Amara (Carlton House Cartel Book 2) Read online

  Carlton House Cartel

  Amara

  Wendy Soliman

  Carlton House Cartel

  Amara

  Copyright © Wendy Soliman 2020

  Edited by Perry Iles

  Cover Design by Clockwork Art

  This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations contained are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance of actual living or dead persons, business, or events. Any similarities are coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any method, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of

  The Author – Wendy Soliman

  This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines and/or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the author.

  Preface

  The colourful Regency period has spawned a modern-day industry in romantic fiction, inspired by the hedonistic pleasures associated with the era. George Augustus, Prince of Wales, was known as the Prince of Pleasure for a reason. He’s generally perceived to have been an indolent, oversexed, obese spendthrift who was perpetually in debt.

  He was all of those things.

  In the early years of my writing career, an editor advised me against making the baddies in my books too one-dimensional. ‘Everyone has saving graces,’ she told me. I’ve never forgotten that advice, and recently it got me thinking about our portly prince. At first glance there doesn’t seem to be much to admire, but delve below the surface and it soon becomes apparent that he had hidden depths.

  For example, George was an unusually gifted and charming person with a penchant for learning. He was educated in isolation at Kew with his brother Frederick. Imagine being brought up without the company of other children to romp with. I barely can.

  But no matter what George achieved intellectually, he was never able to impress his dour father. It’s hardly surprising, then, that he eventually gave up trying and rebelled instead.

  George III attempted to curb his son’s wild ways by halving the income ordinarily provided to the heir to the throne. That rather austere measure, taken by a strict and deeply religious family man who resented his eldest son and disapproved of his behaviour, was responsible for George remaining in debt for the rest of his life. He spent lavishly on his homes, his art collection, his horses—every conceivable thing. But he also gave with equal disregard for economy to causes that moved his soft heart, cultivating friendships with philosophers, politicians, artists and even a German pastry cook.

  George was a man of the people, as at home in a tavern as he was in the finest salons. He instinctively knew how to talk to people without patronising them. His gregarious nature was perhaps one of the reasons for his father’s jealousy.

  George was a music lover and could speak intelligently and knowledgeably about art, literature, architecture—and of course horse racing, the sport of kings. But it seems to me that almost everyone who grew close to George exploited his good nature to some degree, lining their own pockets in the process.

  This series is my attempt to redress the balance and show the other side of George; the side that didn’t hit the headlines, then or now. All references to the deeds of actual people living at the time are accurate to the best of my knowledge. Sadly, my cartel of young men is fictional, but the romantic side of me would like to think that there were one or two people within George’s inner circle who appreciated his finer qualities and put his security and the future of the monarchy ahead of their own interests.

  The debacle about the Elgin Marbles was contentious then, and now. Whether George involved himself in the spat I couldn’t say, but I rather think that he wouldn’t have been able to help himself!

  Chapter One

  Brighton, England: July 1816

  ‘Will this wretched weather never improve?’ Sabine Kendal watched the rain pelting against the window glass and peered up at dark clouds low enough to touch. ‘The harvest will be ruined, along with the livelihoods of those who depend upon it. I feel so sorry for the poor farmers. They must be miserable.’

  Agnes looked up from her sewing and offered a sympathetic smile. ‘True, but I cannot help thinking it’s not the plight of the farming community alone that has got you into such a taking.’

  Sabine conceded the point with a wry grin. ‘I make no apology for worrying about him travelling in such appalling conditions. It isn’t safe. Everyone knows that cutpurses and vagabonds prey upon those who are distracted by the conditions or stuck on the road.’

  ‘I would back Jonas Dayton against ne’er-do-wells any day of the week. Any person attempting to attack a man of his stature would have to be incredibly desperate.’

  ‘That is just my point. Times are hard and almost everyone is desperate. And he will insist upon travelling with just Murphy for company, instead of coming down with the prince’s retinue.’

  ‘I’m not sure I blame him for avoiding that particular circus. The prince claims to be a man of the people, yet he fails to realise that half the country is starving and resentful of his ostentatious style. No wonder people throw rotted vegetables at his carriage and caricaturists portray him as uncaring and out of touch.’

  ‘But he does care. He just isn’t allowed to do anything about it.’

  ‘I should say not. He has little comprehension of the meaning of economy.’

  ‘The prince is actually a very intuitive man, and much misunderstood. He may be strong-willed but he is also highly intelligent and, when he is in a congenial frame of mind, he can be very good company.’

  ‘Tell that to the starving masses,’ Agnes replied, unimpressed. ‘Anyway, it will take more than a drop of rain to keep Lord Jonas away from you.’

  ‘Well, something has delayed him.’ Sabine, frightened half out of her wits, was convinced that he must have been set upon and left lying in a ditch with his throat cut. ‘He should have been here yesterday. I have scarce seen him since I agreed to…’ Sabine felt her cheeks grow warm. ‘Well, you know what I agreed to.’

