Wrap Up My Life (Nasty Bastards MC

Book 8) Hayley Faiman

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WRAP UP MY LIFE
A NASTY BASTARDS MC NOVEL
HAYLEY FAIMAN
HAYLEY FAIMAN BOOKS, LLC
 CONTENTS

Also by Hayley Faiman

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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Hayley Faiman
Wrap Up My Life

Copyright © 2022 by Hayley Faiman

All rights reserved.
Cover Designer: Pink Ink Designs. Cassy Roop.
Editor: My Brother’s Editor. Ellie McLove.

Proofreading: My Brothers Editor. Rosa Sharon.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Visit my website at: http://hayleyfaiman.com
Created with Vellum
ALSO BY HAYLEY FAIMAN

Men of Baseball Series—

Pitching for Amalie
Catching Maggie
Forced Play for Libby
Sweet Spot for Victoria

Russian Bratva Series —

Owned by the Badman
Seducing the Badman
Dancing for the Badman
Living for the Badman
Tempting the Badman
Protected by the Badman
Forever my Badman
Betrothed to the Badman
Chosen by the Badman
Bought by the Badman
Collared by the Badman

Notorious Devils MC —
Rough & Rowdy
Rough & Raw
Rough & Rugged
Rough & Ruthless
Rough & Ready
Rough & Rich
Rough & Real

Cash Bar Series —

Laced with Fear
Chased with Strength
Flamed with Courage
Blended with Pain
Twisted with Chaos
Mixed with trouble

SAVAGE BEAST MC —
 UnScrew Me
UnBreak Me
UnChain Me
UnLeash Me
UnTouch Me
UnHinge Me
UnWreck Me
UnCage Me

Unfit Hero Series —

CONVICT
HERO
FRAUD
KILLER
COWBOY

Zanetti Famiglia Series —

Becoming the Boss
Becoming his Mistress
Becoming his Possession
Becoming the Street Boss
Becoming the Hitman
Becoming his Wife
Becoming her Salvation

Prophecy Sisters Series —

Bride of the Traitor
Bride of the Sea
Bride of the Frontier
Bride of the Emperor

Astor Family Series —

Hypocritically Yours
Egotistically Yours
Matrimonially Yours
Occasionally Yours

Nasty Bastards MC —
Ruin My Life
Tame My Life
Start My Life
Dance into My Life
 Shake Up My Life
Repair My Life
Sweeten My Life
Wrap Up My Life

Underworld Sinners—
Stolen by the Sinner
Bound to the Sinner
Caught by the Sinner
F*cked by the Sinner
Stripped by the Sinner
Rejecting the Sinner
Loved by the Sinner

Offspring Legends—
Between Flaming Stars
Beautiful Unwanted Wildflower

Esquire Black Duet Series –

DISCOVERY
APPEAL

Forbidden Love Series —

Personal Foul
Kinetic Energy

Standalone Titles
Royally Relinquished: A Modern Day Fairy Tale
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Let’s be naughty and save Santa the trip.
GARY ALLEN
 CHAPTER ONE

MOXIE

I guess the saying is when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade, or something of the sort.
But that’s not what Moxie Acosta does. Oh no, she turns those lemons into a whole-ass shit show,
and that’s exactly what I’ve done with myself.
Again.
I’m not just Smoke’s old lady anymore. I’m not Smoke’s ex-old lady either. Because he’s gone…
forever. I’m not even upset about that anymore. I was more hurt by his betrayal, by his lies, than I was
by him being gone.
He made a fool out of me.
Now, I’m Foxie Moxie, and I dance every weekend down at T.N.A.
I’m a stripper again.
The life that I once had, the life that I always wanted, the stability and love that I craved, it’s
never going to happen. I need to accept that. Although, it wasn’t even a thing to begin with. It wasn’t
real. It was a figment of my imagination because that asshole Smoke was nothing but a liar.
So, now instead of hitching my star onto some man in a leather cut, I’ve decided to hitch my star
onto my damn self. Independent woman or whatever you want to call it. At least that’s what I tell
myself over and over again to talk myself into being okay with being alone.
Because I don’t think that I will ever be with another man the way that I was with Smoke. I don’t
know if I can lie beside a man.
That’s too much trust.
I don’t think that I can ever truly trust another person again. He lied to me for years, every part of
him was a lie, and in turn, I loved a lie and it hurt… years later, it still hurts.
Fixing my little sexy Santa outfit, I adjust my bra top before I lean over the chair in front of me
and slide on my bright-red lipstick. After all, what is Santa’s little helper without bright-red lipstick?
The stage is dark as I hurry out into the middle and take my place. When “Santa Baby” starts to
play, when the light slowly turns on, I begin to dance. I don’t just take my clothes off at T.N.A., I use
the pole.
I am a master… at least I was when I was younger.
I figure it’s just like riding a bike, you never truly forget. Muscle memory or something of the like.
 I’ve been a bit out of shape, but every night it gets easier, and I become less and less sore. It’s
only been a few months, but I need something, and until I can’t do this anymore, this is my something.
It’s the only thing that I have ever been good at.
Tonight, the song is a short one, it doesn’t give me much of a chance to really get going, but I’m
okay with that. It’s so short that I’ll be back on this stage a few more times tonight, and the cycle will
repeat over and over until closing time.
I have double the shows because of the short Christmas songs that I’m dancing to, along with all
the other women. I’m not sure which I like better, the longer songs and stage time or the shorter ones,
but the Santa outfit is cute, so I’m going to say this.
Sucking in a breath, I arch my back as I make my way down the pole. Once one of my high-heeled
feet is on the stage, I throw an arm backward, arching my entire back to a point where I’m sure I’ll
have back problems in a few years, then look over to the audience with a smile.
There is clapping and money thrown my way. It’s another night of perfection. The lights dim, and
the money is gathered by a stagehand as I make my way off of the stage. My money is thrust at me. I
gladly take it as the music for the next show starts.
“Thanks,” I say, offering the girl a fist of bills.
She gives me a grin and a nod before she turns and heads back to her spot at the side of the stage
while she waits for the next act to end. Walking into the dressing room, I smile when I see Marilyn
applying the same shade of red lipstick to her lips.
“Hey,” she calls out.
Turning to her, I sink down into the chair beside hers with a heavy sigh. “When are you going to
quit this place?” I ask.
She laughs. “Never.”
“You say that now, but come on, you’ve got a ridiculously sexy old man. Why don’t you stay home
with him?”
She hums as she stands. “He’s out there. He likes to watch,” she announces with a wink as she
stands and walks out of the door and to the stage.
I can’t imagine that Prez would be cool with watching her forever. There is going to be a point
where he’ll have her stay home. They all do. It’s all fun and games until they’ve decided that they are
tired of you showing your body to other men.

BANS

C hristmastime at the Nasty Bastards is full of booze, bitches, food, and sex. So much fucking sex
that I’m almost cross-eyed. But none of it is what I want. There’s only one bitch that I want to
fuck, and she isn’t at the clubhouse.
In fact, she hasn’t been to the clubhouse in months. Not even for the family Sunday dinner. I know
because I’ve been at every single one trying to catch a goddamn glimpse of her.
Trying to talk to her, to work my way in there, but fuck me, there’s no working this woman
because she’s avoiding the club like the fucking plague.
I would settle for a glimpse.
Just a glimpse.
So, like the fucking creeper I am, I’m hanging out at the back of T.N.A. to watch her show every
weekend. Every fucking weekend. Her “Santa Baby” number is by far my favorite, along with
everyone else’s, which fucking blows.
Moxie is sexy.
She always has been, even when she was off-limits, when she was Smoke’s old lady. Now she’s
free, at least in body.
Her mind though, I’m pretty sure she’s still all fucked up from that man.
He betrayed her in a way that I don’t think she will ever recover from. Who the fuck could?
Which is another reason that I watch from afar.
Because when it comes to Moxie, one taste and I know without a doubt that I will want to keep
her for myself.
So, I abstain.
“You gonna continue to watch her like a creeper or do something about it?” Prez asks from beside
me.
Turning my attention to him, mainly because his woman is on stage right now, and I don’t want to
see her naked, especially standing next to him, I give him a smile.
“Watch until she’s ready,” I say, wondering if she’ll ever be ready.
He shakes his head slowly. “Won’t ever be randomly ready, brother. You gotta make her see that
she’s ready.”
“You charge for your therapy sessions now?” I ask.
He’s probably right. I can tell that she isn’t going to just declare herself free from Smoke, from
what he did to her. She’s been all fucked up about it and lost inside her own head for months.
He snorts. “Fuck you,” he barks. “Just look at her. She’s doing better. There’s also the little fact
you’re staring at her like she’s the last meal and you’re on death fuckin’ row.”
Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I try not to burst out laughing, because this motherfucker is
not wrong. I would love to fucking eat her… all of her… over and over.
 CHAPTER TWO

