Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2)

by Michelle McMaster

  Sir Robert pulled him toward a group in the corner, saying, “Poor chap’s having a devil of a time now that Beatrice is increasing, what? So I treated him to a night with a hot little piece, name of ‘Mignon’.” He leaned closer and whispered, “You know all the girls in here are imported direct from Paris, Weston? And damned if they don’t know a few tricks our English girls would never dream of!”

  Alfred tried to stifle a chuckle at the man’s mistaken ideas. “From Paris? You don’t say?” In actuality these girls were most likely from Suffolk, and Hertfordshire, and London itself, all well-coached in French accents.

  “I do say, old man!” Sir Robert replied. “But you will have one for yourself this evening, what? Or why else would you be here?”

  “Why else indeed?” Alfred said, giving a confident grin.

  Sir Robert pulled the amply-endowed Mignon close beside him as they joined the group, saying, “These girls really know how to get a man’s blood racing, don’t they?”

  Alfred made his bows as he was introduced. Lord Hollis, Sir Abelard de Burgh, Viscount Thane, and Sir Stanley Northrop all shook hands with him, and welcomed him to their exclusive gathering. Sir Robert offered him a cigar, and Lord Hollis, whom Alfred knew from his days at Eton, procured him a glass of port.

  Eventually Sir Stanley decided to take Mignon up to a private room. Alfred was sorry to see her go, but there was nothing to be done. At least Sir Stanley looked to be an amiable chap, who would treat the girl decently.

  Soon the proprietress, Madame du Charmes appeared with another girl to entertain them.

  The mature but attractive madam introduced a beautiful girl, Fleurette. With large, pale blue eyes and flowing flaxen hair, Fleurette resembled an angel. Her gown was transparent white, and clung to round, milky breasts and curvaceous hips. The gown, what there was of it, had obviously been designed to tempt and tease, and yet still maintain an aura of virginal purity about the wearer.

  It was very effective.

  Before, Alfred would have felt a stab of arousal at such an erotic sight. But now he refused to be baited by such carefully orchestrated sexuality. And he refused to act like the other boorish men who blindly kept these women prisoners here.

  Sir Robert said, “She is lovely, Madame.” He lifted a tendril of the girl’s hair and brought it to his nose, inhaling the perfumed tresses. “And she is aptly-named, for she smells as sweet as a rose garden.”

  Alfred rolled his eyes. The girl’s real name was probably something like Philberta or Winifred. And it probably wasn’t happenstance that ‘Fleurette’ smelled like roses, either.

  This entire establishment was theater, complete with actors, costumes, and of course, the audience. However, it seemed that everyone was enjoying the show except for himself.

  Fleurette smiled up at Sir Robert sweetly, and said in a thick French accent, “Do you like flowers, Monsieur?”

  Sir Robert pulled her closer. “Only when they look like you, ma chere.” He kissed her possessively, and glanced at Madame du Charmes. “A room for the young Mademoiselle and I.”

  “Of course, Monsieur. Please follow me,” Madame du Charmes said, leading the way toward the opulent staircase.

  The group seemed to be breaking up. The viscount was busy with a beautiful redhead, and Sir Abelard had two girls fluttering over him.

  That left only him and Lord Hollis. “Fancy a game of billiards, Hollis?”

  Lord Hollis smiled, leading the way to the billiard room. “Most men come here for the women, but I come for the billiards. It’s a little known secret that La Violette has one of the best billiard rooms in London. The tables are all made of Italian slate.”

  They entered the billiard room, a dark, mahogany-paneled room which was full of smoke and men. A few girls lounged about the room, but in here, the men were all too intent on the game at hand to pay them much mind.

  He and Hollis made their way over to one of the tables and Hollis placed his marker on the side, reserving the next match.

  Soon, Alfred and Hollis were chalking their cues, getting ready to play the winners of the previous match.

  “I say, Weston,” Lord Hollis said, lining up his shot, “isn’t that your father over there playing against Lord Walmsley and Viscount Linton?”

