Alexandra vividly recalled an incident from the summer that the boys turned twelve. Kit Hatton had overheard the servants talking about a highwayman who had been gibbeted on Hounslow Heath at the Great West Road. He had dared his brother to ride to Hounslow and touch the grisly corpse. “Come and watch me!” Nick challenged. All four of them had thought it a great adventure in the beginning. The dangerous heath was out of bounds to them, though it was only two miles away, and none of them had ever seen a dead man, let alone a hanged felon.
Alexandra remembered the fascinated horror she had felt when the gibbet came into view. Without hesitation Nicholas rode up and boldly touched the thing, making it swing on the end of its rope, but Christopher shrank back and wouldn’t even approach it. Rupert, a few months older than the twins, also lost his nerve and looked like he might be sick. Alexandra remembered her feeling of admiration for Nick’s courage. He was born under the sign of the lion and would never bow his proud head. Never! No matter what!
With great contempt for Kit and Rupert, Alexandra declared that she too would touch the highwayman. She would never forget the look of admiration on Nick Hatton’s face. It was that look that gave her enough courage, that and the fact that he held her hand while she did it. She could remember the goosebumps even now.
When they returned, Lord Hatton was awaiting them in a rage. Kit told his father that Nick had dared and taunted them into it and had even forced Alexandra to touch the gruesome thing. Though Nicholas knew he was in for a thrashing, he did not make a liar of his brother. Instead, he sent Alexandra a reassuring smile that told her he would bear the punishment with stoic dignity.
Alexandra’s memories were interrupted when the tea arrived. She looked at her grandmother and sighed. Dottie expected her to marry Christopher Hatton because of his title, and Alexandra knew that the only way to avoid a fortune hunter was to marry someone with wealth and title. But she was torn between the twins. Though she and Christopher shared a love of painting, and he and her brother were inseparable friends, Alexandra was not certain it was the heir she preferred. She and Nicholas were true friends. She had confided in him since they were children. However, they were children no longer, Alexandra acknowledged. The Hatton twins were men grown, sophisticated and experienced beyond their years. They had taken their place in society and were the envy of their peers. She regretted that these days Nick treated her as a sister, for lately she had begun to long for him to think of her as a woman. She glanced at Dottie and was suddenly covered with guilt over her attraction to Nicholas. All her life it had been drilled into her that she must not follow her heart, must not fall in love, for that path inevitably led to disaster.
“By the by, you will give Annabelle Harding my regrets at her entertainment tonight. Tell her I am decomposed.” Dorothy Longford, slim as a reed and straight as a ramrod, was a commanding figure, and though her face was now like fine parchment, it still retained traces of the vivid beauty she had once possessed.
Alex’s lips twitched with amusement. “The word is indisposed, as well you know, but if you’re not going, neither am I.”
“Pish tosh! You must go. She has designs on your betrothed for that dreadful daughter of hers. And she’s not the only one. Every mother in the county with eligible daughters will be there in hope of leg-shackling one of the Hatton twins. You know all the gels pursue them shamelessly.”
“Christopher is not my betrothed,” Alexandra protested.
“Claptrap! As the future Lady Hatton, it is your duty to keep those greedy hussies at bay. Men aren’t discerning, darling; they’ll lift any skirt that’s offered.”
At thirteen Alexandra had become aware of the way females looked at the Hatton twins. Older women as well as debutantes were avid for the company of the charming, virile devils. She hadn’t understood the attraction was sexual until she turned sixteen. “We don’t even know if the Hattons will attend.”
“Piss and piffle! Henry Hatton will be there. Annabelle lures the men with gambling, and those decadent Chinese lanterns she strings about the gardens positively invite intrigue!”
“I’ll escort you, Alex … wouldn’t miss it on a bet. I can lend you one of my tie-wigs to cover your hideous hair, if you like,” Rupert teased mercilessly.
Suddenly, thinking of Nicholas, Alexandra wished she’d waited one more day before cutting off her crowning glory.
“What the hellfire are you doing?” Nicholas Hatton demanded as he rounded the east wing with a shaggy black wolfhound at his heel.
