In actual fact, Lord Hatton was becoming desperate. In a futile attempt to restore some of his money, he and Rupert had spent every night of the last two weeks at White’s. His reckless gambling had not paid off, however, leaving him deeper in debt. He handed out markers with feigned casualness, knowing he must keep his financial difficulties from his friend. Marriage to Rupert’s sister was his last hope, when all else failed.
To make matters worse, Nick would be coming home now that the war was over. Kit knew he didn’t have a chance in hell of keeping his shocking financial situation from his twin. Nick was far too shrewd. His only hope was to rehearse a plausible explanation for his reckless spending and have a solution ready. Each night after Rupert left him in Curzon Street, Kit drowned his sorrows with whiskey and soothed his nerves with opium.
Nicholas Hatton stabled his horse in the cobbled coach house behind Charlie’s in Pall Mall and grinned into the darkness. It seemed only fitting that the first place he visited upon arrival in London was where he spent his last night almost a year ago.
He walked into the gilded reception room, and though his hair was long and he sported a black beard, Charlotte King knew immediately that the man in the well-worn uniform was Nick.
“Hazard Hatton, as I live and breathe! The conquering hero returns. By God, it’s good to see you.”
“Hello, Charlie. You are a sight for sore eyes—still the most elegant woman in London. No, don’t touch me; I need a bath and a shave.”
“I bet that’s not all you need!”
“Where the devil is everyone? Don’t tell me business has fallen off?”
“Saturdays have never been better. The clientele is all in there watching Caprice.” She indicated a closed door. “Take a gander and tell me what you think.”
Bemused, he opened the door, found the room in semidarkness, and stood at the back. The silence struck him as his eyes adjusted to the diffused light emanating from the stage. The sound of men breathing but making no other noise seemed unnatural. And then he saw her. The female was ethereal. The gauze curtains combined with the gaslight gave her a golden glow. Everything about her excited him, her elegance, her youth, her innocence, and her luminous beauty. Her delicate loveliness was the sort that evoked instant yearning in a male.
Nick gave her his rapt attention as she sat and lifted one slim leg. Slowly, she removed a garter, then she posed again with the other leg elevated. His mouth went dry. Surely, she had the longest legs he’d ever seen in his life. When she held her leg motionless in the air and slowly inched a striped stocking along its length, Nick’s cock went so hard he could have cracked walnuts with it.
It’s because I haven’t had a woman in a long time. It’s the illusion she’s creating, revealing all, while remaining untouchable.
He looked at the men seated in the semidarkness.
It’s not just me; they are just as mesmerized as I am. She holds them in thrall.
He was amazed at the intense desire she had aroused in him by merely pretending to be in her private chamber.
He cursed beneath his breath. Her price would be high; she was obviously the specialty of the house. There was no way he would waste his hard-earned officer’s pay on a whore, no matter how delectable. Nick laughed at himself. A sexual male animal, fully potent, such as himself, was a bloody fool to even watch her. He turned, eased the rough material that stretched taut over his erection, and quit the room.
Charlie sauntered over to him. “What do you think?
“Quite a drawing card you’ve got there.”
“Caprice is more than that. She makes the men who watch her so randy that some of them order two girls at a time.”
He shrugged. “A fool and his money . . .”
She took a step closer and looked up into his dark face. “Go on up to my private suite; I’ll order you a bath.”
The moment the lamps were snuffed, Alex gathered up her clothes. She had become efficient at making a quick exit through the door and up the stairs. Charlie allowed her to dress in her rooms, then Alex departed still cloaked and masked. As she emerged from the stairs, she dropped a slipper and bent to retrieve it. When she straightened, she saw that she was not alone. The tall figure of a man came down the hall toward her, and she noticed he was wearing some sort of faded uniform. His hair was long, his face covered by a black curly beard. In a flash of recognition, Alex knew it was Nick. She felt the walls move in to meet her, and she almost fainted. She drew in a steadying breath and focused on one thought:
Under no circumstances must he learn my identity!
His mouth curved in a slow smile. “Caprice.” He spoke her stage name as if he were testing its texture and flavor. “May I say you are one long-legged filly?”
