Lord of Pleasure (17 page)

She had left. Without even saying good-bye.

Alexander sat cross-legged on the wooden floorboards, half dressed in only his riding boots and trousers. He stared at the chair beside him. The chair he would forever associate with Charlotte. And though he tried, God how he tried, he could do nothing but simmer in the reality of how it had ended between them.

It was over. He had seen to it.

He clenched his jaw, then raised his foot and kicked the chair as far away as he could, sending it skidding and then tumbling to the floor. He had tried to do the right thing.

He wanted to prove to her, and to himself, that he respected her, cared for her, and that if it weren’t for the future happiness of his sisters, he might have even married her. Though clearly, in her eyes, he was naught but a frig. A stupid, worthless frig. Nothing more than what the rest of the women viewed him as. The Lord of Pleasure. And it was by far the worst moment of his life.

Most of the candles in the room had long extinguished themselves, leaving him to sit in almost complete darkness. Only two flickering candles remained, fighting to give him the light he needed. Though he knew, like himself, they wouldn’t last for much longer. It was time to return to London. Away from here.

The clattering of carriage wheels crunching against the gravel pierced the silence. He slowly turned his head and gazed in the direction of the windows but otherwise did not move. His mind and body were still too numb to try and respond.

Hurried steps outside came rushing toward the house, and moments later the front door in the entryway creaked open. Then slowly closed.

Alexander shifted toward the open door and squinted at the darkness. A shadowy, slim figure in a gown rustled by, heels clicking hurriedly past him, heading for the stairs leading to the second floor.

He caught his breath, inwardly hoping she’d come back. Back to tell him that she wanted
him
, Alexander, all along. “Charlotte?” he called out.

The clicking came to a halt. The steps came one slow heel at a time back in his direction. The shadowy figure drew closer into the doorway, bringing the person into full view. A petite woman with long chestnut curls and a pale, stricken face stood in the open doorway of the parlor.

His eyes widened as he choked on his own astonishment. Bloody hell, it was Caroline! What the devil was she doing all the way out here? And at such an unearthly hour?

He jumped up to his booted feet. “Caroline! What are you doing here?”

Her eyes flickered across the length of his bare chest. She cringed and snapped up a gloved hand to shield her eyes. “Why are you prancing about half-naked? I realize it’s the country, but
really
.”

Alexander snatched up the shirt from his pile of clothes and yanked it hurriedly over his head. As if his night hadn’t already taken a turn for the worse. He supposed he might as well finish it.

He stalked toward her, stuffing the ends of his loose shirt into the depths of his trousers. “My chest should be the least of your worries.”

Caroline dropped her hand to her side and glared at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He stopped before Caroline and bit back from altogether shouting at her for the agony she’d put him through this past week. “I can overlook the bloody hour, but why the devil would you come all the way out here? And alone? ’Tis anything but safe.”

“I brought two footmen and a driver. I always come out here whenever I need time to myself.” She eyed him. “What about you? Why are you here? Dare I even ask?”

“
Me
?” He shrugged, caging his fury as best he could. “I needed quality air, is all. Can’t trust anyone these days.”

“You are being annoyingly cryptic.” She paused, then rose on the tips of her slippered toes and tried to glance around him and into the room. “Is someone here?”

He stepped aside and showed her the empty room, trying to keep his voice steady. “As you can see, no.” He didn’t even want to think about Charlotte right now. Or he’d completely lose the last of his patience and sanity.

Caroline dropped back onto her heels but didn’t say anything.

He pinned her with a firm stare. “I know about Caldwell. He told me.”

“He told you?”
Caroline scrambled back into the darkened hallway and raised a gloved hand to her mouth.

“Yes. And he also told me that Mother and Lord Hughes were in on it.”

“Actually,” she said through her cupped hand, “Mother wasn’t in on it.”

Alexander leveled his gaze at her. “What do you mean?”