MOXIE

W hen the club is empty and the lights are turned up, this is when the sadness slices through me
like a hot knife. It shouldn’t, but it does. It’s not about the lights being turned on or the club
looking totally different.
It’s about me.
I am going to walk into that empty house all alone, and there will be nobody there… ever again.
In a lot of aspects, I am doing so much better than I was when Smoke left… when he was taken?
When he was discovered?
I’m not really sure how to categorize what happened the way that it did, but in any case, he’s
gone, and I’m better even though I am not completely healed.
I don’t think that you’re ever completely whole after a situation like this. It’s the betrayal for me.
That deep betrayal that cuts and wounds so deeply that it will not ever be able to be fixed in any way
whatsoever.
Pulling up my sweatpants, I throw on a hoodie before grabbing my bag and hitching it over my
shoulder. Tonight is over. Another night of dancing, of distractions, is done. And then I’ll go home and
hopefully pass out in my bed before I start all over again tomorrow.
Day in and day out, my life is breathing, dancing, drinking, and eating, along with a little sleeping.
Nothing else really happens to me on a regular basis. My life is just on a repetitive loop. Over and
over and over again.
“Mox,” a deep voice calls out.
Turning my head, I see him standing against the wall. He clears his throat, pushing off of it before
he makes his way toward me. He’s been here every weekend since I started dancing. I’ve noticed
him, been watching him, but this is the first time that he’s spoken to me.
“Bans,” I say, stopping where I am and tipping my head back to look up into his eyes.
He’s so handsome. I’ve never been into men who wear glasses, but there is just something about
this man in glasses that is unbelievably hot.
He doesn’t say anything else immediately. His eyes search mine as he closes the distance between
us. He only stops when he’s directly in front of me, inches from me. Close enough to touch me and
also close enough for me to smell him.
 And what a smell it is too. He smells like spice and leather, like beer and sex. He smells like a
member of the MC, like a man’s man.
Like trouble.
“You headed home?” he asks.
As if I would go anywhere else? I don’t ask him that even though I kind of want to. Instead, I suck
in a breath, sinking my teeth into the skin on the inside of my cheek. I can’t believe that I’m too
nervous to talk to him. I feel stupid.
Confidence used to be something I had in abundance. Smoke always said he loved that most about
me, that I was so confident in who I was. In my sex appeal, in myself in general. That I was a strong
woman who had no shame in who I was.
I’m not that woman anymore.
My confidence is shot.
Completely and totally shattered by the man who said he loved it so much. So, when any man,
especially a man like Bans looks at me, focuses on just me, I find it… unnerving, to say the least.
“I am,” I say with a nod.
“I’ll follow you, make sure you’re good.”
I don’t tell him that nobody has made sure I was good in months, because I like the idea of Bans
following me anywhere. That should be the last idea that l like, but it doesn’t change the fact that I
like it and I like him.
Taking my keys out of the pocket of my hoodie, I hold them in my hand and follow him.
“Okay,” I exhale. “Okay.”
He gives me a smile, then starts to walk toward the front door. I follow behind him, feeling
extremely nervous and excited as I do. I shouldn’t. There is no reason for me to feel anything when it
comes to Bans or any other man, but the body is the body, and I can’t control the feelings that I have.
Plus, he’s hot. He hasn’t been part of our club for long, but I’ve noticed him, watched him from
afar since he appeared, since he became part of us. I almost laugh at myself. Us. I’m not part of the
Nasty Bastards, not anymore. They’re them, and I’m me. I don’t belong to anyone or anything like that
anymore.
Bans walks straight for my car, stopping beside the door. He looks over his shoulder, his eyes
finding mine. He doesn’t say anything right away, then wordlessly, he holds out his hand, thrusting it
toward me. I look at his waiting palm, then flick my gaze to meet his.
“Keys, babe.”
Holding out my hand, I place my keys in his waiting palm, feeling his warmth against the backs of
my fingers. It’s automatic. Me doing what a man in a cut declares… orders. Demands.
My hand falls against my side, unable to look away from his connection. He’s focused on me,
completely and totally focused and if he were anyone else, I would probably feel completely sick at
the whole moment, but I don’t—I like it.
“I’ll follow you,” he murmurs.
I do something, say something that I know I shouldn’t. Maybe it’s the Christmas spirit. Maybe it’s
just the fact that I’m lonely. Instead of questioning it the way that I should, I blurt out the next sentence.
“Want to come in for a beer when you get there?”
His eyes widen, then he lets out a grunt. “Yeah, I’d like that.” Bans tugs open my car door, then he
looks from the open door to me before he lets out a grunt.
Sinking down into the front seat of the car, he closes it once all my arms and legs are inside the
vehicle, then he jogs toward his bike. I don’t look around to see if anyone is watching us.
 It doesn’t matter.
Maybe I would have cared before, before my life was forever changed, but I definitely do not
care now.
Let the world look.

BANS

C limbing onto the back of my bike, I rev the engine and follow behind Moxie’s car. This is what
Prez was talking about. This is the opportunity he was speaking of. This is my seize the
moment… well… moment.
It doesn’t take long to get to her place. She is still living in the house that she shared with Smoke,
although I know for a fact that every shred of evidence that man existed is gone. I know because I was
one of the men who helped take it out.
We all did. All of us were far too fucking happy to eradicate any evidence of Smoke from this
fucking earth, the lying, betraying bastard.
I watch as she pulls into the driveway. The garage door rises, then she slowly guides her car
inside, stopping when it’s in far enough that she can close the door. Pulling my bike into the driveway,
I walk into the garage, opening her car door for her.
“You don’t have to do that,” she says on a whisper, her cheeks tinting pink.
Pushing my glasses up in the middle, I shake my head once. “Yeah, I do.”
My statement is simple. It’s also the truth. But hers is too. I don’t have to do shit, but I want to. I
want to do a hell of a lot for her. She touches the garage door button, and it closes, leaving us alone in
the space. She looks from me to the door that leads into the house, then back to me.
“I always close the door before I get out of the car. Sorry if that is weird.”
“Being safe is never weird,” I point out.
She laughs, shaking her head a couple of times. “I was never this way before,” she exhales.
I don’t respond to her words. I don’t think that she really wants me to. I watch as she gathers her
shit, then makes her way toward the door. She unlocks it before she pushes it open, then she slips
inside.
Following behind her, I wait as she flips the lights on. I should have really gone ahead of her,
been the first to walk through the door, but at the same time, I know that she wants to be in control as
well.
That’s who she is. Even if she wants a man, she doesn’t need one. She is independent, either by
choice or not, but she is just the same. She will probably always be this way, the bullshit that Smoke
put her through, there’s no other way to be.
Moxie flicks the lights on, and I look around her place. It’s definitely no longer a man’s house.
This place oozes femininity, and I can’t say that it’s a bad thing. It’s comforting almost. I don’t think
I’ve ever really just gone to a woman’s house before. Not when she lives alone. I don’t hate it. Not at
fucking all.
“Beer’s in the fridge. I’ll be right back,” she calls out.
Walking into the kitchen, I open the fridge door. I start to ask her if she wants a beer too when I
see a bottle of white wine. Grabbing that and a bottle of beer, I look for a glass and pour her some,
then pop the top off of my beer and take a pull from the bottle.
 I should set this shit down and walk away from her, walk out of her house. But I don’t, I can’t.
Mainly because this is the only place I want to be right now… maybe even ever.
 CHAPTER THREE

MOXIE

I wash my makeup off and jump into the shower really quickly to wash the stripper glitter, sprays,
and shit off. I can’t handle smelling and looking like a stripper when I’m home. I don’t know why
but hanging out with Bans in my whole stripper makeup mask seems really wrong.
When I’m home, I want to be comfortable and stripper glitter is not that.
Once I’m cleaned up, I throw on a pair of leggings and an oversized T-shirt that’s been cut at the
collar to make an off-the-shoulder top.
I tie it in a knot at the waist and pad my way into the kitchen, where I’m met with Bans, who is
holding a bottle of beer in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.
He extends his hand with the wineglass for me. Smiling, I reach out and take it. “Thank you. I
don’t know why I even have it.”
“You don’t like it?” he asks.
I shrug a shoulder. “I do. I just have always been a beer drinker, but all the other old ladies drink
wine and spritzers and rosé and shit, and I figured I should class it up. I’m trying.”
He tilts his head to the side, his eyes sliding down my entire body, then back up until they stop on
mine. Then his lips twitch into a smile, and he lets out a chuckle before he takes a step toward me,
then another, stopping just inches from my own body.
“Baby,” he calls out softly, his voice so gentle and sweet that it slides down my skin, leaving
goose bumps in its wake.
Slipping my tongue out of my mouth, I slide it across my bottom lip trying to decide what to do
exactly, because this is new territory and I’m not sure what to do, mainly because I’m not sure what I
want here.
“Drink whatever the fuck you want. A drink doesn’t make you classy. Who you are on the inside
does or doesn’t.”
I burst out laughing, shaking my head a few times. Sliding my tongue along my bottom lip, I rock
back on my heels. “Nothing about me has ever been classy, Bans.”
“Orson,” he murmurs. When I don’t say anything right away, he clears his throat. “Orson, my
name.”
Sucking in a breath, I dip my chin slightly. “Orson,” I breathe.
 He hums. “Yeah.”
God. What a good name. I don’t know his last name, but I might be disappointed if it isn’t as
cool as Orson.
“Orson McCoy.” He chuckles.
My eyes widen, and I realize that I said all of that out loud, all of it. He thinks I’m funny. Maybe
he even thinks I’m cute.
Although, I don’t know why I would want him to.
I swore off men, right?
Didn’t I?
Damn.
The way he’s looking at me right now, I don’t want to swear off anything… ever.

BANS

M oxie is looking at me the same way that I imagine myself looking at her. She looks fucking
hungry. I expect her to say something else, something cute and sexy, but instead she lifts her glass
to her lips and takes a sip of her wine.
I want to stare at her, to undress her and kiss her and then fuck her until she’s screaming my name.
But judging by the way her gaze flicks and bounces around, the way her body is being held upright
and stiff, she isn’t ready for anything like that… yet. But she will be, soon.
“Why haven’t you decorated for Christmas? The way you girls outfitted the clubhouse, I assumed
this place would throw up Christmas spirit,” I say, lifting my hand to wave around the room.
She looks behind her toward the direction of the empty living room, then shifts her attention back
to meet mine. “I threw all that shit in the trash and haven’t had the desire to go and buy more.”
My eyes widen. “You threw all your Christmas stuff in the trash?” I ask.
She nods her head slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. “Yeah,” she snorts. “All that shit
reminded me of Smoke, and I honestly wanted not one thing in this house that reminded me of him
after everything. In fact, I would have walked away from the whole fucking house too if it wasn’t
owned outright and in my fucking name, plus I didn’t have any income at the time.”
I understand what she’s saying. It makes sense, even if it’s sad. “Why don’t we decorate it
tomorrow?”
“What?” she exhales. “What?”
Laughing, I lift my hand and tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, babe. Let’s get this
place decorated for Christmas.”
“I don’t celebrate it, past the clubhouse and maybe the little party we have at T.N.A.,” she says on
a mumble.
Slipping my hand around the back of her neck, I tangle my fingers in her hair at the nape and tug
her head back slightly, looking into her gorgeous fucking eyes.
“You’re celebrating it this year,” I inform her.
What I want to do is slam my mouth down against hers and kiss her until we’re both breathless. I
don’t do that. Instead, I release her and take a step backward for her sake. Giving her a smile, I clear
my throat and jerk my chin toward the sofa.
“Wanna watch a movie?” I ask.
 “It’s late,” she exhales.
“You gonna go to sleep?” I ask.
She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything. My gaze searches hers, and I give her a smile
before I speak.
“Then let’s watch a movie.”
That’s what we do.
It’s the most fucking PG night of my entire fucking life, down to the holiday movie that she
chooses. It’s not anything I’ve ever seen before, some bullshit about a couple whose vacation gets
canceled, and they have to visit all four of their families for Christmas, all divorced parents with
adult siblings.
It ends up being a pretty funny movie, and by the time it’s finished, she’s dozed off. I carry her to
bed, look at her one last time, then take my fucking ass out to my bike and ride home to the clubhouse.
Because if I stay, I’m going to climb into bed behind her, and I’m going to find a way into her panties.
And all of that will happen eventually, just not tonight.
 CHAPTER FOUR

