Lord of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  “I do have one more thing to ask of you. If I may.”

  “There is more?”

  He grinned, reached into his inner waistcoat pocket, and withdrew the next step in his plan. He stood and set the sealed invitation onto the side table next to her bed. “I am not putting much value on its outcome, which is why I am reenrolling in your school, but I ask that you have her attend all the same.”

  “Oh-ho. What delicious adventure do you have planned for my Charlotte?”

  Alexander reached down and tapped his gloved forefinger against the invitation. “Nothing elaborate. It’s for the Rutherford ball. It’s a bit short notice, but given the duke’s reputation, I thought it might be fun. Have Charlotte attend. Tell her that she’ll be meeting a new, prospective student and have her wait beneath a portrait or a mirror in the ballroom so that I may easily find her. If you do all this, I vow to pay forth not one but two hundred pounds per week up until the end of the Season.”

  Madame de Maitenon stared at him for a prolonged moment. She rolled onto her side, toward him. “The Rutherford ball? How small and quaint London can be.”

  Hardly small and hardly quaint. But who was he to argue with a woman recovering from apoplexy? He sat beside her again. “Might I also ask that you have Charlotte dress appropriately?”

  She bowed her silver head to him. “I shall personally see to it that she attends on behalf of the school and dresses accordingly. Thank you, Lord Hawksford, for your generous donation of two hundred pounds per week to the school. It will be put to good use, I assure you.”

  “You are most welcome.” He patted her hand. “I should probably take my leave. I’ve intruded upon you long enough.”

  “Non. It is so nice to have someone visit from the outside world.” Her lips harbored a sly smile as she leaned toward him. She lowered her voice. “Before you go. Tell me. Who told you about Clive?”

  He blinked at her, not understanding. “Forgive me. What?”

  She tsked, still keeping her voice to a whisper. “Clive’s little secret. You found out. Otherwise, I doubt he would have given you entrance into the house against Maybelle’s orders.”

  Alexander let out a laugh. “You already knew?”

  She rolled her eyes and waved her hand about. “Och, everyone in this house knows! Everyone except for Maybelle, that is. Clive fancies himself to be a bit of a father to her and would never forgive any of us if we changed that between them. Not that Maybelle would mind. She is most tolerant of such things. But he insists. And so we never say anything. Now, do tell Madame. How did you ever learn of it? He is, after all, most discreet.”

  Alexander couldn’t help but grin. “I paid several chaps to watch the house.”

  “I expected nothing less from you.” Madame de Maitenon sighed wistfully and settled back against the pillows again, closing her eyes. “It is best you leave, Lord Hawksford. I am tired and need rest. I have busy days ahead.”

  “Forgive me.” Alexander leaned toward her and kissed her forehead lightly, wishing her not only rest but a full recovery. “You are a surprisingly lovely woman, and I cannot even begin to thank you for taking care of my Charlotte all this time.”

  Madame de Maitenon reached up, with eyes still closed, and blindly patted the side of his face. “Now it is your turn, oui?”

  He nodded and straightened, filling his chest with a renewed sense of hope. Yes. It was his turn. And he could hardly wait.

  Lesson Twenty-Four

  Shagging in and of itself is not love.

  You do know that, yes? Because if you don’t, well then you’d better. Or it will all end without so much as a letter.

  —The School of Gallantry

  The Rutherford ball

  Two days later, evening

  Being a widow certainly had its merits. For one, she didn’t need a chaperone to make an appearance at a London gathering. She also didn’t have to worry about appeasing the whirlwind known as the marriage mart.

  Thank goodness for that much.

  Of course, when a woman didn’t have a chaperone, there were other complications. Like having no one to talk to. Or not having someone to fend off all the unwanted men. Or gossip.

  When the line before her dwindled and her name was finally announced, Charlotte gathered her honey-colored crape evening gown, which Madame had gifted to her for the occasion, and headed toward the large ballroom. She only hoped the noeud of expensive gauze ribbon and white satin, which her chambermaid had sewn around her waist to hide the dress’s imperfect fit, would stay in place.

