Alex turned in the article at the newspaper office, accompanied by two drawings. One was of a sweep and his soot-covered climbing boy with sad, hopeless eyes; the other was a caricature of the Members of Parliament eating, drinking, and sleeping on the benches while a speaker droned on unheeded. She received the grand sum of seven shillings for her efforts. If only one person reads my article and feels outrage, it will be worth the pittance, she thought to herself as she made her way home.
Rupert called around to Curzon Street so he could tell Kit his good news. “I believe congratulations are in order. I took your shrewd advice, for which I am deeply grateful, and pushed old man Harding into upping the ante to ten thousand a year.”
“Then congratulate you I do! I gave the advice, but you acted upon it; two heads are better than one.”
“Well, I warrant a twin knows that better than any. By the way, do you miss Nick excessively?”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him. A twin isn’t just a brother; he is a part of yourself. I wish he hadn’t run off, but I know he had his reasons.”
Rupert changed the subject. “I haven’t exactly made plans for the wedding yet, but when I do, I want you to be my groomsman.”
Kit Hatton had the decency to flush. Bloody bad form, as I’m the one who impregnated the bride! Instead of retreating into his shell, he made a crablike, sideways maneuver. “Rupert, I am extremely flattered, but I would advise you to ask Olivia’s brother, Harry. Giving him the honor would put you in such good standing with your new in-laws.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Sure you won’t feel left out?”
I want to be left out of this one. “You should ask Harry.”
“Then it’s settled! Do you know where I want to go today? Tattersall’s to have a look at the horses. I saw the Earl of Jersey tooling his cattle through traffic this morning and suddenly I fancied a phaeton, or even a racing curricle.”
“Then let’s do it. We’re both men of means, so why shouldn’t we indulge our fancies?”
After two hours inspecting horses, Rupert looked on with longing as Kit bought himself a pair of well-bred, matched chestnuts. They spent another two hours at the coachmakers, where Kit chose the most expensive perch-phaeton in the coachyard. “Let’s celebrate. Why don’t we go home and change, then meet at White’s for dinner?”
“Sorry, Kit, I must dance attendance on Olivia at Almack’s.”
Christopher patted Rupert’s back to console him. “It happens to the best of us sooner or later. Wait till I’m courting your sister, Alex. The imp will lead me on a merry chase, I have no doubt.”
Later, at White’s, after Kit had eaten dinner and made his way to the gaming rooms, he saw Jeremy Eaton across the room and wanted to hide. He had been successful in putting thoughts of his second cousin out of his mind, but seeing him made Kit’s hackles rise. He watched with sinking emotions as Jeremy approached.
“H’lo, Harm. I was hoping I’d bump into you.”
Kit experienced déjà vu. Those were the exact same words the devious swine used last time we met! Kit dreaded what was coming.
“I understand my father tipped you off to some failsafe, lucrative investments, cousin?”
Kit summoned an arrogant attitude and stood his ground. “Surely your father isn’t foolish enough to discuss my private business affairs with you, is he, Jeremy?”
“Ah, no. My father does not have a foolish bone in his body, Harm. He has no idea the special interest I take in you. Only the two of us know … so far,” he added with unsubtle emphasis.
“What the devil do you want?” Kit demanded with a bravado he did not feel.
“Since my father isn’t nearly as generous toward me as your father was toward you, I find that I am short of funds again. I too would like to put some money into investments. It’s ironic that your father left you everything, don’t you agree, Harm?”
The avaricious swine knows it was me who shot Father and not Nick. I wish the bastard would have a fatal accident himself! But why the devil am I worrying, when I have enough money to keep the bloodsucking scum quiet? “This is the last time Jeremy. How much?”
“A mere five thousand buys my undying loyalty and gratitude.”
Kit’s eyes narrowed. His demands had gone up tenfold since last time. “Meet me at Barclays in the morning.” He turned on his heel and walked a direct path to the faro table. Within minutes Jeremy Eaton sat down at the same table and enjoyed the devil’s own luck. Soon, he had all Kit’s blunt and graciously accepted a marker from his second cousin. Kit ordered a double whiskey. This is one of the times that I miss you, Nick. The two of us together would demolish this bastard, but I can’t do it alone, curse you!
