“Do I look like a porter?” Rupert asked. “Ring for a servant.”
“I cannot believe how unobservant you are. Dottie went on a servant rampage about a week ago, and Longford Manor’s staff now consists of Mrs. Dinwiddie, our ancient housekeeper, and Old Ned, who takes care of the horses. Never mind, I’ll carry my own bags.”
“But who’ll carry my—Where the devil are you going, Alex?”
“To London, of course. The Berkeley Square house has a full staff of servants, all idle at the moment. I cannot bear the thought of them catering to your every whim, so I am joining you. Since our carriage is away for repairs, I assume you will be using the Hatton coach?”
“To transport our luggage only. We intend to ride.”
“Then there should be plenty of room for Dottie and me.”
“Dottie?” Rupert looked alarmed. “What if she starts sacking the London servants as soon as she arrives?”
“That should make little difference to you. When in London you sleep all day and prowl all night. Besides, you can always go and stay in Curzon Street with your very dear friend Lord Hatton.”
“You seem to have an answer for everything,” he said testily.
“Well, I do know who is going to carry your bags downstairs, Viscount Longford,” she informed him sweetly.
At ten o’clock Rupert rode off to Hatton Hall, but it was two more hours before the huge black berline coach with the Hatton baronial crest emblazoned on its doors pulled up in the courtyard of Longford Manor. The coachman obligingly stowed all the luggage aboard and was about to help Lady Longford climb the carriage step when she threatened to strike him with her walking stick. “Stand back, sirrah! I’m not ready for the knacker’s yard yet!”
“Beg pardon, ma’am.”
Dottie watched Alexandra mount Zephyr before she climbed into the well-padded carriage and lowered the window. “You’ll be much more comfortable inside with me. The long ride to London will fag you out, darling. Won’t you change your mind?”
Alex laughed. “It’s six miles, not sixty! Hardly far enough to give the horses a good gallop.”
Dottie put up the window and settled herself against the leather squabs. How could she argue with Alexandra when she had come up with the clever idea of going to London? Closing up Longford Manor for the next several months would cut the upkeep expenses to the bone. Mrs. Dinwiddie and Old Ned were adequate caretakers who would cost nothing.
They made great time along the Great West Road, passing the lovely flower gardens of Osterley Park, whose perfume drenched the warm summer air. They galloped past Syon House, a huge square mansion that was ugly on the outside but had magnificent Adam interiors. They had to slow down when they reached the outskirts of the city, but London held such fascination for Alexandra that she welcomed the slackened pace. The coachman turned onto the Cromwell Road, which took them to Knightsbridge, then along bustling Piccadilly to Mayfair. He pulled up outside the tall, stone house in Berkeley Square, jumped down from the box, and went to the leader’s head and secured its rein to the cast iron carriage post. He then began to unload trunks and valises, making sure the Hatton luggage stayed onboard for the short journey to Curzon Street.
“Where the devil is the man?” Lady Longford complained loudly. When the wary driver approached the viscountess, keeping a weather eye on her ebony stick, she read him the riot act. “A coachman’s first duty is to his passengers, not his portmanteaus! Death and damnation, you wouldn’t have dared treat Henry Hatton in such a cavalier fashion. Give me your arm, man, your arm!”
Alexandra, who had trotted Zephyr to the stables behind the town house, hadn’t witnessed her grandmother’s about-face, so it amused her when she came around the corner of the building to see Dottie leaning heavily on the coachman’s arm. He turned her over to the butler who awaited Lady Longford at the solid mahogany doors, picked out in gold.
“Welcome to London, my lady. The staff and I are delighted to see you and are most honored to be serving you again.”
“Lud, I’ll soon change that, Hopkins,” Dottie declared dryly.
The butler, familiar with her eccentricities, merely bowed.
Alex slipped inside behind her grandmother. “Hello, Hopkins.”
“Good afternoon, Mistress Alexandra. Viscount Longford has been impatiently awaiting your arrival.”
She grinned at the butler. “Addressing him as Viscount Longford bestows far too much respect upon Rude Rupert. How do you do it with a straight face, Hopkins? And I assure you it’s his trunks that he awaits impatiently.”