  Alfred looked up to see his father taking a shot. His partner, a man he recognized as Lord Godfrey, pointed Alfred out to his father. For a moment, they locked eyes, and Alfred saw displeasure there.

  He turned his attention back to the game, playing with confidence, enjoying each stroke. They were evenly matched, but their opponents had luck on their side, and soon the game was over. Alfred turned to see his father waiting at the side of the table. He glanced at Hollis, who gave a nod of understanding. He passed his cue to the next player, then went to join his father.

  The earl looked at him with an unreadable stare, saying, “Alfred, my boy. Out for an evening’s entertainment, are you?”

  “Of course,” Alfred replied. “A game of billiards, a good cigar….”

  His father laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Come, come. That is not why you’ve come to La Violette, surely. You’ve come for other pleasures, have you not?”

  “Yes. That must be it.”

  “It’s good to see you here, Alfred,” Lord Harrington said. “A father and son should be able to enjoy the same pastimes, should they not? Why, Lord Godfrey and his son come here very Saturday evening after dinner.” He pointed to Godfrey and his son puffing away on cigars in two corner wing chairs. “Soon they’ll be upstairs in adjoining rooms, each with a little French tart under them. What sport, eh?”

  His father passed him another glass of port and motioned to a pair of empty chairs near the fireplace.

  Alfred sat across from his father, and tasted the port.

  “It seems like only yesterday that I brought you here for the first time.” The earl smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Made a man of you that day. Shall I hire you a sweet little whore tonight as well, Alfred? A father’s gift to a dutiful son?”

  Alfred replied, “No thank you, Father. I haven’t the time, nor the inclination at the moment. I shall be leaving soon.”

  “Leaving?” his father asked. “Without sampling the girls’ charms? Why did you bother coming out then?”

  “To see Hollis,” Alfred lied. “He says these are the best billiard tables in London.”

  “He’s right,” the earl said, nodding. “Made of Italian slate. And cost a pretty penny, too.” He puffed on his cigar, and sat forward, lowering his voice. “Alfred, I must say, I am worried about you. Seeing you here tonight only confirms my fears.”

  “What about?” Alfred asked. His father’s words didn’t ring true. It was unlike the earl to worry about anyone save himself.

  “I have heard rumors, my boy,” Lord Harrington explained. “About you getting in over your head, poking your nose into things you have no business poking it into.”

  Alfred sat back, choosing his words carefully. “Where did you hear that?”

  The earl shrugged. “That is not important. What is important is that you abandon this fruitless cause you have adopted. You may get hurt, Alfred.”

  Alfred took another drink and replied, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to, Father.”

  “No? Well then, let me say only this, and then I’ll drop the matter,” Lord Harrington said. “It is after all, only rumor. But take heed. There are people in this city who could become very upset with do-gooders interfering with their business. These people could be dangerous. I only tell you out of concern for your welfare.”

  Alfred thought he saw something in his father’s eyes then, something that spoke of all the lost opportunities between them, opportunities that could never be recovered. Perhaps this was the earl’s way of trying to make amends.

  “I do care for you, Alfred,” he said, finally. “You are, after all, my son.”

  Suddenly, Alfred remembered being a lad of ten, h
is father patting him on the back when Alfred had shot his first pheasant. His father had been a cruel man at times, yet they had shared some happy moments together in Alfred’s youth, as well. Though his father was far from perfect, Alfred realized that part of him would always remember those times. Perhaps the earl had done the best he could, had given all he could. Perhaps he was giving all he could to his son right now.

  “Thank you, Father,” Alfred said. “I shall take great care…in all things.”

  “See that you do, son,” Lord Harrington said.

  Alfred stood. “I must be going, Father. Great-Aunt Withypoll has a yen to go to the National Gallery tomorrow. And, as you know, she likes to set out early for these things.”

  “Yes, I do.” The earl stood and accompanied Alfred back toward the salon. “Well, I shall be staying for a bit I expect. I have another match with Viscount Linton against Lord Claridge and Sir Abelard de Burgh.”