She lowered her hand back to her side and shook her head, sending sections of her long, loose curls bouncing about her face. “She knew that my going to a champagne party would upset you. But I went all the same. I…never mind why. When she saw me grouped with all the women, she quietly left. I didn’t know until afterward that she had seen me.” She sighed. “In the end, she wanted me to follow my heart. She wrote Lord Hughes a letter about it, seeing that he had invited me, and asked for further assistance. It only got more complicated from there.”

“Lord Hughes invited you?”
he choked out, stepping toward her.

Caroline held up both hands in an effort to calm him. “Alex, please. Don’t blame him. He was only trying to help.”

“
Help?
Oh, he
helped.
He
helped
debauch you. That no good son of a bitch! That fucking bastard! I’m going to kill him. I’ll kill him!”

She rolled her eyes. “Alex, please. My bedding Caldwell was inevitable.”

He choked. “Christ have mercy, do not say things like that so matter-of-factly.” He violently raked both hands through his hair and huffed out a huge breath. This entire night was nothing short of a godforsaken nightmare! The only good thing to have come out of this was that his mother wasn’t the hellfire he had thought her to be.

“Alex. Try to forgive me. I…I was caught up in a moment. I know that now. I thought…” She pinched her lips together and lowered her gaze down to her hands, which now played with the folds of her dark burgundy gown. “Never mind what I thought. ’Twas foolish.”

At least she realized
that
much.

Alexander stepped closer to her and cupped her chin with his hand. He lifted it and forced her to look up at him. “Why? Why did you do it? Tell me.”

Her green-blue eyes searched his face, and after a moment, she muttered, “Because I’ve loved him ever since I can remember.”

She loved him? She loved Caldwell? Alexander slowly released her chin in disbelief, though, oddly, a huge part of him felt relieved. Relieved knowing that her marriage to Caldwell wasn’t going to be a form of punishment. Because punishing her was the last thing she deserved or needed.

Caroline sighed miserably. “Not that it matters. He and I are completely ill-suited. What he wants out of a woman is not what I have to give. It’s best I simply move on.”

“Move on?” he demanded. “Wait, wait. What? Did something happen?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Yes, well, it’s not complicated anymore.”

Caroline blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Caldwell has asked for your hand in marriage.”

Caroline froze as if he had told her quite the opposite. A raging blush rose to her face. “Why would he do that?”

“Well…” This was certainly awkward. He didn’t think he’d have to explain the obvious. “Because it’s the right thing to do. The
only
thing to do.”

Caroline stepped back and away from him. “So he doesn’t
want
to marry me. He merely feels
obligated
to marry me. Is that what you are saying?”

She appeared to be spitting angry at him. As if he had created this mess. “Caroline,
I
should be the one to be upset here. You have no idea—
and I mean, no idea
—the lengths that Caldwell went through in order to tell me what happened. After everything I witnessed, I think he may very well be in love with you.”

“May?”
she yelled up at him, now clenching her fists at her sides as if refraining from pounding them against his chest. “No. Do forgive me, Brother dear, but
may
is not good enough. It
may
be good enough for you, it
may
be good enough for him, but it is
not
good enough for me.” She paused and glared at him as if a hoard of daggers would not be enough for what she had in mind. “You threatened him into marrying me. Didn’t you?”

Alexander let out an unbridled laugh, trying to release the pent-up emotions within him. “As angry as I was, I didn’t need to threaten him into marrying you. Caldwell is his own man and, in the end, knows when to do the right thing. And marrying you is the right thing. Forget about your stupid need for romance, Caroline, and use your common sense. You’ll grow to love each other. As all couples do.”

She kept on shaking her head, as if that was the only thing she knew how to do. “No. I won’t have him. Not like this.”

This is exactly why he had enlisted Charlotte in the first place. Because women were ever-changing weather patterns he simply could not read despite all his years under the sun.