His twin took aim and fired, nicking the curved beak of a stone griffin that stood sentinel at the corner of Hatton Hall’s roof. At the sound of the shot, the dog lunged forward and began to bark furiously. Christopher aimed his pistol at the wolfhound. “Call him off, if you don’t want a ball in his brain.”
Nicholas knew his brother’s bravado was an act. “Heel, Leo,” Nick commanded, then without hesitation strode forward and plucked the pistol from his brother’s hand.
Kit grinned and pointed proudly to the griffin. “Match that!”
“Have you no more sense than to deface Hatton statuary for target practice? You value nothing!”
“I’m sure we can afford to replace a few ornaments, if they get damaged,” Kit drawled.
“It isn’t about money. Hatton Hall has sat here for almost two centuries. Those griffins are antique artifacts. You should cherish our ancestral home.” Nicholas had a deep and abiding love for Hatton Hall and the lush acres upon which it sat. Somehow, it was the only connection he would ever have to a mother he only knew through the servants’ affectionate stories and fond memories.
“Perhaps you cherish it too much, or is covet a better word? Since Hatton Hall will be mine some day, it is none of your damn business. You know, Nick, you have a habit of telling people exactly how they should manage their lives, and moreover, you do it in a superior, condescending manner. I suggest you save your orders for Hatton Grange.”
It was understood that Christopher would inherit the title, Hatton Hall, and Hatton Great Park, while Nicholas would inherit Hatton Grange horse farm. Gray eyes stared into identical gray eyes until one pair lowered. Christopher knew in his heart that his twin coveted nothing that was his. Kit laughed and lifted his lashes. “Your lion’s roar is worse than your bite; you’ve never mauled me yet. From now on I’ll use the doves for target practice.” At his twin’s look of contempt, he said quickly, “I’m jesting; the only doves I’m interested in are soiled ones. I intend to pluck myself a pigeon tonight.”
“So do I, but I’ll be at the gaming table,” Nick said wryly.
Kit winked. “That’s why they call me Harm and you Hazard.”
Nicholas handed back the gun. He knew his brother wanted to impress their father with his shooting at the hunt next week. To celebrate their twenty-first birthdays, invitations had gone out for a gala weekend house party, with a masquerade ball on Saturday and a hunt on Sunday. “If you like, we’ll set up some targets tomorrow for a practice session. You can give me some pointers,” Nick said with self-deprecation. “You’re a far better shot than I am.”
When they arrived at the Hardings that evening, Alexandra sought out Lady Annabelle to give her Dottie’s regrets, while Rupert headed straight to the card room. The Hatton twins were there before him, and as usual, he had no notion which was which. Their taste in clothes sometimes helped—Kit liked to wear fawn and burgundy while Nick preferred blues and grays—but in their formal black evening attire they looked identical. Their dark, cropped hair curled crisply against starched, high-pointed collars. Their cravats were tied intricately, and their shirts were immaculate beneath black, superfine jackets that fit their broad shoulders to perfection. Their long fingers held their cards negligently, while they bantered good-naturedly with the other players.
Suddenly, Rupert’s brow cleared as the puzzle was solved. Kit seldom won at the gaming table; Nick never lost. Rupert greeted his friend Kit, who threw in his hand, drained his glass, arose
from the table, and said, “I have more luck betting on the fair sex.” Before he left the card room, Kit lifted two glasses from a footman’s silver tray and proceeded to drink both. “I have a keen appetite tonight, Rupert. A guinea says I can lure Olivia Harding into the rhododendron bushes.”
“Didn’t you know that Nick has been favoring Olivia with his attentions lately?”
Kit dug his friend in the ribs. “Don’t be such a gull, Rupert. Of course I know. That’s what makes it such rare sport. It’s a point of honor with me to charm away every female who falls for Nick. It’s so devilishly easy!”
“But you have the advantage of the title,” Rupert said bluntly.
“Precisely.” Kit laughed. “I’m only following in Father’s footsteps. Before he leaves tonight, he’ll bed Annabelle and get drunk on Lord Harding’s brandy, not necessarily in that order.”
