Virginia Henley (19 page)

“Sefton, I shall be forever in your debt. You have only to name your price if you will but divulge the lady’s name.”

“I must warn you she is not a light-skirt, Your Highness, but a respectable widow.”

“Sefton, as if she would be in Isabella’s box at Covent Garden if she was a Cyprian. One glance told me she wouldn’t lift her skirts until all the conventions had been observed.”

Sefton nodded, satisfied. “Her name is Maria, Your Highness. Isabella tells me her late husband, Thomas Fitzherbert, left her quite a bit of lolly and a town house in Park Street.”

“Maria Fitzherbert.” The Prince breathed the name reverently. He turned to Essex, who had acted as the go-between in previous sexual liaisons. “I want to know everything there is to know about the lady. Her beauty dazzled me. She has the most glorious golden hair, which she wore unpowdered.”

Sherry, already in his cups, said to Tony, “Hair be damned, it was her magnificent tits that dazzled him. His Highness is a breast man, you know.”

Tony, lightheaded herself from cherry brandy said, “Likes breasts, does he?”

“The bigger the better. S’pect he was weaned too early.
Queen had fifteen, y’know, popped ’em out like pups. Poor George wasn’t as fortunate as a pup. When a pup gets shoved out at least it can suck hind tit.”

Tony blinked rapidly. She knew the prince could hear every word Sherry uttered, but instead of taking offense he concurred with his friend’s analysis. The prince winked at Tony. “Sherry isn’t a breast man. Ask him which part he prefers.”

“Pussy,” announced Sheridan. “Like ’em small and tight.”

Tony wasn’t precisely certain he meant what she thought he meant, but Good God Almighty, what other part of a woman’s body could be called a pussy?

She looked up as the Duke of Devonshire approached the Prince of Wales. “Your Highness, Georgiana will be mad as fire if we don’t soon join the ladies.”

“My pleasure, Devonshire.”

When Prince George stood up the connecting doors to the large salon were thrown open so that the sexes could once again mingle. Tony scanned the dining room for Adam Savage and saw him in deep conversation with her friend, James Wyatt. Good God, she must be on her guard when they came face to face. If anyone could recognize that she was Antonia, it would be the gifted architect.

She could hear music and wandered out to the ball-room. She stood admiring the painted ceiling, but when she lowered her eyes she saw to her dismay that three young ladies had gathered about her. Speculation or invitation was in every eye and it was patently clear they were all expecting Lord Lamb to partner them in the dancing. Tony rubbed her leg and murmured, “Came a cropper yesterday; jade threw me.” She limped away stiff legged and took refuge in the card room.

Tony took a goblet of wine from a proffered silver tray and thought she might learn a few things by watching the card players. Georgiana called to her immediately. “Tony, come and hold the faro bank for us, Sherry’s too foxed.”

Tony with confidence bolstered by the amount of wine she had imbibed, sat down at a baize-clothed table across from the prince and his equerry and watched the faro box produce one solitary card after another. She noticed that little heed was paid to the game and reasoned that it was no wonder the Duchess of Devonshire lost consistently.

The Prince of Wales looked at Georgiana, wondering if he dared ask her help with Maria Fitzherbert. Georgiana was his closest and most intimate friend. She knew things about him no other living person knew.

When he first set eyes on her he had been smitten badly. She was a tiny creature with the prettiest face in England. She reminded him of a kitten. They met at a low point in his life. His mistresses had all been chosen from the stage and his latest liaison with “Perdita” Robinson had ended in disaster.

He had been a naive young fool, sending her flowery letters of undying devotion, filled with their sexual intimacies. When the affair ended. Perdita threatened to publish the letters and he had been forced to pay a fortune to get them back. The worst part of it was his devotion had been sincere. He wore his heart on his sleeve and the grasping little actress had taken gross advantage of him.

When he saw Georgiana he swore off actresses for life, vowing his next mistress would be a lady. He wooed Georgiana with sincere flattery and undivided attention until he won her. Their rendezvous had been a total disaster. He remembered every painful detail.

They were extremely affectionate toward each other, touching and kissing and calling each other pet names.

“Kitten, you have such exquisite taste in gowns, I am breathless to see what you have beneath.”

“Towser, you are a wicked boy. Surely you don’t expect me to take off my dress?”

