Caldwell jumped in front of him to prevent him from going any farther, snatched the crumpled parchment out of his hand, and shoved it back into his inner vest pocket. “Hawksford. Please.” He adjusted his coat. “Don’t do this to me. It’s important you stay. It’ll make sense later. I swear.”
With that, Caldwell hurried past, grabbed the lantern from the butler’s hand, and stepped down into the darkness and disappeared. The faint golden light from his lantern flickered out into the corridor for a few moments, then faded.
How important could it be? He certainly wasn’t in need of any damn lessons. And if Caldwell needed them, then hell, that was not his problem.
The butler continued to patiently hold open the door. “Will you be joining him, Lord Hawksford?”
Alexander shifted his jaw at the idea of coming face-to-face with Miss Charlotte again. Clearly, playing the part of a widow hadn’t won her much applause, so she had moved on to far greater roles. Madame de Maitenon. A French courtesan. Indeed.
He knew the moment he’d laid eyes on the woman that she’d disturb the peace of every man. And how.
“You’re damn right I’ll be joining him.” And with that, Alexander marched straight for the door.
Lesson Five
Understand that men innately lack the ability to grasp a woman’s perspective. Why? Because they are all far too occupied with trying to grasp everything else associated with the idea of a woman. Like breasts, derrieres, and the like.
—The School of Gallantry
Alexander snatched one of the four remaining glass lanterns off the wall on his way over. Brushing past the butler, he slowly descended the spiraling, narrow, stone stairway. Descended down into the dank darkness that reeked of earth, dry rot, and stagnant moisture.
The door slammed shut behind him, and he knew. Knew there was no saving Caldwell from his own stupidity. Though he wasn’t by any means more intelligent for following him.
At the bottom of the stairs, he stooped to avoid the low ceiling. Though not in time.
“Bleed me!” Alexander winced and rubbed with his free hand at the dull, throbbing pain that nipped the top of his head.
Forget about being rational anymore. He was going to kill Caldwell. With his own two hands. Then bury him. Then dig him back up and kill him again. All in the name of a woman who wasn’t even his and some damn secret he still knew nothing of!
Alexander paused, holding up the lantern, and blinked at the thick darkness before him, which his light refused to cut through. Where the blazes were they going? The Orient?
A faint light and the movement of a shadowed figure in the far distance caught his eye, assuring him Caldwell was in fact still determined to get to the other side. He only hoped that Miss Charlotte wasn’t tying up men, emptying out their pockets, and then stacking them all here to die. Though there hadn’t really been reports of large groups of wealthy men going missing.
Alexander held up the lantern toward the moss-ridden, slate walls and wrinkled his nose. “Caldwell!” His voice boomed all around him. “For God’s sake, why are you doing all this? Your perspective on women isn’t this bad!”
The light in the distance swayed then stopped. “If this is too much of an adventure for you,” Caldwell’s voice echoed back, “then leave! Go! I’m certain your mother could use your help setting up for tea. Or better yet…a champagne party!”
A champagne party? His mother wasn’t that far gone. Alexander gritted his teeth and charged forward into the musty darkness, trying to keep the glass lantern steady before him. “How is your nose, Caldwell? Any better? Or shall I offer you one last complimentary blow?”
“I dare you to try to cuff me again! I bloody dare you!” There was a notable pause. “Hey, now. I actually found a door. Fancy that.”
Alexander snorted. A door? To bloody where? He kept charging forward until he came upon not only Caldwell but what was indeed a rough oak door.
Caldwell, who was also stooping, glanced back at him with a quirked brow, then raised a gloved hand and rapped on the door. As if they were making a respectable visit.
Alexander paused beside him in disbelief. “Are you missing a part of your brain?” He gestured toward the abyss of the tunnel behind them with his lantern. “Doesn’t this all seem rather…barmy? Even to you?”
Caldwell sniffed as he stared at the door, awaiting entrance. “You’ve no sense of adventure anymore. None whatsoever. The Hawksford I grew up with would have gladly knocked on this door.”