  She tentatively entered the ballroom, the merry strings of violins fluttering right along with her heart. It was all so exciting and frightening at the same time. For even when she had been married to Chartwell, she rarely made public appearances. She enjoyed dancing and people, simply not all at once.

  An endless array of candles flickered from the solid gold sconces attached to the paneled walls. Gilded crystal chandeliers graced the high, arched ceilings. Flames from every candle glittered and multiplied in the mirrors decorating the ballroom.

  It was indeed the most beautiful home she had ever had the pleasure of being invited to. She wistfully sighed, trying to enjoy the sense of freedom she felt knowing that she had no one to answer to but herself.

  Charlotte walked past a small group of lightly rouged faces and overly coiffed ladies draped in expensive, colorful evening gowns. They leaned against the wall, waving their delicate fans in unison before their faces, all appearing completely and utterly bored.

  And yet, as she passed, she could feel their eager little eyes following every step she made. Even heard a few rushed whispers touch her ears. It was how the ton always liked to play. Appearing indifferent at all times, when really, they were anything but.

  For the most part, she was quite happy to have no further association with that aspect of London society. It kept her life simple. For the most part.

  Charlotte made her way toward a portrait on the far wall before her, then settled below it and waited, watching the throngs of people dancing and talking as all respectable people did at such events.

  Though she wasn’t terribly nervous about meeting Madame’s prospective student, who was to replace Alexander, considering she was standing in a room full of people, she did find it all odd. It wasn’t as if she could publicly discuss the school and its benefits during a ball. But Madame always knew what she was doing.

  After the third song and dance passed, Charlotte sighed, leaned back against the wall, and glanced at the dancing card dangling from a velvet string on her wrist. She turned it over in her hand and read the list of dances. How strange. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had danced.

  She paused. Well, no, she could. But she preferred not to remember it. Seeing it had been with Chartwell.

  A movement beside her made her drop her card and turn. Her eyes widened as she drew in a sharp breath.

  For Alexander leaned against the wall beside her, arms crossed over his chest, casually looking out toward the dance floor. He was dressed in a formal black evening jacket and a bottle green waistcoat with a matching cravat that had been perfectly tied ballroom style. Nothing about him was out of place. Even his bronzed hair had been meticulously combed back with tonic, as if he had put a great amount of thought and care into his appearance.

  Clearly, this was the new prospective student. “I take this to mean you’re reenrolling?”

  He didn’t respond. He didn’t even glance at her. He merely continued to stare out before him, appearing bored out of his mind. But then, without warning, he slid the entire length of his muscled body in her direction and settled himself close. Close enough that the heat of his body penetrated the small, sacred space a person usually called their own. Close enough that she could smell the tantalizing scent of leather and lemon floating off his heated skin toward her.

  All this time, he’d been trying so desperately. And yet, he still hadn’t quite figured out that all she really want
ed from him were three little words. Three. Little. Words. Words that she wanted to not only hear, but believe that he meant with all of his heart.

  She supposed she might as well give him a sporting chance after all his efforts. Besides. She had missed him. A bit too much.

  Charlotte closed the remaining gap between them, firmly setting her exposed bare shoulder, just above where her beret sleeve dipped down the length of her arm, against him.

  “Have you ever made love before a crowd?” he suddenly whispered.

  An unexpected shiver trickled through the length of her body. “No,” she whispered back.

  “Would you like to?” he whispered again.

  Her pulse jolted. He couldn’t possibly be serious. There was no respectable way a man and a woman could…was there? She nervously wet her lips. “I wouldn’t know how.”

  “Allow me to demonstrate.” He uncrossed his arms. His gloved fingers found hers. He buried their hands into the folds of her gown and rubbed a finger on the inside of her palm. Slowly. Up and down.