“Of course not, Kitten. I shall do it for you. Come and sit on Daddy’s lap.”

Georgiana had come eagerly, breathless that a Prince of
the Realm was about to bestow the honors of his manhood upon her. He recalled undoing all the tiny buttons and fancy geegaws as she sat upon his knees, hindering him by pressing teasing little kisses all over his face. His royal scepter inside his satin inexpressibles was almost to the bursting point as she wriggled about in his lap.

When he got her down to her petticoats she playfully began to undress him. He was well endowed and extremely proud of it. He was more than eager to show himself off to his little kitten. Her happy giggles were silenced, however, when he stood before her jutting out a mile. Georgiana had suddenly lost all enthusiasm for her big doggy and he recalled how he had to tease her back to a playful mood.

After what seemed like hours he managed to remove the last of her pretty undergarments one by one. It was now his turn to lose enthusiasm. When he removed her frilled corselet, he also removed her delicious curves along with it. Kitten owed her tempting little figure to padding.

She stood before him, breastless, hipless, and thighless. She had the body of a ten-year-old child. Seven rampant inches of princely erection dwindled to less than an inch in the space of a heartbeat. They climbed beneath the bedcovers glumly yet gamely, determined to salvage what they could in the face of their differences. No amount of kissing, cuddling, rubbing, or stroking could persuade Towser to harden. They tried every trick they had ever heard of to arouse him and coax him from his wrinkled cowl, but all to no avail. They were distraught. They were both on the verge of tears. Then sweetest Georgiana had saved the day.

“Darling Georgy, let’s be best friends instead of lovers! We can share each other’s secrets and dreams and private thoughts that we would never dare divulge to another soul. Being best friends is the most intimate relationship in the world!” Bless her. She was his dearest darling. He knew he need have no qualms with her whatsoever.

“Georgy darling, I want you to add Maria Fitzherbert’s name to your guest list and you may let it be known to London’s hostesses that unless Mrs. Fitzherbert is invited, I shall not attend any function.” He was well aware that no ball was of any significance without his presence. To be snubbed by the Prince of Wales was social suicide.

From the corner of her eye Tony saw Adam Savage enter the card room trailed by Lady Sefton. He wore a polite mask, but Tony knew he was bored to death by the woman. Savage waited patiently while she stopped to speak with the hostess and the Prince of Wales.

Without mincing words George said, “Isabella, I’m very vexed with you at the moment. Why on earth didn’t you bring that charming creature Mrs. Fitzherbert with you tonight?”

Her eyebrows went up. “Maria is only just out of mourning, Your Highness, and very retiring.” Lady Sefton, seeing which way the wind was blowing, trimmed her sails accordingly. “As a matter of fact I’m having a musical evening next week in Maria’s honor. It would be a privilege if you would grace our gathering, Your Highness.”

“The privilege is mine, dear lady.”

Tony looked up to see Savage’s ice-blue eyes upon her. She tossed off the wine and plunged in with an introduction. “Your Highness, may I present my guardian, Adam Savage? Mr. Savage, the Prince of Wales.”

“Do join us at faro, my dear chap. Tony tells us you’re just back from Ceylon.”

“I prefer baccarat.”

Incredibly, Savage had just declined an invitation from the Prince!

Georgina put her pretty head on one side. “What a very poor hostess I am, Mr. Savage. Of course we will play any game you have in mind.” It was definitely a double entendre. Adam smiled down into her exquisite face. “I would love to play with you, but you already have three partners.”

Tony scowled. Though she was brimful of wine, she caught the biplay. “You may take my chair, Adam. I learn so mush … much, just watching you. By the way, we’re invited to the races next week. His Highness has some thoroughbeds … thoroughbrides … some studs he might be willing to sell.”

Savage threw her a look she couldn’t interpret. She didn’t know if it was contempt or admiration. She shrugged. She didn’t really give a tinker’s damn at the moment. She watched him sit down and she stood behind him.

Whenever a king was turned up, His Highness cursed, “Damn the King!” The card was quite openly nicknamed the
Lunatic.
When Prince George caught Savage’s quizzical glance he explained, “M’father’s quite mad. That’s why they are preparing a Regency Bill for me. I should have been Regent years since, for he’s been mad for quite some time. Well, I ask you … he issued a proclamation ‘for the encouragement of Piety and Virtue, and for preventing and punishing Vice, Profaneness, and Immorality.’”