  ‘So does the entire household, and none of us judge you, so you might as well tell the world that you are his mistress and proud of the fact. Even so, it mystifies me why you didn’t accept his offer of marriage. Anyone with eyes in their head can see that you are besotted with one another.’ Agnes’s expression softened. ‘Not all men are as unprincipled as Kendal. Just because you made a mistake once…’

  ‘I prefer things the way they are.’ Sabine, too agitated to remain seated, paced up and down her drawing room, drumming her fingers against her thigh. A strong gust of wind rattled the windowpanes as it threw more rain at the glass. ‘In fact, I rather enjoy causing scandal by being a man’s mistress.’

  ‘Except that you don’t. Cause scandal, I mean, because you don’t go out or entertain. So no one knows of your changed circumstances.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure they do. These things have a way of getting out and Chance will have been noticed. He isn’t the sort of man that’s easy to overlook.’

  ‘The only people aware of his connection to you are employed here and devoted to your service. They know how Kendal treated you and they all agree that it’s beyond time you enjoyed yourself.’

  ‘I am very attached to Chance, I won’t deny it,’ Sabine said with a wistful smile, ‘
but perhaps that’s because we don’t see very much of one another, so the gloss hasn’t yet worn off and we haven’t resorted to bickering. If we had to face one another over the breakfast table every morning and we began to notice each other’s annoying little habits, then I am perfectly sure that indifference would follow swiftly.’ Sabine hugged herself. ‘I prefer to retain both my freedom and his interest in me through a long-distance affair.’

  Agnes blew air through her lips. ‘That man will no more lose his interest in you than he would turn on his master, the prince.’

  Sabine shook her head, refusing to let go of her worst fear. ‘You cannot know that for sure.’

  ‘I see the way he looks at you, lamb. Besides, you followed your instincts and your heart by setting aside your previous standards and entering into your current arrangement. His wealth and consequence mean nothing to you, which is more than can be said for all the other females who have tried to influence him.’

  Sabine lifted one shoulder. ‘True enough, but you seem to forget that I am head over heels in love with his gorgeous dog.’

  Both ladies laughed.

  ‘That mutt has a lot to answer for.’

  ‘If I had agreed to become his wife, I would be required to spend much of the year in London, alone and neglected while he runs his wretched gaming club and remains at the prince’s beck and call. I much prefer to live quietly here in Brighton and enjoy the best of both worlds.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘I rather enjoy being a femme fatale.’

  Agnes flapped a hand. ‘You are hardly that.’

  Sabine flopped back into her chair. ‘All I know is that I have spent enough years behaving decorously, and precious little pleasure it has brought me. But now, even the thought of seeing Chance again fills me with joy and keeps my spirits up for weeks in advance of his arrival.’ Her smile faded. ‘If he ever gets here.’

  Agnes’s expression softened. As Sabine’s lifelong maid, confidante, mentor and friend, Sabine depended upon her absolutely, listened to her advice and had few secrets from her. ‘Stop thinking about your sister. She is beyond your help.’

  Sabine grimaced. ‘You know me too well.’

  Exhausted by the waiting and worrying, Sabine gave up fighting as her eyelids insisted upon fluttering to a close. She had not slept well the night before, half expecting Chance to arrive in the middle of the night and thinking she should remain awake to greet him. By the time dawn broke, exhaustion had claimed her and she slept fitfully for a few hours, waking again with a headache and worries as dark as the clouds that never seemed to let up.

  A noise caused her to jerk abruptly awake in her chair. ‘What?’

  She looked around nervously, blinking the sleep from her eyes. Agnes was no longer in the room, but her heart lifted when she heard the deep, familiar voice of her paramour coming from the entrance vestibule.

  Furious to have been caught unawares when she had stayed alert for so long, she sprang to her feet and attempted to brush the creases from her skirts. She gave up the effort and turned her attention to her hair, despairing when she glanced in the mirror and saw that it had partially escaped its pins during her doze. Oh well, there was no help for it, she thought, sighing, and no time to repair the damage. Chance would have to take her as he found her.

  She threw the door to the vestibule open and there he was, splattered with mud, his hair as dishevelled as her own, and his smile fuelled by all the sunshine the summer weather had thus far failed to provide. Their gazes clashed and held for a protracted moment as a pulsating warmth invaded Sabine’s bloodstream at the mere sight of the man she adored more than life itself.

  ‘You’re here at last,’ she said breathlessly. ‘We were beginning to worry.’

  Chance handed his hat and gloves to Dawson and shrugged his broad shoulders out of his damp greatcoat, still smiling at her in that way of his that melted her insides and made her want to hurl herself into his arms. Her butler was present, so she bit her lip and decorum won the day.

  Just.

  ‘My apologies. The roads were difficult.’

  Chance’s huge harlequin dog Ace bounded past him, shaking mud from his coat and transferring it to her skirts as she bent to make a fuss of him.

  ‘Ace!’ Chance snapped his fingers and the dog went to heel.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Murphy,’ Sabine said, smiling at Chance’s right hand man as he followed Chance into the hallway, lugging a large valise.

