Which is why he had not only sent two of his solicitors straight over to the Lord Chancellor demanding her case be given priority, but was now standing at her door using the School of Gallantry and his accepted application as a pathetic excuse to see her one last time.
The butler stepped back, pulling the door farther open. “Good morning, Lord Hawksford, and welcome to your first day of class.”
“Thank you. Good morning.” Alexander removed his hat and ventured inside, glancing toward the empty parlor. He peered up the length of the stairs, hoping that he would be able to at least catch a glimpse of Charlotte. “Is, uh…Lady Chartwell at home?” he dared to ask.
Mr. Hudson snatched up the only remaining lantern hanging from the hook on the wall and walked over to the door leading to the tunnel. He unceremoniously yanked it open. “No. She is not.”
Alexander made his way over to the man. “What do you mean she is not at home? It’s not even seven o’clock in the morning. Do you mean to tell me that she is unavailable, as in, unwilling to see anyone? Or do you mean that she is not at home?”
Mr. Hudson held out the lantern and eyed him. “Any more information pertaining to Lady Chartwell, My Lord, will require a form of payment.”
The devil had clearly seized this man’s priorities ages ago. Anger rippled through Alexander as he stepped toward the man. “You ought to take better care of ensuring the safety of your mistress, old man.” He soundly hit the man’s chest with the rim of his hat. “Or you’ll have me to contend with.”
Mr. Hudson’s eyes widened. He leaned back and glanced up toward the ceiling, the aging skin on his round chin quivering. He lowered his eyes back to Alexander, appearing unusually serious. “I may be a good many things, that I know, but I would never stoop to lowborn treachery against a lady who’s given this old man his pride back. What is more, Harold would be the first to toss me into the Thames with a boulder attached to my neck.”
“Harold will be the least of your troubles, I assure you.” Alexander stepped back and adjusted his cloak around his shoulders. “Are you not paid well enough? Is that it?”
Mr. Hudson sighed. “No one could ever pay me well enough, My Lord. What with me having seventeen grandchildren and all. Most of them girls.”
And he thought his house was full. “The devil, you say.” No wonder Mr. Hudson was forever trying to pry money out of Charlotte’s visitors.
Upon his life, the man needed some form of assistance. He himself knew what five girls were costing him. He could only imagine what adding twelve more to the bill would be like.
Alexander shoved his top hat beneath one arm, then reached in and yanked out the small leather satchel from inside his inner jacket. He held it out. “Here. This is for your grandchildren. Vow to watch over Lady Charlotte while I am not about, and I will see to it you get an additional five pounds per week. I’m not overly fond of the idea of all these men coming to her door. She requires more protection than she is receiving.”
The butler hesitated.
“See to it.” Alexander rattled the satchel at him. “You owe me nothing but her safety.”
Mr. Hudson handed over the lantern to him, then slowly took the satchel from his hand. He humbly bowed. “Payment is hardly necessary when in the presence of Lady Chartwell.”
The man was absolutely spot-on about that. Alexander leaned toward him, shifting the top hat beneath his left arm, and raised the lantern in his other hand to illuminate the man’s face. “So is she at home or not?” he drawled.
The butler paused and whispered, “She always sleeps past one, My Lord. She’s an owl. Of the worst sort.”
Alexander pictured Charlotte tucked into the linen of her bed, daylight fanning across her sleepy face, and couldn’t help but grin. Seeing it was far from one, the slumbering beauty wasn’t going to make an appearance for several more hours.
Which meant he could either go home or…go to class. He supposed attending class was far better than listening to his sisters and his mother.
Alexander gestured with the lantern toward the open door leading into the tunnel. “I take it Harold will be friendlier this time around?”
“Much friendlier. He’ll even offer to take your hat and cloak on the other side. Though you’d best hurry. Everyone has already arrived, and Madame will be arriving shortly herself.”
“Good. Thank you.” He swiftly turned, then paused and turned back. “Should Lady Charlotte rise before class ends, inform her that I wish to see her.”