Savage’s lips twitched. “That would tend to take the fun out of life.”

Tony’s ears began to hum and she heard the voices of the people at the table from a long distance away, as if they were in another room. She heard the tinkle of their glasses, the whisper of their cards, the chink of their guineas, but their laughter and their voices faded away. She tried to make sense of the conversation. It was all about fighting and boxing matches and meeting tomorrow at Gentleman Jim’s for a few rounds.

Tony tipped her chair back and balanced it on two legs. What the hell, she’d take them all on. Boxing might be fun!

She didn’t remember much of the carriage ride back to Curzon Street, but the quality of his silence told her that she’d finally made an impression upon him. Good or bad didn’t really matter. As the carriage halted, Tony emitted
a loud hiccup that reverberated off the velvet squabs. She felt a firm hand beneath her elbow as she climbed the steps to the front door.

When Mr. Burke answered the bell, Savage handed Lord Lamb over to him. “He’s gloriously dog bitten, I’m afraid.”

When Mr. Burke took her inside and closed the door she mumbled through clenched teeth, “Get a bucket.”

How in the name of the devil did she get herself into these situations and what the bloody hellfire was she doing at Gentleman Jim’s? Apparently the latest craze of the bucks was boxing, because His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales had taken a fancy to the sport.

The boxing ring in this particular establishment provided the opportunity for the gentry to strip to the waist, put on the gloves, and go a couple of rounds with professional pugilists. Only a few had guts enough to try it; the rest were enthusiastic spectators. Of course it provided yet one more diversion where large amounts of money could be wagered.

Tony sat hunched, nursing a hangover she couldn’t believe. The miasma of male sweat made her gorge rise, yet she was the only one present who seemed to even notice it. The place was crowded with the prince’s cronies, who seemed to have accepted her as one of them, much to her surprise. She put it down to the fact that she felt so miserable, she had hardly acknowledged their introductions and bored disinterest was all the rage. They’d mistaken Tony’s
half-closed eyelids and pinched nostrils for languorous ennui and thought him one helluva decent chap.

At Sherry’s and Edmund Burke’s urging Prince George decided to favor his intimates with a demonstration of his prowess. His gentlemen helped strip him down to his white inexpressibles, and Tony thought with a lack of enthusiasm,
Now I know what the rest of him looks like.

His Highness was certainly well made, but his wide shoulders remained in his coat when he removed it and his flesh was not hard like Savage’s. His muscles were covered by a generous layer of fat and his belly looked soft. In contrast with his florid face his milk-white body skin was almost distasteful to Tony after the sun-bronzed color of Adam Savage. She was willing to bet all the other men present were just as pale as George.

The prince put on a creditable demonstration with his trainer Angelo, who went down on one knee a couple of times from the impact of His Highness’s blows. All present, of course, realized the boxing instructor could have half killed him without much effort, but all applauded the royal courage.

Others were urged to go a few rounds, but there were no takers. Savage pushed Tony’s feet from the bench where they were propped. “Come on, boy, let’s see what you’re made of.”

Tony couldn’t believe her ears. For a moment sheer terror gripped her. There was no way on earth she could strip to the waist, and the last thing she wanted was for some uncouth boxing instructor to plant her a facer. She scowled. “I haven’t the energy of a slug this morning.”

Savage’s ice-blue eyes filled with contempt. “You mean you haven’t the guts of a louse.”

Tony hated him in that moment. Her anger was so strong, she wanted to fly at him and tear out his mocking eyes, but she knew she must keep her temper under control with so many eyes upon her. In a lazy gesture she used her cane to tip her hat to the back of her head. Then she
drawled with studied insolence, “Kiss my aspidistra, Savage. If you’re so keen on the bloody sport, let’s see what you’re made of.”

All present were so enthusiastic over this suggestion that His Highness asked him if he would oblige them. Reluctantly Savage stripped down to his breeches. Angelo had no intention of pulling his punches once he saw the breadth of chest rippled with hard muscle. Once he’d felt the numbing jab of Savage’s long reach, he had no intention of following the Marquess of Queensbury’s rules either.

—Tony suddenly began to sit up and take notice. As Savage sidestepped while he aimed a powerful blow, he was somehow able to anticipate the moves Angelo made. When the boxer did manage to land blows, they were brutal and always below the belt. Savage was willing to be a gentleman only up to a certain point. When he felt the searing pain from another kidney punch, his restraint snapped. Through gritted teeth he challenged, “Shall we take off the gloves?”