As Rupert came rushing downstairs, Alex’s wicked juices began to bubble. “You’re just in time to carry up the luggage!”
“No time for hilarity. I need evening clothes. We ran into Hart Cavendish at Barclays Bank and he invited us to dine at Devonshire House tonight.”
“I take it you secured invitations for Alexandra and me?” Dottie’s tone brooked no refusal. Though she had no intention of going, the invitation was important to her.
“Er, well, since Old Lady Spencer will be there, I warrant you are more than welcome.”
“You will refer to her as Countess Spencer in my presence, you young lout! Here, you may carry this up first.” Dottie handed him a huge hatbox that held all her wigs. “Your bosom friend, Hatton, is in mourning when it comes to his betrothed, but not apparently when it comes to Devonshire House entertainments. Come, Alexandra, we must choose a gown that will make you irresistible to the males of the species.”
By six o’clock, Alexandra was adorned in a cream silk faille gown whose décolletage showed her firm young breasts to perfection. Peacock velvet ribbon adorned the gown’s empire waist, and Sara, their competent ladies’ maid, was busy threading the same shade of peacock ribbon through Alex’s red-gold curls to make a brilliant contrast.
“You look lovely, darling, but you need something to give you flair, drama!” Dottie cocked her head to one side, then the other. “I’ve got it! You need one of my fans.”
Alex looked alarmed. Dottie had a collection of feather fans in every shade imaginable, which added to her wardrobe’s vivid theatrical look. Her grandmother disappeared into her own chamber and returned holding one of her treasures. When Alex picked up the huge turquoise ostrich-feather fan and wafted it slowly, she loved her reflection in the mirror. It didn’t make her look the least bit eccentric; it made her look ravishing!
“Damn and blast, the carriage will be here at six and I cannot manage this neckcloth.” Rupert stood helplessly on the threshold.
Alex ignored him. “Dottie, it’s almost six; you must dress!”
“Lud, child, why would I dine at Devonshire House? We have an incomparable chef right here in Berkeley Square, who has promised me coq au vin, followed by sherry trifle. Rupert will escort you, but remember to treat Lord Hatton with disdain and save your smiles for Hartington. It will drive him mad!”
The butler came to announce that the carriage had arrived.
“Alex, tell them I shall be there in a jiff,” Rupert directed. “Hopkins, help me with this blasted neckcloth. I was trying for an Oriental, but I suppose the waterfall will have to do.”
Alex picked up her wrap, kissed her grandmother good night, and ran lightly downstairs. The coachman bowed and opened the door, but for a moment she stood rooted to the pavement as she realized that the carriage was occupied by both of the Hatton twins.
A pair of dark brows lifted in surprise. “Alex, you look—”
“Ravishing? Well, don’t panic. I give you my assurance that neither one of you is in danger.”
The twins exchanged a sardonic look of appreciation for both her dazzling appearance and her sharp set-down. Privately, Nick was just as dismayed as Alex; he’d had no idea she was coming to London. He cursed silently. His nights were already flooded with dreams of her, and he had hoped putting distance between them would banish her tantalizing presence. But their close proximity tonight guaranteed his erotic dreams would increase.
Alexandra swept up into the carriage with the outward confidence of a woman who knew she looked glorious. On the inside, however, she was a quivering mass of indecision. The men’s black evening clothes, combined with the dim interior of the carriage, made it impossible for her to tell them apart. She sat down beside one of them, which placed her across from the other, and pointedly ignored both. Dear God, I came to London to escape from him, and now I find myself sitting beside him, brushing thighs! She abruptly changed seats, murmuring that she did not like to ride backward.
Rupert arrived and took the seat she had just vacated. As the coach lurched forward, her brother smiled happily. “Ah, this is like the old days … the four of us together!”
“Except you’re now a viscount and I’m a lord,” Kit jested as he jabbed his elbow into his friend’s ribs.