Mr. Hudson brought the heels of his boots together. “I will, My Lord.”
“Thank you.”
“And thank you.”
Lesson Fourteen
Learning the true nature of others can be quite horrid and daunting. As a gentleman, you must learn to remain calm. Or at least pretend to be.
—The School of Gallantry
Alexander paused outside the room Harold had led him to—the same room where Charlotte had interviewed his misguided soul not even two weeks earlier—and leaned toward the entranceway just enough to peer inside.
Caldwell, who was all dressed up in full morning attire, was propped against one of the four leather wingback chairs, discussing something with the other two seated men.
The red velvet upholstered chair behind the small writing desk, where Charlotte had once sat, stood empty. Waiting to be filled by the notorious Madame de Maitenon.
He still didn’t know why he’d ultimately decided to attend. Curiosity, perhaps. Or maybe he was trying to prove to himself that a man, no matter his history or long list of experiences, still had room to learn.
Caldwell paused midway through his conversation and turned. He grinned. “Hawksford! There you are! Hell, I thought you weren’t coming.”
Alexander slid in through the doorway and adjusted his morning coat. The only way to survive this with any form of dignity was to simply make do and adhere to the belief that he, a man who had once been dubbed the Lord of Pleasure, still had room to learn a thing or two about women. Or one woman, anyway: Charlotte.
Striding in, Alexander headed toward the two men who had already risen to their booted feet.
“This is Banfield,” Caldwell supplied, gesturing to the gentleman on his right. “He and I have become rather quick friends.”
Lord Banfield swiped away a long strand of sun-tinted, brown hair from the side of his face, forcing it back into his outdated queue. He smiled, though Alexander sensed it was forced, and extended his hand, stepping around his chair and toward him.
“Hawksford,” Alexander quickly obliged, shaking the man’s hand. “How do you do?”
Lord Banfield retrieved his hand and stepped back, now appearing rather amused. “With you here, I suppose I shouldn’t feel quite the dolt.”
Alexander let out a less than enthused laugh, sensing such quips were but the beginning of what he had to contend with, and turned his attention to the other man, who had already stepped up to him.
The man solemnly held out a heavily scarred hand. “Brayton. How do you do?”
“Well enough. Thank you.” Alexander accepted his grip, noting the long, jagged scar that ran from the left side of the man’s ear to the bottom front of his square jaw. He met the man’s cool, blue eyes. “If you don’t mind my saying, that’s a rather wicked scar you have there.”
Lord Brayton gave a curt nod and took back his hand. “I’ve learned to never trust a woman with a knife.”
Alexander let out a much needed laugh and countered the man’s quip with a lopsided grin. “Fortunately for you, she stayed above the waist.”
Brayton stared at him for a weighty moment, not in the least bit amused, then turned and took his seat, extending his legs.
Alexander’s grin faded. Had he misunderstood the whole woman-and-knife bit? Hell, and he thought his social skills were in need of good polishing. He cleared his throat and eyed Caldwell, wondering what he thought of the man.
Caldwell shrugged.
“Bonjour!
Might we begin?”
Alexander jerked toward the sultry French-accented voice and was surprised to find a slim but well-endowed, silver-haired woman. Primly dressed, she wore a pale pink printed muslin gown with puffed sleeves. Despite her elegant and matron-like appearance, her pale hand held a tightly coiled, black leather horse whip.
She breezed across the room, wafting a soft scent of mint in their direction, and paused beside the red velvet chair. Her blue eyes scanned all of their faces as her full lips curved into a playful smile. She set the whip onto the desk and gracefully seated herself with a self-assured sigh.
She gestured toward their chairs. “Be seated. I am very pleased you are all here.”
Alexander quickly sat in the chair closest to the door. Should the woman decide to put the whip into use. He shifted in his seat and wondered if he was the only one who felt uncomfortable with the idea of an older woman toting a horse whip.