  Soon they were at the door and Alfred was donning his coat and hat.

  “Good night, my boy, and remember what I said,” Lord Harrington advised, following him outside for a moment.

  “I will, Father,” Alfred said, shaking his hand. His father stepped back inside the house and the door closed behind him.

  Alfred descended the stone steps and looked about for his carriage.

  There it was—his carriage was stuck between two others down the street. Instead of waiting, he walked to it.

  His driver, Tomkins looked down apologetically. “Sorry, milord. We’ll be underway soon enough.” He pointed to the carriage in front. “One of the brakes seized up. Ronnie’s workin’ on it.”

  Just then, the other driver waved and called out, “All clear, Tommy.”

  “Ye see? I knew he’d fix it. We’ll be off in a jif, sir.” Tomkins hopped down and opened the door of the carriage for his master.

  Alfred made to go inside, but stopped when he saw a figure emerge from La Violette. In the lamplight he saw the familiar profile of his father. Alfred watched, surprised to see the earl step into a nearby carriage. Didn’t his father have an important billiard match with the viscount?

  Before he could think, he said, “Tomkins, you see that coach that’s pulling away there? I want you to follow it. But at a safe distance. Don’t let yourself be seen. Follow wherever it goes. Quickly, now!”

  “Yes, sir,” Tomkins said, closing the door once Alfred was inside. Soon they were off. But to where?

  He tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. His father’s warnings had seemed heartfelt enough. But questions remained. How had the earl found out about Alfred’s investigation? And why had he left the brothel so suddenly after bidding Alfred adieu?

  One thing was certain—Alfred was determined to find out.

  Chapter 18

  Prudence couldn’t help but smile as she watched her students admire another Renaissance masterpiece. She stood back as they fluttered about a dramatic sculpture by an unnamed student of Michaelangelo, remarking on the lifelike muscle tone in the arms, the height and strength of the body that seemed ready to move at any moment, and the angelic beauty of the masculine face.

  As she watched the girls’ animated expressions and listened to their excited chatter, she felt a swell of pride. They had come a long way from the rough streets of London.

  Thankfully, the fire at the school had not impeded their studies. They were only slightly behind schedule in their lessons, and though this trip to the National Gallery had not been originally planned, the educational value of such a visit was immeasurable. In one day alone, they had seen the works of over a dozen Italian Masters.

  The tour was being led by Alfred’s mother, herself a devotee of the arts.

  As Lady Harrington discussed a particular piece with the students, Prudence couldn’t help but notice that the woman was a natural born teacher. The girls adored her. So did Prudence. Yet the subtle tension between Alfred and his mother endured. Prudence couldn’t help but wonder if they would ever be able to put their differences behind them.

  Her own heart sank miserably at the thought. If only she and Alfred could do the same. The question of marriage still stood like a barrier between them. Yet neither one of them seemed able to give up their position on either side of it.

  To make matters worse, she had hardly seen Alfred in the past week at all. Except for breakfast and sometimes at supper, there would be whole days where she wouldn’t see him at all, even as she lived in his own house.

  But she had realized rather painfully that she missed him. More than she wanted to admit.

  She missed his smile, the roguish twinkle in his eye, the warmth and texture of his skin and most of all, the feel of his body moving over hers and bringing her to the brink of heaven. Just the thought of that sent a wicked thrill through her veins.

  She even missed arguing with him. To be honest, she most especially missed arguing with him, as he was such a worthy opponent.

  She felt a twinge in her heart just then, and turned to see Alfred, leaning languidly against a wall, studying her with his dark, charismatic gaze. For a moment, she could have sworn he knew exactly what she was thinking about.

  He pushed away from the wall and walked slowly toward her, like a panther calmly stalking its prey. She felt as helpless as a gazelle caught in the cat’s sights.

  Then he was beside her, looking down at her with the knowing gaze of a lover. She felt naked then, and knew that it was worse than that, for he could strip her to her very soul with just a look.