“Non!”
She put up a forbidding hand. “I do not speak weeth customers!” She desperately hoped that the heavy accent would disguise her voice.
His amusement increased. “No intercourse at all?”
You are a devil, Nick Hatton! Your wicked play on words is meant to fluster me.
“Let me pass,
m’sieur.
”
He took a step closer and towered above her like a raptor closing in on its prey. His nostrils flared as her fragrance stole to him.
Breast-high scent.
The hunting term came to him in all its sensuality. He fought his desire before it got the better of him.
I have captured so many French, they no longer interest me.
He bowed and allowed her to escape.
To her consternation, he opened the door to Champagne Charlie’s private suite and disappeared inside. Alex moved down the hall and opened the first door that presented itself, hoping fervently the room was unoccupied. Her hands were trembling as she donned her clothes with the utmost speed.
You dissolute rakehell! How could I ever have imagined I was in love with you?
The next morning when Nick arrived in Curzon Street, he was bathed, shaved, and his hair, cropped to a fashionable length, was brushed back in its usual style. He stabled his horse behind the town house and examined the shiny perch-phaeton and the pair of chestnut carriage horses. The servants were overjoyed to see him and welcomed him back with genuine affection. He took the stairs two at a time, eager to shed the shabby uniform and put on his riding clothes. He quietly opened Kit’s chamber door a crack, expecting him to be still abed, for he was ever a late riser. Nick’s lips curved fondly when he saw the dark head of his sleeping brother. He closed the door softly so he wouldn’t disturb him and went into his own room.
When Nick emerged, he was clad in gray buckskin riding breeches and a dark green hacking jacket. When he donned the buckskins he found them loose about the waist but tight around the thighs, and he realized that his thigh muscles bulged from so many hours in the saddle. As he collected his mount from the stable, he ran his hand along the mare’s glossy coat and marveled. This was the horse he’d found on the battlefield. He’d been amazed that the animal was a mare rather than a gelding. She’d been bred for stamina and strength rather than beauty, but once he had washed the blood and dust from her, her coat shone like black satin.
He rode in Hyde Park, delighted at how lushly green everything was from the turf to the treetops. There were swans on the Serpentine and larks rising in the morning sky. Nick had never appreciated an English spring as much as he did at this moment. He nodded cordially to the gentlemen who rode past and doffed his hat to the ladies in their carriages. Most probably mistook him for his twin, but that was inconsequential, he realized happily. He was home, and nothing could diminish the joy he felt in his heart.
By the time Nick got back to Curzon Street, Kit was up and dressed. When the servants had told him his brother was home, Kit felt panic and decided on the spot that he would return to Hatton. Nick found him in the breakfast room. When he looked into his twin’s face, identical to his own, Nick threw back his head and laughed, then he thumped Kit on the back. “I had forgotten what a handsome devil you are.”
Kit laughed. “Well, war hasn’t changed you either.”
It has, I’m afraid
. “It taught me the importance of home and family. I have a proposition for you, Kit. I’d like to use my officer’s pay as a down payment on Hatton Grange. I’ll live at the Grange and raise horses.” He stole a sausage from his twin’s plate.
“How much?” Kit asked avidly.
“It’s less than two thousand, but once I start to sell the horses I breed, I’ll give you fair value for the Grange.”
“Two thousand? That’s all they paid you for fighting a bloody war? I lost more than that at White’s last night!” Kit bit his tongue. Why the devil had he let that slip?
Nick refused to take offense at the blatantly insensitive remark. “Your bad luck at cards is legendary. Be thankful you have more good sense than to make a habit of it.”
Kit suddenly realized he wanted to confess. “Actually, I have been making a habit of it. I’ve been tossing out markers like confetti.”
“Damnation, you should know better!” Nick felt as if he were addressing one of his young recruits. “You must always pay your gambling debts with cash. That way you don’t get in over your head.” He clapped Kit on the back. “I refuse to let you ruin my good mood. Just be thankful you are a wealthy man. Why don’t I come with you tonight and try to win some of them back?”
