Virginia Henley (45 page)

As Alex positioned herself just inside the stairwell door at the side of the dais, she could hardly breathe. It was an extremely warm night, and the layers of clothing she wore, topped by the flowing cape, felt suffocating. The palms of her hands were damp as she listened for Charlie’s male clientele to file into the room, and as she tied on her mask and made sure her long wig was in place, she felt her hands tremble. The moment the gas lamps were lit, Alex was assailed by a wave of nausea and feared she might be sick.
What the devil is the matter with you? You’ve done this two dozen times before,
her inner voice scolded.
That doesn’t make it easier; it makes it harder,
she replied.
The sooner you begin; the sooner it will be over!
She steeled her nerves, turned the door-knob, and stepped onto the illuminated stage.

Nicholas left Satin in her comfortable stall. A horse could be easily traced; tonight he would work on foot. It was such a hot night that he wore neither coat nor shirt beneath his black cloak, and the freedom of movement it gave him added to his confidence. Since he had no intention of shooting anyone, he carried only a single pistol tucked into his belt, along with the leather mask.

Nick stationed himself in the shadows of the Carlton House courtyard, which now held three closed coaches, each with its own matched team of magnificent horses and their attendant coachmen and grooms. He affixed his mask with steady hands, knowing that, garbed in black from head to foot, he was invisible in the darkness. Nick knew that the trio of fat royals would not walk, even though it was less than eight hundred yards to the Foxhole; they would not be steady enough on their feet after their two-hour dinner debauch. He calculated that they would ride together in a single coach, accompanied by one of the Regent’s equerries.

Before nine, the French doors opened and Their Royal Highnesses—George, Frederick, and cousin William—stepped out onto the well-lit terrace, then descended the stone steps to the courtyard and the waiting coach. The Regent, unmistakable in pale blue satin, was accompanied by an officer of the Horse Guards carrying an attache case. Nick’s mouth quirked with contempt; the members of the Prince’s own regiment were nothing more than pampered youths who made perfect lackeys.

It took several minutes for the portly princes to climb inside the heavy coach, then the driver shut the door, climbed to the box, and took up his reins. The coach made a wide turn out of the courtyard, then straightened. Nick’s strides easily kept pace with the vehicle, as the horses fell into a slow trot for the short drive. When the closed carriage was about four hundred yards from the Foxhole, Nick, taking great care that the driver did not see him, opened the coach door and swung inside.

Before the occupants could gasp their surprise, the twelve-inch barrel of a pistol was pressed against the Prince Regent’s heart.

“Not one word, gentlemen.” The voice was polite but deadly serious. “I bring you a message from Charles James Fox:
Don’t risk it, Your Royal Highness; play it safe.
”

The Duke of York was too intoxicated from his day at Epsom and evening at Carlton House to know what was going on. Gloucester moaned softly, and the Regent actually whimpered as a tear rolled down his florid face.

“Take the money from the attache case and put it in here.” Nick held out a black velvet bag and watched the officer as he opened the leather case and removed what looked to be about twenty thousand pounds. Then Gloucester opened his purse and emptied its contents into the velvet bag. When Frederick made no move, but sat there like a bloated toad, his cousin William quickly divested him of his Epsom winnings and dropped them into the bag.

“Gentlemen, it has been an honor and a privilege.” Nick opened the coach door and swung to the ground while it was still moving, just before it reached the Foxhole. He was headed toward St. James’s Park by the time the carriage stopped and the Guardsman jumped out, shouting, “Stop, thief! Stop, thief!”

Suddenly, coming out of the park directly in front of him, was a mounted rider from the Bow Street Mounted Patrol. Nick could have shot him, but his own personal code of honor prevented such a callous act. Instead, he cursed his luck, swiftly turned on his heel, and headed in the opposite direction toward Pall Mall. The mounted constable, however, had no such qualms about using his firearm. Nick heard a shot ring out, then almost instantly he felt a searing, scalding pain burn into the back of his head. It almost drove him to his knees, but in spite of the hurt, he kept running, knowing that if the ball had entered his brain, he would be dead. He could feel his own warm blood begin to trickle down the back of his neck and prayed that his cloak would soak up most of it so that he wouldn’t leave a trail.

Nick turned the corner onto Pall Mall and automatically his long legs carried him along the familiar path toward Champagne Charlie’s. His hat was already gone, and he whipped off the black leather mask as he burst through the door and stuffed it into the velvet bag that was still clutched in his hand.

A bevy of beautiful whores watched open-mouthed as the Hatton twin dashed through the reception room and headed toward the stairs. At that moment, Charlie, garbed in burgundy brocade, was on her way downstairs. The applause for Caprice’s stage show had just begun and was Charlie’s cue to come down and greet her clients as they emerged from watching the titillating performance.

“They’re after me,” Nick warned her, as he passed her on the staircase.

“My God, you’re wounded!” Charlie immediately followed him back up the stairs and along the hall toward her private rooms.

They hurried inside and shut the door. Nick slung the velvet bag that held the money, along with his pistol, under the big bed then removed his black evening cloak, the back of which was now soaked with blood.

 

Alex was trembling all over by the time her performance was finally over. Her poses usually lasted about an hour, but tonight had seemed twice that long. When the gas lamps were extinguished and the applause began then rose to a crescendo, she was weak with relief that the nerve-racking ordeal was over and done with. She pulled her cloak about her nakedness, shivering with cold, and wondered how on earth she had thought it a warm night. As she gathered her garments, her knees felt like wet linen, and she kept dropping things. She bent to retrieve a stocking from the floor, then hurried through the door that led into the lighted stairwell. She paused for a moment to make sure she had everything, then took a deep breath before she attempted the flight of stairs.

