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 deliberately 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.
When Alex glanced up, saw him, and gave him a fleeting smile, it was almost impersonal. The lion within roared its fury and refused to be dismissed. The game they played was vingt-et-un, and he immediately sat down at the table. It was only after he had taken his seat that he saw the Earl of Carlisle; by the pile of counters in front of him, their host was obviously winning. Since it was permissible for any player who wished to shuffle and cut the cards, Nick held out his hand. When the deck was passed to him, he turned to Carlisle. “I’ll cut you for the amount of the marker I gave you last week.”
“You play for high stakes, Hatton!” Carlisle declared loftily.
Nick knew they were the center of attention. He narrowed his eyes. “You are not dallying with a young boy, you know.”
Alexandra blinked. Was Kit blatantly referring to Carlisle’s predilection for young men? She glanced quickly at their host, saw him flush and cut the cards. It was a two, and any card in the deck would beat it. She saw Kit nod curtly and hand the cards back to the dealer without even bothering to cut them.
Even though he pretended otherwise, Nick was acutely aware of Alexandra. After she lost the next two hands, she stopped playing and watched Hart Cavendish. Nick decided then and there that the duke had had enough of her attention. He rose and casually walked around the table until he stood behind Cavendish. He placed a firm hand on Hart’s shoulder. “I’m stealing Alex for a dance. I’m sure you won’t object.”
Startled, Hart replied, “Of course not.” Though he actually objected strenuously, he was too civilized to say so.
Alex too was startled. Politely, she excused herself from Hart and with a quizzical expression accompanied Kit Hatton from the card room. “I thought your mourning barred you from dancing?”
“I have decided my mourning period is over,
as of tonight.”
His voice was so deep it sounded like a soft growl. His words were pointedly decisive. Was he telling her by implication that now he was out of mourning, his wooing would begin? She took a deep breath and refused to panic. Questions arose in her mind, and thoughts of Nicholas intruded. She wondered why Christopher hadn’t mentioned that his twin was back. “Is Nick home yet?”
He nodded. “He’s enjoying being back in London so much, I haven’t seen a lot of him.”
Alex closed her eyes, and cursed herself for even mentioning the libertine’s name.
The moment they entered the ballroom he swept her into his arms. Alex caught her breath and focused on the waltz music so she would not misstep. She had no need to fear. Kit, it seemed, was an exceptionally confident dancer. He held her securely and firmly took the lead, boldly swirling her, then bringing her close on every third beat of the music. She gave herself up to the movement of his body, swaying with the gentle pressure of his powerful arms.
The rhythm of the dance insinuated itself inside her, and with half-closed eyes, Alex began to pretend it was Nicholas who held her so possessively. She was lost in a sea of warm sensation, yielding her softness to his hard, demanding length.
As he watched her face and felt the brush of her gown against his thighs, the ache inside him became unbearable. He pictured her in his bed, beneath him, her half-closed eyes languid with love. He looked down hungrily. “Why do you never flirt with me?”
Her eyes opened slowly. I’ve been flirting with you for years. Suddenly, she realized it was Kit with whom she danced; Kit who asked the question. She was flooded with guilt about daydreaming over Nicholas. “We—we are old friends; I feel no need to flirt.”
His lips curved sardonically. “Not a flattering answer.” He knew if he held her one more minute, he would crush her to him and devour the soft pink mouth that tempted him beyond endurance. “It’s hot in here, and such a lovely spring night; would you mind if we went out for a breath of air?”
She murmured her assent and followed him from the floor. He took her out the front entrance of Burlington House to Piccadilly. The building was well lit, and they moved into the shadows cast by its tall columns. When Kit seemed content with the silence, Alex decided this might be a good time to reveal that she had found her mother. As he listened, he slowly began to stroll past the waiting carriages, and Alex matched her steps to his. She expected him to thoroughly disapprove, but his reaction surprised her.
“And you took her home and made peace between Dottie and the daughter she had disowned? That was a generous, heartfelt thing to do, Alex.” The look of admiration he bestowed upon her made her feel special.
“You are as lovely on the inside as you are on the outside, Alexandra.”
His understanding and praise pleased her. Perhaps he wasn’t shallow after all. “Thank you, Kit.” She searched for another topic. “I hope the Canaletto you bought wasn’t a fake,” she said earnestly.
“Canaletto?”
“When you bumped into Hart and I at the opera, he seemed to think he already owned the painting you had just bought.”
“Just a misunderstanding.” Nick dismissed the topic but tucked away the information. “Hart Cavendish escorts you quite frequently.” He tried to keep the resentment from his voice.
“I enjoy his company,” Alex said lightly.
“That’s perfectly understandable; any lady would enjoy being escorted by a Duke of the Realm.”
“It has nothing to do with his title,” she insisted.
“His dukedom makes him a leader of the beau monde and bestows deference not accorded to others. He has more wealth and privilege than royalty; don’t deny that you enjoy these things, Alex.”
“I do admit that I enjoy them! What pray is wrong with that?”
“There is nothing wrong with that, unless you expect him to make you his duchess. Hart is not looking for a wife, Alex. He is looking for a mistress, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
The truth of his words touched her vanity, and she wanted to fly at him and scratch his face. Instead she used words to wound him. “Hart has been completely honest with me, Kit. He has made it quite plain that he wishes to be my lover.”
