Alexander stumbled backward, his knee bending against his will.
Lord Brayton snapped the whip up from the floor and rose to his full height of over six feet. “Take a breath, Hawksford,” he said in a low, cool tone.
Alexander regained his balance and stepped toward him, meeting both his height and his gaze. Gritting his teeth, Alexander snapped his right fist back and rigidly held it in the air beside his own head, inwardly fighting his urge to let it fly. “You take a breath, you tosspot! What if this was your sister?”
Lord Brayton quirked a dark brow at him as he wound the whip several times around his scarred hand. “I don’t have a sister. Now as I said before, take a breath. The rage will pass. In time.” He turned, leaving Alexander’s fist to continue to hang there, and strode casually back to his seat.
What the hell was the man talking about? His rage had yet to crest!
Alexander snapped his shaky hand back down to his side. He glanced across the room at Lord Banfield, who had long since risen from his chair. The man stood silently watching him with wary brown eyes.
“Merci,” Madame de Maitenon called out to Brayton. “I knew your skills would prove useful.”
Skills? Alexander jerked his gaze back over to Lord Brayton, who lingered off to the side, suddenly realizing that the scar on the side of his face was anything but accidental.
The room fell completely silent.
Alexander savagely sucked in air through his nostrils and let it out through his mouth. “You told me that you had involved yourself with an American,” he eventually said in a voice that was deceptively calm. Unlike how he felt.
“I lied.” Caldwell paused, then added, “Obviously. But I did mean it when I said I was having trouble accepting her heritage.”
“Jesus Christ, Caldwell, what the hell were you thinking?” he cried out in complete exasperation, not knowing what more he was supposed to say or do. “Caroline is intelligent and…and sweet…and you are…anything but! How could you even think to…I…”
He couldn’t even find the words anymore. They were all fluttering away into the abyss of reality. The reality that Caroline, his innocent, beautiful, brilliant little sister, was no longer…God!
This was his own fault. He hadn’t warned her enough. Hadn’t protected her enough.
Caldwell raked his hands through his blond hair. “Upon my life, Hawksford, if I had known I…I wouldn’t have.” He dropped his hands, sending unruly hair down across his forehead. “You know I wouldn’t have.”
Alexander felt his nostrils flare as he sucked in another deep breath. “And yet you did. ”
Caldwell spastically swiped a hand over his face and started pacing, reflecting the rising restlessness that Alexander himself felt. “Yes. I did. Hawksford. I wanted to tell you the moment it happened. But how does one go about telling one’s childhood friend that he compromised his nineteen-year-old sister at the peak of her first Season?”
Alexander’s stomach turned. Nausea seized him. He stalked toward Caldwell, feeling the room around him swaying and buckling. “When were you alone with her?” he demanded, his throat tightening and hindering his ability to breathe. “Did you scale up through the window and into my house? Is that it? Did you cause that diversion with Lady Waverly so that you could run yourself over into Caroline’s bedchamber and have your way with her? Is that it?”
“No, of course not! Hell, I—” Caldwell glanced at the others in the room, then back at him. “I think we’ve said more than enough before this crowd. Don’t you?”
“Oh, flog yourself already!” Alexander paused before him and frantically waved at those around them. “Do you think it matters what we say before them? It isn’t any damn worse than what you’ve already done! I want an answer, and I want it now. When were the two of you alone? When?”
Caldwell hissed out a breath. “At the champagne party your mother hosted with my uncle.”
Alexander’s eyes widened. “What?”
“My blindfold went on, as customary,” Caldwell rambled on, clasping a hand to the back of his neck. “Hell, you know what it involves, that’s when you and all those women…” He paused, noting the look on Alexander’s face, cleared his throat, and dropped his hand back to his side. “Anyway, your sister claimed me, led me into a room, and I initiated physical contact. Without knowing it was her. The thing is, she knew damn well who I was. So we…you know…and then I upset her because…well, never mind that. And that’s when I stripped off the blindfold and…hell. You know?”
A champagne party. What the devil had Caroline been doing at a champagne party to begin with? His mother. Of course. Of course!
Alexander grabbed hold of Caldwell’s shoulder and squeezed it hard, digging the tips of his fingers into the flesh beneath Caldwell’s jacket.
Caldwell winced but otherwise remained motionless.
“God save me from murdering someone,” Alexander growled out. “How do I know she hasn’t done this before?”
Caldwell now stared him down with a fierceness Alexander had never witnessed. “I can assure you, Hawksford, as experienced as she might have seemed to me with the blindfold on, Caroline was in fact…” He paused, clearly unable to finish.
“A virgin,” Madame de Maitenon supplied.
“Yes, thank you, Madame,” Caldwell bit out over his shoulder. “Thank you.”
Alexander released him and swiped his hand over his face, wishing this devil of a nightmare would disappear. “Is she with child? Do you even know?”
“No. She shouldn’t be. I didn’t…” Caldwell winced, unwilling to further elaborate.
The other two men in the room coughed and sniggered.
Alexander feigned a laugh, even though what he really wanted to do was smash a fist into Caldwell’s face and take it through his skull.
