“But we’ll be in London in two days.”
Nick schooled himself to patience. “I told him to send it to Curzon Street.”
“You know, old man, you have an extremely suspicious nature.”
“No, if I had a suspicious nature, I’d think you had dishonorable designs on young Ellen.”
Kit almost choked with laughter, then threw down his napkin. “You are a shrewd bastard, Hazard Hatton. I warrant John Eaton would have one hell of a time cheating you.”
You’re wrong, Kit. He has already cheated me.
“It is you I wish to keep Eaton from cheating.”
“Now that Father is gone, don’t think to set yourself up as my guardian, Nick. It is most insulting to imply that I am not as shrewd as you are, either regarding money matters or human nature. I believe I am quite capable of handling my own affairs. Since everything is now mine—
including the servants
—I’ll thank you not to meddle. Perhaps you should concentrate on your own problem. If I were in your shoes, I would solve my dilemma immediately by marrying money.” Kit held up his hand when he saw Nick open his mouth to reply. “Pardon my presumption in advising someone with your great wisdom; I warrant the predatory lion has already marked his prey.”
Nick’s pride had taken too many blows today. He knew he must remove himself from his twin’s presence to prevent violence from erupting. “A truce? I shan’t meddle in your affairs if you don’t meddle in mine.”
Later, as he lay in bed, Nick realized that he had done to his brother what Alexandra had done to him. Presuming to solve someone’s problem implied that he was not capable of doing it himself. He had not intended to offend Kit; nevertheless, his twin had taken offense, and Nick decided that this was a good sign. If he was ready to take on the responsibilities of the vast Hatton estate, it would free Nick to get on with his own life.
He pushed away thoughts and suspicions about Jeremy and John Eaton. He had warned Kit, and decided that was enough; he would keep his word and meddle no further. Though he tried to banish thoughts of Alex, she pervaded his senses. She had offered herself up to him, and her compassion and generosity filled him with awe. Here in the solitude of his own chamber, he admitted how tempted he had been. He searched his motives honestly and knew the temptation had nothing to do with her money. She was adventurous and hungry for life. Courage and laughter were second nature to her. She had wit, intelligence, and a radiant beauty that came from within. Nick let out a slow breath of appreciation; her glorious red-gold curls and long slim legs weren’t bad either! She was a prize beyond compare, and Nick couldn’t deny that he coveted her.
He closed his eyes and imagined that her fragrance of jasmine stole to him in the darkness. As he drifted into sleep, her presence permeated his dreams.
Nicholas found himself entering the doors of the ancient Hatton church and realized with joy that it was his wedding day. It was, however, a pagan ceremony, and as he approached his bride, he saw that a sleeping Alexandra was lying naked upon the altar, amid glowing candles and flowers of jasmine. His mind denied that she was a sacrificial offering, as his possessive glance roamed freely over her alabaster flesh and the red-gold curls that covered her high mons. He bent his dark head and placed his lips upon her heart in a reverent kiss that sealed their union. He removed his dark cape and draped it over her exquisite body, cloaking her innocence. Then he lifted her and with infinite tenderness carried her to his bed. He laid her down upon linen sheets, whiter than driven snow, and worshipped her with his eyes. The moment he threaded his fingers into her silken curls and claimed her lips, she lifted her lashes, slipped her arms about his neck, and arched her body to fit his. The mating that followed was a wild, pagan affair, erotic, exotic, and sensual in the extreme. They lay panting, entwined in each other’s arms, when a knock came upon the chamber door. He heard his twin’s voice clearly. “I have come to claim my bride.” Wildly, Nick looked down at the lovely female in his arms and saw the vivid spots of crimson blood upon the pristine sheet. “Judas! What have I done?”
Nick awoke with a start. His body was glistening with perspiration. Christ, it had happened again. He swung his legs out of bed and paced the chamber like a lion in his cage. With relief he remembered that tomorrow he was leaving for London. The sooner he put a safe distance between himself and Alexandra, the better it would be for all of them. And never again must he imagine making love to her; not even in his dreams!
The moment she got home, Alex wanted to retreat to her own chamber to lick her wounds. Three obstacles—dinner, Dottie, and Rupert—stood squarely in her way. She surveyed the larder with dismay; its contents were diminishing in alarming fashion. She picked up a cold ham, along with some vegetables from the garden, and entered the kitchen with resolution, prepared to tackle the evening meal.
“I shall help you, darling,” Dottie declared brightly.
“Cooking is not your
forte,
” Alex said decisively, taking a carving knife from Dottie’s hand before she did herself an injury.
Rupert came into the kitchen with a look of desperation on his face. “Alex, I’m at my wit’s end. You must help me pack for London. My valet has deserted me and I am flummoxed!”