MOXIE

T he sound of the door clicking closed causes my eyes to pop open. Lying in bed after Bans…
well, Orson, leaves my mind drifting back to Smoke, as it usually does. I always wondered why
everything was in my name. I didn’t really question it too much, but I should have.
I should have asked a lot more questions over the past few years.
Because I didn’t have any income, so how the hell could I have qualified for the house, the cars,
the credit cards? I mean, he paid for them all, of course, but I qualified for them? I still do not
understand. He just always told me that when he filled everything out, he just had my income as his.
I didn’t know any better.
He was showing fake documents to lenders. Not just a few fake documents, but fake everything. I
didn’t realize that it was all because he was married and everything with his wife was in both their
names.
I didn’t know.
But I’m the fool, because I didn’t want to know either.
I didn’t want to know anything. I wanted to live in my little dreamworld, my bubble full of
rainbows and butterflies. I wanted a world of happiness and sunshine.
I wanted the life that I dreamed of as a kid.
I wanted a family.
Which is something that I’d never had before.
What I wanted was my dream, and I was willing to believe anything just to have that dream come
true. It didn’t matter that I was living a whole fucking lie.
I would have let Smoke do whatever he wanted as long as we had the life that I craved, the life
that I dreamed about. I didn’t care what he did. I needed security, and I wanted a family. That was all
that I ever asked for from him.
I’m not immune to what being in a one percent motorcycle club means. I knew that there would be
women. I knew that it was very much a don’t-ask, don’t-tell policy, and I was okay with it all.
But then he was gone, and the truth came out. The brothers tried to hide it from me for a long time,
but someone slipped. I don’t even remember who it was that told me, it was all a blur, but the words
were clear.
 So damn clear.
He wasn’t just fucking a couple clubwhores after drinking. I think I could have forgiven that. In
fact, I assumed that he had done it a few times anyway. Don’t they all?
But not Smoke, nope, he had a whole fucking family. He had everything that I ever wanted with
another woman, and I had nothing.
He left me with nothing but lies.
Lies and heartache.
But can your heart really hurt for a man you didn’t know… for a lie?
Eventually, my eyelids become heavy, and I fall asleep. When I do, I dream of Bans, of Orson
McCoy… what a fucking sexy-ass name.

BANS

F uck.I look around the store and wonder why on fucking earth there is so much goddamn glitter
everywhere.
Hobby Lobby, what a name for a store.
I don’t get it.
There are women everywhere oohing and ahhing over every little thing. They consume the store.
Aisles are stacked three bitches deep.
“This the kind of shit you want?” I ask.
Moxie turns her head, her eyes finding mine, and she gives me a smile. “Not much of a choice
anywhere else,” she points out. “They have the most, especially when it comes to Christmas.”
“Let’s get started.”
“You don’t have to do this,” she breathes.
Turning to her, I give her a smile. Her eyes are fucking sad, and it makes me wonder what she’s
thinking. This whole trip, the whole fucking thing, is supposed to make her happy, not sad. Jesus, I’m
already fucking everything up.
“I want a black tree,” Moxie announces.
My eyes widen, and my lips curve up into a grin. “A black tree?” I ask.
She nods her head, then she takes a step forward. I watch as she lifts her hand, reaching for some
bright-ass sparkly silver and gold ornaments. They even have glitter on them, which I’m wondering
when she’ll regret that shit, but decide this is her thing.
“That’s what you want, that’s what you get,” I state.
“No green or red?” she asks, looking back at me over her shoulder.
It’s almost as if she wants me to demand the traditional Christmas colors or some shit. Shaking my
head a couple of times, I lean closer to her, my lips curved up into a grin.
“Get whatever the fuck you want, babe. Anything at all. Don’t give a fuck what colors they are.”
“Yeah?” she asks.
Chuckling, I shake my head a couple of times. “Your house, your rules. Plus, I’m a guy. What the
fuck do I care what color Christmas is? They got pink here. You want pink shit too?”
She watches me for a long moment, then she opens and closes her mouth as if she has something
else that she wants to say. But she doesn’t actually say anything at all. Instead, she gives me a smile.
 “Okay,” she finally whispers. “But no pink.”
I load the cart up with anything and everything she asks for. Whatever the fuck she asks for. Then I
look up where to find a goddamn fucking black tree. It doesn’t take long. The other craft store in town
has one.
So, that is where I go.
I don’t know how much money is spent, but I don’t care. My last stop is at Walmart, and I load up
on lights and decorations for the outside of her house. She is going to have the best-decorated house
inside and out in the whole damn town by the time we’re finished.
“Orson?” she calls out as we head toward her place.
I continue looking straight ahead as I drive. “Yeah?” I ask.
She doesn’t say anything immediately. I don’t know if she’s contemplating or what the fuck is
going on, but I wait her out. I have come to the conclusion when it is in regard to Moxie that it’s best
to just wait. She’ll say what she wants in her own time.
“Thank you for today,” she whispers. “You really didn’t have to do any of this…” Her words trail
off, and I know that she has more to say, so I continue to just wait. And wait. And wait. We’re almost
to her street when she sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
“I don’t deserve it, but I’m so grateful. I’ve never had decorations that I wanted. That I got to pick
out before.”
Choosing not to comment on how fucked up that is, knowing that there is probably a deep-rooted
story behind her words, and I will get to it, but not right now. I need time to talk to her, to discover
her past and then talk about a future. I let it go for now.
For now.
Turning down her street, I stop in front of her house and look over. The entire club is here. The
men, the old ladies, all of them. Moxie’s breath hitches as I shift her car into park. Looking over to
her, I give her a smirk.
“Family, babe.”
“You called them?” she asks.
Laughing softly, I nod my head. “You know that I did. And they were so happy to come down here.
Beyond fucking happy.”
Her smile, it immediately appears on her lips, it overcomes her entire face, she radiates. And I
know that this is bigger than just me wanting to fuck her, bigger than some decorations and lights—
just plain fucking bigger.
 CHAPTER FIVE

MOXIE

I probably won’t have any presents wrapped and under the tree, but by the time the other women
are finished, I want to have a million presents beneath it. Everything is better, is prettier than I
imagined it could be.
My black tree with sparkling silver and gold ornaments, the white velvet tree skirt, the two
stockings hanging on the fireplace mantel. The little Christmas touches here and there. I’m not sure
why just a few decorations can change your entire mood, the entire feel of your house, but everything
seems lighter.
Then again, maybe it’s just Orson.
He’s been outside the entire time, but Ivory made sure to tell me more than once that he was into
me, and she means “into me.” Then she made sure to repeat that over and over until I was seconds
from telling her to shut the fuck up. I didn’t though. She’s just trying to make it painfully obvious that
she thinks we would make a good match.
I can’t deny that I also think we would be good together as well. I like Bans. I’ve always thought
he was hot in a kind of nerdy way, but now it’s even more than that. He seems really nice. But I don’t
think that I’m ready for anything with him or anyone else.
I’m not sure that I can trust him… trust anyone, really.
But if there is anyone I think that I can possibly learn to trust, then I think that it’s him.
One by one, the women leave, and I’m alone and unable to take my gaze off all the new
decorations. I love them. I think that I could look at them day in and out. I wonder if anyone has ever
kept their Christmas decor up all year as everyday decorations, because right now, I want to do just
that.
“Moxie,” Orson calls out.
Reluctant to leave the living room, to turn my back on all of the beautiful new decorations, I force
myself to do just that. Turning around, I head toward the front door and slip outside. The sun has set,
but it’s still bright. That’s when I realize that my house is the reason it’s bright out here.
“Orson?” I ask.
He holds out his palm, wriggling his fingers toward me. Lifting my hand, I close the distance
between us and slip my fingers into his. He tugs me against his side as I blink a couple of times and
take it in, let it soak in, exactly what I’m looking at.
Lights are everywhere. They cover the eves and most of the roof. It’s just like that Christmas
Vacation movie. It’s so intense that my eyes almost hurt from the brightness, and at the same time, I
can’t stop smiling because it’s so beautiful.
“Yeah?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything right away.
He clears his throat, turning his head to look down at me. His mouth twitches into a smile before
his lips brush mine. We both suck in a breath as he breaks the kiss, and I wonder what the fuck is
happening right now beneath the twinkly Christmas lights in front of my house.
“Moxie,” he calls out again.
I almost say his name again but decide against it. Instead, I just wait for whatever is coming next.
I’m not sure if I want to hear the words, but at the same time, I know that I need to.
Whatever is happening between us, it needs to be dealt with right this moment, because if we let it
go on, then one or both of us is going to get hurt and that’s the absolute last thing that I would ever
want to happen.
“I’m sure it’s no surprise. But I want you, I want all of you, and I know you might not be ready, but
I also know that I can’t wait another fucking second without telling you.”
My world stops.
I knew this was the gist of what he was going to say. I knew it, and yet, I couldn’t predict the way
that these words would make me feel. Maybe it’s the lights, maybe it’s the brush of his lips to mine,
maybe it’s just the magic of the holidays, but I do something that I swore I would never do the rest of
my days.
Lifting my hands, I cup his cheeks, and I lean forward, touching my mouth to his.
I. Kiss. Him.