Nick halted and took forceful hold of her shoulders. “I’ll take a horsewhip to him!”
She looked up into the dark, dangerous face and shuddered. She pulled out of his grip and kept walking. “I don’t need a keeper; I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.”
He took two strides to catch up with her. “I don’t want you to go out with him again, Alex!”
“You are jealous of him!” she accused incredulously.
“Why would I be jealous of the wealthiest duke in England, who has the physique and looks of a golden god?”
She stopped beneath a gas lamp and looked up at him. She gazed at the fathomless gray eyes above the slanting cheekbones, then her glance lowered to his beautiful mouth and the deep cleft in his chin. “You are one of the handsomest men I have ever laid eyes on in my life.” She glanced around and saw that they were now walking on Berkeley Street, which opened into Berkeley Square. She threw back her head and began to laugh.
“What’s so bloody funny?” he growled.
“You deliberately stole me away from Hart Cavendish and escorted me home, you devious devil!”
His mouth curved. “I admit it. My rival doesn’t stand a chance.” His glance licked over her lovely, laughing face. “That amuses you, Alex?”
“I am amused because Hart Cavendish isn’t your rival—never has been and never will be. Your rival is your own twin. I was infatuated with Nicholas for years.”
“Was?”
She heard the intensity in his voice and could not bring herself to hurt him further. “Not any more, of course. It was a young girl’s fancy. Before he went away, Nick made it plain that he thought of me as a sister.”
“Nick is a fool. He always did have an exalted sense of honor.” He drew her into his arms and captured her lips with his. He felt her stiffen but refused to let her pull away. His possessive mouth moved on hers, coaxing, savoring, wooing her to soften toward him. He was exultant when he felt her lips cling to his and took pleasure from the physical, intimate contact.
Alex was reluctant to have Kit kiss her, but found him as competent at kissing as he was at dancing. When she closed her eyes, it felt exactly like she was kissing Nicholas, and her reluctance melted away. Delicious sensations spiraled through her body as she gave herself up to him and clung to the demanding mouth that was giving her untold pleasure. “Nick,” she murmured against his lips. Her eyes flew open and she pulled away quickly. “Good night, Kit.” Alex ran the short distance to her house, hoping he hadn’t heard her say his twin’s name.
Nick watched Alex go, giving thanks that she had whispered his name, yet feeling guilty at the same time. He stood at the corner of Berkeley Square a long time after she had gone, wondering how he would solve the dilemma that raged within.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When Nicholas returned to Curzon Street, he found the butler still on duty. “There’s no need to wait up for me, Fenton; your day is long enough. I’ll lock up and see to the lights.”
“Yes, sir,” Fenton replied. He moved down the hall, then turned and came back hesitantly. “I hate to trouble you, sir, when you’ve just returned from France. I hoped Lord Hatton would take care of the matter before he left …”
“What is it?”
“It’s the wine merchant, sir. He left this account two days ago and said he’d be back tomorrow. When I gave it to your brother, he threw it in the wastebasket.”
Nick took the bill and read it. “Three hundred pounds for whiskey? That’s outrageous! There must be some mistake.”
“The bill is most likely padded, sir. The wine merchant has a rather threatening way about him. I would have paid him something on account, except … I haven’t received my wages yet.”
“You’ve been ow
ed wages since December?” Nick was angry. What the devil is Kit playing at? “None of the staff has been paid?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
Inside, Nick was livid, but he did not display his temper in front of the servant. He took out his winnings. “There is more than a hundred pounds here. That should take care of it. Please give my apologies to the staff.” He waved the bill for the whiskey. “Don’t worry about this, Fenton. I shall go and see him tomorrow.”
Nick went upstairs to Kit’s room and opened the desk, looking for the household account book. He uttered a foul oath when he found it stuffed with overdue bills. Kit had not made a single entry in the book. There was one receipt from an art dealer for a Canaletto; it was for nine thousand pounds. Jesu! He remembered Alex’s words about a fake Canaletto. Nick’s glance swept the chamber, then he looked beneath the bed. Nothing! He opened Kit’s wardrobe, swept aside the garments, and found the painting.
He took it and the receipt to his own room. He undressed and opened the casement window. Kit needs a bloody keeper; he is totally irresponsible! He thought of the markers he had retrieved tonight. No wonder he ran home to Hatton, before I found out about all this! As he filled his lungs with the spring air, Nick knew he would have to take matters into his own hands. His resolve hardened. Tomorrow, he would start with the art dealer.
Early the next morning, Nick paid a visit to Spinks & Co. The old art dealer was one of the shrewdest men in the business, and Nick guessed he would know what went on, on both sides of the law.
Spinks glanced at the name and address on the receipt. “That’s not his real name. It’s Wicklow. Shuts up shop and moves every month. Try Warwick Lane, by St. Paul’s.”
Nick knew he had found Wicklow when the man immediately dodged into the back room. In a flash, Nick strode into the huge storage room and confronted him. Two boys at a worktable fled out the back door. “You sold me a fake Canaletto. I am here for my money.”
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