Alexandra was mortified. She had just quite deliberately moved to sit beside Nicholas Hatton, the man she was running away from. She stared out the window, pretending a great interest in the passing scene, but in reality she saw nothing, as Nick’s close physical presence silently overwhelmed her. When the carriage turned into Piccadilly and her body swayed against his, she blushed furiously. She could swear that she could feel his heat seeping through her gown, threatening to melt her icy reserve.
Nicholas clenched his fist to keep his hand from covering hers. When Alexandra was this close, the temptation to touch her was difficult to resist. His nostrils flared as her scent stole to him, and he told himself firmly that her attraction was fatally irresistible only because she was forbidden to him.
“We’re going on to White’s later,” Kit told Rupert. “Our memberships should be confirmed by now.” Hart Cavendish had sponsored his three friends to become members of the oldest gentlemen’s club in London, renowned for its gambling.
“What are the annual dues?” Rupert asked. “I’ve forgotten.”
“I’ll take care of it, old man,” Kit offered negligently.
Alexandra blushed. How clumsy of Rude Rupert to bring up the subject of money when Nicholas had nothing. How generous of Christopher to cover her brother’s insensitive faux pas.
The carriage turned in at the gates of Devonshire House, the largest mansion in Piccadilly. Rupert remembered his manners and jumped out first so he could escort his sister. Kit was about to dismiss the carriage since they intended to stay out all night, but Nick instructed the driver to wait and take Alex home safely.
Alex felt a mutinous resentment that they were free to carouse in London all night, while she was to be packed off home to bed like a child. Goddamnit, life is unfair for females! She glanced at Nicholas, saw the forbidding look on his dark face, and knew he was expecting her to protest vigorously and make a scene. Vowing to disappoint the dominant devil, she lifted her chin, wafted her ostrich-feather fan, and swept up the steps of Devonshire House. Outside it resembled a barracks, but inside it was magnificent!
It was Alexandra’s first visit, and her eyes widened with appreciation as she ascended the marble stairs and witnessed the glittering throng gathered beneath the great crystal chandeliers. A liveried footman took her cloak and she gazed about, wondering how on earth this many people would sit down to dine at one time.
Hart Cavendish, the young Duke of Devonshire, spotted her immediately, flanked by the darkly handsome Hatton twins, and came forward to claim her. “Alexandra, welcome to Devonshire House. You look absolutely dazzling.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “Rupert, you old reprobate, why didn’t you tell me your sister was in town? I would have sent flowers. Come, let me introduce you.” He plucked her from amidst her three escorts and carried her off on his arm like a trophy.
Alexandra said the first thing that came into her head. “I’d no idea so many people would be in London at this time of year.”
“Oh, there’ll be lots of entertainments throughout the fall and winter. Tonight’s dinner is in honor of the Earl of Liverpool.”
Alex couldn’t hide her amazement. “You mean Robert Banks Jenkinson, the new Prime Minister of England?”
Hart gave her a quizzical smile. “I doubted anyone as young and lovely as you would have the least interest in politics.”
“You are wrong. I have a great interest in politicians … both in what they do and what they leave undone. Please point Jenkinson out to me. I’d like a good look at the man who served under Spencer Perceval as War Minister only last year and was so ruthlessly ambitious he shoved old Perceval out on his … ear!”
Hart laughed. “I believe it was another part of his anatomy.”
London’s élite fascinated Alexandra. She was both observant and perceptive as she watched the bi-play that went on between Society’s sexes. She watched the matrons maneuver their daughters of marriageable age among the most eligible bachelors and saw that Kit Hatton and her brother were soon surrounded by this year’s crop of debutantes, who’d been in London since the Season opened in May.
Her glance roamed the glittering crowd, looking for Nicholas. He had made it plain that she was not his type, and she was most curious to see who was. When she saw him, she was surprised to see him in conversation with a male friend, with no young women whatever vying for his attention. She watched him surreptitiously from behind her fan and saw that the women who approached him were older, sophisticated creatures who bestowed smiles upon him that were far too familiar. Alex was immediately green with jealousy, though she told herself she didn’t give a damn about his conquests. When he made his way to the Prime Minister and engaged him in what appeared to be serious conversation, she felt inexplicable relief.