BANS

H erdoesn’t
lips touch mine. They’re sweet and soft. She doesn’t slip her tongue inside my mouth. She
deepen anything, but at the same time, she doesn’t need to. She’s already got me falling at
her feet, without the touch of her tongue or the taste of her mouth—I am already hers.
Fuck, I am so goddamn gone for this woman.
“I want you,” I whisper against her lips. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long, Moxie.”
She takes a step backward, and I think that maybe I’ve said the wrong thing. I shouldn’t have said
anything.
I should have just let the whole thing go and worked my way inside of her, both inside of her body
and her heart. That’s what I should have done, but I’m impatient as fuck once I get my mind set on
something.
And my mind is set on her.
Moxie shakes her head once, her eyes finding mine and holding my gaze. She doesn’t really say
anything immediately, but I can tell that she has at least a dozen things that she wants to tell me.
She doesn’t say any of them. Instead, she gives me a coy smile. Fuck. I am so gone for this
woman. Completely fucking gone for her. Whatever she wants, I would kill to give it to her.
“I want you too, but I can’t have you, Bans.”
I hate that.
 The way that she calls me by my road name instead of Orson. Just in the past few days, I’ve gotten
so used to her calling me by my actual name that I find her use of my road name uncomfortable and
odd.
In fact, it’s not just uncomfortable, it’s downright fucking horrible.
“You can’t?” I ask.
She nods her head a couple of times, her gaze flicking from mine to her shoes and then back to
meet my own. She sucks in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, shaking her head from side to side.
“I can’t,” she confirms.
I want to grab her, kiss her, then show her that she really fucking can. She can do anything and
everything in any way goddamn possible. I open my mouth to tell her that she can, but then snap my
lips closed. Moxie is a woman that I’m going to have to show, not tell.
“I’m not healed.”
Her words are like a sharp knife to the gut. Though it doesn’t surprise me that she’s not
completely healed, how could she be? What happened to her was a betrayal of the worst kind, but it
wasn’t just that. She probably feels like she wasted her time as well. Wasted her years on someone
who wasn’t worthy of goddamn shit.
And he wasn’t.
“You still love him?” I ask.
She takes a step toward me, lifting her hand to cup my cheek. “I don’t. I haven’t. Not for a long
time.” Then she wrinkles her nose. “Maybe I never did.”
“Then it’s not that you aren’t healed. It’s just that you have closed yourself off. I’ll open you up,
baby.”
 CHAPTER SIX

BANS

L eaving her again, I know that it’s the absolute last thing that I want to do, but also the most
necessary thing that I need to do. Sucking in a breath, I look around the clubhouse. It’s decorated
over the top in twinkling lights and shit, but it’s nothing compared to Moxie’s new place.
“That was a nice thing you did,” a voice murmurs from behind me.
Looking over my shoulder, I see Marilyn there. She’s wearing jeans and a tank top, a far cry from
the barely there outfit she was wearing the last time I saw her on stage at T.N.A. I arch a brow,
wondering which nice thing she’s talking about.
“Moxie,” she says, her voice sweet and soft. “The Christmas stuff. It was really nice of you. I
know the holidays are hard for her. Last year she worked the entire night.”
I know she worked, because I was there watching her, like a fucking creep. I couldn’t stay away
though. Where she is, that’s exactly where I want to be. And as long as I don’t have to do something
for the club, it’s where I’ll be.
“Didn’t do it to be nice,” I grunt.
Marilyn’s eyes widen, then she narrows them before she arches one of her brows at me. She
slides her tongue across her bottom lip as she watches. Then finally she speaks. I don’t know what I
thought she was going to say, but I expected something along the lines of what Prez said the other day.
“Just leave her alone,” she whispers. “Hasn’t she been through enough?”
“Leave her alone?” I ask, confused by her words.
She nods her head. “Yeah, leave her alone. She’s been through enough. This club has put her
through enough.”
Clearing my throat, I try to think of how to say this as respectfully as possible because at the end
of the day, she is my prez’s old lady. But I don’t really give a fuck what she thinks.
At the end of the day, whatever I have with Moxie is between me and Moxie.
“I’m not the club,” I point out. “And Moxie can make whatever decision she wishes. She’s a
grown-ass woman.”
Turning my back to her, I walk away and head outside. I shouldn’t speak to Marilyn that way, I
know that I shouldn’t, but she pissed me off. Moxie has been through a lot, but not at the fault of the
club—at the fault of one man.
 Taking a joint out of my pocket, I light it as soon as the fresh, cool night air hits me. It’s been
warm this year, the weather has been great, but it’s cold tonight and it makes me think that winter is
probably here now to stay… at least for a few weeks.
“What’s your plan?” a voice asks.
I close my eyes, sucking in a breath, then turn my head to look over at the person beside me. It’s
Bowie. Arching a brow, I wait for him to say something. He doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he
looks straight ahead, then after I take a few drags from my smoke, he finally speaks.
“She’s worth it.”
Clearing my throat, I watch him for another silent moment. “You know this because?” I ask.
He laughs but doesn’t answer me. Instead, he shrugs a shoulder, then turns to walk away. I call out
his name. He stops and looks over his shoulder at me, his eyes finding mine. “Yeah?” he asks when I
don’t say anything.
“You wanna tell me how you know?”
“Brother,” he says, his voice low and deep, dripping with warning so goddamn thick that I can
almost taste it. “Sometimes shit just should not be said, yeah?”
“You’re telling me you’ve fucked her?” I ask.
I don’t know why, but saying that, it feels like his words are a goddamn punch to my fucking gut.
Doesn’t matter that it was probably years ago, doesn’t matter that it was likely before Smoke and she
were ever together.
I know she’s not a virgin.
I also know that she was a stripper before she and Smoke got together.
I thought that shit wouldn’t faze me.
But it does.
“Brother,” he says again, repeating the word, but this time with more emphasis. “That shit don’t
matter. All I’m saying is she’s a good woman.”
Yeah. Fucking shit, right?
A good woman he’s fucked.
Throwing my joint on the ground, I grind my heel into it, then walk away. Walking toward my
bike, I climb on and start the engine, revving it before I take off.
I should cool down, is what I should do, but I’m not that fucking smart. I’m not thinking straight,
so I do the only thing that I can think of, and I head straight for her. Straight to Moxie.

MOXIE

I ’m going to be sick of Christmas music by the time the actual holiday gets here in a couple of
weeks. Finishing another long night of dancing in my sexy Santa costume, I throw on some sweats
and a hoodie, grabbing my bag, and making my way toward my car.
The parking lot is dark, but I know that one of the prospects is watching me walk to my car safely.
Lifting my hand, I wave to him before sinking down into my seat and starting my engine. Shifting the
car into reverse, I head toward home.
I smile, thinking about home. It’s decorated so beautifully. It feels so different. For the first time
since everything happened with Smoke, I want to go home. I haven’t wanted to even make the drive to
my own home in months, and now… I’m excited.
 When I pull up to the house, I notice a bike waiting at the curb. I recognize it immediately. It’s
Bans… Orson. I still don’t know if I’ll ever get completely used to calling him that, his real name, but
I’m trying because… because… because I don’t know why.
I keep telling myself that nothing is going to happen with him, but then his mouth touches mine, or
he does something sweet like outfitting my entire house for Christmas, and I forget all about my vow
to be alone forever.
I forget about everything except his mouth on mine and the fantasy of his hands all over my naked
body.
Shifting my car into park, I open the door, looking behind me to watch the man himself disengage
from his bike before he makes his way toward me. My heart slams against my chest, goose bumps
appear all over my entire body, and I almost swoon at the sight of him.
That is until I see his angry eyes.
He is pissed.
I open my mouth to say something, to ask him what’s wrong, but I don’t get that opportunity.
Instead, he speaks first.
“Don’t say a goddamn word.”
 CHAPTER SEVEN

MOXIE

M y breath hitches at his angry words. I don’t understand them, but I don’t get to ask him about
them either. He grabs my hand, dragging me behind him. Without a word, he marches us into
my house, still dragging me as he moves far too quickly for me to try and keep up. Plus, my
legs are like Jell-O from dancing in high heels all night long.
Once we’re in my bedroom, only then does he stop. He tosses me into the room ahead of him,
slamming the door behind him. Spinning around, I tilt my head backward and look up into his eyes.
His really angry eyes.
“Orson,” I whisper.
I’m trembling, though now it’s not because my legs are like Jell-O from dancing, it’s more
because of the expression on his face.
He shakes his head once. “You wanna tell me exactly how many of the brothers you’ve fucked?”
My head jerks backward at his question. What the hell?
“Excuse me?” I hiss. “You did not just ask me that.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, looking down his nose at me. “I really fucking did.”
His words come out in a harsh, unyielding tone. They scare me. I didn’t think that the man standing
across from me wearing horn-rimmed glasses, who has always been nothing but kind and gentle,
sweet even, could be so scary.
But that is not the impression that he’s giving off right about now. He very much looks like a
member of an MC right now, like a member of the Nasty Bastards MC.
I thought that he was so different, that he wasn’t like any of the other men, but it is extremely clear
that he is just like all of them.
“It’s not your business,” I state. “None of it is.”
He takes a step toward me, then another, before he lifts his hand and cups my cheek. I suck in a
breath, holding it for a moment, wondering what is going to happen next. He’s pissed off, but I’m not
going to let him bully me. I’m not going to bow down to whatever it is he’s trying to get out of me.
I’m not exactly sure if he wants me to admit that I was some kind of slut when I was younger. I
won’t do that because my past shaped who I am today. I will not be ashamed of who I was or who I
am now.
 “You want my body count? Is that what this is about?” I ask.
He blinks.
My lips curve up into a grin, making a decision that I might regret, but I know for a fact he’ll
regret even bringing this up. “Then I want yours, too.”
“You don’t,” he grunts.
My lips curve up into a grin. Leaning forward, I slide my nose alongside his own. “Baby, you
don’t want mine either.”
“Fuck that,” he grinds out.
He grips my waist, his fingers digging into my skin from over the top of my hoodie. I try to take a
step backward, but his grasp is too tight. Tilting my head back, I look up into his eyes. I don’t know
why, but I expect him to be smiling. Instead, he’s frowning.
He’s pissed.
Really fucking pissed.
“I fucking want it,” he demands.
“Fine,” I snap. “I’ll tell you, but then I want you to turn your ass around and walk out of my
fucking house.”
I am done. I won’t go through a relationship with some possessive, jealous asshole. I never
betrayed Smoke, and I never would betray Orson. When I’m in a relationship, I’m in a relationship,
and that’s that.
His lips curve up into a grin, a smile. A damn smile. He’s smiling, and it pisses me off. Really
pisses me off. So, instead of just giving him a number, I decide to start naming names. Because fuck
him and his bullshit.
“First, there was my stepfather, that counts, right? Then there was his brother. Do you want to
know how many times, too? I’m not sure that I could count that, I kind of blocked out most of that part
of my life. After that, I got a bit of a break until I dropped out of high school and started dancing. But
to get that job, I had to fuck the guy who owned T.N.A. back then…” My words trail off and then his
mouth is on mine.
“I’m a fucking asshole,” he rasps against my lips.