“It will have to wait until after dinner.”
“Why?” he demanded.
“Because, Rude Rupert, I have been appointed head cook and bottle-wash. Unless you would care to take over?”
He threw up his hands in horror. “This is a madhouse; I shall be glad to see the back of it.”
“When you are gone, there will be one less lunatic,” Dottie pointed out.
And one less mouth to feed
.
Alex met the challenge of dinner, but later, when she stood on the threshold of Rupert’s chamber, her courage almost failed her. The entire contents of his wardrobe engulfed both bed and carpet in a storm-swept sea of clothing.
In an effort to help, Rupert gathered together a dozen clean neckcloths and held them out. “These need starch.”
Alex swallowed a curse and deftly dodged the chore. “It would be far more practical to starch them when they are unpacked.” She eyed his valises that stood gaping, ready to be filled, and sent him off to the attic. “As well as these, you will need a large trunk, perhaps two. You have morning, evening, and riding clothes. You have greatcoats, boots, hats, and wigs, to say nothing of shirts and waistcoats.”
“I need a valet,” he said plaintively.
“You need a kick up the arse!”
“There’s no need to be offensive, Alex.”
“Then stop offending me. You are about as much use as a chocolate teapot!”
“Perhaps Dottie is right; I need a wife. She suggested that marriage would solve my problems.”
Alexandra saw how easily he accepted such a solution, and suddenly the contrast between him and Nicholas Hatton was brought home to her. Rupert was an immature youth, while Nicholas was a man, and Alex realized that that was Nick’s great attraction; she wouldn’t want him any other way.
It was late when she retired, and she fought the impulse to fling herself upon her bed and cry herself to sleep. Though her emotions had been deeply wounded, she knew that sooner or later she was going to have to come to terms with reality. Nick Hatton did not return her affection. She told herself that it was her own fault that she felt such despair. Dottie had warned her since she was a child that she must follow her head rather than her heart. Under no circumstances must she ever fall in love, for love was disastrous. She told herself that she would get over him, but deep down inside Alexandra knew it was a lie.
The pain in her heart slowly melted away and was replaced by a feeling of excitement. She felt the wind in her face, felt it whipping her long hair into a wild tangle, heard herself laughing with sheer joy as she bent low over Zephyr’s sleek black neck and urged her to gallop faster. She was in a race with Christopher and Nicholas Hatton and she was the prize! She turned her head to watch Kit astride Renegade and knew he could outrun her mare. He was so handsome mounted upon the black stallion that she longed to sketch him and capture this moment forever. She smiled a secret smile when he pulled ahead of her. She turned her head to the other side to watch Nick astride Slate and felt jubilant. She had bet her entire fortune upon the gray, but it had little to do with the horse. It was the man riding the gray on whom she had put her money. Her secret smile widened as she watched him pull ahead. The two horses in front of her were full-out now. They were well matched, and their satiny sinews strained forward with brutal strength. The animals were even, head to head, and it looked as if the race would end in a draw, but Alexandra knew better. She raised her eyes to the man riding the gray and saw his teeth flash in a smile that told her how much Hazard Hatton was enjoying himself. She shivered as she saw his male power dominate and harness the power of the animal beneath him. Then, triumphantly, his horse surged over the finish line ahead of the black Thoroughbred.
Alexandra was mesmerized just looking at him. Her blood pounded exactly as his did. Simply watching him thrilled and excited her. His linen shirt clung to his chest and the cords of his neck pulsed with the glory of being alive as he reached up and lifted her down from the saddle. As she went down into his arms, she knew that it was not so much that he liked to win; she knew he could not bear to lose. Twin he might be, but to Alexandra there was no man on earth like him.
Handclasped, they ran laughing into the stables. When he pulled her down into the hay, she went willingly. His possessive hand slipped inside her doublet, and as his warm palm cupped her breast, she felt it harden with desire. The fingers of his other hand traced a tantalizing path up the inside of her thigh. As his dark head dipped to take possession of her mouth, she whispered breathlessly, “Nicholas, are you really going to make love to me?”
Suddenly, Alexandra’s eyes flew open. Her hand went to her hair, which was now cropped short, and she felt a pang of regret over its loss. When she realized that it had only been a dream, she experienced a far greater loss and could hold back the tears no longer. She sat up in bed and hugged her knees. If she was ever to get over her longing for Nick Hatton, she knew she must put distance between them. In the morning, she would talk Dottie into their going to London with Rupert.
Chapter 9
Alexandra’s feet touched the floor long before sunrise, and by seven she was packed for London. When Rupert opened his door to her polite tap, he was standing amidst his trunks and valises. “After you’ve taken your luggage down, will you come back up for mine?”
“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.