Chapter 10
Chapter 10
The quartet of gamblers left Devonshire House and hired a hackney to take them the short distance to St. James’s Street. White’s Club, number 37 on the east side of the street, was opposite Brooks’s and distinguished by its big bay window. Hart Cavendish forked over twenty guineas, the entrance fee for all four of them, and the porter took their top hats and canes to the cloakroom. Since they had already dined, they went straight into one of the card rooms, which was crowded with men in formal attire. The air was redolent with blue cigar smoke and the chink of drinking glasses as the four friends waited for chairs to become vacant.
Nick sat down at the baccarat table to the left of Lord Sefton, who was the dealer, which ensured that he would be next in line to take over the “shoe,” the dealing box. Rupert quickly offered to be the croupier, to assist the players in making their bets, so that he would not have to participate in the gambling. The object of baccarat was to reach a count of nine with either two or three cards. On the first deal Nick drew a four and a five, giving him a “natural.” He showed his hand immediately, and the dealer paid his bet. On the second deal Nick drew a three and a six, giving him another natural, and with a sniff, Lord Sefton again paid his bet. Nick decided to stand on his next two hands, while most of the other players drew.
“Devil’s own luck, Hatton,” Lord Sefton muttered, though he had no notion which Hatton twin he was addressing, and voluntarily gave up the dealing box to Nicholas.
Nick shuffled and cut the cards, dropped them back into the shoe, placed the fifty guineas he had won in the bank, and dealt the cards. Lord Worcester immediately called out, “banco,” accepting Nick’s entire bank as his wager. Using only his index finger, Nick dealt Worcester one card facedown, then one to himself, and repeated the procedure. When both men turned over their cards, the dealer had eight, Worcester only seven, giving Nick the win again. Nick spotted a vacant chair at the faro table, raked in his counters, which now totaled more than a hundred guineas, and turned over the bank to a grinning Hart Cavendish seated on his left.
Nick sat down at the faro table next to his brother, and Rupert came up behind them to watch the play. He secretly admired the risks Nick Hatton took, wishing he could emulate them. He was in the same penniless boat, though no one knew it, but didn’t dare wager money he didn’t have, or he’d end up in dun territory. “The list of new members should be posted. I’ll go and take a look.” Hart Cavendish had submitted his friends’ names when they were about to turn twenty-one, and a list of those who had been accepted was posted every three months.
When Rupert returned to the table with a paper in his hand, his cheeks were flushed. On the list of new members he had found his own name beneath that of his dearest friend, Lord Hatton, but glaringly conspicuous by its absence was the name of Nicholas Hatton.
Kit drained his glass of whiskey, glanced up at Rupert’s face, and jested, “What’s the matter, old man? Didn’t you make the cut?”
“No, I’m right here, but, er, perhaps the list is incomplete.”
Kit, who had lost three hands in a row while his twin had consistently won, grabbed the paper from Rupert and scanned it. “Well, I’ll be a dirty dog’s dinner!”
Nick looked from one to the other, then plucked the list from his brother’s fingers. His glance quickly went down the names; there was no need for him to read it twice. He handed the paper back to his twin and slowly gathered his winnings. “I’m sure you gentlemen will excuse me,” he said with utmost civility.
“For Christ’s sake, sit down, Nick. You can stay as my guest; there’s no need for you to leave,” Kit assured him.
“There is every need,” Nick said quietly.
He cashed in his counters, which came to almost two hundred pounds, then he retrieved his hat and cane and gave White’s porter a generous tip. Outside, a fine drizzle had begun to fall, but Nicholas barely noticed as he put on his top hat, pushed it rakishly forward over one eye, and sauntered down St. James’s Street. He ran his stick along the iron railings to produce a satisfying racket and whistled carelessly through his teeth.
He turned into Pall Mall and headed for Champagne Charlie’s. A sudden cloudburst turned the drizzle into a downpour, but Nick didn’t quicken his pace. By the time he strolled into the establishment, he was soaked to the skin. The nymph who came forward to greet him had an amazing pair of breasts, and as he tipped his head to gaze down at them, a trickle of rain water from the brim of his top hat splashed down upon her glorious globes.
“Ooo, that’s cold! Come in to get warm, did you, luv? I know a game that’ll make you hot as fire!”
Nick grinned down at her. “I didn’t come for that sort of game. I’m here for a game of chance.”
As he headed toward the gaming parlor, Charlotte King spotted him. “You’re drenched to the bone! Get upstairs, for God’s sake, before you ruin my Axminster carpets.”
“You are guessing that I am Nick.”
“I don’t need to hazard a bloody guess. I’ve been expecting you.” She took his cane from him and pointed it upstairs. “You’re the talk of the sodding town!”