Lieutenant Nicholas Hatton wondered if the Fates were cursing him. October brought such a sudden change to the weather that he and his men were caught off guard. October was as wet as September had been dry. The deluge began and would not cease; the dusty earth turned into a sea of mud, and the area outside Pamplona where they had made their camp became an ankle-deep quagmire.
Nick gave orders to strike their tents and set up on higher ground. On the second morning at the new camp, he discovered that not only was food and wine missing but supplies and weapons had been stolen. With Sergeant Tim O’Neil at his side, he ferreted out who was to blame. Apparently, the four young soldiers who were on guard had crept inside in the middle of the night to escape the torrential rain and had downed a few bottles to warm their blood.
Grim-faced and with hard, crystalline gray eyes, Nick surveyed the four culprits who stood at attention before him. His natural instinct was to protect the young devils, and his quicksilver mind darted about exploring avenues that would excuse them from the consequences of their actions. Because he had always protected his twin and covered for him by taking the blame upon his own shoulders, he was tempted to do the same with his soldiers. With a sinking heart he realized that he must mete out discipline; to do otherwise would be grossly unfair to his other men who were not derelict in their duty. He knew they must be taught responsibility.
“There will be no more wine available in my camp. You will give every bottle to the villagers, then you will replace the food that was stolen plus an extra three days’ supply of game for the entire camp.” His eyes darkened; his face looked hard as granite. “Your watch-time will be doubled, and I shall be there with you to see that you do not shirk one moment.” He saw their shoulders slump and hardened his heart against softening their punishment. “Your pay will be forfeit until the stolen guns are paid for.” Death and damnation, how long will this siege last? My men need action. Pamplona was out of food and water and ready to capitulate but then the bloody rains came!
The next day, Wellington himself rode into camp astride his great charger, Copenhagen, to converse with General Hill. Lieutenant Hatton, along with the other officers, were privy to their conversation. “Tomorrow I mount a surprise attack on Bidassoa. My men will be the first British soldiers on French soil. It will be a symbol, a foretaste of what is to come. General Hill, you will remain in charge of the siege of Pamplona until she surrenders, before you lead your men into France. Any French disasters in the Peninsula have been largely due to their cruelty to civilians. I am convinced that good behavior in conquered France will pay off!” The hooked-nosed Wellington spoke matter-of-factly. He was an impatient commander who did not suffer fools. “Inform your men that we are at war with the government, not with civilians.”
Wellington departed as swiftly as he had arrived, riding Copenhagen into the wind and the rain. Clearly, General Hill was disappointed not to be among the first to set foot on French soil, but he ordered his officers to keep up their men’s morale and above all warned that when Pamplona surrendered, they must keep their soldiers on a tight rein and maintain discipline at any cost.
During the next fortnight, Nick drummed discipline into his soldiers as they relentlessly pounded the fortress with cannon. “Pamplona is close to surrender.
I am responsible for your behavior. I will not tolerate acts of vengeance upon conquered people. If I see any man commit murder, arson, or rape, I will not hesitate to shoot him on the spot. Do I make myself clear?”
Not one man present doubted he meant it. They had come to respect him for his untiring energy and his genuine concern that put their welfare before his own, never asking aught of them that he would not willingly do himself. He patched up their wounds, dosed them when they came down with dysentery, and counseled them when they became homesick—even writing letters for those who were illiterate. Hatton was a natural leader, far better in their opinion than any other of Hill’s officers. Moreover, they knew that Lieutenant Hatton’s word was his bond.
Occasionally, mail arrived from England, which never failed to cheer the men. Nick had written a letter to his twin but had received no reply from Kit. A dozen times since he had been in Pamplona, he had begun a letter to Alexandra, then stopped himself from posting it. He did not want to do anything that would encourage her to daydream of him. Though she constantly filled his thoughts, he dutifully pushed them aside. His dreams, however, he had no control over whatsoever, and strangely, the most vivid ones occurred whenever the day’s events had been horrific. His dream sex was highly erotic, like riding wild horses on a magic carpet!