Alexander scooted closer beside him and leveled his gaze at him. “Yes, and the Caldwell I grew up with wouldn’t have knocked on it at all.”
Caldwell glared at him, lifted a fist, and pounded on the door as if to prove otherwise, the lantern in his other hand swaying.
Alexander rolled his eyes. “Caldwell, why are you doing this to me? Is it because you don’t want to enroll alone? Is that it?” Hell, he hoped it was. Because anything else would have been…well, disturbing.
Caldwell glanced at him and smoothed down the side of his cloak with the hand that wasn’t holding the lantern. He opened his mouth, then paused and drew his blond brows together. “Actually, it’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Obviously. Hell, you still haven’t told me what this is all about!”
“I know, I know. I…” He rigidly turned to him and looked him straight in the eye. “Hawksford. The truth is, I’ve involved myself with a woman.”
Alexander paused before letting out a much-needed laugh. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“No, it’s not!” Caldwell’s voice boomed in the tunnel. “And it’s not funny! Stop laughing!”
Alexander stopped laughing on command and blinked at him, noting that he was rather upset. He lowered his voice. “You, man, are beginning to worry me.”
“Forgive me, I…” Caldwell swept his hand across his face and let it drop back to his side. “Hawksford. I’ve involved myself with a woman I shouldn’t have. I’ve involved myself with…” Caldwell winced, as if he couldn’t say any more.
“With?” Alexander prodded, now rolling his hand, hoping the man would just say it and spare them both.
Caldwell eyed him, then blurted out, “With an American. And needless to say, I’m having trouble coping with her heritage.”
Alexander choked and almost dropped the lantern. That was his secret? “You’re really not making any sense. At all. What the blazes does an American have to do with me?”
Caldwell groaned and threw back his head. “Someone please shoot me. Now.”
A loud clank vibrated the door before them. It then creaked open. A massive, heavyset man with a mop of curly brown hair and sharp brown eyes peered down at them.
Alexander stepped back. By God. Who needed a lock? The man was his own fortress.
“Card,” the man gruffly intoned.
Caldwell yanked out his calling card and handed it to the man. “You must be Harold. How are you?”
Harold glanced at the card then bowed from his place beside the door, his dark blue livery shifting against his mountainous movements. “Welcome to the other side of the school, Lord Caldwell. Congratulations on getting this far.”
“Uh…yes. I suppose.” Caldwell nodded, held up his lantern, and hurried past the man, toward the set of winding stairs just beyond.
Alexander moved for the door with every intention of keeping Caldwell within sight at all times. For he was not about to trust the man alone to Miss Charlotte. Hell, he wouldn’t even trust himself alone to the woman.
Harold stepped into the small opening, blocking Alexander from going any farther, and blankly stared down at him. “There is only one appointment scheduled.”
Alexander shifted, growing rather tired of his hunched position, and eyed the servant as best he could. “My good man, I can assure you, I am not here to apply. Merely to spectate.” And defend whatever was left of poor Miss Charlotte’s virtue.
“This is not the circus,” Harold rumbled out.
This time, he aggressively stepped out toward him, his massive body stooping in an effort to enter the small tunnel. “Inform Mr. Hudson on your way out that whatever he was bribed with, I shall not only remove it from his pimpish flesh, but gladly snap him into several pieces. No one betrays my Madame. No one.”
Miss Charlotte had gathered quite the ardent crowd, hadn’t she? Alexander held up both hands and stepped back, sensing this was about to get complicated. “I assure you, I mean no harm. Especially to your…Madame. She knows me, actually. Quite well.”
“I knew it!” Caldwell interjected, hopping up and down from behind the giant in an effort to see over his body. “I bloody knew it!”
Caldwell pointed at Alexander from around Harold. “That’s why you up and cuffed me! Because you’re involved with the woman! Unbelievable, Hawksford. Unbelievable.” Caldwell patted Harold’s shoulder from where he stood and peered in on him. “My good fellow. Understand that this is a matter of great import. I ask that you permit Lord Hawksford entrance at once. I assure you, Madame de Maitenon has given me permission to share this appointment with him.”