“I am Madame de Maitenon. By the end of this Season, I expect to see notable results from all of you. Results that will be evident in the lives you are leading. And though I would be most honored to have all of you reenroll with each Season, I have organized the lesson plans in a way that requires you to attend only one Season’s worth of classes.”
She laced her fingers on the desk before her. Her hands unnervingly close to the whip. As if she meant to snatch it up at any moment. “Though you are all here due to various reasons that shall for the most part remain undisclosed, in accordance to some of your wishes, I can assure you, each will equally benefit.”
Madame de Maitenon stood, pushing back her chair, and snatched up the whip. With a snap of her wrist, the braided leather horse whip unraveled and thudded against the wooden floorboards.
Alexander instinctively bristled in response as he watched her slender fingers tighten around the handle. He didn’t even need to look over at the others to know exactly what they were thinking. A lesson in flagellation, perhaps? To each his own, but pain was not his idea of pleasure.
“For some”—Madame de Maitenon strolled around her desk, the whip dragging behind her morning gown, and headed toward them—“pleasure knows no bounds. It is a way of life they weave not only into their own daily lives, but the lives of others. They are what I would call the gifted few.”
She paused directly before Alexander and met his gaze head on. “You are all here because you have come to the profound realization that you are not among those men. Your pleasures have turned into a form of punishment. And it has caused you to do things you normally would not do.”
Sensing she was challenging him, Alexander leaned forward in his seat. “Such as?”
Madame de Maitenon swung the whip aggressively at his leg, missing it by a mere inch. “Such as enrolling in my school.”
Alexander glanced down at the tasseled edge of the braided whip that now tamely rested beside his boot. He looked up at her and smirked. “I assure you, Madame, it will take more than the crack of a whip to educate a man on the topic of pleasure.”
She tugged the end of the whip back toward her and slowly raveled the whip into a circular coil around her hand. “So true. So true.” With that, she held out the whip. “Take it, Lord Hawksford. You have earned the lead in my first lesson.”
All three of the other men turned in their seats and eyed him.
Alexander grinned at all the unnecessary attention and rose. He took the whip into his right hand, then stepped back and released its length, allowing the end to thud to the floor. Unable to resist, he gestured toward the whip and quipped, “So I take it length does matter?”
Caldwell burst into laughter, as Banfield chuckled behind his hand. Brayton, on the other hand, remained his grave, stoic self. Clearly not amused.
Madame de Maitenon turned to the men and clapped her hands in reprimand. She turned and pointed at Alexander. “Now. Extend the whip in Lord Caldwell’s direction.”
Alexander feigned a small laugh and shifted from boot to boot, the leather whip suddenly heavy in his right hand. “You want me to whip the man? What for?”
Caldwell scrambled to his feet. “Madame. This is not what I had in mind.”
Madame de Maitenon snapped up a hand. Then pointed at Caldwell. “Sit. You came to me for assistance, and I intend to give it.”
Caldwell paused, not appearing in the least bit convinced, then flopped back down into his chair.
Alexander glanced over at Caldwell, then back at Madame de Maitenon, sensing something was seriously amiss.
“You are all here to learn,” Madame finally went on. “And learn you shall. Though first, I will require respect. My experience outweighs all of yours by almost two decades. I have bedded well over one hundred men, all of them privileged such as yourselves.”
“You’ve also bedded a few women from what I hear,” Alexander added, knowing full well the woman had entertained both his father and his mother.
Madame de Maitenon waved him off with a hand, jangling the ruby bracelets on her wrists. “Oui. And all of them were far more knowledgeable about my needs than most men. For the art of pleasure involves more than just that stick between your legs. Most women’s delicate little pearls cannot even be reached by those sticks, no matter how long or how large. Which leaves a woman quite wanting.”
Alexander bit back a smile. “And your point, Madame?”
She smiled. “My experience is what will eventually lead you all to a form of enlightenment. A means of not only seeing to your own pleasure but, more importantly, to that of your lady. Now. What is about to happen here today shall not be breathed or whispered of outside of this school. I pride myself on giving privacy and ask that you in turn give privacy to those around you. Is that understood?”