BANS

C alling myself a fucking asshole is an understatement. I didn’t know, and I pushed it. I fucking
pushed it, and she was hurt, abused. She told me her life was shit, and I still fucking pushed it. I
should have stopped, but I fucking couldn’t. I just couldn’t let it go, and now I feel like a goddamn
asshole.
Touching my mouth to hers again, I slide my tongue along her bottom lip and taste her, loving the
fucking way that she consumes me. This woman, she is everything, and I was ready to throw her away
over nothing.
“I was an asshole,” I say.
“You were,” she rasps, trying to take a step backward.
It doesn’t work. I don’t let her walk away from me or even back away from me. I want to keep her
right fucking here with me. Sliding my hands down her hips, I slip them around her and grab hold of
her ass, picking her up.
 Carrying her over to the bed, I don’t stop kissing her. I can’t. I have to taste all of her. “Moxie, I’m
an ass,” I repeat, trailing my lips down her throat.
“You really are,” she exhales.
“Let me make it up to you?”
She sinks her fingers in my hair, gripping the strands, then she tugs my head back, her eyes
focusing on mine. “I should make you leave,” she rasps.
There is a moment of silence. She stares at me, then she pulls me closer to her face, her lips
touching mine.
“But you won’t,” I rasp.
“I won’t,” she exhales.
Reaching for the hem of her hoodie, I peel it off of her and toss it to the floor. She’s covered in
glitter lotion and heavy makeup. I know that it’s for the stage, but it’s still hot as fuck.
I watch as she reaches behind her, unhooking her bra before throwing it somewhere in the room.
She’s fucking beautiful.
“You won’t,” I murmur.
My lips move down her neck, to the swell of her tits. I don’t give a fuck about her body count. I
don’t give a fuck who she’s been with or why.
None of it matters, not now.
Not ever.
My lips part and my teeth sink into the flesh of her breast. Flicking my tongue against her nipple, I
look up at her. Her lips curve up into a smile, and her head falls backward as her back arches,
pushing her tits closer to me.
Sliding my hand down her belly, I slip it beneath the waist of her leggings and then between her
legs. Her breath hitches, her entire body jerks in one quick convulsion as her fingers grip my hair
even tighter.
Releasing her tit, I slip my fingers inside of her and make a come-hither motion. “Orson,” she
exhales. “My god.”
I hum. “Just a man, Moxie.” Clearing my throat, I shift closer to her. Touching my mouth to hers
again. “Your man.”
 CHAPTER EIGHT

MOXIE

M y man.
Shit.
I went and did it.
I got myself a damn old man. But when his mouth moves down my body, as his hands rip my
leggings down my thighs and he tosses them to find my bra and hoodie somewhere else in the room, I
don’t think that I mind too much.
Then his mouth is on me. His tongue is inside of me, and as he eats me, I swear to fucking god I
hear Christmas bells ring in the background. Lifting my hips, I widen my legs as he eats me. It’s
fucking magical.
I climb higher and higher as his tongue flicks my clit, then slips inside of me, before he flicks my
clit again, then finally sucks it. Looking down at him, I lift my hips even higher as I hold my breath.
I fall—hard and fast.
God.
My. Man.
Because there is no way that I can just let him get up and walk away. Not after that performance.
But it’s not over. He wraps his hands around my waist once I’ve come down from my orgasm, then he
slides up my body.
He’s still wearing his shirt and cut, but as he glides up my body, I can feel his hard length against
my center. He’s discarded his jeans. Then he’s inside of me. It’s one thrust, one move, and he’s filled
me.
Lifting my hands, I dig my nails into his shoulders as I look into his eyes. He dips his chin, his
gaze finding mine, and then his lips curve up into a smile. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Right where I’ve
always wanted to be.”
I’m not sure how to feel about all of this, but physically feeling him inside of me, it makes me
want to keep him exactly where he is—always. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I watch him.
Orson shifts his head, his mouth touching mine. Then he starts to move. His hips shift forward,
pulling out and then slamming back inside. It’s a sweet slow rhythm that has me practically losing my
fucking mind.
 Elevating my hips, I meet his thrusts with my own. His pelvis grinds against my sensitive clit. It’s
too much, and at the same time, it’s not enough.
“Orson, please,” I beg.
He hums. His thrusts come harder. He slams his hips against mine harder and faster. Raising my
legs, I press my shins against his ribs. Orson falls a bit deeper inside of me at the move. He grinds his
hips against mine a bit harder.
Then it happens.
I come.
Again.
Jesus.
I didn’t think that it was possible.
Arching my back, I cry out, my entire body stiffening. Holding my breath, my eyes focus on his,
then he slams his mouth against mine, his hips jerking and bucking until he comes. He buries himself
deep inside of me, his cock twitching.
Bliss.
Gorgeous bliss.
That’s what this moment is.
I never want it to end.

BANS

“M ine,”I don’t
I whisper against her ear.
know if she even hears me. Her eyes are closed and have been for a while as she
sleeps. She lets out a sigh but doesn’t move. Watching her, I wonder what the fuck I’m going to do,
because I want to keep her just for myself. I don’t want to fucking share her with another soul… ever.
My phone buzzes somewhere in the room, probably in the pocket of my pants. Slowly, I roll out of
bed and go in search of my phone. It doesn’t take me long to find it. Picking up my pants, I dig in the
pocket and pull it out.
Walking out of the room, I make my way into the living room as I answer the call, closing the
bedroom door behind me so that I don’t wake her up.
“Bans.”
“We got a fucking problem,” Country grunts.
Pinching my eyes closed, I wonder why the fuck there could be a problem and also why the fuck
it’s right goddamn now.
“Want to enlighten me?” I ask when he doesn’t continue with what the fuck the goddamn problem
is.
There is a long moment of silence before he continues. “We got a fucking issue, and I need you to
help me with it.”
“I need more,” I say.
“Come down to the clubhouse. We have to talk in person.”
Looking over my shoulder, I see the closed bedroom door and wonder if I should wake Moxie up.
I don’t want to. I have a feeling that sleep doesn’t come as easily to her these days as it once did.
That doesn’t mean that it won’t again.
 It’s my goal to have her sleeping and happy, fully satisfied, all at the same time.
Moxie is special, and there is no way in fuck that I’m going to let my woman spend one more
fucking night feeling any other way other than satisfied and happy.
That is fucking all that I’ll ever accept. But walking away from her right now and going to the
clubhouse in the middle of the night, it makes me think that I could be fucking up.
I do not want her to think that I am anything like Smoke, that I’m untrustworthy in any way.
 CHAPTER NINE

BANS

C onfirming with Country that I’ll be down there in a few, I end the call and pinch my eyes
closed. I hear the sound before I turn around to look in the direction it’s coming from. I know
exactly who it is.
She’s naked, standing behind me, her eyes focused on mine. She’s got her arms wrapped around
her stomach, and she looks a little scared, but at the same time, she also looks fucking stunning. I feel
bad for waking her up, even if she’s gorgeous to look at right now.
“I have to go to the clubhouse,” I mutter.
“At three in the morning?”
I hum, closing the distance between us. I almost forget that I’m naked as I approach her. Lifting my
hand, I cup her cheek. She tips her head back, her eyes finding mine.
She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I.
What the fuck needs to be said about it, really? She knows that when the club calls, I go. She, of
all people, knows at least that much.
“Yeah. You can come with me. Hang out. Don’t know how long I’ll be there though.”
She blinks once, twice, three times. “Really?” she exhales.
I clear my throat, my lips curving up into a smile. She doesn’t fucking think that I would take her
down there in the middle of the night? Then she doesn’t know me that well at all.
Dipping my chin, I touch my mouth to hers. “Baby, come down to the club on the back of my bike.
You do whatever the fuck you want. Goddamn open-door policy when it comes to me, Moxie. My
woman goes anywhere she fucking wants to go.”
I feel her tongue slide across my bottom lip. Opening my mouth, she slips her tongue inside my
mouth and tastes me. Reaching out, I grab her waist, digging my fingers into her flesh as I take over
the kiss.
She lets out a sigh that I swallow, her body melting against mine. I feel her warm tits press against
my chest and fuck me, but my cock stands at attention, ready to slide inside of her all over again.
“I have to go,” I grunt, breaking the kiss, knowing that Country is waiting for me and that it’s
something that was urgent enough for him to call me in the middle of the night.
She takes a step backward. “I can come, really?” she asks.
 Laughing softly, I nod my head. “Go and put something on. It’s probably cold out there this time of
morning. Dress warm, yeah?”
She nods her head, then turns, and I watch her gorgeous fucking ass jiggle as she walks toward the
bedroom. I think about fucking her ass and wonder if she’d be into that, wondering if she would be at
least down to try.
Because I know that she would feel fucking amazing. Every single part of her.
Only when she’s slipped into the room and is out of sight, do I move and follow behind her. She’s
already halfway dressed by the time I make it into the bedroom.
Completely fuckable, that’s exactly what she is right now. An oversized hoodie, tight jeans, no
fucking makeup and her hair isn’t even brushed, and yet, I don’t think she’s ever looked as beautiful as
she does in this exact moment.
“Orson?” she asks, her voice soft and sweet.
I hum, unable to really come up with words. They’re fucking gone, completely fucking gone. This
woman has stolen them all. When I don’t say anything right away, she closes the distance between us.
I’m still fucking naked, my phone in my hand, but I don’t care.
I can’t move.
When she’s directly in front of me again, she lifts her hand, placing her palm against the center of
my chest. She tilts her head back, her eyes finding mine. Then she smiles. It takes over her entire face.
She looks fucking gorgeous.
Lifting my free hand, I wrap my fingers around the side of her neck and look deep into her eyes. “I
was a dick earlier. We’re good, yeah?”
Her eyes widen, then she nods her head a couple of times. “Yeah, we’re good.”
She says the words, but I don’t think that I truly believe her… at least not yet. I’ll make it up to
her, prove to her that this is real. That we’re real. That I regret what I said. The question I asked about
her body count, all of it. I will fucking make it up to her.

