Ravished

  * * *

  Ravished

  Virginia Henley

  * * *

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  * * *

  For Leslie, my son Adam’s wife.

  She is the reason I write about

  beautiful redheads.

  * * *

  Prologue

  Hatton Hall, July 22, 1792

  “Lord Hatton’s heir shall not make his way into the world arse-first, if I have any say in the matter!” The red-faced midwife pushed hard on the baby’s buttocks in an effort to turn it about, then brushed her hair back from her sweating forehead.

  On the big bed, the young Irish girl’s beauty had been replaced by a pale, haggard look brought on by the ordeal of childbirth. Lady Kathleen Hatton had gone into labor at dawn and it was now almost midnight.

  Meg Riley, Lady Hatton’s serving-woman, who had been Kathleen Flynn’s nurse when she was a child, wrung her hands in dismay. “She’s in agony, woman. Deliver the child as quick as ye can!”

  The midwife, who had detected two heads when she arrived, pressed stubborn lips together. She was offended at having her authority challenged before the two young maids who hovered anxiously by the door. “The Irish think they know everything! Unless you have experience delivering twins, I suggest you keep your advice to yourself. Twin births are dangerous; naught but harm and hazard!” In spite of her air of authority, the midwife secretly felt panic. She took a firm hold of the tiny shoulder that now presented itself and pulled with relentless resolve.

  Lord Hatton’s heir made his appearance into the world two minutes before midnight; mercifully, the mother lost consciousness. The midwife handed the child to Meg Riley. “Wash him and I shall present him to his father immediately. The poor man has waited long enough.”

  The “poor man” has removed himself to his library where he’ll hear no screams and where the fine brandy will ease his wait, Meg thought with outrage. As she bathed the male child, Meg examined him carefully. He was the most beautiful baby she had ever seen, with tufts of dark hair curling upon his head and black eyelashes fringing his gray eyes. She wrapped him in a swaddling blanket and approached the bed. When the midwife reached for the small bundle, Meg said, “Ye cannot leave Lady Hatton; ye have to deliver the other child!”

  “Her labor has stopped, and it could be hours before it starts again.” The midwife took the heir she had successfully delivered and made her way to the library.

  Mr. Burke, Hatton Hall’s majordomo, opened the library door for the midwife, greatly relieved that, at last, all seemed well.

  “Is it a boy?” Henry Hatton demanded, arising from his leather wing chair amid a blue haze of cigar smoke.

  “Yes, indeed, my lord. Congratulations on a fine son.” The midwife beamed and unwrapped the blanket to display her trophy.

  Lord Hatton’s eyes kindled with male pride. “He’s absolutely perfect, if I do say so myself. This calls for a celebration! Burke, summon the steward and the footmen and we’ll drink a toast.” Henry suddenly bethought himself. “How is Lady Hatton? Pleased with herself, no doubt?”

  “Her work isn’t finished yet, but I don’t want to force things.”

  “Get it delivered. I don’t want Kathleen to suffer discomfort.”

  “Twin births can be hazardous, my lord. We don’t want to injure the child.”

  “Don’t worry unduly. I have my son, my heir; that’s the important thing. Just make sure no harm comes to this one. I’ve decided on the name Christopher … Christopher Flynn Hatton!”

  * * *

  By the following night, the entire household was in a panic. The second twin was still unborn, despite everything the midwife had done to induce the birth. Even the cook had been summoned for gruel and molasses and Mr. Burke, filled with alarm, had rushed upstairs a dozen times with hot bricks to warm her feet.

  Kathleen Hatton lay in a torpid state with glazed eyes while Meg Riley bathed her tenderly, praying fervently as tears rolled down her anguished face. Just before midnight, Lord Hatton stormed into the chamber for the third time in as many hours.

  “It must be dead, my lord,” the midwife pronounced desperately in the face of his anger.

  “That Spawn of Satan had better be dead!” He strode impatiently up and down the chamber, issuing threats to everyone and taking perverse satisfaction in his ability to make them cower.

  As the last stroke of midnight died away, the second twin finally made his appearance into the world. Meg Riley looked down in wonder at the child whom the midwife handed her to cleanse. It was another boy, identical to the first in every detail. The same perfect limbs, the same tufts of dark hair, the same black eyelashes fringing his gray eyes, the same tiny cleft in the center of his chin. “ ’Tis another boy, my lord.” Meg held out the beautiful baby.

  “Keep him away from me!” Lord Hatton roared. “He’s a hazard to us all! Keep him away from my son, Christopher!” He picked up his first-born protectively and strode from the chamber.

  While the midwife looked helplessly at her dying patient and Meg cradled the rejected child, the cook shook her head ominously. “Twins born more than twenty-four hours apart, born under two different signs of the zodiac … ’tis unnatural!”

  The young maids nodded their agreement. A bad omen indeed.

  Having at last done her job, Lady Kathleen Hatton slipped away with a gentle sigh of relief.

  “Twin births are naught but harm and hazard,” the midwife lamented.