“I was on my way home to Hatton . . . the valet is packing for me now . . . but I think it’s a damned good idea for you to win some of them back. I’d truly appreciate it, Nick.”
Nick shook his head in disbelief. Nothing had changed.
Kit still expects me to get him out of every difficulty. If he knew how badly I want to go home to Hatton, he wouldn’t ask this of me.
“Let me have a list of your markers,” he said with resignation.
An hour later when he saw Kit drive off in his perch-phaeton, Nick’s attention was drawn to the chestnuts. He hoped his brother hadn’t paid a high price for them, since they were not a matched pair.
I mustn’t criticize everything he does; Father did that.
That night as he donned his evening clothes, Nick looked in the mirror to assess their fit. He looked into the reflection of his own gray eyes.
I know, I know. I swore never to set foot in White’s Club again, and already I’m compromising my principles.
A mocking voice answered,
War taught you that only a fool has principles!
Since he wasn’t a member of the club, he would have to pose as Christopher anyway. He heard Rupert arrive and decided to put the imposture to the test. “You’re early,” he called down, then delibertly brushed a curl to fall forward on his brow.
“No, I’m not. You’re late, as usual.”
As Nick descended the stairs he thought Rupert looked much thinner. “You’d think after all these years I would mend my ways.”
“I don’t expect pears from an elm tree. You’ll never change.”
“A literary allusion.” Nick put on his top hat. “Don’t tell me you’ve been reading, old man?”
“No fear of that; it’s one of Dottie’s expressions. Oh, and speaking of the devil, she wants me to drop you a broad hint that Alexandra is attending the rout at Burlington House tonight with Hart Cavendish.”
Rupert’s words aroused Nick’s envy. “Really? I suppose we could drop in at Burlington House after we’ve been to White’s.”
Rupert opened the door and said over his shoulder, “Suits me! M’wife and her mother have turned the house into a damn nursery.”
You’re married?
It was a good thing Nick was behind Rupert as his face registered his astonishment.
Who is your wife?
“Olivia’s mother has taken over since we had the baby. Annabelle couldn’t get me out of the house fast enough tonight.”
You’re married to Olivia, and you already have a child?
As they climbed into the carriage, Nick was baffled. When he left, his brother had been keen on Olivia. Nick’s suspicious thoughts sprang to the obvious conclusion.
That’s ridiculous! If my brother got her with child, he would do the honorable thing.
At White’s, the usual gambling addicts were present, three of whom held markers from his twin. Nick was in a dangerous mood. He marked his first prey and sat down at the baccarat table opposite Lord Brougham.
“Ha, young Hatton! Back for more, eh?”
“Back for considerably more.” His gray eyes bore into his opponent’s with supreme confidence. Nick was using his own money, and there was no way on God’s green earth he was going to lose any of it. As he bluffed his way through every hand, the pile of
rouleaux
in front of him grew apace with his deadly determination. In the process he cleaned out Brougham. Nick stood and gathered in his counters. “I know I may rely upon you to tear up my marker, my lord.”
Nick asked Rupert to cash in his winnings and walked a direct path to the whist table, a game he loathed. He slanted a dark brow at the Earl of Bingham. “I am here to change your luck, my lord.” In slightly more than two hours, three of Kit Hatton’s markers were history, and Nick was richer by more than a hundred guineas. “I seem to have done all the damage I can do here,” he informed Rupert. “I’m more than ready for Burlington House.”
When they arrived at the mansion in Piccadilly, Rupert went to pay his respects to the hostess. Nick did not go directly to the gaming room that had been set up but took a leisurely stroll through the reception rooms, searching for a glimpse of red hair. When he did not see Alexandra, his disappointment was more acute than he expected. He lingered in the ballroom until he was certain she was not dancing, then headed to the card room.
When he saw her playing cards, sitting beside Hart Cavendish, a burning streak of jealousy ripped through him. Nick was completely aware of the violence of his feelings, and it surprised him. He prided himself on being in control of his emotions. He was usually calm, cool, and unruffled, no matter the provocation.