Lord of Pleasure (15 page)

Alexander turned toward the woman who, blast her, had not only turned him into a lesson but had also turned him into a brother-in-law to his own friend. “Next time, Madame, I ask that you deliver such news in a letter.”

She waved him off as if he was being childish. “I mean to personally assist each and every one of you.”

“I never asked for assistance,” he replied sharply.

“Most men never do.” Madame de Maitenon leaned closer to him, her crisp blue eyes narrowing. “Which is why they always end up making life so miserable for themselves and everyone else around them. They think they can solve everything on their own. But what you, Lord Hawksford, and every man needs to remember, is that even the King of England requires assistance from his subjects in order to retain his throne. We French know that story all too well.”

Stepping back, she swept a commanding gaze across all four of them. “Do you know that thirty men had originally applied to my school? Thirty. And out of all those men, I chose
you
to be the first in this endeavor. Why? Because I believed you were all capable of more. Do not disappoint me. I expect all of you”—she turned and pointed at Alexander—“including you, Lord Hawksford, to attend every class I give up until the end of the Season. You cannot learn anything about yourselves or about women if you are not willing to put in an effort. Should you choose not to attend, for whatever reason, I promise you will regret that decision.”

May the devil seize them all. That sounded like a threat. Yes, well, he had absolutely no intention of attending anymore of these stupid classes. “I regret to inform you, Madame, that this will be my last class.”

“We shall see.” She clapped her hands at them and went back to her desk. “Now. Sit. All of you. We only have one hour remaining.”

Too exhausted to even bother marching out the door, Alexander headed for his seat and plopped himself down into it. What the hell was he going to do? How was he going to tell his own sister that he knew she’d been compromised? How was he going to ever look at his sister again, knowing that she’d…

God. He didn’t want to admit it, but Madame de Maitenon was actually right. A man
did
need help from time to time. Though what he specifically needed right now was female help. And needless to say, his mother was the last person he wanted to talk to about this.

The only reliable and steady-minded person he could even think of was Charlotte. Though he couldn’t exactly have her over for tea to discuss this, could he?

“Lord Hawksford?” Madame de Maitenon sounded agitated.

Alexander stiffened and glanced up. “What now?”

She leaned into her desk toward him. “Have you been listening to the lecture?”

It was like being back at Eton. Only worse. Because this particular class was being conducted by a woman who reasoned men were incapable of thought. “I’m afraid not.”

She sighed. “You will stay after class. The rest of you,
adieu
. It has been a pleasure. Until tomorrow,
oui
?”

Oh, bloody come now! Hadn’t he been through enough in one day? He leered at Caldwell, Brayton, and Banfield as they all headed out the door. Traitors. How dare they abandon him to the French like this?

Caldwell did appear to have some humanity left within him. For he paused, turned back, and opened his mouth to speak.

Alexander snapped up a hand to prevent him from doing so. “No. Not a word. I need time.”

Caldwell solemnly nodded, then turned and disappeared out the door.

Madame de Maitenon sighed again. Only a bit more dramatically. “It appears that you do not wish to be part of my school, Lord Hawksford.”

“As of now, that is an understatement. I confess that this was by far the most elaborate scheme I’ve ever been a part of.”

“Ah, but you learned something. You learned that you do not know yourself as well as you think you do. For you, Lord Hawksford, have played far too many roles in your life, and now it is beginning to unravel. Aside from Lord Caldwell bringing you here, supposedly against your will, were you also not the one to pen several passionate letters pleading to me for admission into this school?”

She had to remind him of that. “A mistake on my part.”

“Ah. I see. A mistake.” She rose from her seat and rounded her desk, making her way to his chair. She eventually paused before him and tilted her silver-coiffed head. “Lady Chartwell is a very beautiful woman,
non
?”

Alexander looked away, feeling uncomfortable about the way she continued to eye him. “Yes. Yes, she is.”

“But of course she is,” she purred. “And that is why you are here.” Madame de Maitenon leaned toward him, reached out her ungloved hand, and pushed aside his hair from his forehead in a gentle, feathery manner.

He clenched his jaw, bridling his urge to shove away her hand.

“Though it may not seem so, Lady Chartwell is quite vulnerable and still coping with the tragedies that have befallen her.” She lowered her voice to a hush and continued to play with his hair, her fingers occasionally grazing his forehead. “I hope that with your vast amount of experience you know what it is you are doing. For she is not like you or me. She has romantic dreams. Romantic dreams that even Chartwell was incapable of destroying. I suggest you be kind and make your attentions brief. For the longer you stay, the more complicated it will become.” She drew away her hand and straightened. “For her, that is.”