Alex reached the top without incident and ran the last few steps to Charlie’s private bedchamber. She flung open the door, hurried inside, and almost fainted at the sight that met her eyes. Nicholas Hatton, naked to the waist, and Charlotte King, looking more beautiful than any woman had a right to, were standing so close that their bodies were almost touching. Her wide bed, so decadent and inviting, was less than a foot away.

“It’s only Caprice!” Charlie almost sagged with relief.

“No, it isn’t Caprice!” Alex dropped her clothes in a heap and tore off the mask and blond wig. As her red-gold curls tumbled to her shoulders, she stared defiantly at the wicked devil who caused her continual heartache. “It is Alexandra!”

Nick stared back at her as if he were mesmerized. He honestly believed that his loss of blood was causing him to hallucinate.

“Oh, good, you know each other! Quick, get into bed, both of you. I’ll go down and see if I can dissuade them from searching.”

“Alex! What in the name of God are you doing in this place?” Nick demanded. His hand went up to clutch the back of his head in an effort to stem the tidal wave of pain that washed over him. When he took his hand away, it was covered with bright red blood.

“Oh my God, Nick, you’re wounded!” Her outrage vanished instantly and was replaced by heart-wrenching concern for the man who meant more to her than life.

“I was shot. You must hide, Alex; the law will be here to arrest me any minute.”

“Nick, you are bleeding to death!” she sobbed.

“No, no, the bullet badly grazed me . . . scalp wounds always bleed like the very devil. Do as I bid you; get the hell out of here and hide somewhere.” He swayed on his feet.

Alex grabbed up his discarded cloak and wiped the crimson blood from his hands and shoulders. Then she threw back the cover on the bed and pushed him down onto the black satin sheets. “Press your head back into the pillow . . . the blood won’t show on black satin.” She discarded her cape, climbed naked into the bed, and covered him with her body. Her heart was thudding so loudly she thought it was someone pounding on the door. She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Hush, my love, please don’t speak . . . I’ll do the talking.” Alex knew she could conceal her love for Nick no longer. Her words and actions in the face of such heart-stopping danger were revealed for him to see, and she was glad.

Seconds later, the door opened and the Bow Street policeman who had shot Nicholas stepped over the threshold and pointed his gun.

Alex raised herself up and gave him a seductive glance from over her shoulder. “You’ll have to wait your turn, luv, though I do like a man with a big weapon.”

Without lifting his head from the pillow, Nicholas fixed him with a steely gray stare. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded in his most arrogant drawl. “I’ve bought her for the night.”

The constable stared at the naked couple in the bed, noticed the man’s possessive hand on the girl’s deliciously round bottom, then gave the room a cursory glance. He nodded. “Carry on, my lord.”

When he withdrew, Alex collapsed onto the man beneath her. “Oh, Nicholas, whatever did you do?”

“I robbed Prinny’s coach, but more to the point, Hellion, what the devil are you doing in a brothel?”

“I’ve been earning money.”

“Earning money!”
His grip became so painful she knew he was in no danger of dying.

“Oh, Nick, not this way.” She gestured to her body pressed against his hard length. “I’m a posing girl.”

“Caprice!” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ve seen your scandalous performance! I should have put you across my knee and thrashed you years ago, you willful little bitch.”

As Nick looked up at her, he realized that it was useless to pretend any longer. “Oh God, Alex, I love you so much! Risking your safety and your reputation to protect me touches my heart.” He tenderly caressed her cheek with his fingertips.

“Nick, I’ve loved you always. There’s no room in my heart for anyone but you. . . . You must have known that!”

“Of course I knew. But you were promised to Kit, and I hoped you’d get over me, though I knew I would love you forever.”

She longed to believe his protestations of love, but feared the wound was making him delirious. Alex kissed her fingers, then pressed them to his lips. “Please lie still, my love.”

Charlie entered the room and closed the door. “He’s left for now, but he could be back, so you’d better stay put for awhile.”

“He’s lost a lot of blood. It won’t stop until it’s stitched.”

“Don’t look at me,” Charlie protested, “I’m not the domesticated type, and I’m not exactly running a sewing circle downstairs.”

“Oh, I’ll do it, if you can find me a needle and thread.”

Nicholas groaned and closed his eyes. “I can’t believe you two know each other!”

“And a damn good thing we do, Hazard Hatton!” Charlie retorted. “The two of us just saved your bloody balls. I’ll be back with needle and thread.”

The moment the door closed, Alex slipped from the bed and pulled on her shift. She turned up the lamp and brought it to the bedside table. “You’d better let me have a look.”

He sat up gingerly. “Tell me what you see.”

Alex steeled herself to examine the wound. His beautiful black locks were saturated with blood, which was still bubbling forth from the gash the ball had opened. As her fingers separated and lifted his hair, the flesh of his scalp lifted with it, and she clearly saw the white skull bone beneath. She grabbed up the pillow and pressed it to the wound to staunch the flow of blood. “It’s not as bad as I thought.”
My God, it’s much worse than I thought!
“The ball made a furrow of about two inches.”
It’s at least a three-inch gash, and deep too!

“How the hell did you learn of Champagne Charlie’s?” Nick demanded. “And why are you taking off your clothes for money?”

“Nick, if you don’t stay calm, the bleeding will never stop. The more you shout at me, the faster it spurts out, and you’ve already lost far too much!”

“All right, I’ll shut up for now, but you’ve got one hell of a lot of explaining to do, Alexandra.”

“Oh, and you think you don’t!” She stared angrily into his eyes.

Nick, as always, saw the humor in their situation. “We make a fine bloody pair; the Hellion and the Highwayman. Thankfully, it seems to be more farce than tragedy!”