Alex returned her attention to her escort and saw they were surrounded by young men awaiting introductions. She could not help but be flattered as Hart presented her to Lords Fitzmaurice, Tavistock, and Burlington. There were so many titles that soon she could not sort out the earls from the viscounts.
Hart’s sister Harriet, Lady Granville, affectionately known as Hary-O, greeted her warmly. “How lovely to see you. I hope Lady Longford came up to town. Since our grandmothers are such dear friends, I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. Do you mind if I steal my brother? I need him in the dining room if we are ever to get this crowd seated.”
Hart steered Alexandra toward a group of young ladies with whom she was acquainted. Deborah Mitford, Elizabeth Cecil, and Lucy Lyttelson, all debutantes who had been presented this Season, were there with their mothers. When Hart begged her leave, their looks were envious. Dukes of the Realm were few and far between, and Hart Cavendish was second only to royalty in wealth and position.
Finally, the double doors to the dining room swung open and were flanked by footmen resplendent in Devonshire livery. This appeared to be a signal for the start of a race, as the young women about her eagerly rushed forward in an attempt to find themselves seats next to eligible dinner partners, as their mothers had obviously coached them to do.
Alexandra decided upon a more aloof approach. She languidly wafted her fan and watched the other guests elbow their way into the dining room. When she reached the double doors, she was duly impressed by the size of the opulent chamber and the length of the tables. There were two of them, each about forty feet long, set with magnificent damask linen, Georgian silver, and Venetian crystal glasses. One footman stood behind every second chair, ready to lavish attention upon the two people assigned him.
She saw that her brother, Rupert, and Christopher Hatton both sat with young heiresses of the ton. Neither had apparently given her a thought. Then she saw that the chair beside Nicholas Hatton was conspicuously vacant, and she wondered wildly if he had saved her a seat. Like a revelation, it dawned upon her that he was persona non grata with the matrons who had eligible daughters in tow. He was being deliberately snubbed because of the hunting accident and the ensuing scandal.
Her heart turned over in her breast. How could they be such hypocrites, such utter snobs? She lifted a defiant chin and walked a direct path to Nick Hatton’s side. He st
ood immediately and held her chair with an outward show of gallantry. She slipped into the seat and rewarded him with a radiant smile, fully expecting him to be furious with her.
Instead, he was wryly amused. “You are far too tenderhearted, Alex,” he murmured for her ears alone. “It is not necessary to take pity on me.”
“I cannot believe they are treating you this way,” she whispered angrily. “They know it was an accident.”
Nick began to chuckle. “As well as tenderhearted, you are endearingly naive. The worthy matrons of the ton are not snubbing me because I shot my father; I am being ostracized because I now have no part of the Hatton wealth.”
She sat stunned as his words sank in, and she realized that he spoke the gospel truth. “It is the mothers and daughters who are savage bitches! The men seem civil enough. I saw Robert Banks Jenkinson speaking with you.”
“The Earl of Liverpool was War Minister before he became Prime Minister.” Nick, about to add something, changed his mind.
“Apparently the earl lets nothing stand in the way of ambition.”
“Ambition in a man is an admirable trait, Alex.”
She arched a brow. “And what would you consider an admirable trait for a woman?”
“Loyalty … something you have in abundance. Courage … something else you display when you deliberately choose to sit with me.”
“Utter rot! I simply have a defiant nature and enjoy spitting in the ton’s evil eye.”
His mouth curved. “Hellion.”
Oh God, Nick, don’t look at me that way. Why the hellfire can’t you set your stupid scruples aside and marry me? Alex curbed her thoughts and lowered her lashes, before he could guess how lovesick she was. When the gentleman sitting to her right spoke, she had no idea what he said. She gave him a polite smile and feigned interest, while her emotions ran riot throughout the entire meal.
When she turned her attention from him, Nick was thankful. Her closeness played havoc with his senses, and her lush breasts exquisitely displayed in the empire gown had so physically aroused him that his breeches were stretched to the bursting point. By the end of the meal, the dull ache in his groin had spread up to his heart.
Ravished Page 11