Barefisted fighting was far more exciting for the spectators and they began to wager wildly as Savage deliberately and methodically set about cutting the trainer’s face to ribbons.

Tony shuddered at the blood and brutality, but she didn’t close her eyes. They were riveted on the magnificent body of Adam Savage. He was more than a match for the professional fighter; Tony knew without a doubt he’d be more than a match for any who challenged him for whatever reason. Savage had learned all the dirty tricks that could be dished out in the hell holes of the world. A few rounds at Gentleman Jim’s was child’s play to him.

Surreptitiously, beneath her lashes, she watched him dress. She could not help responding to the sheer male force of him. Only when Savage was safely clothed did she allow her eyes to meet his.

“You really must be able to defend yourself in this
world, Tony. If not with your fists, then with sword or pistol. The choice of weapon I leave to you, but I insist you take lessons in self-defense.”

Though she realized the wisdom of his words she chafed against him issuing his orders. “Poor devil,” she mocked, “you’ve really got your work cut out for you, making a man of me.”

The look he returned her from his piercing blue eyes told her clearly what Savage thought of her manhood or lack of it. In that moment she felt humiliation not only for herself, but for her brother Anthony as well. Her resolve hardened. He’d told her to sow some wild oats; so be it. Hell raising would become her quest! And as for Savage, well he could bloody well reap what she sowed.

Before the Prince departed he remarked, “I shall see you both at Carlton House tonight.”

Tony realized that, too, was tantamount to an order. After His Highness and his entourage left, she said to Savage, “I never expected you of all people to follow orders meekly.”

“I’m in the process of fleecing him of his stud of thoroughbreds. Dining at Carlton House is a small price to pay.” He changed the subject. “Would you care to come and help me select some French wallpaper for Edenwood?”

Tony made a rude noise. “Choose your own damned wallpaper. I’ve an assignation this afternoon.”

Adam’s eyebrows rose slightly and his lip twitched. “In that case, my lord, I’ll leave you to your own … vices.”

The “assignation” was with her grandmother, who was avid to learn the details of the affair at Devonshire House. “Did you see anything of his Royal Highness?”

Remembering, Antonia began to laugh. “I saw more than I bargained for and what I missed last night, I made up for this morning at Gentleman Jim’s. What is it that makes a man want to strip down and measure himself against every man in the room?”

Roz and Tony caught each other’s eye and went off into peals of laughter. “Oh, darling, I believe you’ve just answered your own question.”

“I’ve learned enough about men in the last little while to know that I should never really wish to be one, in spite of the privileges they enjoy.”

“Oh, darling, we’ve done this all wrong. We should have found a wealthy husband for you instead of resorting to this deception.”

“Roz, please don’t feel guilty. I couldn’t bear to be sold on the marriage market. I love my newfound freedom.” Her eyes twinkled. “And being a man is so diverting. His Highness invited me to bring my mistress when we go to the races.”

Roz blinked. Antonia was enjoying the lark, but Roz was beginning to have grave misgivings. She made a mental note to have a word with Mr. Savage.

“His Highness is about to acquire a new mistress, from what I learned last night,” Tony said.

“Really?” Roz was hungry for details that she could cast before her dearest friend, Frances Jersey.

“Her name is Maria Fitzherbert.”

“But I know her!” Roz seemed skeptical. “Are you sure of the name, darling? She’s a respectable widow, distantly related to Isabella Sefton. Lord, she must be at least sue or seven years older than George. She must be approaching thirty.”

“Does she wear her hair unpowdered and have spectacular … er, a lush figure?”

“That’s the one! Yellow hair the color of corn. Most unfashionable. Still, she must have her head screwed on the right way, for she’s had two old husbands who left her well lined in the pockets.”

“I’m dining at Carlton House tonight, by the way. His Highness and his friends speak most disrespectfully of the King and Queen. The King is openly referred to as the
lunatic and Richard Sheridan said the Queen had popped out fifteen offspring like pups.”

“And looked as if she was carrying all fifteen at once,” Roz remarked dryly.

Antonia laughed and rebuked, “You have caught Lady Jersey’s cutting tongue.”