“I was completely ridden with guilt.” Caldwell let out a less than enthused laugh. “Completely. My uncle insisted that I seek out assistance so as to bring this matter to your attention in a civilized manner. He recommended going to someone who understood these sort of situations. And so here we are.”
“Yes. Here we are. All so civilized. All standing in a school that educates men on the topic of love and seduction.” Alexander pointed savagely back toward Madame de Maitenon, who stood behind them. “Thanks to you, Caldwell, our lives are now being orchestrated by the bloody French!”
Madame de Maitenon tsked. “Do not blame me for any of this.”
Alexander fisted his hands in a strained effort to remain calm. He needed to remain calm or he’d do something irrational. Something illegal. Something he was going to be hanged for. “Your uncle is the last person you ought to take advice from,” he bit out. “He barely remembers the day of the week.”
Caldwell swiped a hand across his face again. “Yes, I know, I know. But he’s the only family I have. I was desperate. And it made sense to me at the time! Hawksford. I do intend to marry her.”
“You damn well better marry her, you bastard!” He paused. Although…Caldwell wasn’t exactly the type of man capable of leading his sister down the right path. Obviously. “Despite your so-called offer, I cannot help but fear the sort of a husband you’ll make. What with your background, your father, and all.”
Caldwell shifted his jaw and stepped toward him. “It was always my intent to be a good husband.”
“Is that so?” Alexander gave him a pointed stare. “And what would you even know about being a good husband? You aren’t even capable of being a good friend!”
“Now that’s not bloody fair!” Caldwell pointed at him rigidly, getting up close and into his face. “I may have been born onto a bleedin’ Marquis de Sade, but I am still capable of decency!”
Alexander shoved him back. Hard. Wishing Caldwell would keep his distance before he thrashed him simply to make himself feel better. “Are you including this in your definition of decency?”
Caldwell sighed. “Hawksford. For God’s sake, I…Aside from trying to be respon
sible, that night with Caroline was…well…incredible. I cannot deny what occurred between us.” He paused, then dug into his waistcoat pocket. He withdrew a gold sovereign and held it up. “Do you even know what this is? Have you seen it before?”
Alexander blinked at the coin for an abashed moment, slowly recognizing it. “Caroline’s lucky sovereign.” The one she always carried about with her.
“My lucky sovereign, Hawksford,” Caldwell sternly corrected him. “I once gave this to your sister with a promise. A promise I intend to keep.”
Caldwell glanced at the coin and shoved it back into his pocket. “I suppose all you need know is that despite everything, I have always thought Caroline to be incredibly beautiful. But with her being your sister and a Hawksford, I never…” He cleared his throat. “I suppose I’ve said more than enough.”
Alexander swallowed in response to Caldwell’s sincere and unexpected confession. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Caldwell was in love with Caroline. Damn, but this was disturbing. Not to mention beyond his comprehension. “Are you telling me that…you’re in love with her?”
Caldwell froze. Then stared at him as if he were mad. “Well, no. I mean…well, I may be, but—”
“May be?” Alexander shouted. “What do you mean you may be? You either are or you aren’t, Goddamn you! Don’t you even know?”
“For God’s sake, man! I’ve never been in love!” Caldwell argued back in equal frustration. “In lust, yes, but never in love. And this…” He violently shook his head. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t know.”
‘Twas a sad, sad day in London when an ambitious man such as Caldwell appeared to be confused out of his bloody mind.
Hell. Love. Did the notion really exist? Could two people actually find a happily ever after? Or was lust simply getting the best of all of them and a select few were trying to alter the rules in the hope of making it appear more hopeful than it really was?
In the end, he knew Caldwell was a good man. An insane man who never did things the way they needed to be done, but he was still a good man. Reliable. At times. Had a title. Had vast wealth. Though not much of anything else.
And if Caroline was pregnant, which he would rather assume she was, they needed to get married. Immediately. For he refused to have his sister made into an outcast. She needed to be protected from the masses before she suffered for it. For the rest of her life.
Not wanting to think about it anymore lest his head explode from the agony of it all, he said, “I shall obtain a special license from the Archbishop.”
Caldwell stepped toward him, his face brightening. “You will?”
Alexander poked him in the chest, hitting the buttons on his waistcoat. “In the meantime, you will make everyone in London believe, including myself, that this is a match based on all things civil. And above all, you will make her happy. For if she is not happy”—Alexander pointed to himself and narrowed his gaze—“then I am not happy. Is that understood?”
Caldwell tugged his coat into place. “I can make her happy. I know I can.”
Alexander gave a curt nod, not wanting to talk about it anymore. “Good.”
“Good?” Caldwell grinned. “Really?”
He glared at him. “Not another word. Lest I change my mind.” If his sister was with child, that meant he was soon going to be an uncle. Which, although that may have been rather nice under different circumstances, only meant more responsibilities. He hoped to God it wasn’t another female. He’d been outnumbered for far too long.
“So is this particular lesson over?” Madame de Maitenon finally asked from behind. “Or do you both require more time?”
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-c
oiffed 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?”
Lord of Pleasure Page 15
