Chapter One #2
Alexander loved dancing. He had discovered a natural talent for it early on and his skill only improved with practice. Besides, it gave one something to do at parties that wasn’t so dull as talking about pheasant hunting.
Alexander had found himself genuinely enjoying dancing after a few balls his first season; his lack of reluctance—indeed his apparent pleasure in the activity—endeared him to women of all stations.
Above all else, Alexander loved dancing because ladies loved dancing and Alexander loved ladies. What was there not to like about a physical activity that brought another person gratification? Alexander happened to adore activities that fell into that category, of which there were quite a few.
He was rarely without a partner, despite being a second son, and a rumored bastard at that.
Although one didn’t need rumors to tell them what their eyes could plainly see: Lord Alexander Stirling was not the product of marital relations between his mother and the Duke of Belhaven any more than a lion could be the product of a chicken and a rooster.
Alexander’s jet-black hair and substantial height would have been enough to convince anyone that a minor Venetian prince was his true father, but it was his languid confidence and easy charm that separated him the most from his parents.
Not that anyone remembered much about his mother, who was rumored to be in the Americas now, or India, or even Cornwall, depending on whom you went to for gossip.
All anyone really remembered was that a flighty blonde had been the catch of the season some thirty years past, and that the ill-tempered Duke of Belhaven had been friendly enough with her money-chasing father to ensure a match.
She’d given him a natural heir and a bastard spare, whom he’d been forced to claim as his own.
What people didn’t remember, or more precisely didn’t know, was that at the sight of the bastard’s ink-black hair, the duke had sent his wife—the mother of his children—away.
Thus, as a child, Alexander knew few women outside of his household staff, all of whom were far too afraid of the duke’s wrath to coddle or comfort the young bastard.
At sixteen, he’d sneaked out of Harrow School over Christmas holiday with a few mates and found his way into the arms of a young gap-toothed woman who charged him a shilling for an hour, then let him have a second hour for free when he didn’t try anything.
After his fourth visit, she explained the purpose of women in her profession.
Then she demonstrated. After that, he visited her thrice more, paid her a pound each time, asked her to teach him everything he needed to know, and then made up his mind never to go too long without female company again.
And he hadn’t.
Tonight, like many nights before, he found himself preparing for yet another ball.
What many of his male peers overlooked was that balls were a fabulous arena at which to meet female company, even if one did not intend to offer marriage.
One could tease a spinster, enchant a dowager, captivate a debutante, provoke a chaperone, embrace a widow, and tempt a hostess, only to end the evening in bed with a Cyprian who wouldn’t have been let in the doors.
While his male peers often spent balls comparing livestock and complaining about Parliament, Alexander forwent such topics. For him, economic matters were reserved for clubs and coffeehouses. Balls were for dancing and drinking. And above all else: women.
This evening he was forced, unfortunately, to break his personal rule.
He planned to use Lady Dunley’s ball to meet with the heavenly—and widowed—Philippa Fanshawe, Baroness Ellerton, holder of vast swaths of land in the Lake District.
Land he intended to purchase. It did chafe him a bit to sully such an evening with talk of money, but he hoped to balance the faux pas with the promise of pleasure.
Alexander wasn’t actively in the market for a new paramour, having a quite expensive and experienced mistress currently perched in a townhome in St. John’s Wood.
His and Giuliana’s agreement was not explicitly exclusive; she often sported jewels Alexander was most certain he hadn’t purchased for her.
He liked that she was not overly reliant upon him, or interested in his general whereabouts.
While her indifference wasn’t false, he suspected she played it up a bit, correctly sensing that he was the sort to be alarmed rather than aroused by displays of devotion.
While discreet, Alexander had never been one to limit himself.
That way lay stagnation and dissatisfaction.
He wasn’t the sort to grow lovesick or possessive over his partners, and he never, ever offered promises of fidelity.
He might meet with an opera singer on Thursday and an unhappily married marchioness on Friday.
And one would be a fool to turn down Lady Ellerton’s company in any form; she was one of the most beautiful women of the ton, and one of the few who could match his seductive capabilities. While he did not feel desperate for her affection, he was undeniably interested.
Tonight, if Lady Ellerton found herself inclined to join him in bed, after they discussed the land she held in Applethwaite, Alexander would count himself all the luckier. They’d been circling each other for months now; it was only a matter of time.