  She didn’t know why, for it was nothing but his finger against the inside of her glove, but the touch was so overwhelming and evocative of what more she could have, it awoke every inch of her body.

  She trained her gaze ahead of her and tried not to slide down the length of the wall in utter bliss. To keep herself from getting too lost in the moment, she focused on a young, pretty woman with strands of glistening pearls fashionably woven through her gathered blond curls. The woman affectionately released the hand of a handsome dark-haired gentleman.

  The scene was as beautiful and romantic as she felt in that moment. The gentleman bowed gallantly to the woman, his dark hair cascading across his forehead. His lips moved, conveying something briefly to her before he finally turned and walked away.

  The woman paused, as if still yearning to be with him, then turned, her emerald silk gown shifting against her slim body as she moved in the opposite direction.

  “I am ardently making love to you, Charlotte,” Alexander murmured, his voice practically melting into the hum of the violins. “And might I also add that you look absolutely beautiful. I hardly recognized you in that gown.”

  His finger continued to slide up and down the inside of her gloved palm, increasing its steady rhythm. Creating an erotic friction and heat. She tried to slow her breathing, but all she could imagine was him thrusting into her. With that same rhythm. With that same intensity.

  The lady in the emerald gown she had been admiring in a half daze, suddenly reappeared into view. Only much had changed. Charlotte blinked, then froze against Alexander’s amorous touch.

  The woman struggled against a blond-haired gentleman who ruthlessly held her by both wrists, forcing her to remain close to him. The same dark-haired gentleman who had earlier escorted her off the floor stormed upon them and a clear exchange of heated words commenced. The woman was now smashed between the two, the look of horror on her face reflecting Charlotte’s own. And what was worse, no one around them seemed to care.

  Charlotte sucked in a sharp breath, snapped her head toward Alexander, and yanked her hand away from his. “You’d best do something, Alexander,” she demanded, panic edging into her voice. “Now.”

  He blinked down at her in utter astonishment. Then leaned his shoulder into the wall to face her. Grinning, he adjusted his evening jacket around what was a more than obvious erection. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Charlotte reached up, grabbed hold of his chin, and snapped his head toward the commotion. “That woman is being assaulted! Do something!”

  Alexander yanked away her hand, pushing himself away from the wall, and jumped to attention. “Don’t use this as an excuse to leave!” he ordered, then sprinted off for the drama.

  Charlotte bit down on her lower lip and watched as Alexander pushed his way through the people around him. Just as he came upon the tiff, the dark-haired gentleman snatched the blond man by the collar, yanking him off of the woman completely. With one full swing, he smashed a fist into the side of the man’s head, sending him senseless to the floor.

  “Oh God!” Charlotte let out an astonished cry and smacked a gloved hand to her mouth.

  The young woman scrambled back and away from them, but her scrambling feet caught and pulled on the hem of her full skirts. She tipped backward, her arms flailing.

  Charlotte cringed.

  That was when Alexander, her Alexander, swooped in and effortlessly caught the woman right before she hit the floor.

  Charlotte blew out a breath and set a heavy hand to her chest. “God love you, Alexander,” she whispered. She watched in complete adoration as he gently assisted the blonde back onto her slippered feet.

  The woman turned, stepping outside the circle of his arms, and momentarily blinked up at him. As if acknowledging that Alexander was not only handsome, but very handsome.

  Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest, raising a brow in their direction. She only hoped that the woman hadn’t entirely forgotten about her suitor. Or the man laying motionless on the floor.

  Alexander adjusted his evening jacket around himself, as if he were still under the influence of their earlier romantic adventure, then grabbed up her satin-gloved hand and kissed it. He then turned and walked away.

  He strode cockily toward Charlotte, looking quite pleased with himself, and eventually settled before her with a grin. “Is there anything more I can do for you before we elope tonight? I have a carriage waiting out front. It is ready whenever you are.”

  He wanted to elope? Tonight? Her heart fluttered. That is why he arranged all of this.