MOXIE

W rapping my arms around his waist, Orson guides the bike toward the clubhouse. The wind is
cold, the weather has become winter almost overnight. Closing my eyes, I let the coolness wash
over me.
I love it. Winter in Texas is my favorite time of year. Not just because I love… or at least used to
love Christmas the holiday, but because it’s an actual season other than summer that always comes in
with a vengeance. Sometimes we even get a dusting of snow, which is always extra special.
Pulling up to the clubhouse, I look around. It’s almost four in the morning, and while I typically
would take note of the fact that it’s quiet and there aren’t many bikes parked here, I can’t help but
notice that there are two bikes that I am surprised to see. One of them being Prez’s, which means this
is big.
“You can go to my room and rest if this takes a while, which, judging by Prez being here, it will,”
Orson announces.
He’s right, and he is thinking exactly what I already had. Something must really be important if
Prez is hanging around at this time of morning and not because he stayed over last night partying.
Slipping into the clubhouse, I’m not surprised to see a few sleeping bodies littering the bar,
including clubwhores.
Walking up to the bar, the prospect starts to reach for a beer, but I shake my head. “Can I just have
a water?” I ask.
He doesn’t say anything but instead dips his chin before he turns and reaches for the fridge. I
watch as he takes a bottle of water out of the fridge, twists the cap off, tossing it into the trash can,
then slides the water across the bar toward me.
Wrapping my fingers around the bottle, I dip my chin and tell him thank you before I walk toward
one of the empty tables. I’m not sure what this is about, but something big is happening and it’s quiet.
Too quiet.
Clearing my throat, I look around the room as I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. I don’t know
what is going to happen next, but I have a feeling this is going to be a long night... well, morning.
I stay where I’m seated at the table as I drink my water, looking around and wondering how much
longer this meeting is going to take.
When my bottle of water is empty, my eyelids start to drop, and I yawn. Granted, I spent the
evening dancing, then I had amazing sex with Orson.
I’m exhausted.
I yawn twice more before I decide to take myself to bed, but not before I walk over to the
Christmas tree that the rest of the old ladies set up and I look at all the ornaments.
There are ornaments all over the tree that represent everyone. Different little things, some are
custom made, some have been bought at the store. But what I do know is that none of them represent
me, mainly because I threw mine in the trash, along with Smoke’s.
Turning my back on the tree, I decide to stop thinking about Smoke, mainly because thinking about
him makes me even more exhausted than I already am, and I want to forget he ever existed.
Taking myself to bed, I strip out of my hoodie and jeans before looking for something to wear to
sleep. It doesn’t take me long to find one of Orson’s T-shirts and slip it on before I slide between the
sheets. Then I lie down and close my eyes. I don’t even think that my head hits the pillow before I’m
asleep.
 CHAPTER TEN

BANS

S tanding in Prez’s office with Country and Ironfist, I look around expectantly and wait for
whatever the fucking emergency is that had Country call me at three in the morning and bring my
ass down here when I was comfortably happy in bed next to my woman’s warm body.
“Well?” I ask when nobody says a fucking thing.
Prez clears his throat, then speaks. “It’s Jefferson,” he announces.
“What the fuck?”
He looks between us before he speaks again. “He went out on a run, and he hasn’t been back. I
can’t get a hold of him, and I’m trying not to freak out my fucking wife, but at the same time, I’m
concerned. He never ignores a call from me, not fucking ever.”
Shit.
“Give me everything that you can. Maybe I can try to hack into any of the traffic cameras along
whatever possible route he took,” I blurt out, trying to think of anything, any fucking way that I can
find this kid.
He is just that, too. Marilyn’s brother, Prez’s brother-in-law, and a fucking kid. Ironfist clears his
throat, taking a step toward me. He lifts his hand, his fingers grip my shoulder as he gives me a shake.
“Calm your ass, brother,” he murmurs. “We’re gonna get this all lined out.”
There is no calm. This is a fucking kid, and he’s gone. Then there’s the simple fact that when it all
comes down to it, it’s probably going to be up to me to find him. I need to get started right fucking
now. Every minute that ticks by lowers the chance that we’ll ever see Jefferson again.
“Do you have any idea the route he had taken?” Ironfist asks.
Prez takes out a piece of paper and slams it down on the desk. It’s a map. Printed off of the
computer, a single piece of paper that is a single page road map from our town in East Texas to Tulsa,
Oklahoma.
“This is an almost five-hour trip one way,” I state.
“Yeah,” Country grunts. “Do you have any idea which roads he took?”
Prez lets out a sigh, then I watch as he takes out a highlighter. He has no fucking clue. He
highlights all of the paths that Jefferson could have taken. There are several. Too many actually. My
stomach twists at the idea of him being out there somewhere, knowing that it could be anywhere.
 “Do you have a trace on his phone?” I ask Prez.
He lifts his gaze to meet mine and shakes his head once. His eyes search my own for a moment, he
doesn’t say anything right away. I watch as he straightens his back, then looks around the room at the
few of us that are here.
“We got into a fight a couple weeks ago. He was fucking around with some girl who was far too
fucking young for him. He didn’t like me telling him that he shouldn’t be doing what he was doing. He
turned off the tracking, I assume, so that he could continue without me watching him. He’s a man, he
was mad at me. I didn’t push it any further, I should have.”
“He’s a man,” Country agrees.
“He’s still a kid, too,” Prez points out.
I agree.
He is just that. He’s a kid and he is out there somewhere, or maybe he doesn’t want to be found.
An idea flashes in my head.
“Where is the girl?” I demand.
“What?” Prez asks.
“The girl. Where is she?”
“You don’t think…” His words trail off.
I shake my head a couple of times. “I don’t think anything at all. I’m just asking questions.”
“Fuck.”

MOXIE

W hen I wake up, I expect Orson to be lying next to me in his bed, but I’m alone. Sucking in a
breath, I sit up and look around. I’m alone, and judging by the way the other side of the bed
looks, which is exactly the way that it did when I slid between the sheets, he hasn’t been in here at all.
Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I stand and make my way to the bathroom. I’m still
wearing his shirt as I go in search of him. My heart starts to pound as I make my way into the bar area
of the clubhouse, unsure of what I’m going to find exactly.
It doesn’t take me long to find him though, I don’t know what I thought that I was going to find, but
it is not what I actually find. Which is Orson sitting at a table with a bottle of water and his computer
open. He’s focused too. Completely focused on whatever it is that he’s doing. He doesn’t even hear or
sense my approach.
“Orson?” I call out.
Only when I say his name does his head pop up and his bloodshot eyes find mind. Slowly, his lips
curve up into a smile as if he’s realized just who it is standing in front of him, maybe a few seconds
delayed.
“Have you eaten?” I ask.
There is another delayed response, and he shakes his head a couple of times. “What time is it?”
Shrugging a shoulder, I look around and notice that the bodies that once littered the floors and
furniture are no longer sleeping in their spots. Flicking my gaze around, I find a clock and smile
before I shift my attention back to his.
“It’s ten,” I announce.
I’m a bit shocked myself that I slept as long as I did. I can’t remember the last time that I actually
slept for hours at a time. It was well before Smoke was gone. Well before I knew exactly what kind of
man I had by my side, mainly because I don’t think that I ever felt safe with him.
Then I realize I don’t think I’ve ever slept like that. Last night, even being here at the clubhouse. I
wasn’t drunk. I hadn’t been drinking at all. I wasn’t overly exhausted either.
I was sated.
I was happy.
But now looking at this man across from me, I realize that I am still both of those things even in
the daylight.
I am sated.
I am happy.
For the first time ever.
 CHAPTER ELEVEN

