Lord of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  Caroline turned her horse closer to him. “What about you?”

  He put up a gloved hand. “I’ll walk. It will draw less attention.”

  “Less? Is there such a thing?” Caroline grinned. “I can hardly wait to read all the details in the rags. Do you suppose they’ll sketch a picture of me upon my horse?”

  “I hope not.” He waved them off. “Go. Take her.”

  Charlotte glanced down at him, then tightened her hold on the reins and moved the horse onward.

  Alexander stepped off the road, watching as his sister and Charlotte journeyed through the crowds. He blew out an exhausted breath, then turned and marched across the grass.

  A group of young men beneath one of the trees hooted and clapped in his direction.

  “I say, that’d be the way to do it!” one yelled.

  “Can I have a horse the next time you’re out?” another shouted out, laughing.

  Alexander shifted his jaw and headed through the grass of Hyde Park toward a path that he knew would eventually lead him home. It was obvious that there was only one respectable thing left for him to do: marry Charlotte. And the sooner, the better.

  Lesson Twenty-One

  Do not accept anything less for yourself, other than everything for yourself.

  —The School of Gallantry

  Charlotte leaned toward the small table before her, which was laden with fruit and pastries, and grasped the yellow and blue porcelain teacup. She willed herself to keep the delicate cup steady, despite the trembling in her hand, and brought its steaming warmth to her lips. She swallowed it, savoring its soothing flavor. It gurgled loudly in her empty stomach.

  She lowered the cup to her lap and nervously glanced up at the five young females who all quietly sat in a row on the long sofa across from her. Grinning. As if she were the Queen of England making a personal visit.

  Though they all sat at different heights, and wore varying brightly colored morning gowns, some having large, silk bows in their golden hair, they all had the same mischievous blue-green eyes, small, sharp noses, ivory freckled faces, and heart-shaped lips. The elegant lady, whom she now knew to be Caroline, sat on the far end of the sofa, still dressed in her riding habit, black hat, and veil. Her grin had to be the widest. No doubt about it.

  Fortunately for her, Alexander’s mother was out on a call, or this would have turned into quite the experience.

  “So who died?” the youngest of the girls finally blurted out from where she sat tucked between all of them.

  “Mary!” her sisters exclaimed, some reaching out to smack her white-frocked knees, their grins all replaced by looks of horror.

  “Don’t you dare scare her off,” the one who introduced herself as Anne hissed, leaning forward. “Need I remind you, little Miss Morbid, that she is the first female Alex has ever formally allowed into the house since Father’s passing? This may very well be it.”

  Charlotte let out a nervous laugh, tightening her hold on her teacup. It. Yes. Right.

  She met Mary’s thoughtful gaze from where she sat and eventually offered, “Twas my mother who passed. Although it is long after my time for mourning, she was very special to me. So I honor her as best I know how. By continuing to wear bombazine.”

  Mary rubbed her small hands against her ivory cotton morning gown and nodded. “My father was very special to me, too. Of course, no one here really understands that. They all like to call me little Miss Morbid.”

  Charlotte bit back a smile. “I’m certain they understand more than they let on. We all simply grieve differently. I know when my mother finished formally mourning for my father, she continued to grieve for him by wearing lavender gowns. Because he had always loved the color on her.”

  Mary was quiet for a moment. “Father didn’t have a favorite color. I don’t think.”

  The room fell silent.

  Once again, the girls returned their attention to Charlotte. And smiled. Though with a tinge of melancholy and longing.

  Sadly, Charlotte knew that particular look all too well. She lifted the teacup back to her lips and gulped the already cool tea, praying that Alexander would return. She didn’t know how much longer she could sit here feeling like a window display.

  Anne sighed, plucked up a pastry from off the serving tray before her, and bit into it. “So,” she said in between several thoughtful chews. “Do you and Alex already have plans to marry? Or is this just the beginning of your courtship?”

  Mary paused, then furrowed her thin brows at Anne. She leaned far forward upon the sofa and looked down the row of girls on both sides of her. “Now how is that any more appropriate than my last question?”

  Charlotte let out a laugh, trying not to spill her tea, and set her cup onto the matching porcelain plate before her. If there was any doubt that these girls were related to Alexander, it had long fled.

  “Your brother and I are friends,” Charlotte finally offered, not really able to think of anything else to say. “That is all. Good friends.”

  Mary pinned her with a more than dubious stare. “Good friends? Yes, and I am a Catholic virgin.”

  “Mary!” everyone exclaimed all at once again.

  Caroline removed her riding hat after a few violent tugs and tossed it toward her sister. “Why must you always repeat everything you hear? Really, now!”

  A bubble of laughter erupted from Charlotte’s lips at the absurdity of the entire situation. She then burst into uncontrollable laughter. And laughed and laughed, despite the fact that her corset was beginning to make it difficult for her to breathe. She simply couldn’t help it. What was more, it was an unexpected, glorious moment of release.

  The girls on the sofa across from her started laughing, too. Clearly entertained by the fact that she was.

  Hearing all of their jovial giggles mixed together with her own was utterly intoxicating. It reminded her of the days when she and her mother would laugh until they’d be begging the lady’s maid to unlace their corsets.