  This had to be it. The moment in which he would profess his undying love to her, then sweep her off into the night in a grand romantic scheme. A grand romantic scheme Chartwell had never been capable of.

  She lovingly met Alexander’s gaze and smiled, knowing that if she was ever going to give him a chance, this most certainly was it. He had to love her. He simply had to. Why would he go through all this effort if he didn’t? Perhaps all he really needed from her was a nudge. “I love you, Alexander,” she finally said, not caring what the ballroom of people around them thought. “You know that, don’t you?”

  His grin, along with the laugh lines around his green eyes, faded. “I…yes. You told me. That one night. Thank you. It, uh…” He cleared his throat and glanced at the people around them. He smoothed the front of his waistcoat. “So. Do you care to dance? Or shall we simply elope?”

  Her eyes widened in horror and disbelief, feeling as though he’d slapped her. On both sides of her cheeks. Yes, I know, you told me and thank you? And do you care to dance or shall we elope?

  What on earth was wrong with him? He could bloody make love to her hand in a ballroom filled to the ceiling with people, had no qualms about making a scene at the Row, had sent sonnets and choirs and everything else to her door, but when it came to the simple subject of love, he had absolutely no words to impart except yes and thank you and do you care to dance or elope?

  “I don’t dance,” she retorted icily, trying to keep herself from punching his arm. “And I certainly have no interest in eloping with a man who does not love me.”

  Charlotte gathered up her skirts and whipped away from him. She marched straight for the entrance, wishing she could rid herself of the humiliation she felt. What was even more heartbreaking in that moment was that he wasn’t even calling out her name or running after her, begging her to stay. He was letting her walk away.

  Inwardly she heard herself screaming and felt herself crumbling. She should have known. She should have known that a man like him was not in any way prepared to hand over his heart. At least not the way she wanted it.

  Charlotte slid to a halt and tried to get around a group of older men blocking her path to the front entrance. “Pardon me,” she insisted. “I should like to pass.”

  Each of them ignored her and continued to talk animatedly amongst themselves. As if s
he hadn’t said a single word. As if she wasn’t even there.

  Damn them and all of their stupid brass waistcoat buttons! She wasn’t going to stand about and beg for an outlet. Charlotte shoved her way straight through the group of men, pushing their arms and bellies out of the way.

  “I beg your pardon!” a heavyset, balding man snapped down at her as she passed through. “Don’t you see us all standing here?”

  “Oh, pop off!” Charlotte snapped back at him, eliciting a wave of gasps.

  Men. Why, they even thought they owned the floor everybody walked on.

  Lesson Twenty-Five

  Clearly, you have much to learn. Which is why you will continue to suffer, yearn, and burn.

  —The School of Gallantry

  11 Berwick Street

  Two days later, early morning, the classroom

  Though Mr. Hudson and Harold had been anything but friendly, and Charlotte was not at home, Alexander knew he was officially taking his first step toward becoming a new man. The sort of man that Charlotte wanted him to be. The sort of man Charlotte needed him to be. The sort of man who knew how to confess his love when she needed to hear it most.

  Indeed, it had been in very bad taste to ask her to elope with him without even assuring her of his love. The truth was, he’d been overwhelmed. For he had wanted that moment in which he confessed his undying love to her to be monumental. He didn’t want to simply toss it out at her before a room full of judging faces and a man still lying unconscious on the dance floor behind him.

  At least now he knew what he needed to do. And he intended to turn it into a very special night for her. Tonight.

  As for now, he intended to have some fun and pass away the time. In class. As he’d promised Madame.

  Alexander strode into the room, toting along his old nightshirt from his days as a rake. The garment had seen far too many women, and it was time he retired the damn thing. In the name of Charlotte. He tossed the nightshirt onto the pile of other nightshirts that had been set on the desk, then turned to all the men. He paused, surprised to find not only Brayton, Banfield, and Caldwell, but also a newcomer, as Madame de Maitenon had earlier intimated.