The moment they entered her private bedchamber, she stripped off his evening coat and hung it over the tall brass fender in front of the fire. Nick unfastened his soggy muslin neckcloth, while Charlie removed the studs from his evening shirt. She decided to let him undress himself, for already the glimpse of black curls on his muscular chest was making her greedy, and she knew she must put his needs before her own tonight. “I’ll get you a towel.”
When Charlie returned, she found him standing naked with his back to the fire. “Ah, that feels good.” He held out his arms to her and she went into them, cupping his buttocks with her palms and massaging them. “That feels even better.” He took the elaborate feathered ornaments and pins from her hair and set them on the mantel. Her champagne-colored curls fell to her shoulders, and he threaded his fingers into them to bring her closer.
She gazed up into his gray eyes, expecting to see them stormy, but all she saw was calm, as if he had come to a decision and was at peace with it. “So, what will you do? Will you marry?”
He cocked a dark, amused brow. “Is that a proposal?”
Her easy laugh was full-throated. “I’ll make you another sort of proposal. We could be partners in a gambling venture.”
His sharp bark of laughter rent the air. “Ha, as if my name isn’t blackened enough!”
His hands were busy disrobing her, and she knew better than to argue with Hazard Hatton. He was a man who knew what he wanted, and no power on earth would keep him from his goal. Charlie doubted he’d ever marry for money, for that would give a woman the upper hand over him. The lion would never bow his proud head. He was cloaked in a devil-may-care attitude even when he was naked. Especially when he was naked.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Fuck you, of course.” He lifted her onto his cock and carried her to the big curtained bed.
Much later, when Charlie came out of her dressing room wearing a chamber robe, she found Nick with the towel about his hips, reclining on her bed, smoking a cigar. Now he was ready to talk.
He blew a smoke ring. “I’ve decided to join the army.”
“My God, you can’t!” She came to the bed and knelt before him. “There’s a war on with the French. . . . They’ll send you to Spain!”
“Charlie, that’s the whole idea. You know I like risk, adventure, challenge. Actually, I can’t wait.”
“Will you at least buy yourself a commission?”
“I shall try.”
“The Duke of York’s mistress sold commissions, but after the Parliamentary scandal, Frederick had to resign as Commander-in-Chief.”
“The Regent has restored his brother as Commander-in-Chief. Frederick has an office at the Horse Guards. I’ve been advised to speak with his private secretary, Sir Herbert Taylor.”
“Oh, Nick, is there any way I can make you change your mind?”
He winked and held his arms wide, “You’re welcome to try, luv.”
When the coach drew up outside the house in Berkeley Square, the well-trained butler hurried out with an umbrella. “Oh, thank you, Hopkins. You are so very considerate.” Alex wanted to tell him that she liked rain, but it would have diminished his thoughtfulness.
Upstairs, the maid awaited her in her chamber to help her get ready for bed. “This is absolutely unnecessary, Sara. I am perfectly capable of undressing myself. Promise you won’t wait up for me again?”
Sara bobbed a grateful curtsy. “Your grandmother asked if you’d pop in and tell her about your visit to Devonshire House.”
Alex put on the nightgown and robe Sara had laid out for her. She found Dottie reading in bed, propped up by half a dozen lacy pillows and drinking Madeira.
“Ah, there you are, darling. I hear it’s pissing down outside.” She held up her glass. “I did the wise thing tonight; Berkeley House has a very good cellar.”
Alexandra’s eye was caught by a painting over the fireplace. As she drew closer, she saw that her suspicions were correct; it was an erotic painting of a nude female lying seductively upon a black leopard skin. Alex blinked; the red-gold curls framing the familiar face and upon the female’s high mons gave her pause. “Death and damnation, she looks exactly like me!”
“Naturally, darling. It was one of your ancestors who posed for the painting.”
“Who?” Alex asked, wide-eyed.
“Well, actually, it was me,” Dottie admitted.
Alex was stunned. “But it’s so . . . racy.”
“Raciness is quite acceptable. A little sin in the soul makes a woman irresistible. I have done a dreadful job of bringing you up, if you think nudity is shocking. The artist left out the tattoos on my bum cheeks that say BOTTOMS UP!”
Alex spun around to look at her grandmother, but when she saw the arch look of amusement on her face, she knew she was embroidering the facts. “I had no idea I got my coloring from you.”
“Ah, yes, once I was as dazzling as you are, darling. I’ve worn wigs so long, you don’t remember. Speaking of dazzling, how did you enjoy Devonshire House?”
“It was opulent beyond my wildest dreams. The Kentdesigned reception rooms are particularly sumptuous. There were more than a hundred and fifty people seated. It was like a royal dinner.”
“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.