  “Have you all gone mad?” a male voice boomed from the doorway.

  Charlotte choked back her laughter, bringing it to a gasping halt at the sudden realization that Alexander was back. Obviously, her visit was officially over. She snapped her gaze toward the doorway of the parlor, silence now painfully humming against her ears.

  Alexander towered in the doorway, still fully dressed in his well-fitted riding clothes, looking about as furious as he’d been when he rode up to her in Hyde Park. His sharp features and shaven jaw were rigidly set. His green eyes narrowed as he scanned everyone in the room, his impatience practically pulsing out toward them.

  He eventually stripped his top hat from his head, scattering his bronzed hair across his forehead, and pointed with it at his sisters. “Upstairs, if you please.”

  One by one, the young girls each popped up, curtsied at Charlotte with a quick spread of their colorful skirts, then scattered out of the room.

  Caroline snatched up her riding hat from the sofa and rose in an elegant, trained manner. She smiled, her left cheek dimpling. “I’m certain we’ll be seeing more of you, Lady Chartwell.” She winked. “Much, much more.”

  With that, she gathered up the train from her riding gown and breezed out of the room with the grace of a queen.

  Heaven forbid all of his sisters thought she was going to be a permanent fixture in the household. She was about as permanent in Alexander’s life as a petal was on a wilting flower.

  The silence within the room returned. Alexander continued to stand in the doorway, glowering at her.

  Charlotte bit her lip and slowly rose, sensing that it was best she leave.

  “Stay seated.” Though it wasn’t entirely a command, it wasn’t in the least bit friendly, either.

  Charlotte sat back down, trying not to panic at the stark realization that he was not only angry at her for what had happened, but probably also angry that she was in his house. In his parlor. Chatting and laughing with his sisters. When all he had ever meant t
o do with her was keep her tucked away in the back pocket of his life. For no one else to see or know about.

  Alexander set his mouth into a tight, firm line and flung his top hat at the curtained windows. Charlotte winced as it tumbled then rolled back and forth toward one of the corners.

  She eyed him, waiting for whatever it was he wanted to say. Or do. He deserved to be angry. She should have listened to him when he asked her to leave the road. But sheer determination to march away her woes and in turn prove to him that she didn’t need him or anyone else, had gotten the best of her.

  He purposefully strode into the room, his eyes never once leaving her, and headed straight for her. “Do you have a pact with the devil to destroy the last of my sanity?” he shouted, waving his gloved hand about in the air. “Is that it? Bloody hell, Charlotte, everyone in London knows that particular road through Hyde Park isn’t meant for pedestrians! And it especially isn’t meant for unescorted women. Widowed or not!”

  Charlotte flinched at every shout that lashed at her ears as equally as it lashed at her heart. In some way, she deserved it. But regardless, she refused to be treated this way. Especially by him.

  She scrambled up to her feet, fisting both hands at her sides. “Why are you yelling at me? You were the one that made a scene of it! I was walking, mind you. Walking. And last I knew, walking was anything but illegal. Even for a woman! I ask you, why couldn’t you ride by? Why?”

  Alexander halted before her, his height and his muscled, domineering presence forcing her to look up into his eyes.

  His nostrils flared as he continued to glare down at her. His wide chest rose and fell with each breath he heavily took through his nose, the brass buttons on his waistcoat shifting in response. “Because you were in clear distress, and the very sight of you on that road displeased me. Now. On my way back, I thought about this entire situation, and based upon the gravity of what this may do to not only you but my entire family, we will marry. The sooner, the better.”

  Her eyes widened, and her stomach fluttered at the unexpected words. They truly should have been the most joyous, most beautiful words to have ever fallen upon her ears. And yet his tone, his stance, and the wild blaze in his eyes withered them to absolute nothingness.

  She shook her head, somewhat in disbelief that she was about to refuse him. Refuse an opportunity that she would have earlier seized not only with both hands, but also with both feet. “No. I’ll not marry you.”

  He blinked, the anger in his taut face slightly dissipating. “I don’t think you have much of a choice.”

  She glared at him and fought from flaring her own nostrils. “My reputation isn’t for you to save, Alexander. Not that it can be saved. It was ruined well enough long before you ever came into my life.”

  His anger returned. “You will marry me.”

  She mocked a laugh. “I am not some servant you can order about. No means no.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I see. I was good enough for a frig, but not good enough for marriage. I suppose I should have known you had only one true calling.”

  Her eyes widened as she stepped back. By God. He hated her. He truly hated her after what she had said and done that night. It reeked and dripped into every single one of his words. And knowing that convinced her all the more of her decision. No matter how much her heart wanted him, she simply would not have him. Not like this. She had already once married thinking she could change a man. She was not about to make that same mistake twice.

  She swallowed, willing herself to look at him. “Forgive me for what I made you feel that night. I was selfishly focused upon my own pleasure, knowing that I would never see you again. ’Twas never my intention to hurt you, Alexander, and I hope that one day you will forgive me for it. Madame shared with me the sort of hurt you’d been through. But I will not let you continue down this path of righteousness and in turn abuse me. Do you honestly think that our marriage will erase what happened today? Do you?”