Nick thought he was too tired to dream, but he was wrong.
He felt a sense of joyful anticipation that went beyond happiness, for he knew that soon, very soon, Alexandra would come. After what felt like an eon, he saw her running toward him, laughing, naked. He gathered her into his arms and watched her lashes flutter to her cheeks. Like the delicate flutter of a butterfly wing, he touched the comers of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. She smiled a secret smile, without opening her eyes, and slid down his bared body to her knees. He went down with her, kneeling before her, and his longing was like a hunger in the blood. Slowly, his fingertips traced her cheek, her throat, her shoulder. Then his hand brushed across her heart and he felt its rapid beat beneath his fingers.
His mouth moved closer to the tip of her breast, and he gently blew warm breath on the hard little bud. and watched it ruche tighter. His hand trailed beneath the curve of her breast, along her ribs, and down her belly. He heard her indrawn breath of excitement when he drew one fingertip along her cleft. Then, very deliberately, he licked and tasted her from throat to navel as his fingers drew circles about the rosebud that nestled in the damp red curls at the tip of her cleft.
A wild thrill ran through him at the love noises she made, for they told him that she had never been sexually pleasured before. He untangled her arms from around his neck and gently pushed her down into the flower-filled grass. His hands slipped beneath her buttocks, and his fingers slid into the cleft between her cheeks as he lifted her onto his muscled thighs. Then he bent his head and dropped a kiss onto her high mons, which tempted him to madness. As her lashes lifted, he saw the look of shock in her eyes turn into a sultry look as he thrust his tongue into her hot, silken sheath. With the tip of his tongue he felt the pulse point deep within, then he felt her sheath tighten, throb, and pulsate, as it gripped and squeezed his tongue. He felt her open her legs fully so she would not impede the hot, sliding friction, and he knew what she wanted. With a heavy rhythm that matched their heartbeats, he thrust deeply for long breath-stopping minutes. When her climax came, it was hard and fast. He felt exultant as her hot shudders melted into liquid tremors.
* * *
In London, plans for the Harding-Sheffield wedding began to jell and became solid. For Rupert, time seemed to flash by like a racing whippet; for Olivia, time seemed to have slowed to the pace of a sloth, as she surreptitiously but constantly surveyed her figure in every available mirror.
The Hardings wisely decided to hold the wedding in London rather than at their stately home in Bucks County. They used the excuse that the fall Season had begun, but in reality it meant that the wedding could be a much smaller affair.
“Did Olivia tell you how long she is willing to wait for the wedding?” Dottie asked Rupert.
“Just until I kill myself.”
“Oh, not long then,” Dottie said dryly. “Rupert, don’t whinge; it is most unmanly.”
“The wedding is to be a week from Saturday. I have asked Olivia’s brother to be my groomsman.” Rupert sounded resigned.
“Mmm, I suppose with Christopher Hatton in mourning, you had little choice, but that means Olivia will reciprocate and ask your sister to be her maid of honor. Such short notice is indecent!” Dottie wanted to bite her tongue the minute she said the word, so she quickly added, “Well, there’s nothing to be done but take Alexandra round to Madame Martine’s in Bond Street.” She carefully counted out Rupert’s five hundred pounds and sighed at the expense of another new gown for Alex. “Here, m’boy, you’ve earned it by rising so precipitously to the occasion. I’m proud of you, Rupert.”
Though Dottie would have preferred to dispatch Annabelle Harding to the devil, she curbed her evil impulses and allowed Lady Harding and Olivia to accompany Alexandra and herself to the Parisian dressmaker, since Madame Martine also was doing the wedding gown.
“I’ve always wanted my bridesmaids to wear pink.” It was Olivia’s favorite shade, as it flattered her dark coloring.
“You are not having bridesmaids, dearest, only a maid of honor, but I am sure Alexandra will be amenable to pink.”
“Actually, I’m not,” Alex replied. “I have screamy-colored hair that clashes with pink.”
“Then what about puce?” Annabelle suggested.
