eyes. What she planned would take more reckless daring than anything she had ever contemplated in her life. She knew it would entail bundling up her morals and firmly casting them aside.
Alexandra dressed carefully. She knew she needed to look striking and decided to wear the cream silk faille whose low décolletage 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.
Chapter Nineteen
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.