Alexander waved his hand at her in complete frustration, his patience gone. “Caroline, when Father passed, I was given full responsibility for not only your well-being but also your future. And your future will be Caldwell. I have already applied for a special license. You and he will be wed in five weeks’ time. Or next week. The choice is yours.”

“Next week?”
she shouted up at him in clear disbelief, her eyes widening. “Oh, like
that
won’t ruin me?”

“Then in five weeks’ time. It really doesn’t matter. You’ll have him for the rest of your life, either way.”

“But he doesn’t even love me! You can’t throw me into a loveless marriage. You simply can’t!”

“
You
made the decision when you damn well flipped up your skirts!” he shouted back, venting every last bit of his fury. “Don’t you understand what you’ve done, Caroline? You’re ruined! Completely and utterly ruined! And unless you marry him, not only will
you
be at the mercy of the
ton
, but so will all of our sisters. Have you ever stopped to think about them during your self-indulgent lust parade? Even once? You’ll render all of their opportunities useless! Useless!” There! He’d finally said every last thing he ever wanted to say to her.

“Damn you, Alex! Don’t you think that I know that? Don’t you think I…” Caroline whirled away from him and swung a gloved fist through the air. As if she were hitting someone who wasn’t there.

She muttered something beneath her breath, shook her head, then lowered her hands slowly and primly back to her sides. After a few more moments of silence, she calmly turned back to him, bearing a mask of new, deceptive calm. “You’re right. It’s the right thing to do. For our family. For our sisters.”

Thank God she understood that much. “Good. You’re heading back to London with me. We’re not staying here.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I suppose you expect me to still love you after all this.”

“Damn right I do. Just as I’m expected to love you. We are and always will be family. And as such, we have no choice but to remain steadfast.” Or something like that.

11 Berwick Street
Two weeks and two days later, early morning

A knock on the door startled Charlotte straight out of a deep slumber. She blinked and stared up at the brocaded canopy of her bed. A familiar ache rose within her chest. An ache that never seemed to go away. She had been dreaming of him again. Of his full smile. His green eyes. His warmth. The cruel reality was that she would only ever see him in her thoughts and in her dreams.

She blinked again and slowly turned her head toward her closed bedchamber door.

There was another, more urgent knock. “My Lady?” the chambermaid called out from the other side.

“Is it already past one?” she called back.

Drat. Why did she still feel so horridly tired? She knew she shouldn’t have stayed up past three, but once she had commenced organizing the pleasure room as per Madame de Maitenon’s request, she had become blissfully occupied—not to mention slightly horrified—with a world other than Alexander.

A world of every imaginable contraption designated for the art of pleasure. Horse whips, shackles, chains, gloves, feathers, fur mitts, fur rugs, paddles, canes, candles, and…yes. Even leather dildos. Boxes and boxes of them.

Charlotte scrambled out of bed and slipped her feet into a waiting pair of silk slippers.

The chambermaid opened the door partway and peered in, a worried expression upon her young, round face. “It be early, My Lady, I know. ’Tis only eight, but Harold desperately needs you. Actually, we all need you.”

“Why? What is it?” Charlotte grabbed her brocaded robe off the chair and pulled it about herself. She tied the sash around her waist and headed toward the dresser, where a basin of fresh water waited. “Allow me twenty minutes.”

The chambermaid was quiet for a brief moment, then frantically burst out, “But it may already be too late!”

“Too late? What—”

“Madame is missing! All the men have been waiting in the classroom for over an hour, and both Mr. Hudson and Harold have already checked the correspondences four times. There is no word from her, My Lady. None at all.”

A sense of dread pooled in Charlotte’s stomach. Madame de Maitenon would never miss class. And she was always punctual. Always. At the very least, the woman would have sent word if she intended to be late. Why, just the other day Madame had been prattling on how only death alone would ever keep her from performing her duties at the school.