Alexander felt as if his gut were being held in a vise. He hated to admit it, but the woman was right. Charlotte was not like any of his other conquests. She had a genuine, gentle soul. And a whip of a mind. And aside from her incredible beauty, that is exactly what drew him to her. And why he wanted to stay. To bask in what she was. If even for a small while.

He stood and intentionally towered over the woman. “I am well aware of the complications. I simply refuse to abandon her knowing she is financially unsound and in your hands. I’ve already sent my lawyers over to the Court of Chancery to assist in this. Though I ask that you keep that to yourself. I’ve learned firsthand that Charlotte is not one to easily accept assistance.”

Madame de Maitenon’s silver brows rose in response. She stepped back. “
Mon Dieu
. Is it possible that my Charlotte has brought in your sails?” She tsked. “How will you ever fare at sea without them?”

He leveled his gaze at her. “I wasn’t aware we knew each other that well, Madame.”

“I know you much better than you think.” She shrugged, however, as if none of it mattered. “I suppose there is only one way we can go about this. As of today, Lord Hawksford, you are no longer permitted to return to my classroom. You are…as you English say,
banned
.”

That was by far the best news he’d heard all day. “Glad to hear it.”

She held up a hand so as to keep him from further interruption. “I do intend to still charge you that one hundred pounds per week for the rest of the Season. For wasting my time. For unlike you, Lord Caldwell and the others are genuinely intrigued by what I have to offer.”

“One hundred pounds per week?”
he demanded. “Do you plan to sink me, woman? Hell, I have five sisters to marry off.
Five
.”

“
Oui
. I can count in both English and French. And
you
should have thought about that before
you
decided to enroll. Remember that there are men here who are genuinely looking to become more.” She gave him a once-over. “Unlike you.”

Madame de Maitenon turned away and waved him off. “You may go, Lord Hawksford. Our business here is done. I expect all payments to be made by the end of every week.”

All payments by the end of every…

Too furious to impart any more words, Alexander jerked toward the door and stalked out. He wasn’t even going to bother arguing with a damn Frenchwoman who was clearly out of her mind.

Four days later, evening

Charlotte sat perched on the edge of her bed and stared at the sealed parchment in her hand. The one she hadn’t been able to open since its arrival early that afternoon. The letter
H
had been perfectly pressed and centered into the round red wax seal. She had hoped Alexander would write. At the very least.

After Mr. Hudson had informed her that Alexander had attended the first day of school and had even asked for her, she had been not only shocked, but thrilled. For she had been certain their association was over. And yet clearly it was not. Although he hadn’t made an appearance back at the school since.

What could this attempt to contact her mean?

Charlotte nervously turned it over in her hand. She had to know what it said. She simply had to. Drawing in a deep breath, she cracked open the seal and fumbled to pull the parchment apart. She carefully evened the creases and let the breath she’d been holding out.

Alexander’s crisp, handwritten words appeared along with the opening
My Dearest Charlotte
.

Her heart fluttered. His dearest? Lord, she was too easily excited as of late. She quickly read on.

Her cheeks burned. What a terrible, terrible gossip Mr. Hudson was! If it weren’t for the fact that he had so many grandchildren dependent on him for wages, she would have tossed him out ages ago.

Charlotte sighed and set her finger firmly upon Alexander’s name. If only she could place a finger so easily upon the man’s heart. She knew he had one. He simply guarded it with a vicious intent in the same manner she did her own.

What sort of advice could the man possibly need? Biting her lip, she folded the letter, trying to calm the rapid pace of her heart. She supposed she would find out soon enough. Tonight.

At exactly midnight, an unmarked carriage strapped to four black horses arrived at her door. Charlotte let out a shaky breath as Mr. Hudson opened the door. She gathered up her bombazine gown and slowly stepped out into the cool, foggy darkness.

She glanced around, feeling as if she were about to engage in highway robbery.

The footman hopped down from behind the carriage, opened the door, and hurriedly folded out the steps for her. He then snapped straight and held out his gloved hand for her.

She nodded her thanks to the young man and with his help climbed inside the carriage that was dimly lit with a lone lantern hanging from the red brocaded ceiling. She eyed the empty seats.

Lovely. An unmarked carriage and no suitor. She officially fit the role of a wanton.