  She waved a hand toward their surroundings. “Nothing will ever erase the way these people feel or think about respectability, Alexander. It is ingrained in them like the root of a tree, and no matter how hard you try to meet their favor by watering their roots, the only thing you’ll ever unearth is misery. For that is what the ton ultimately feeds off. The misery of those who happen to stumble. The only reason you are even asking me to marry you is because you’re still seeking the ton’s approval for the sake of your sisters. And though I fully understand your concern for them, I’ll not marry into that. I simply will not.”

  He sucked in a harsh breath and let it out, the warm husky scent of his breath grazing her forehead. “So what will you marry into? Tell me.”

  She snapped her gaze back to meet his heated, intense eyes. “If I have to tell you that,” she coolly replied, “then we need not speak of this again.”

  With that, she walked around him and headed straight toward the doorway, focusing on every step. She paused, realizing she hadn’t told him about Madame de Maitenon. He would find out, yes, but she wanted him to hear it from her. So that he knew exactly what she’d been through today.

  She turned.

  He hadn’t even moved. Hadn’t even put any effort into turning around to look at her.

  Which she was glad for. For it would make it easier for her to share what had happened. “Do you wish to know why I was on that road today?” she asked in a low, steady voice. “Because I was mourning the loss of Madame de Maitenon in the only manner I knew how. By breaking respectable rules.”

  Alexander slowly turned toward her, his brows drawn together. “She passed?” he demanded in disbelief.

  “No.” She tried to keep her voice from quivering, but it was no use. “Not yet. But she may. She didn’t come to class today, Alexander. So I went to her home, frantic, only to discover that she’d suffered a form of apoplexy last night. And what is worse, her granddaughter won’t allow anyone to see her. Although I know Madame needs her rest, I cannot ease my mind or heart until I know that she will be well. In some way, I cannot help but feel betrayed by a woman I haven’t even met.”

  “Oh God. Charlotte.” He stepped toward her, his voice drenched in sympathy. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She held up a shaky hand, refusing to accept any of it. She didn’t want sympathy from him. “I just did.” She set her chin, vowing to remain strong, at least until she returned to the school. “I’ve been away for far too long and don’t intend to disappoint Madame. At least not in the manner I have disappointed you. I’ve had nothing but the utmost respect for you until you proposed to me today. For even after Chartwell, I firmly believe marriage is worth far more than what you make it to be.”

  She then walked out, ready to start anew. Without him. For she refused to accept anything less than what she deserved from this day forth. She would not live in some dark corner of his life, tucked away from his heart or his world. She wanted all of Alexander’s heart. Not a mere, useless sliver of it. She had settled once and she was not settling ever again.

  Lesson Twenty-Two

  Men seem to think that flowers are enough to express the way they feel and the way they think.

  But if that much were true, a woman would have absolutely no need for a man at all. She would marry her garden, make love to the longest, thickest stem she could possibly find, and plant an array of new flowers whenever they wilted or died. Which is why you must take this advice, gentlemen. Instead of giving her more flowers, simply look to give more of yourself.

  —The School of Gallantry

  11 Berwick Street

  Two days later, evening

  After letters that yielded no response, Alexander knew that either his words weren’t enough or he wasn’t enough. Which was why he was here. To find out which of the two it really was before he lost the last of his rational mind. He only prayed it wasn’t the latter. For the reality was, scandal or not, he wanted her. Wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life. And it took seeing her
on the side of that road, at the mercy of everyone around them, for him to fully realize it.

  And when she had confessed how sorry she was about that night, his stomach had nearly dropped to the floor. For in the end, she understood how she had made him feel and had not only acknowledged it, but apologized for it.

  With a dozen red roses in hand, Alexander climbed up the night-cloaked stairs leading to Charlotte’s house and twisted the bell beside the door. He dug out a five-pound note and nervously cleared his throat.

  The door eventually opened, and warm golden candlelight filtered out toward him.

  Mr. Hudson stoically stepped out.

  Alexander grinned down at the man, then tucked the money he held into the pocket of the man’s livery. “For your grandchildren.” Alexander then raised the flowers he held. “And these here are not for you, but rather for the beautiful Lady Chartwell.”

  Mr. Hudson sniffed, clearly not amused, then stiffly dug out the five-pound note with the tips of his gloved fingers. He held it back out for him as if it were a bit of gravy-soaked bread pulled from the depths of a heap of rubbish. “Forgive me, Lord Hawksford, but I am merely ensuring her safety by not admitting you. Especially after calling hours.”

  Alexander lowered the roses and tried to hide his disappointment. “She won’t see me? At all?”

  Mr. Hudson set his chin down onto his high collar and pinned Alexander with as deadly a stare as the old man knew how. “No. But even if she wanted to, I most certainly would never allow it.”

  The butler stepped toward him and tucked the five-pound note into the top of Alexander’s waistcoat. He tsked and stepped back, shaking his gray head. “’Tis the worst sin in the world to make a woman cry, My Lord. The very worst.”