BANS

M oxie doesn’t ask me any questions about what I’m working on, which is good because I
wouldn’t be answering them anyway. Marilyn doesn’t know that her little brother is missing.
She would fucking lose her shit if she did.
Country is looking for the girlfriend right now, and I’m busy trying to hack into any system that I
possibly can between Northeast Texas and Tulsa. Which there are about a million. His debit card
hasn’t been used, his credit cards haven’t been used either.
So, he’s at least done one thing he’s supposed to do, which is make himself untraceable—at least
easily untraceable.
“Baby?” I call out as I lift my head.
Moxie is standing at the pool table, playing a game with Frogger and Tiny. I got no fucking clue
when either of them appeared.
Honestly, I don’t even know what fucking time it is. Flicking my gaze down, I see a plate in front
of me with a sandwich and chips. Fuck. I didn’t even see that placed in front of me.
Moxie walks toward me, my gaze shifting from the food to her, enjoying the way she moves
through the room. She isn’t very far away, so it doesn’t take her too long to close the distance between
us.
“Yeah?” she asks softly.
“You think you can keep Marilyn busy this afternoon and evening?” I ask.
It’s a big ask, but not so big that she can’t handle it. I know that she and Marilyn are friends.
They’ve been friends, in fact, she helped train Marilyn on the pole. They’re close, sharing a bond that
you can only share when you’re in the same line of work.
“I can…” she says, her voice trailing off in an obvious attempt to get me to tell her why.
“Thanks,” I say, giving her a smile.
“You’re not going to tell me what’s going on, are you?” she asks.
Shaking my head once, I clear my throat. “I will when I’m able, but I’m not right now.”
Her eyes search my own as if she’s trying to determine if I’m telling her the truth or not. We’ve
only been officially together for less than twenty-four hours, so I’m guessing she isn’t filled with
complete and total blind trust. I don’t blame her, I wouldn’t either.
 “Are you in any trouble? Am I or Marilyn in any trouble?”
Smiling, I shake my head again. “I’m not, and neither is Marilyn, as far as I know.”
“You promise?” she asks.
Reaching out, I wrap my fingers around her wrist, giving her a squeeze. “Swear that shit, baby.”
The look of visible relief washes over not just her face, but her entire body relaxes as well. I
smile up at her, releasing her wrist before I reach for the sandwich. She takes another step toward me,
then bends slightly and touches her mouth to mine in a brief kiss.
“You’ll come to bed tonight?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper with a little tremble to
it.
I hum. “Yeah, I’ll come to bed tonight.”
She looks behind her, then shifts her attention back to mine. “Are we going to my place or here?”
I already know the answer to her question. It will be here. Even if I want to go to her place, I need
to stay here on the secure network until I figure out what the fuck happened and what is going on.
What I don’t do is tell her any of that though. Instead, I continue to give her my smile. “Here,
baby.”
She doesn’t ask me any questions. Instead, she dips her chin, meeting my smile with one of her
own as she backs away. She turns her back to me and I am more than content to stare at her gorgeous
fucking ass as she makes her way back into the bedroom.
Shaking my head once, I return to the computer and try to fucking find Jefferson. It’s been too long.
I’m starting to wonder if he didn’t want to be lost. And that would be fucked all the way up if it’s the
truth.

MOXIE

M arilyn slams her hand down on the table. We were at dinner, then we called some of the other
girls out for drinks. Now we have about three Nasty Bastards surrounding us as we all drink and
talk.
“Don’t slam your hand down at me,” Ivory snaps. “I’m just the messenger.”
“Well, your message is impossible, and I refuse,” Marilyn snaps.
“Improbable is not the same as impossible,” Luella states.
I’m surprised she even showed up. Though they’ve mended their relationship, it’s still tense
between Luella and her stepmother, who is younger than she is and is a stripper. It’s been a whole
ordeal for a few years, though I can tell that unlike in the beginning, Luella is trying.
Marilyn lets out a hiss under her breath, then she stands, placing her hands on her hips. “Well, it
doesn’t matter what it is, it’s just not the way it is.”
Her announcement sounds more like she’s trying to talk herself into it being true rather than
believing her words to be true themselves. “So, what happens now?” she asks.
“I personally think that you need to take a test. Rule it out,” I offer, giving her my own opinion.
She shakes her head once, then sits back down in her chair. She leans forward, her eyes wide. “If
it’s positive, what happens? Hank will never believe that I didn’t cheat on him.”
Her words surprise me and then again, they don’t. Hank had a vasectomy years ago when Luella
was little. He has made it very clear that it was done and that he doesn’t want children, at least he
made it clear before Marilyn.
 I haven’t heard him talk much about it since she came into his life, though I haven’t really been
listening for it either. I’ve been pretty busy with all my own drama and shit.
Reaching across the table, I take her hand in mine. “That man adores you. He loves you, and there
is no way he’ll ever think that a baby would be anyone’s other than his.”
Marilyn’s gaze flicks from me to Ivory. Ivory’s man is Tiny, the club doctor, and she’s looking for
reassurance from someone who knows a little about medical shit. I can see it written on her face clear
as day. She isn’t so sure that Prez won’t freak the fuck out. What man wouldn’t?
“Let’s just all take a test,” Luella announces as she stands to her feet.
Twenty minutes later, in the bathroom of the bar, after sending Ivory out for said tests, we do just
that. We all take a pregnancy test.
All but one comes out negative.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 “The poor Prince de la Paz is covered with wounds and
contusions, and is cast into prison, where he constantly invokes the
terrible moment of his death. He thinks of nobody but his friend the
Grand Duke of Berg, and says he is the only person to whom he
looks for his salvation.
“My father, mother, and I have talked with your respected
commander. He will tell you all. I trust in your friendship, and that by
that you will save us all three and the poor prisoner.
“I have not time to say more, but I trust in you. My father will add
two lines to this letter.
“I am, from my heart,
“Your most affectionate Sister and Friend,
“Maria Luisa.”

To this letter Carlos IV. added a postscript:

“Sir and very dear Brother,

“Having talked to your worthy commander, and informed
him of all that has happened, I beg you to tell the Emperor that I
intreat him to set free the poor Prince de la Paz, who only suffers
from having been a friend of France, and at the same time beg of
him to let us go to a place which will suit us, and take with us the
same Prince. We are going now to Badajoz. I beg your reply before
then, in case we are absolutely left without means of seeing each
other, for my life is only in you and in the Emperor. In the meanwhile
I am,
“Your very affectionate Brother and Friend,
“Carlos.”
 The General was also given a letter from the Queen to Murat,
which ran thus:

“Sir, my dear Brother,

“I have no friend but Your Highness. The King, my beloved
husband, writes to you imploring your friendship, for in that lies our
only hope. We both beg of you to prove you are our friend by
informing the Emperor of our sincere friendship, and of the affection
we have always professed for him, you, and all the French.
“Poor Prince de la Paz, who is wounded and imprisoned for being
our friend, is passionately attached to all France, and he is suffering
now for having desired the arrival of your troops, and for having been
our only permanent friend. He would have gone to see you had he
been free, and now he does not cease to speak of you and express
his desire to see the Emperor. Help us to end our days quietly in a
place suitable to the health of the King, which, like mine, is delicate,
and let it be in company with our friend, who is also that of Your
Highness.
“My daughter will be my interpreter if I do not have the
satisfaction of knowing Your Highness personally and talking to you.
Could you make an effort to see us, if only for a minute, by night or
when you like? Your worthy officer will tell you all we have said.
“I hope you will be able to manage what we want, and that you
will pardon all the slips and omissions in the matter, for I do not know
where I am, and you must believe that this has been from no slight to
you nor lack.
“May you live many years!
“Your most affectionate
“Luisa.”
 The Queen became quite desperate as the days went by,
bringing no definite help from the Grand Duke of Berg, and in one of
her letters to her daughter she writes:
“If the Grand Duke does not see that the Emperor gives orders
for the stoppage of the intrigues against his friend the Prince de la
Paz, against me and my daughter, none of us will be safe. All the
malevolent people get round my son, and he believes them like
oracles, and on his own part he is not very inclined to magnanimity
and clemency. He must expect sad results from all this. I and my
husband think that, if my son sees the Emperor before he has given
his orders, he and those with him will tell him so many lies that he
will doubt the truth. For this reason we would beg the Grand Duke to
let the Emperor know that we are absolutely in his hands, hoping he
will give tranquillity to the King, my husband, me, and the Prince de
la Paz, whom we desire to have with us, and end our days
peacefully in a place suited to our health without giving the least
trouble to anybody. We urgently beg the Grand Duke to let us have
daily news of our mutual friend, the Prince de la Paz, because we
know absolutely nothing.”
The King added the following words in his own handwriting:
“I asked the Queen to write this, as my pains prevent my writing
much.”
The next letter from the Queen of Spain to her daughter for the
Grand Duke of Berg is without a date:

“The King, my husband, and I do not wish to be importunate nor

troublesome to the Grand Duke, who has so much to do; but we
have no other friend but him and the Emperor, and in him rest the
hopes of the King, those of the Prince de la Paz, the friend of the
Grand Duke and our own intimate one, and those of my daughter
and myself. My daughter wrote me yesterday afternoon what the
Grand Duke had said, and our hearts are filled with gratitude and
comfort, hoping for all that is good from the sacred and incomparable
personages of the Emperor and Grand Duke. But we do not want
him to be ignorant of what we know in spite of nobody telling us
anything or answering our questions, important as it was for us to
have a reply. However, we regard it all with indifference, and the only
thing which interests us is the welfare of our only and innocent
friend, the Prince de la Paz, who is also the Grand Duke’s, as he
exclaimed in his prison in the midst of the horrible treatment to which
he was exposed; for he always called the Grand Duke his friend, as
he did before the conspiracy, and he says constantly: ‘If I could only
have the good fortune for the Grand Duke to come here, I should
have nothing to fear.’
“He wanted you to come to the Court, and he was flattered by the
pleasure the Grand Duke showed in accepting his house as a
dwelling. He had some presents ready to give you, and he thought of
nothing but the moment when he could present himself to the
Emperor and the Grand Duke with all imaginable ardour. But now we
are in continual fear that he will take his life, or that he will be more
closely imprisoned if his enemies know that there is a question of his
being saved. Would it not be possible to take some precautionary
measures before the definitive resolution? The Grand Duke could
send some troops without saying why. Could they not come to the
prison and disperse the guard over him, without giving it time to fire a
shot or do anything against the Prince? For there is reason to fear
that it would do so, as they all know his wish to die, and they would
glory in killing him. So the guard could be absolutely under the
command of the Grand Duke; and if not, the Grand Duke can be
sure that the Prince de la Paz will die if he continue in the power of
the worthless traitors and in the hands of my son. Hence we repeat
the plea that he should be removed from the power of the
bloodthirsty gardes de corps, my son, and his evil companions; for
we are in continual fear of his life, although the Emperor and the
Grand Duke wish to save him. We repeat, therefore, the entreaty
that the Grand Duke should take every measure for this object,
because if time be lost his life is not safe, as it would certainly be
easier to protect the Prince in the midst of carnivorous lions and
tigers.
“After dinner yesterday, my son was with Infantado, Escoiquiz,
who is a malignant cleric, and San Carlos, who is worse than all; and
this makes us tremble, as the secret conference lasted from half-
past one till half-past three. The gentil hombre who is with my son
Charles is a cousin of San Carlos; he has talent and some learning,
but he is a malignant American and a great enemy of ours, like his
cousin San Carlos, in spite of all they have received from the King,
my husband, at the request of the Prince de la Paz, to whom they
say they are related. All those who are with my son Charles are
mixed up in the same intrigue, and inclined to do all possible harm,
and what is reported as true is the greatest untruth.
“I hope the Grand Duke will pardon all my blunders and mistakes
when I write French, as it is forty-two years since I came to Spain at
thirteen and a half years of age, so, although I speak French, I do
not speak it well.
“The Grand Duke will know what helps me, and will pardon all my
faults of the language.
“Luisa.”