Charlotte sighed and sat on the leather-cushioned seat as the footman folded the steps back into place and slammed the door. The carriage lurched forward and clattered off. She eyed the small brocaded curtains that had been pulled shut over all the windows. Did he not want her to know where she was going? Or did he not want anyone to know that she was inside?

Time passed and the carriage still clattered on and on and on. She tapped her feet. Growing bored with tapping, she turned to twirling the fabric of her gown around her forefinger over and over and over.

She eyed the curtains and quickly pulled one side back. She peered out, but nothing but darkness swayed beyond the glass window. Well. That was helpful.

She fell back against the seat, letting the curtain settle into place. Oh, for heaven’s sake, when would it ever end? She couldn’t take much more of this torture!

The carriage slowed, then swayed to a halt.

Oh. Well. Good.

The crunching of gravel beneath a steady pace of boots and a low exchange of male voices floated toward her.

She froze. Her bonnet. She still had her bonnet on.

Charlotte hurriedly untied the ribbon from beneath her chin, knowing she looked better without it, and cast it aside. Patting her coiffed hair, she arranged her gown daintily around her, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart.

The carriage door opened. The footman stoically unfolded the steps and held out his gloved hand.

Grabbing up her bonnet, she took his hand and stepped down. She glanced around at the unusual amount of trees towering in the shadows. Warm, glowing lights shone up ahead through the glass panes of a lone home. It appeared to be some sort of cottage. Somewhere on the outskirts of London.

Drat him. She had managed to become his naughty little secret, after all.

“My Lady.” The footman strode around her and quickly led the way down a narrow path to a front door whose small, stone archway was covered with ivy.

The man opened the door and ushered her inside. Before her, a small, narrow wooden staircase led to the second floor. Though she could see several portraits scattered across the uneven timbered walls, the lighting was so dim, she couldn’t make out any other surroundings.

“To your right, My Lady.” A servant stepped forward and led her into a small, elegant room, immersing her in polished wood and burgundy brocade. He then closed the single door. She was now completely trapped in his realm. A sensuous realm scented with raw, rough leather and that familiar zest of freshly sliced lemon.

The evening shadows and warm candlelight played and flickered with one another across the space of the quiet room decorated with simple country-landscape paintings.

Charlotte tightened her hold on her bonnet as a movement from the far corner of the room caught her eye. She turned just in time to see Alexander rise from one of the upholstered chairs.

His green eyes met hers from across the candlelit room and his firm mouth curved into a tired little smile. As if he lacked the strength to do it.

Which was so unlike him.

Something was terribly wrong. As a matter of fact, it appeared everything about him was out of place and wrong. Only the black and gray pinstriped attire he wore appeared to be tidy. Unlike the rest of him.

His bronzed hair was wild and unkempt, falling onto his forehead and into his eyes. His strong jaw was heavily shadowed with dark golden facial hair, making him appear rough and rugged. And what was perhaps even more unnerving about him in that moment was that he continued to say absolutely nothing. He simply stood there and looked at her with the softest gaze she had ever received from any man.

“You came.” He said it as if she had bestowed him with the greatest of gifts.

She tried not to linger on the softness of his tone or what it could mean. She was actually more concerned about the state he appeared to be in. “Is something wrong?” she quietly asked. “You seem…not yourself.”

He let out a gruff laugh and gestured toward his face and hair. “I apologize. I haven’t had time for more than the basics.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for coming. I apologize for the ride, but I thought it best we meet here.”

She nodded and glanced about the small parlor. “Do you come here often?”

“No. But my father did whenever he wanted to be alone. He bought it from a struggling merchant some twenty years ago. It’s not quite the country, though not quite the city, as he always liked to say.”

“’Tis charming.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “It is.”

Silence hung between them once again.

They stared at each other in awkward silence. For what seemed like an eternity.

He eventually let out an exhausted breath. “Please. Sit.” He pointed to the chair beside his. “I was hoping we could talk. About my sister.”

Charlotte blinked.
His sister
? Why on earth would the man bring her all the way out here merely to talk about his sister?

Something had to be wrong. Very wrong. She hurried over to the seat he had offered and, gathering up the sides of her gown, seated herself. She awkwardly turned toward him, not knowing if she should ask him or simply let him speak on his own.

He sat and placed his large hands on his knees, leaning forward. He glanced at her, then looked away. Gazing at the curtain-drawn windows across the room. “Caroline’s Season is officially over,” he muttered. “Done.”

Over? Done? Lord, the Season had barely commenced. Charlotte’s brows rose as she studied the profile of his body and face. She almost dreaded to ask why. Was it because of her? Of them? “Whatever do you mean? What has happened?”