“Puce is not only pink, it is offensive pink,” Dottie declared. “I think you would look good in goose-turd green, Annabelle.”
Olivia giggled. “Baby blue wouldn’t clash with your hair, Alexandra,” she said, wistfully abandoning all hope of pink.
Alex tried valiantly not to grimace. “Forget-me-not blue would be more striking, don’t you think, and carries such an appropriate sentiment for a wedding?”
The color agreed upon, they moved on to style. “I simply love the French Empire style, don’t you, Alexandra?”
“I must confess that I do,” Alex said, smiling at Olivia.
“Did you know that Josephine Bonaparte made the Empire style fashionable in order to conceal the fact that she was enceinte?” Dottie had no patience for subtlety.
Olivia turned pale, while Annabelle flushed, confirming Dottie’s suspicions. Alex said quickly, “Madame does the French style exquisitely. My last gown was Empire, and I had many compliments.”
So Rupert is the scapegoat! Dottie thought. Now that Annabelle knows that I know, I shall squeeze a consolation prize from the harpy. “Olivia, my dear, have you given any thought to a town house of your own? Surely a viscountess won’t want to live with Mamma and Pappa?” Dottie saw the speculative look that Olivia bent upon her mother.
“Actually, Mother, there is an empty town house in Clarges Street, not too far away from ours. Perhaps Daddy would give it to us for a wedding present?” Since Daddy had given her everything she ever wanted from the age of two, Olivia considered it her due.
Dottie threw Annabelle a look of triumph. Annabelle smiled resignedly; she knew she was getting a bargain by saving her daughter from disgrace.
Alex was aware of the bi-play, and worse, she understood it. Olivia is with child and Dottie knows about it! Does Rupert know? He flatly denied the innuendo, yet he has agreed to a hurried wedding, so he must know! Alex firmly stopped her inquisitive mind from digging deeper; she feared uncovering something worse.
When she returned from the dressmaker, Alex was careful not to allude to anything remotely connected to Rupert and Olivia’s secret. Thoughts were one thing, but words, once uttered, changed everything and moreover could inflict painful wounds. She gave her brother an especially affectionate smile. “By the way, Rupert, did you write to tell Nick that you were getting married?”
Rupert stiffened. His blue eyes turned to ice. “I have no intention of wr
iting to the coward.”
“Whatever do you mean?” She held her breath, terrified of his reply.
Rupert hesitated for a long moment, then said, “The ton ostracized him when he accidentally shot his father, and instead of facing them down, he bolted with his tail between his legs.”
Alex knew his eyes had not turned to ice over anything to do with the shooting accident. Only something devastatingly personal could do that. She turned on her heel and fled up the stairs. In her chamber she picked up a book and flung it at the wall. It didn’t nearly relieve her of the emotion building inside of her. She snatched up an inkpot and hurled it after the book. The hideous mess it made of the primrose wallpaper gave her a moment of satisfaction, but it was not until she threw herself on the bed and sobbed for an hour that she began to purge herself of Nick Hatton.
Rupert allowed his curiosity to mix with a little excitement when he received Olivia’s note telling him she had a surprise for him. It would not be the first surprise she had given him. When they had been left alone in the Harding’s parlor and he had formally proposed to her, she had flung herself into his arms with great abandon. Olivia had a lovely rounded figure, and when she pressed her soft curves into his long, lean length, it had heated his blood with lust. His kisses were tentative, but her answering kisses had been so hungry he began to think that perhaps a wife and marriage were things to be desired rather than dreaded. If her parents had not been lurking in the house, Rupert was certain that he could have seduced Olivia and persuaded her to a giving mood.
He decided that when he called in Clarges Street, he would take her a present. Flowers was his first idea, but he quickly decided on chocolate bonbons instead. With the ribbon-wrapped box beneath his arm, he ran up the steps of the town house and lifted the brass knocker. Though it was the butler who opened the door, he immediately saw Olivia descending the stairs to the entrance hall and knew she had been waiting for him. She wore a pink morning dress but was carrying a bonnet and her reticule, which told him they were going out.
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