  “My beautiful boy,” Meg Riley crooned as her tears ran freely. “Since they think ye’re Old Nick’s spawn, we might as well call ye Nicholas, and yer middle name shall be Flynn, after yer sweet, gentle mother, who’s now with the angels, God rest her soul.”

  Though Henry Hatton blamed his second-born for his wife’s death, as time went by he learned to grit his teeth and tolerate him, since it was impossible to keep the twins separated. From the moment they learned to walk, the boys spent every waking hour together. But from the beginning it was Nicholas, the second-born, who was the natural leader and Christopher the follower.

  The servants all agreed this was because Nicholas had been born under the sign of the lion, while Christopher’s birth sign was the crab. In appearance the boys were identical with not a hairsbreadth of difference between them. Their personalities, however, contrasted vividly. Though both were attractive, mischievous little rogues, Nicholas was a complete extrovert, doing everything with such passion he outshone his brother in every way.

  This infuriated Lord Hatton and added to the hostility he felt toward Nicholas. Henry Hatton expected Christopher, his heir, to excel at
everything, and as a result young Kit was insecure. His stronger-willed twin, Nick, became exceedingly protective of him, even doing Kit’s lessons in the schoolroom so that their tutor would not make unfavorable reports to their father. Nick took the blame for Kit’s sins of commission as well as omission, when he did not fulfill his responsibilities or his father’s expectations.

  By the time they were ten, the Hatton twins had learned to change places with each other whenever it suited their purpose, and by the time they were fifteen, it amused Nick to ensure Kit got all their father’s praise, while he took all the punishment their sire meted out. The Hatton twins had truly earned the nicknames that the servants had given them at birth: Harm and Hazard!

  Chapter One

  London, July 1813

  Champagne Charlie’s face lit up with delight as she recognized the pair of dark, dashing clients who strolled into her establishment in Pall Mall. She welcomed the handsome devils with a kiss, while the two young libertines each greeted her by placing a practiced hand upon the cheeks of her shapely derriere.

  Naughty Nell, the newest nymph at King’s Place Vaulting Academy, stared at the twin visions garbed in impeccable black evening attire, then turned to Moll Tempest with a breathless question. “Who are they?”

  “We’re in for fun tonight.” Moll winked. “It’s Harm and Hazard!”

  When Nell gave her a blank look, Moll explained. “The Double-Dick Brothers! Champagne all around, and let the games begin!”

  Suddenly, it seemed every female employed at Charlotte King’s brothel had crowded into the large reception room, decorated with gilt-framed mirrors and frescoes of naked-breasted women in enticing poses. Champagne bubbled forth, as did the effervescent laughter, while the painted ladies scribbled their names on bits of paper and tossed them into the gentlemen’s tall silk evening hats.

  As Nell’s gaze traveled from one tall, dark rogue to the other, measuring their wide shoulders, assessing their muscled thighs, and sighing over their black curly heads and devilish gray eyes, she murmured, “How do you tell them apart?”

  “We don’t—it’s a guessing game the entire night, but in truth who cares? Just look at them! None of Charlie’s other customers measure up to these two.”

  “In length or circumference?” Nell quipped naughtily.

  “In endurance, luv! They’re accomplished rakes—their father, Lord Hatton, saw to that. Brought ’em here for their fifteenth birthday to initiate them, but they were no virgins! Like turning two young stallions loose in a stable filled with mares in season.”

  Nell’s interest intensified when she learned their father was a nobleman. “Ooo! Are they titled?”

  Moll gave the new girl a pitying glance. “The elder twin is heir to his father’s baronial title, but when a man is naked, the measuring stick that counts is not his nobility!”

  “They seem to be on most intimate terms with Madam. Don’t tell me she services them?” Nell asked aghast.

  “It’s the Double-Dick Twins who do the servicing. Charlie breaks her own rules for them. She’s the only one who can tell them apart, but even she admits they’ve diddled her on occasion!” Moll whooped with amusement at her own pun.

  Squeals of laughter punctuated the air as Harm drew the names of Lolly and Bubbles. “Well, lay me down and tickle me wiv’ a feather,” one of the curvaceous blondes giggled, taking the six-foot Adonis by the arm. The charming scoundrel bent to whisper in her ear and received a playful slap for his wicked suggestion.

  When Hazard drew the name of a sloe-eyed Asian girl and then one called Desire, with the dusky skin of a houri, Charlie lifted a questioning eyebrow at him to see if he was pleased.

  “Delicious appetizers, my sweet, but I’d like you for the maincourse, as always,” he murmured for her ears alone. His voice was so deep, it never failed to send a thrill along her spine.

  “It will give me a chance to show you my gratitude,” Charlie whispered back. “As you advised, I opened a gaming room last week, and already it’s doubled my business!”

  * * *

  Six miles from London, at Longford Manor, Alexandra Sheffield locked the bedchamber door, then quickly stripped off her clothes. She looked deeply into the bold eyes that were assessing her naked body and smiled mischievously. “Alone at last! I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks. Every time I looked at you, I was tempted. People gossip about me being a hellion; this’ll prove them right!”