  ‘Nothing much good about it,’ Murphy replied in his customary blunt manner. ‘Glad to be here and no mistake.’

  ‘I am perfectly sure that you are. The roads must be like quagmires.’

  ‘And some of us had to push the carriage out of the ruts,’ Murphy complained.

  ‘Come in and get warm,’ Sabine said, finding her voice and composure even though it was beyond her capabilities not to continuously look at Chance, just to make sure that he really had arrived, unharmed and as robustly masculine as always. He winked at her and she blushed. ‘Take Ace into the kitchens please, Mr Murphy,’ she said. ‘Get him and yourself something to eat and when Ace is dry he can join us. Dawson, some whisky for Lord Jonas in the meantime. He looks as though he could do with it.’

  ‘At once, ma’am.’

  Ace, who knew from past visits where the kitchens were located, took no persuading to follow Murphy in that direction. Chance and Sabine went into the drawing room and Dawson supplied Jonas with his whisky. He then withdrew, closing the door again firmly behind him.

  ‘You look exhausted,’ she said, sympathy in her tone as she drank in the sight of the man she adored, sometimes finding it difficult to believe that she had secured his affections. More sophisticated females than she would ever be had attempted it over the years without success. Now they pursued a long distance relationship that Sabine found far less satisfactory that she would ever admit to Agnes. Her difficulty was that she lacked confidence in her ability to continuously satisfy such a sophisticated man with equally sophisticated expectations, which was partly why she had settled upon half measures.

  ‘Come here.’

  Chance put aside his glass, opened his arms and Sabine flew into them, feeling safe and content for the first time since she had waved him from her door several months ago. Strong arms closed firmly around her and his lips found hers in a deep, drugging kiss that made her senses reel.

  ‘What kept you?’ she asked, forcing herself to leave his arms. Anyone might walk in on them and Sabine hadn’t yet become quite that mindless of the proprieties.

  ‘Sorry, my love. A broken axle that took longer than anticipated to repair. We were required to spend the night on the road. I knew you would be worried, but I also knew we would still arrive faster than a messenger could.’

  ‘You are in one piece, which is all that signifies.’

  ‘And here for the entire summer.’ He offered her a seductive and highly suggestive smile. ‘I have been counting the days.’

  She watched him take a sip of his drink and then swallow, fascinated by his intoxicating presence and the manner in which he appeared to dominate the room with such comparative ease. ‘As have I,’ she replied. ‘Agnes thought I would wear a hole in the rug, pacing up and down, and yet you caught me unawares. I must look a fright. Not quite the welcome you deserve.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘I fell asleep in the chair, which is unpardonable.’

  Chance chuckled. ‘You looked delightfully dishevelled; just the way I most adore you, especially if I am responsible for the dishevelment.’

  ‘Liar!’ Sabine laughed. ‘How have things been in London?’ she asked, taking a seat on the corner of a settee close to the fire.

  ‘Fraught.’ Chance sat beside her, looped an arm around her shoulders and stretched his long legs out in front of him, warming his frozen toes. He let out a long sigh; a measure of his frustration with the delicate position he held in the prince regent’s court. ‘The unrest throughout the country is worrying, as is this wretched weather. I have been lookin
g forward to long rides with you across the downs, but it doesn’t look as though that will be possible until the rain stops—if indeed it ever does.’

  ‘Oh no. You don’t get away with it that easily. A little inclement weather never hurt anyone.’ Chance flexed an amused brow but remained silent. ‘Legacy arrived a few days ago,’ she added, referring to the spirited black stallion that had been sent down ahead of him, ‘and is keen to stretch his legs.’

  ‘I remain duly chastised,’ he replied, so meekly that Sabine burst out laughing.

  ‘The prince continues to live a lavish life and remains blithely unaware of the suffering of his subjects, one assumes,’ she said, her expression sobering.

  Chance rolled his eyes. ‘As always.’

  ‘Has the club remained popular?’

  Lord Jonas Dayton, the Marquess of Worcester’s third son, was universally known in the upper echelons of society as Chance. He ran an exclusive gambling club which was frequented by the prince, and therefore patronised by society’s elite.

  ‘As always, my love, but I tire of the game. I would much prefer to remain here with you and let the world take care of itself.’

  ‘The prince will never let you go, for which you only have yourself to blame. You have made yourself indispensable.’

  Chance snorted. ‘Hardly that. He calls upon me whenever he wants to arrange a high-stakes game.’

  ‘Now who is being modest?’ The door opened and Sabine smiled when a now clean Ace trotted into the room, licking his chops. ‘Hello darling,’ she said, tugging the dog’s ears and sending him into a state of near delirium. ‘I can see that your needs have been catered for. It is beyond time that we supplied the same service for your master.’

  Chance rolled his eyes, making Sabine smile. ‘You intend to rub my belly?’ he asked innocently.

  ‘Behave yourself!’ she chided.

  ‘I think it only fair to warn you,’ he replied in a seductive drawl, ‘that I don’t have the least intention of behaving myself. I have been looking forward to having you to myself far too much to enter into any such commitment.’