Alexander smiled up at the giant, reached out, and patted the thick arm before him in a friendly manner. “You see. I have permission.”
Harold’s gaze narrowed. He held out a large, gloved palm the size of a table. “Your card.”
Alexander yanked out one of the three calling cards remaining in his pocket and set it onto his open hand. “There. My card.” Anything to keep the ox happy.
Harold glanced at it then slowly stepped aside. Caldwell grinned at Alexander and then disappeared up the spiraling stairs.
“Thank you.” Alexander hurried in through the door and into a small, candlelit passageway. He straightened, eager to be out of Harold’s way, then pressed himself toward the nearest wall, trying to move himself around the giant. The man turned, reached out, and grabbed hold of the lantern, freeing Alexander’s hands.
Edging near the spiraling stairs that led upward, he mounted them, then sprinted up the suffocating stairwell. He finally stumbled out into a corridor. Of what appeared to be another house.
The wonder of Miss Charlotte never ceased to amaze him. Alexander slowly walked past a staircase that led toward the upper floor and made his way into the grand foyer, where Caldwell stood with his hands behind his back, looking about.
Alexander paused beneath a large crystal chandelier. The scent of fresh flowers permeated the air, though none were in sight.
“This way.”
Harold’s deep voice startled Alexander. The oversized beast mounted the red runner stairs of the mahogany staircase with unexpected grace and dignified charm.
Caldwell stepped toward Alexander, drew back a fisted hand, and punched him hard in the shoulder, sending Alexander staggering backward. “That is for giving me grief about Lady Waverly. Close the gates after fifty, my ass. Since when do you go about bedding women old enough to be your grandmother?” He tsked and shook his head. “For shame, Hawksford. For shame.” Caldwell turned and marched up the stairs.
Alexander rubbed the top of his now sore shoulder and hurried up after Caldwell, confused. “Old enough to be my…Now look here, man! I don’t think we’re discussing the same woman.”
“Oh, I think we are. You know, the French charmer with the silver hair and the nice, large breasts?”
“No, no. Who is that anyway? She wasn’t French, and she most certainly wasn’t old. Do you mean to tell me that some French mab now lives here? Whatever happened to the woman before her? Do you even know?”
Caldwell paused on the stairs and glanced back at him. “The woman before her? Hold now. Who is this woman you keep referring to?”
Miss Charlotte’s face appeared in his mind’s eye, once again, as he had last seen her in the hackney. His pulse jolted just at the thought of her. His steps slowed. “I don’t think she provided me with her real name, which is just as well, but I’ll never forget what she looked like. She had bundled black hair. Beautiful, dark, expressive eyes. Oval face. Perfect, pale skin. Full lips. Good, straight teeth. Sizable breasts. Slim in all the right places even without a corset. And petite. Hell, I’ve never met a more ravishing woman in my life.”
“I gathered as much,” Caldwell flung over his shoulder as he reached the landing. “I thought you’d never cease braying.”
Alexander inwardly winced. He supposed he’d gone on. More than he’d meant to.
Caldwell wagged a finger at him, now trotting backward into the hallway. “With that description, I do believe you must be referring to the conductor of admissions. Lady Chartwell.” He chuckled. “When did the two of you become acquainted? Before or after her husband was shot?”
Alexander almost stumbled on the last stair. The Earl of Chartwell had been Miss Charlotte’s husband? The same stupid son of a bitch who’d been shot by a female in his own opera box last year before two hundred people? That couldn’t be right. “I really don’t think we’re referring to the same lady.” Alexander paused beside him. “Chartwell wasn’t married.”
Caldwell smirked as he followed Harold. “Of course he was married,” he flung back at him. “For about six months before he was unceremoniously popped off by one of his nuns. Hell, your memory has lapsed quite miserably since the death of your father, hasn’t it?”
Alexander blinked. Chartwell had been married? And to his Miss Charlotte, no less? Or, rather, Lady Charlotte. Alexander stood stunned for a moment longer before he was able to force himself to follow Caldwell and the servant down the corridor.