  She watched the hand lift her red-gold tresses, then shuddered as she felt the bright, silky curls spill down over her naked breasts and settle about her slim waist.

  “Are you sure about this? There’s still time to stop.”

  As the question floated in the air, Alexandra ran the tip of her tongue over her lips in hesitation. It was the first time, and once it was gone, she knew there would be no putting it back. The corners of her mouth lifted at her own daring. “I’m sure! Let’s kiss it good-bye and be done with it!”

  Alexandra looked again at her reflection in the mirror, picked up the scissors, and sheared off her long tresses. “Oh, my Lord, I look positively outrageous!” she declared with glee. Drab, boring respectability was anathema to Alexandra, who longed to live in London and experience first-hand the follies of the beau monde.

  She had collected all Fanny Burney’s scandalous novels and had ambitions to become a writer. Last month she had read in the lively Town and Country Magazine that most female novelists had to cut off their hair and effect male attire before they were taken seriously, and even then they had to publish anonymously in the male-dominated profession. It was even rumored that Charles Lamb, essayist and humorist, was in reality Mary Lamb.

  As Alexandra bathed and washed her newly shorn hair, she decided that when she went to London to pursue her calling she would use the male version of her name. Alex Sheffield had a definite ring to it! When her hair dried, she felt dismay at the myriad curls and tendrils that formed a red-gold halo about her face and feared she still looked far too feminine. As she descended the curving staircase on her way to the salon for afternoon tea, the voice of her brother, Rupert, stayed her.

  “Good God, Alex, what the devil have you done to yourself? The ton will say you’ve gone as dotty as our grandmother! No one will offer for you now that you’ve turned yourself into a damn freak.”

  Alexandra spun about and lifted her stubborn chin. “That, Rude Rupert, is the whole point of the exercise! I’m only seventeen; I don’t want anyone to offer for me.”

  “Well, they will, even though you’ve turned a silk purse into a sow’s ear. You’re an heiress, Alex; there’s no help for it.”

  As they reached the ground floor, they were in time to see their grandmother, Lady Dorothy Longford, bid good-bye to a rather flashily dressed man.

  “Nice doing business with you, Viscountess.”

  “A simple my lady will do.” Dottie prodded him with her ebony walking stick. “Now remember, they must come after dark or they won’t be admitted. I’ll have my gamekeeper set the dogs on ’em.” Dowager Viscountess Dorothy Longford was a martinet who dominated all who came into her presence.

  Both Rupert and Alexandra were used to Dottie’s eccentricities and odd acquaintances. Since Longford Manor had neither gamekeeper nor dogs, they dismissed the visitor from their thoughts.

  Lady Longford straightened her bright red wig, yanked on the bellpull for tea, then lifted her lorgnette to examine her granddaughter at length. When she was done, she said, “Mmmm.”

  Alexandra waited for her grandmother’s rebuke.

  “I believe you’ve turned yourself into an original. A hellion with the halo of an angel… how unique! Those tumbled, short curls make you look taller. Your long legs make you appear quite coltish … difficult for a man to resist. You’ll be all the rage, darling, just as I was.”

  It was an appalling understatement; in her day, Dorothy had been more of an outrage. Yet her scandalous, unconventional behavior had not prevented her from marrying Visc
ount Russell Longford, the wealthiest nobleman in Bucks County. Marriage had not tamed her, however, for it was rumored that she’d had as many lovers as Queen Charlotte had children: an astonishing fifteen!

  “I don’t want to be all the rage,” Alexandra protested.

  “Piss and piffle! You will catch a Lord of the Realm, just as I did. You will become a ‘lady’ just as I did, and just as your mother did not, to my undying shame.”

  Alexandra did not want Dottie to start on the subject of her mother, for there was no end to the pain it brought. Margaret had made a disastrous marriage with a commoner, Johnny Sheffield, thoroughly disgracing her parents. Then she had added injury to insult by running off with another untitled lout, and deserting her children in the bargain. Alexandra’s grandmother had taken her and Rupert into her home and her heart, not only providing material comfort but lavishing them with love. Dottie had assuaged the unbearable pain of rejection, and Alexandra knew she must never hurt her grandmother the way her mother had. She vowed to postpone marriage as long as possible to avoid choosing the wrong man. Sheffield had married her mother for her money, and Alexandra was determined to avoid this pitfall like the plague.

  Dottie continued, “It’s all right for Rupert; he inherited his grandfather’s title of Viscount. But you, my darling, must marry to gain the title of Lady.”

  “Marriage didn’t make you a lady,” Alexandra said with a wink.

  “Touché, darling! You have inherited my wicked wit. I shall enjoy watching you set London on its ear before you settle down.”

  “I always hoped you’d marry my best friend, Kit Hatton, but you don’t even try to attract him,” Rupert complained.

  “And so she shall marry Christopher Hatton. It is no secret that Lord Hatton and I have had an understanding for years.”

  Alexandra had heard those words all her life. She and Rupert had grown up with the Hatton twins, whose vast acres connected with the Longford property. The devilishly handsome brothers had fascinated her since she was a child, when she and Rupert had shared in the twins’ daring escapades.