Charlotte paused as her breath hitched in her throat. Oh dear God. What if something horrible had happened? What if…

Charlotte spun back toward the chambermaid. “Have Harold come up to my room at once! You’ll assist dressing me while I speak to him. In the meantime, tell Mr. Hudson to call for a hackney and have it ready within fifteen minutes.”

The chambermaid blinked, as if unable to comprehend all the orders.

“At once!” Charlotte snapped.

The chambermaid disappeared, her running steps echoing down the length of the corridor.

Charlotte clasped her hands and lifted her eyes heavenward. “Mother,” she whispered. “Father. Please keep her from harm.”

She dropped her hands and willed herself to stay focused. Though she damn well wanted to, she couldn’t run out into the streets in a mere robe. She’d cause a riot. And that would hardly help Madame right now.

Charlotte ran toward her dresser and flung the lacquered wood doors open. Her collection of bombazine gowns glowered at her, whispering that she could be wearing them for much, much longer.

“Cease worrying, Charlotte,” she told herself as calmly as she could. “It will be fine. You will see.” She had to keep assuring herself of that. Or she wouldn’t survive. She yanked out a gown and hurried over to the bed, tossing it onto the crumpled linen.

Hurried steps echoed back down the corridor. Within moments, the door was thrown wide open.

She turned.

Harold towered in the doorway, his large brown eyes reflecting the concern and worry that gripped her own mind and heart.

The chambermaid hurried in and rushed toward the other dresser at the far end of the room, grabbing for everything Charlotte would need.

“What were her plans for yesterday?” Charlotte demanded of Harold. “Do you even know? Did she tell you?”

Harold shook his head, causing his mop of brown curls to shift against his large forehead. “I’m not supposed to be privy to anything outside of what goes on in the school. Madame says I’m too obsessed with her as it is and that knowing personal things about her life wouldn’t be at all proper.”

Lovely. Information that was anything but helpful. All she knew now was that poor Harold was madly in love with Madame. Just as she’d suspected.

The chambermaid scurried to Charlotte’s side and started untying her sash and pulling her robe apart from her body.

Harold gasped, shielding his eyes.

“Oh, Harold, really.” She frantically waved at him. “Turn around if it bothers you. There’s no time for decency.”

“Yes, My Lady.” With his eyes still covered, he swung around, setting his massive back to her.

She scrambled out of her cotton nightgown and into her chemise. “Do you know anything about where she might be?”

He lowered his hands, shook his head again, and still kept his back to her. “No. Which is why I worry. What with all the threats we’ve had, I…”

Her stomach clenched.
“Threats?”
she demanded, stepping toward him. She was forcefully yanked back by the chambermaid, who was still attempting to properly dress her. “What threats? I was never informed of any threats.”

Harold slapped both large hands onto his head, resting them there for a moment, before hissing out a sigh and dropping them back down. “Damn. I wasn’t supposed to say that. Madame didn’t want you to worry. It was only a few letters here and there from some religious lot. They threatened to set fire to the school. So that we may all properly burn in hell, where we belong.”

“I assure you, it is
they
who shall burn if they so much as touch Madame. For heaven’s sake, Harold, where else could she be? We must try to be rational and not jump to any conclusions.” She paused for a moment. “Is there somewhere else she would need to be? Try to think.”

“I…don’t know. With her granddaughter?” Harold offered with obvious uncertainty.

The chambermaid fitted the corset around Charlotte and commenced lacing her into it, yanking at her torso. Charlotte turned and grabbed hold of the bedpost to steady herself as the maid continued yanking at the laces. “Yes. Good. You’re right,” she insisted from over her shoulder, back at him. “That forwarding address she gave me, you know the one where I always send all of her letters that I get for the school? Is that where Madame resides along with her granddaughter?”

“Yes,” Harold said.

Well, at least he knew that much. “Good. I will go immediately. Someone has to know where she is. Her granddaughter, her servants. Someone. If she isn’t at home and no one there knows a thing about her whereabouts, then I’m going straight to an investigator. In the meantime, Harold, I want you to send all the students home. Though whatever you do, don’t alarm them. Madame would never forgive us. Inform them to await word as to whether class will resume on the morrow. In the meantime, wait for her in the classroom. She may eventually return.”