There was a moment of silence, then a unanimous though still somewhat uncertain “Yes” by all of them.
Alexander blinked, wondering which direction this lesson was about to take.
“Let us begin.” Madame de Maitenon turned toward Alexander and arched a silver brow. “Extend the whip toward Lord Caldwell. Though try to keep it above the waist.”
Alexander paused, the room growing awkwardly silent. He pointed to the whip in his hand. “I really don’t see what this has to do with pleasuring a woman.”
Madame de Maitenon sighed, then swept a hand toward Caldwell. “Is that a woman, Lord Hawksford?”
Alexander laughed. “Uh…no. I hope not. Though he did mention having a secret.”
She rolled her eyes. “I am attempting to demonstrate the power a man holds whenever interacting with others.” She paused and fully turned to him. “What sort of man are you, Lord Hawksford? Can a man or a woman trust you to remain calm when a dire situation arises? Even whilst you hold a whip in your hand?”
Alexander glared at her. What sort of nonsense was this? “I know myself well enough to say that I would never whip anyone. No matter how dire the situation.”
“Let us hope so.” She glanced toward Lord Caldwell expectantly. As if waiting for him to say something.
Alexander followed her gaze and met Caldwell’s all-too-serious gaze from across the short distance of the room.
A sense of dread slowly came over Alexander. This was about his secret. Alexander tightened his hold on the whip but vowed to remain steadfast and calm. No matter what. “Whatever you have to say, Caldwell,” he finally offered in a nonchalant tone, “I vow to remain calm.”
Caldwell nodded, then stood and firmly announced, “I deflowered Caroline, and I hope that in time you’ll forgive me.”
Lesson Fifteen
Shall I name all the ways a woman can complicate a man’s life? Or how it all applies the other way around? No, I suppose there is no need to begin. Otherwise school shall forever be in session and we will all be in dire need of gin.
—The School of Gallantry
Lord Banfield and Lord Brayton scooted their seats away from Caldwell’s chair.
Alexander stood in a daze, feeling as though he’d been slammed into the
side of a brick building. With his head. His arm tensed as anger seized not only his brain but his very heart. He instinctively drew back the whip. “You did what?”
Caldwell winced but did not move. “I bedded Caroline.”
No. No. Alexander refused to believe that Caldwell, his one true friend since he was sixteen, would do such a thing to him. To Caroline.
Caldwell coolly and calmly added, “I did not know it was her, Hawksford.”
Oh, as if that made sense! “What the devil do you mean you didn’t know?” Alexander roared, feeling the veins in his very throat swelling. He raised the whip higher, ready to use it to its full extent, when Lord Brayton jumped up from his seat and stalked toward him.
Alexander hissed out a breath, knowing full well what the man was after, and tossed the whip to his feet. Clearly, he didn’t know himself as well as he thought he did. He’d actually almost whipped Caldwell. “I need a moment alone with him.”
“Non.” Madame de Maitenon waved at him to proceed. “We stay.”
Alexander turned completely toward the woman in disbelief. “My life is not a theatrical you can pay admission for.”
She nodded. “Oui. But you are very angry right now. And as such cannot be trusted to do the right thing. Which is why we will all stay.” Madame de Maitenon lifted her hand and snapped her fingers at Lord Brayton. “Pick up the whip. He cannot be trusted.”
Lord Brayton nodded and strode nearer Alexander, following her command.
So. They all wanted a lesson, did they? All right. He’d give them a Goddamn lesson.
As Brayton leaned over to pick up the whip, Alexander firmly smashed his boot onto it, and glared down at the man. “It stays. Now move away.”
Brayton peered up at him from over the wide shoulder of his morning coat with dark, menacing eyes. The jagged scar that ran from his ear to the bottom front of his jaw appeared eerily more pronounced. Without changing his bent position, Brayton swept a muscled arm out and cracked the backside of Alexander’s knee.
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