“You’re too kind to me, darling. I give
her
lessons.”

“Ugh, lessons! Savage is determined to give me lessons in the manly art of self-defense. As a matter of fact I believe he wants to squash me and remake me in his own image. He makes me so furious, it’s constantly on the tip of my tongue to tell him where to go and what to do when he gets there. He angers me so much, I’m in constant danger of letting the cat out of the bag.”

“You must learn to bite your tongue, darling. It’s so difficult for a lady to constantly be polite in mixed company, but I have an infallible method of letting out my spleen.” Rosalind went quickly to her rosewood desk and took out a leather-bound volume. “Here’s a brand-new journal for you. Write down all the unspeakable things you’d like to call him. Don’t hold anything back, no matter how wickedly evil. ’tis a delicious purge.”

Tony took the journal. “The things I long to say will scorch the pages. Come and help me choose something to wear to Carlton House tonight.”

“You must promise to give me every last detail tomorrow. His Highness has reportedly spent hundreds of thousands on the renovations.”

When Mr. Burke announced Adam Savage, Rosalind came to greet him. “I’m sorry, but Tony left for Carlton House hours since. A couple of dissolute young devils stopped by for him.” She took a deep breath, then plunged in. “Mr. Savage—Adam, if I may—I’m rather worried about Tony. Don’t you consider the Carlton House crowd rather wicked?”

Savage’s brows drew together slightly. “Wicked? Hardly
that, Lady Randolph. Perhaps a trifle wild and rackety, but I firmly believe Tony will benefit from male companionship. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Tony, in a reckless mood, was having the time of her life. When she first entered Carlton House it held all her attention. She’d never quite seen anything to compare with what she could only describe as vulgar ostentation. The Prince of Wales had developed a passion for chinoiserie and as a result the drawing room was done in Chinese Chippendale, its walls hung in yellow silk. The dining room however was the focal point of the establishment.

It had been made larger to accommodate the infinite number of intimates in His Highness’s circle. Columns of red and yellow granite had been added to lift the ceiling and were reflected in the wall panels of glittering silver-gilt. It opened into the ballroom paneled in crimson silk, which had platforms at both ends for the orchestra.

Tonight there were only gentlemen invited to dine. Though there was to be no dancing, nevertheless the ballroom doors were thrown wide, the lusters and chandeliers lighted, and the orchestra played dinner music.

The Carlton House set, as George’s friends were called, soon diverted Tony’s attention from the rooms themselves. Apart from Sheridan, Burke, and Essex, whom she’d already met, were other prominent Whigs such as Charles Fox. He was reputed to be the Prince’s most intimate friend and the one who constantly tried to get more money for George from Parliament. It was he who was presently pushing for the Regency Bill.

Fox was at least ten years older than the Prince, making Tony wonder what the attraction was. She decided Fox must be a father figure, though a decidedly odd father figure, for at the moment he was expounding the merit of blue hair powder in a decidedly wine-thickened voice.

Whenever she was introduced to a new face, Sherry was at her elbow to fill her in on all the dirt. They were drinking
diabolenos,
the latest craze. Sherry urged Tony to try
one. “I do believe you’re cold sober. You’ll have to swill them down if you ever hope to catch up with the rest of us.”

Two other royals were present; Frederick, Duke of York, the Prince’s younger brother, and Henry Frederick. Duke of Cumberland, the Prince’s uncle.

“Is that the wicked uncle?” Tony asked, amused.

“Mmm, shocking influence. Can carouse from dusk till dawn. Known in every pleasure haunt in London. First time a prince of the blood ever appeared in divorce court. Lord Grosvenor cited him as correspondent when he found obscene letters to his wife revealing their passionate affair. Cost him ten thousand pounds damages and gave Grosvenor his divorce.” Sherry finished his drink and reached for another. “Lucky old swine turned round and wed that pretty piece of pussy, Anne Horton. We love the new Duchess of Cumberland dearly. She’s deliciously vulgar and quite liberal with her favors.”

The fashions in the room were ludicrous. Every man was draped in satins, laces, and bows with yards and yards of ribbon at elbow and knee. Embroidered waistcoats were worn over underwaistcoats, all topped by white leaded faces and high wigs loaded down with Venetian talc. Charles Fox was the exception. He wore one of Truefitt’s nutty-brown wigs reeking with perfumed oil.