After twisting the doorbell of Madame de Maitenon’s residence twice and still receiving no answer, Charlotte used the knocker. Several times.

She leaned back and eyed the curtained windows above, trying to quell the growing hysteria within her.

To her surprise, the door before her slowly opened. A tall, balding man dressed in gray livery eyed her.

Charlotte stepped toward the butler, refraining from grabbing the man’s lapels and shaking him. “Is Madame de Maitenon at home? I am Lady Chartwell. The conductor of admissions for her school. Please. I must know of her whereabouts. She was not in class today and sent no word as to where she would be.”

The butler leaned out the door, then offered in a hushed tone, “Madame is here. But she is not taking any visitors.”

Relief soared through her, exhausting her into a sense of calmness. She glanced upward, toward the dull, gray sky that did not reflect the summer, and quietly thanked her mother. She was safe.

She sighed. “Forgive me, sir, I did not bring any of my cards.” She didn’t have any cards printed, as she never made outings, but that was beside the point. “Could you please be so kind as to announce to Madame that I am here? I’m certain she’ll see me. We are friends.”

The butler grimaced and glanced at the street, clearly aware that the longer she continued to stand on the doorstep, the ruder he appeared. He opened the door and ushered her quickly inside.

Closing the door after her, he scooted her into the corner beside the door, in the direction of the hat rack.

“What in—”

“
Shhh
.” He glanced toward the stairwell behind him, then whispered down at her, “I apologize, but I am disobeying strict orders by even speaking to you. Madame’s granddaughter is not allowing anyone to call on her. Especially those from the school.”

Her granddaughter? Maybelle? What? Was she holding her grandmother against her will? None of this made any sense.

“I don’t care what her granddaughter says,” Charlotte snapped, trying her best to confine her growing agitation. “All of her students were left waiting for over an hour, and none of us received any word as to why. I am rightfully concerned and demand to see Madame.
Now
.”

The butler impatiently tapped a gloved finger to his lips in a desperate effort to quiet her. “Madame collapsed at a soirée last night. The doctors believe she suffered from apoplexy, but that is all I am allowed to say. I’ll inform Madame of your visit when she is well enough, but right now, she needs her rest.”

He quickly strode toward the door, then yanked it open and waited with his hand outstretched pointing to the street outside.

Charlotte swallowed, unable to comprehend the horrible words he had just spoken. After all, her own mother had died from the very same thing. When Charlotte had been able to finally rush to her side, her mother could not even hold her hand, let alone speak. She had become naught but a shell of the woman she once knew and loved. For the apoplexy had ravaged her. Completely.

Charlotte fisted her hands until they throbbed with the same thundering pulse that matched her heart. Madame de Maitenon was going to leave her, after all. How eerily fitting that it would end this way.

“I…
please
,” she urgently whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. “I need to see her. If even for a moment. It would mean so much to me. I’d never be able to forgive myself if something were to happen to her.”

The butler hurried over to her, grabbed her gloved hand, and patted it affectionately as he forcefully led her out through the front door. “Madame is much stronger than that, My Lady. All she truly needs is rest. She will send word when she is ready to see you.”

He feebly smiled, then retreated and gently shut the door, leaving her alone on the doorstep.

Charlotte turned and watched as people and carriages bustled by before her. Everything blurred as tears flooded her eyes. Yes. Her mother had been strong, too. And yet, she had died.

Feeling as though the world were visually slowing, Charlotte grasped the iron railing. One heavy step at a time, she made her way down the set of stairs and onto the pavement. Ignoring the hackney awaiting her, she turned in the opposite direction and walked. She needed time to mourn for Madame in her own way. The only way she knew how. By breaking every single conventional rule.