In the ballroom, Alexandra turned down invitations to dance from three eligible bachelors, one of whom was heir to an earldom, before she escaped to the card room. She immediately saw one of the Hatton twins and held her breath, hoping it was Nicholas. Her heart beat wildly as she watched his gray eyes take in every detail of her cropped curls with tolerant amusement.
“Hello, Hellion. At it again, I see.”
His deep voice coupled with the affectionate nickname sent a frisson of pleasure down her spine. “Hello, Nick. I hoped it would deter the fortune hunters, but I hoped in vain. I have decided to take refuge in here with you and gamble the night away.”
The amusement left his eyes. “You will not, Alexandra.”
He looked and spoke like a mature man addressing a child, and it never failed to infuriate her. “Why not?” she flared. “I can beat the players in this room. You should know that; you taught me.”
Nicholas signaled the dealer that he would not be playing the next hand, then he smiled charmingly at the elderly ladies across the table and nodded to the other men and his host, Lord Harding. “Please excuse us.” With a firm hand on Alexandra’s elbow, he led her from the card room. “You cannot sit with the men and gamble all night. It would damage your reputation irreparably.”
“There were other females present!” Her voice rose indignantly.
“Alexandra, they are dowagers, addicted to gambling and long past the age when they need worry about their reputations.”
“Sitting with the dowagers would not have damaged my reputation,” she insisted.
“Not until you began to cheat, you little hellcat. Then there would have been the devil to pay.”
“Did you at least get me that copy of Laclos’s Les liaisons dangereuses?”
“I did not.” His voice was so deep it sounded like a growl, a warning growl.
Alex ignored the warning. “Why not?” she demanded imperiously.
“It’s unsuitable; it’s about immensely salacious seduction.”
“I have to learn about sex if I am to write novels.”
“Are you on that kick again? What a tiresome child you are.”
She looked up into his eyes. They were like fathomless, gray pools, so deep she fancied she could drown in them. She blinked rapidly, hurt by his disapproval and dreading his rejection. “What the devil is the matter with you, Nick? We used to share such daring escapades and high adventures.”
“That was when I was a schoolboy, sent down from Harrow. Since then I matured; obviously something you haven’t done yet, Hellion.”
She made a rude, derisive noise. “From the ancient, lofty height of twenty-one, how can you condescend to even talk with me?”
She was without doubt the most exasperating female on earth, but as he looked down at her bright head, a wave of protectiveness swept over him. He realized that if she had done something as drastic as cut off her beautiful hair, she must need to talk. “If you promise to restrain your impulse toward mischief for the next hour, I’ll meet you around ten in the summerhouse and we’ll talk.”
Nick spotted Rupert in intimate conversation with a pretty blond creature and beckoned him with a commanding gesture. “Rupert, escort your sister in to supper. And keep an eye on her; she needs a bloody keeper.” He returned to the card room, apologized sincerely for the interruption, and resumed play. During the next hour many more men joined the game, and by ten o’clock Nick Hatton was richer by a hundred guineas, which he would add to the money he’d been saving for a Thoroughbred filly for the Grange.
As he passed the supper room, he saw that it was empty, so he purloined a bottle of champagne and two glasses and headed into the lantern-lit gardens. Young people clustered about the terraces, laughing and flirting, while the more adventurous strolled across the lawns and down the pebbled paths, shadowed by yews and weeping willows. Nicholas caught the heavy scent of rhododendrons just as a young woman emerged from the bushes. His cynical gaze swept over Olivia Harding, taking in her dishevelled gown and ruined coiffure.
“Christopher,” she gasped, quickly drawing up the shoulder of her gown to cover her half-exposed breast.
“It’s Nicholas, I’m afraid. Christopher is behind you.”
Olivia spun about with dismay and stammered, “But … he pretended to be you—” She delivered a stinging slap to Kit’s face, confirming the act they’d committed, then fled into the shadows.