  He paused for a moment, then took her hand. His touch sent a jolt of heat to her core.

  How quickly, how effortlessly he could turn her world upside down.

  “I’ve been watching you.” He pressed his lips to her hand, and she thrilled at the sensation. “I am no expert on art, Miss Atwater, but in my humble opinion, none of these works could ever compete with what I am beholding now. And I should know, having seen you at your most beautiful.” He moved his face closer, and whispered, “Do you know what I’m talking about, Prudence?”

  She nodded, trying vainly to rid her mind of the image that swirled there, of his powerful body, naked and warm, loving hers and making her weak with passion.

  “I am thinking about how you looked when I was making love to you. I think of you like that every moment.”

  Prudence gulped. She must be a weak woman, for she was very close to throwing herself before him and begging him to do exactly that to her again at the earliest possible convenience. She eyed a large antique cabinet in the corner and wondered if they would both fit inside.

  He smiled down at her wickedly, saying, “I must say, looking at all the statues of nymphs and gods frolicking with each other has done nothing but make me think of you traipsing through a garden bower, naked and sweet, and me chasing after you like a randy centaur.” He looked pensive for a moment, and said seriously, “Do you think we could play that game in the garden when we return home?”

  She laughed then, and gave him a little push. “Not if it is still light out, my lord.”

  He brightened. “Then, there is hope?”

  Prudence shook her head and replied, “You might be waiting quite some time for that, I’m afraid.”

  “I can wait,” he said. “For you, I would wait forever.”

  His words sobered her. “Forever is a long time, my lord, especially if something can never be.”

  Sensing her unease, he took her hand again and kissed it chastely. “Never say never, my dear. You may be tempting the gods themselves to prove you wrong.”

  Alfred led her into the next room, where the girls were already milling about. He gestured to the priceless statues and paintings that filled the vast room.

  “Look around you, Prudence,” he said. “All of this beauty took time to build, took sacrifices to build. These artists made their dreams into reality. A man and a woman together, they’re like artists, too. They can create something beautiful—like a child.”

  S
he tried to pull away then, but he wouldn’t let her escape so easily.

  Oh, she didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t he know how hard this was for her?

  He turned her face up to meet his piercing gaze. “What’s between us is strong, Prudence. I’ve never felt this way for another woman. I can see in your eyes that you feel it, too. It’s willful, this feeling we have for each other. Bear that in mind when you’re alone in your bed, making those logical arguments to yourself, because I’m not going to give up without a fight.”

  His words shattered her as effortlessly as a hammer would smash an egg. She closed her eyes, and felt him pull her closer.

  “You don’t fight fairly, my lord.”

  “Who said life was fair?”

  Just then, Emma came rushing over. “Miss Atwater, I’ve something to show you! Do you remember the painting we studied last week? I’ve found it over here! Oh….” She looked up at Prudence quizzically, obviously sensing the tension between her and Alfred.

  Prudence took a deep breath and replied, “Do you mean, The Rhapsody of Venus, Emma?”

  Emma nodded, but still looked unsure as to what was going on. “Yes, Miss.”

  Prudence stepped away from Alfred and took Emma’s hand. “Please excuse me, Lord Weston. I must attend to my student.”

  He nodded silently. As she moved away, she saw the unspoken message in his eyes.

  Surrender to me.

  It frightened her just how close she had been to doing that. One touch from Lord Weston…a few pretty words were all it had taken to make her melt like ice in the sun.

  But if she gave in as he wanted, if she traded her students’ happiness for her own, she would never forgive herself.

  She mentally shook herself and put an arm about Emma’s shoulder. “I would be delighted to see the painting. Will you show me, Emma? And, as you are an artist as well, I should like to hear your detailed observations on seeing the original, firsthand.”

  Emma beamed. “Oh, yes, Miss! I should like that, very much indeed.”

  As they reached the doorway to the next room, Prudence turned back to see Alfred gazing at her with a penetrating stare. But before he could cast another of his spells upon her, Prudence took Emma and hurried from the room.