shouldn’t stay. He ought to leave. Before the last thread of reason he’d been clinging to snapped and sent him flying in a direction that he could not afford to go. And yet…
He genuinely wanted to see her. Wanted to know what this was all about. For he refused to believe that the woman he had met and left on that doorstep would actually resort to this sort of life. Not with the sort of vicious pride she had.
Alexander grudgingly handed over his hat and hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.
The butler turned away and carefully positioned Alexander’s hat onto its own red velvet cushion which lay atop a walnut hall table just outside the parlor. Right beside Caldwell’s hat, which already sat on its own red velvet cushion.
Alexander’s eyes suddenly widened. For there were not two, not three, but actually four red velvet cushions all sitting in a row. Confound it, how many other male hats had been here before his?
The very thought of it made him want to growl. No. Not growl. Roar. For it appeared that the woman preferred to sell off her body rather than accept any of his gifts.
The servant turned, then regally strode to the other side of the foyer. He removed one of five lit glass lanterns that were affixed to the left side of the corridor wall on brass hooks. With the lantern in hand, the man proceeded farther down the corridor, just past the stairs, and paused at what appeared to be a misplaced door in the wall.
The butler opened the door wide, held out the lantern for them to take, and gestured toward the darkness. “Mind the step. The passageway will lead you to the other side, where you will be appropriately greeted by Harold.”
Alexander glanced over at Caldwell, who had glanced over at him. “The other side of what?”
Caldwell shrugged. “Hell if I know. Must be part of the school.”
School? Alexander stepped by him and grabbed hold of his arm. “What do you mean? What school?”
Caldwell winced but didn’t answer.
Alexander leaned in toward him. “Caldwell, I swear to you that if you don’t tell me what this is all about, I’ll rope you naked to a tree in the middle of Hyde Park and sell tickets.” He delivered him a hard, pointed stare. “To love-starved women bearing horse whips.”
Caldwell shuddered and pulled away. Shaking his head, he reached into his inner vest pocket and yanked out a neatly folded cream-colored parchment. “With all of your new responsibilities this past year, I knew you wouldn’t come unless I manipulated our wager to my advantage.”
Alexander pointed at him. “You son of a bitch. You cheated. Did you pay the woman to try to rape me, too?”
Caldwell blew out a breath. “Hawksford, I only assisted in getting her into the house. The rest she willingly did all on her own, I assure you, and for it I apologize. Now I promise I’ll try to explain all of this later, but in the meantime, I beseech you to enroll. Here.” He shoved the parchment at him. “I’m in the last stage of enrolling myself.”
Alexander paused, sensing Caldwell’s unease, then took the parchment and quickly unfolded it. He leveled the printed letters and read aloud. “Madame Thérèse’s School of Gallantry. All gentlemen welcome. Learn from the most celebrated demimondaine of France everything there is to know about…”
He drew his brows together. Was he even reading any of this right? Well, yes. There it was. “Love and seduction. Only a limited amount of applications are being accepted at 11 Berwick Street. Discretion is guaranteed and” —He could barely finish the last word as the remnants of his patience completely dwindled— “advised.”
Oh, he’d bloody advise the woman, all right. Was she mad, outright inviting all of London to her door like this?
Alexander crushed the parchment in his fist at the realization that his oh so clever Miss Charlotte, who had so innocently and desperately propositioned him on the street, was now caressing the trousers off every man
He genuinely wanted to see her. Wanted to know what this was all about. For he refused to believe that the woman he had met and left on that doorstep would actually resort to this sort of life. Not with the sort of vicious pride she had.
Alexander grudgingly handed over his hat and hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.
The butler turned away and carefully positioned Alexander’s hat onto its own red velvet cushion which lay atop a walnut hall table just outside the parlor. Right beside Caldwell’s hat, which already sat on its own red velvet cushion.
Alexander’s eyes suddenly widened. For there were not two, not three, but actually four red velvet cushions all sitting in a row. Confound it, how many other male hats had been here before his?
The very thought of it made him want to growl. No. Not growl. Roar. For it appeared that the woman preferred to sell off her body rather than accept any of his gifts.
The servant turned, then regally strode to the other side of the foyer. He removed one of five lit glass lanterns that were affixed to the left side of the corridor wall on brass hooks. With the lantern in hand, the man proceeded farther down the corridor, just past the stairs, and paused at what appeared to be a misplaced door in the wall.
The butler opened the door wide, held out the lantern for them to take, and gestured toward the darkness. “Mind the step. The passageway will lead you to the other side, where you will be appropriately greeted by Harold.”
Alexander glanced over at Caldwell, who had glanced over at him. “The other side of what?”
Caldwell shrugged. “Hell if I know. Must be part of the school.”
School? Alexander stepped by him and grabbed hold of his arm. “What do you mean? What school?”
Caldwell winced but didn’t answer.
Alexander leaned in toward him. “Caldwell, I swear to you that if you don’t tell me what this is all about, I’ll rope you naked to a tree in the middle of Hyde Park and sell tickets.” He delivered him a hard, pointed stare. “To love-starved women bearing horse whips.”
Caldwell shuddered and pulled away. Shaking his head, he reached into his inner vest pocket and yanked out a neatly folded cream-colored parchment. “With all of your new responsibilities this past year, I knew you wouldn’t come unless I manipulated our wager to my advantage.”
Alexander pointed at him. “You son of a bitch. You cheated. Did you pay the woman to try to rape me, too?”
Caldwell blew out a breath. “Hawksford, I only assisted in getting her into the house. The rest she willingly did all on her own, I assure you, and for it I apologize. Now I promise I’ll try to explain all of this later, but in the meantime, I beseech you to enroll. Here.” He shoved the parchment at him. “I’m in the last stage of enrolling myself.”
Alexander paused, sensing Caldwell’s unease, then took the parchment and quickly unfolded it. He leveled the printed letters and read aloud. “Madame Thérèse’s School of Gallantry. All gentlemen welcome. Learn from the most celebrated demimondaine of France everything there is to know about…”
He drew his brows together. Was he even reading any of this right? Well, yes. There it was. “Love and seduction. Only a limited amount of applications are being accepted at 11 Berwick Street. Discretion is guaranteed and” —He could barely finish the last word as the remnants of his patience completely dwindled— “advised.”
Oh, he’d bloody advise the woman, all right. Was she mad, outright inviting all of London to her door like this?
Alexander crushed the parchment in his fist at the realization that his oh so clever Miss Charlotte, who had so innocently and desperately propositioned him on the street, was now caressing the trousers off every man
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