“My mother permitted Caroline to attend a champagne party. And there…” He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. “Charlotte. She may very well be with child.”

Her heart dropped, and she lowered her gaze to her hands. Oh, dear God. “I…is she all right?” She glanced up again. “She wasn’t…”

“No. No. She was willing.” He feigned a laugh. “A bit
too
willing, from what I understand.”

Though she’d never been to a champagne party, she knew full well the sort of people that frequented them. Chartwell having been one of those types. “Dare I ask what breed of man she succumbed to?” she ventured.

He grumbled something.

She leaned toward him. “Pardon?”

He turned to her. “Actually, you know this particular breed of a man.”

“I do?” She hesitated, dread seeping into her voice over the travesty of his situation. “Who is it?”

He shifted his jaw, then bit out, “Caldwell.”

Her eyes widened in astonishment. “
Lord Caldwell?
”

“Yes. The very same. It seems he and Madame came to some sort of agreement prior to his enrollment. He didn’t know how to go about telling me that he had deflowered my sister. So they turned me into a lesson.”

She eyed him. “Madame mentioned the agreement, but she never shared any of the specifics.” She shook her head in disgust, remembering her interview with Caldwell. The bastard. “Do you know what Caldwell told me during his application process?”

Alexander paused. “Do I want to know?”

“He claimed he was intent on seducing some American. You know, that one girl who caused an uproar by wearing trousers and pistols in public?” She shook her head again. “I don’t know why I ever chose to believe him. I suppose it’s because no story seems too far-fetched to me anymore.”

Alexander swiped a hand over his face and swore under his breath. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I really don’t. Charlotte. I’m trying to ensure that none of my other sisters find out about what could potentially lead to a very ugly situation. Which is rather ironic, because all along I’d been worried about how
I
was going to affect them.”

His brows came together as he leaned farther forward and looked down at the floor beneath his boots. “I know it is presumptuous of me to sit here and ask for advice, but I have no one else to turn to. No one else I can trust.”

She bit her lower lip, trying to pinch some sort of real sensation back into her body. The great Earl of Hawksford, the Lord of Pleasure himself, was asking for advice? She didn’t know whether she should be honored by the request or frightened out of her mind.

“I cannot even trust my own mother. Hell, she is the very reason Caroline is in the situation she’s in.”

Charlotte fought back the urge to reach out and rub his back. As a means of offering him some sort of support and comfort. But she knew better. Knew that with all that had already transpired between them, touching him was the last thing she should do. He was coming to her as a friend. Something no man had ever done before.

She slowly wrapped the ribbon of her bonnet around her wrist and eyed him. “What makes you think that I have any sound advice to give? Given my current occupation and experience with men.”

He glanced over at her and straightened in his seat, shifting toward her. His unshaven face was now but a mere foot away from hers, his heat reaching out toward her. “You have a way about you, Charlotte. You show strength in your convictions. A strength that even I myself have trouble adhering to. I don’t want to push Caroline away and make this situation even worse. How can I talk to her about this?”

She nervously poked at the ribbon wrapped around her wrist, fully aware that he was indeed seeking advice from her. “Talk to her in the same manner in which you are talking to me right now. Be reasonable and patient and listen to what she has to say.”

“But how do I go about saying it?” He squared his shoulders. “Do I walk into the parlor, sit her down for tea, smile, and say,
‘So I hear you frigged Caldwell. Would you care to tell me all about it?’”

Charlotte released a small laugh and shook her head. “Heaven forbid you do. I suggest you arrange an outing for the two of you. Perhaps a picnic in the park. Something that will prevent a scene.”

“She does like picnics.”

“There. You see? Make her feel comfortable and safe in her environment. Remind her that you are her brother and that she can trust you.”

He hesitated, a slight look of horror on his face as if contemplating the fatal moment. At last, he sighed. “I can try.”

She smiled assuredly. “That is all you can do.”

“God. Charlotte…” Alexander scrambled out of his chair, grabbed both arms of the chair, and leaned forward, sealing her into place.

She froze, painfully aware of how close his face was to hers. Close enough for him to kiss her. She knew, however, that thinking about it at a time like this was most selfish on her part. He needed a friend right now. Not a lover.

He urgently searched her face. “She’ll hate me for what I’ve done. But I had to do it. I simply had to.”

Charlotte paused. “What on earth have you done?”

He slowly kneeled, sinking to the floor, still holding on to the arms of her chair. He looked away. “I’ve applied for a special license for her and Caldwell. Without telling her about it.”