Caldwell paused before the entrance of what appeared to be a bedchamber and grinned. He mouthed “There she is” and then disappeared inside.
Alexander hurried in after him and found himself in a room whose walls were draped with luxurious, brocaded red velvet. Coming to a frozen halt beside Caldwell, his eyes snapped to the center of the nearly empty room. Several leather wingback chairs were set in a semicircle.
And there, sitting in a red velvet–upholstered chair behind a small, letter-writing desk was none other than Lady Charlotte. She was exquisitely dressed in black silk and satin, her full skirts perfectly arranged around the chair. Her eyes were cast downward toward a sizable stack of papers that she held in her small ungloved hands.
Alexander tensed as the temperature of his body slowly rose at the memory of her soft body pressed against his own. He could still hear her pleasured breaths in the darkness of the carriage and feel the rise and fall of her heaving chest beneath his hands.
It had all been real. She had been real.
Her dark, thick hair, which had been unconventionally let loose, cascaded down her slim shoulders, past her tightly corseted waist, and disappeared toward her bum, which was fitted in her seat. Without a doubt, her quiet serenity not only enhanced her beauty but personified it.
“Lord Caldwell is here,” Harold offered, breaking the tense silence within the room. “It appears he brought along an acquaintance. I apologize, but he claims—”
“You needn’t worry, Harold,” Lady Charlotte replied, still occupied with the stack of papers before her. “Madame has already informed me about it. You may go.” She took up the quill from the inkwell and scribed something.
“My humblest apologies, Lady Chartwell. I didn’t know.” Harold bowed and departed, his heavy steps fading down the corridor.
Alexander blinked. So she was Chartwell’s widow.
Lady Charlotte sighed, set the quill back into the inkwell and rose, her skirts rustling from the smooth, elegant movement of her body. She turned toward them and smiled. “Wonderful to see you again, Lord Caldwell. I—”
The moment her dark gaze met his, both her words and her smile faded. A faint but noticeable blush now crept into her cheeks as she continued to remain frozen beside her desk.
Alexander’s breath hitched in his throat as they continued to intently hold one another’s gaze. Just like that day in the carriage, every damn inch of him became fully aware of her aston
ishing beauty and presence.
Though he half expected the woman to snatch something up and throw it at his head, for he remembered how miffed she had been with him when he last saw her, she surprised him by setting her small chin and calmly stating, “Are you looking to enroll this man?”
“Yes.” Caldwell tapped Alexander’s arm with renewed urgency as his blond brows went up in what Alexander could only describe as a silent form of desperate pleading. “Humor me, Hawksford. It’ll be good fun.”
Yes, indeed, that it would be.
The truth was, Alexander’s reformed self, who was desperately trying to set a good example for his family, insisted he leave all of this nonsense behind. Insisted that he march straight back home and get back to being a good brother and a good son. But his old self, the one he had buried and denied since the passing of his father, wanted to stay. And play.
He boldly met Lady Charlotte’s gaze. She heatedly stared back. Daring him to partake in her elaborate little scheme.
It wasn’t every day that a man was handed an opportunity to enroll in a school like this. With a woman like this. Hell, it all may prove to be entertaining, he thought. Maybe even productive.
Unable to resist, Alexander grinned. “I suppose it all depends. Are there any private lessons available?”
Lady Charlotte’s eyes narrowed as she challenged him in turn. “Private lessons are reserved for virgins, My Lord. Are you a virgin?”
Caldwell choked back a laugh then coughed several times into his hand and turned away. He staggered toward the direction of the door.
The dunderhead was actually laughing at him. Laughing.
Lady Charlotte smirked, clearly pleased with herself.
Alexander lifted a brow. She had absolutely no idea whom she was dealing with, did she? “If it means acquiring lessons from you, my dear, I can be whatever you want me to be.”
Caldwell guffawed. “Hawksford, you couldn’t play the role of a virgin even if you were a virgin.”
Lord of Pleasure Page 6