“She’s lying,” Kit drawled as he tucked his shirt into his pants. “Couldn’t wait to compare us to see if I measured up to your … worthy attributes. Fortunately, I did.”
“If you did, it’s because your brains are in your cock,” Nick said coldly. Sharing whores was one thing, even taking turns gracing the beds of the dissatisfied wives of the ton was a pleasure they could share, but inexperienced debutantes were another matter entirely. Nick wanted to smash Kit in the face, but he knew his twin had been drinking and would be no match for the fury he would unleash. With an effort Nick reined in his anger, telling himself that his heart wasn’t involved with Olivia Harding, or with any of the other females Kit had deliberately lured away from him. Thank God he had more sense than to hazard his heart.
Chapter Two
By the time Nicholas arrived at the summerhouse, he had his emotions under control, at least for the present.
“Where the devil have you been?” Alexandra demanded. “I’ve been waiting for hours!”
“Must you exaggerate, Hellion?” Nick chided.
“Of course; I’m a writer! Everything must be larger than life!”
“If we are to talk, you have to be serious, Alexandra.”
“Stop treating me like a child!” she flared.
Nick acknowledged to himself that he did think of Alexandra as a child; it was a defensive mechanism against her irresistible charms. “If I thought you were a child, would I have brought you champagne?” he countered, smoothing her ruffled feathers.
“Oh, how lovely! Thank you, Nick.”
“I’ll pour … you talk.”
“Dottie insists on my having a fall Season when Parliament opens. But when we go to London next month, I want to become a writer, not waste my time fending off fortune hunters. I’m only seventeen; far too young to marry. I want to taste life, experience great adventures, know what it’s like to be independent and have freedom, before I’m buried in the country with a husband and children.”
As he looked down into her lovely face, his heart skipped a beat, before his emotions were back under his iron control. “Your grandmother wants only what’s best for you, Alexandra. The Longford wealth is legendary; you’ll never have to worry over money or earn your living, so why can’t you simply marry and write as a hobby?”
“Don’t patronize me! I thought you of all people would understand. Writing is my passion, just as your great passion is horses. Your family too is wealthy, but that doesn’t stop you from wanting to breed horses.”
“But I am a man,” Nick pointed out patiently.
“And spoken like a bloody man! Is it wrong for a woman to be ambitious?” she cried. “Times are changing, Nicholas. The Geor
gian way of life is old-fashioned—there is now a Regency! Powdered wigs and chaperons will soon be passé. Our generation demands less stricture and more freedom, for women as well as men. What could possibly be wrong with that?”
Lord God, she is innocent. If she thought this generation had less stricture and more freedom than the Georgians, she was woefully mistaken. None were more profligate than Georgian men, and the women were only marginally more moral, with duchesses producing as many by-blows as dukes. Even her own grandmother had led a notorious life. “Alexandra, as much as you insist upon it, you are not yet a woman, and it is wrong for a seventeen-year-old to have the freedom of London,” he said flatly. “It isn’t all Mayfair town houses and Almack’s. Beyond the glitter of St. James’s Street, there are some extremely seedy areas that aren’t safe for innocent girls. And beyond those, there are vast expanses so crime-ridden that life is held very cheaply. There are miles of filthy streets where poverty and disease are the natural order of things. London has an underbelly I never want you exposed to. And it’s not just the poorer sections, Alexandra. Wickedness and evil sometimes run rampant among the beau monde.”
Her eyes sparkled with eagerness. “That’s what I intend to write about! Every gentleman of fashion has a mistress and every beautiful woman has a lover. You are a part of that world; why do you object to me becoming a part of it?”
“I do not have a mistress,” he denied repressively.
Alexandra whooped with laughter and held out her empty glass.
“What’s so bloody funny?” he asked, pouring her only half a glass this time.
“Let me drink to your high morals! You don’t need to go to the expense of a mistress because women fling themselves at you and almost fight one another to share your bed for free.”
As he looked down at her, he felt aeons older and wiser. “Alexandra, you shouldn’t even know about these things, let alone discuss them with the opposite sex. You are incorrigible; I aught to take you across my knee.”
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