Ferdinand, in his blind belief in Escoiquiz, disregarded the

counsel of other men, and, as Escoiquiz only thought of conciliating
the Corsican so as to advance his plan of Ferdinand’s union with a
member of the House of Bonaparte, the power of the French
increased daily.
 It was believed that all the intrigues of Beauharnais were only to
keep the sceptre in the hand which held it, and the silly credulity on
the part of Escoiquiz was the chief cause of the consequent
misfortunes.
To a genius like Napoleon the situation of Spain was an easy
prey to his ambition, and its state of submission to the French was
seen in the fact of Caballero conforming to Murat’s desire to become
the possessor of the sword which was surrendered to Charles V. by
Francis I. of France after the Battle of Pavia.
The function in which Spain lost this heirloom is described in the
Gaceta de Madrid of April 5, 1808. The sword was borne in state to
the Grand Duke’s house. It was placed on a silver tray covered with
a puce-coloured silk cloth trimmed with a wide bright fringe, and Don
Carlos Montarges, the honorary Chief Armourer, and his attendant,
Don Manuel Trotier, went in the gala carriage with the trophy. The
carriage was drawn by mules in gala attire, and three royal lackeys
in full livery walked by the side of each. In the other carriage, also
drawn by four mules and accompanied by lackeys, came the Duke
del Parque. The sword was borne into Murat’s presence by the two
armourers, and, after giving him the King’s letter, they solemnly
presented him with the historic weapon, which was received with
many expressions of thanks.
Murat now set no bounds to his ambitious aims, especially as he
knew that his brother-in-law had decided on the dethronement of the
Bourbons in Spain. So, dazzled by the brilliance of his position, he
precipitated matters by his intrigues. He suggested the advisability of
the Infante Don Carlos going to meet Napoleon as far as Burgos, so
this journey of the Spanish Prince was arranged, Pedro Macanáz
and Don Pascual Vallejo being in attendance.
As Napoleon did not trust entirely to the perceptions of Murat, he
sent the astute Savary to reconnoitre the state of affairs in Madrid.
The clever Frenchman was as successful in Spain as he had been in
Russia, and it was soon arranged for Ferdinand to take the
undignified course of going to meet Bonaparte at Burgos, for
Escoiquiz thought that it would gain the favour of the great
Frenchman.
Before starting, Ferdinand wrote to his father begging for a letter
in which he would assure Napoleon that he (Ferdinand) professed
the same sentiments of friendship with the French as his father. The
reply to this request came from the Queen, and she said that the
pains in the King’s hand prevented his writing himself, but she had
written to the Grand Duke of Berg saying that the desired letter had
not been sent because they knew that Ferdinand had no love for
France.
 CHAPTER III
HOW NAPOLEON I. CHECKMATED THE SPANISH ROYAL FAMILY

1808–1814

As Napoleon was not quite satisfied with Murat’s reports, he

determined to go himself to Spain, and Ferdinand was advised by
Escoiquiz to go to Bayonne to meet the Emperor. After holding a
council on the subject at Vittoria in the bedroom of Escoiquiz, who
was ill, Ferdinand wrote a humble letter to the Emperor, promising to
go and meet him, in spite of Savary’s objections to the want of
dignity in the suggested proceeding. In his letter to Napoleon,
Ferdinand declared that he had been raised to the throne by the free
and spontaneous abdication of his father, and to this epistle the
Emperor replied:[7]
[7] Published in the Moniteur in 1808.

“In Bayonne,
“April 16, 1808.

“My Brother,
“I have received the letter of Your Royal Highness. You will
have seen by your father’s papers what an interest I have always
shown in him, so you will allow me now to speak to you with
frankness and loyalty.
 “I had hoped to come to Madrid and persuade my august friend
to make certain necessary reforms in his dominions which would
give public satisfaction. The separation of His Majesty from the
Prince of the Peace seemed to me absolutely necessary for his
happiness and that of his vassals. Events in the North retarded my
journey, and the occurrences of Aranjuez have intervened.
“I do not constitute myself a judge of what happened, or of the
conduct of the Prince of the Peace; but I know very well that it is very
dangerous to Kings for the people to become accustomed to
shedding blood in their own attempts to obtain justice. God grant that
Your Highness may not find it so yourself! It would not be for the
interest of Spain to persecute a Prince who has married a Princess
of the Royal Family, and who has so long governed the kingdom. He
has no friends already, and Your Highness will have none, either, if
you come to be disgraced one day, for people like to avenge
themselves for the respect they have had to show us.
“Moreover, how could a Cause be framed against the Prince of
the Peace without framing it also against the King and Queen, your
parents? This Cause would foment hate and seditious passions, and
the result would be fatal to the crown. To this crown Your Royal
Highness has no rights beyond those transmitted by your mother. If
the Cause soils her honour, Your Highness destroys your own rights.
Do not listen to weak, perfidious counsels. Your Highness has no
right to judge the Prince of the Peace; the sins which are imputed to
him disappear in the rights of the throne.
“I have often expressed my wish for the Prince of the Peace to be
removed from affairs. If I have not been more insistent, it has been
because my friendship for King Charles overlooked the weakness of
his affection. Oh, miserable humanity! Weakness and error are our
lot. But all this can be made right if the Prince of the Peace is exiled
from Spain, and I offer him an asylum in France.
 “As the abdication of Charles IV. took place at the moment when
my armies were occupying Spain, it will seem in the eyes of all
Europe and of posterity that I sent these troops with the sole object
of dethroning my ally and friend. As a Sovereign and a neighbour, I
must therefore hear all about the event before recognizing the
abdication.
“I tell Your Royal Highness that if the abdication of Charles was
spontaneous, and he was not forced to it by the insurrection and
consequent meeting in Aranjuez, I have no objection to admitting it,
and acknowledging Your Royal Highness as King of Spain. I
therefore desire to confer with Your Royal Highness on this matter.
“The circumspection I have observed for the past month in the
matter ought to convince Your Highness that you will always have
my support if factions of any kind disturb you on the throne.
“When King Charles told me of the recent events in October, I
flattered myself that I had contributed by my entreaties to the
peaceful conclusion of the Escorial matter.
“Your Highness is not free from faults; the letter you have written
me is sufficient to show that, and I have always wished to forget it.
Being a King, you know how sacred are the rights of the throne; any
step of an hereditary Prince towards a foreign Sovereign is criminal. I
consider the marriage of a French Princess with Your Royal
Highness would be conformable to the interests of my people, and,
above all, as a circumstance which will unite me by fresh bonds to a
house which I have had every wish to honour ever since I ascended
the throne.
“Your Royal Highness ought to beware of the consequences of
popular insurrections; you might be able to make an assault on my
scattered soldiers, but it would only lead to the ruin of Spain.
 “I have seen with regret some letters from the Captain-General of
Catalonia which tried to rouse the people.
“Your Royal Highness knows all the depth of my heart; you will
observe that I am full of many ideas which require consideration; but
you can be sure that in any case I shall behave to you as I have to
the King your father.
“Your Royal Highness must be assured of my desire to conciliate
matters, and to find occasions of giving you proofs of my affection
and perfect esteem.
“May God have you in His holy and worthy keeping!

“Napoleon.”[8]

[8] From the “Memorias” of Nellerto and the “Manifestation” of

Don Pedro Ceballos.

The King, oblivious of the veiled insult of the Emperor, that he

had no right to the throne beyond that transmitted by his mother, still
cringed to the Frenchman, and wrote:

“Vittoria,
“April 18, 1808.

“Señor, my Brother,
“I have received with great satisfaction your letter of the
16th, sent by General Savary. The confidence with which Your
Majesty inspires me, and my desire to show you that my father’s
abdication was the consequence of his own impulse, have decided
me to go immediately to Bayonne. I hope therefore to leave to-
morrow for Irun, proceeding thence to the country-seat of Marrae,
where Your Majesty is.
 “I am, my good Brother, with the highest esteem and sincerest
affection,
“Ferdinand.”

When Ferdinand arrived at Bayonne, the Emperor went to see

him at once, and Ferdinand went down to the door to meet him. The
interview was short, but the Spanish King was invited to dinner that
night. It was noticeable that, although Napoleon was very friendly, he
never addressed his guest as “Majesty”; and hardly was Ferdinand
back in his rooms, when a message was conveyed to him by Savary
to the effect that the Emperor had determined that the Bourbons
should not return to the throne of Spain, and that, as he had
determined to put a French Prince upon the throne, he required the
son of Charles IV. to renounce the diadem of both worlds in his own
name and in that of all his family.
Pedro Ceballos was loud in his indignation at such usurpation,
when Napoleon, who had heard his remarks from the next room,
entered the apartment, upbraided him for his treachery to Charles,
and declined to enter further into the matter until Ferdinand’s father
was there to speak for himself.
After Charles had sent Napoleon a protest against his abdication,
he concentrated all his efforts on gaining the liberty of the Prince of
the Peace. Indeed, the old man seemed more upset at the risks run
by his ex-Minister than he was at the treatment he had himself
received.
Pursuant to Murat’s advice, Charles and his wife repaired to the
Escorial, and there, in this imposing but gloomy abode, they brooded
over the turn in their affairs until despair filled their hearts.
Murat, faithful to the promise made to Charles in the presence of
the Queen of Etruria on the eve of his departure for the Escorial, did
his best for the dethroned Sovereigns, and persuaded the Union to
depute him to accompany them to Bayonne to take part in the
conference with Napoleon. The fact of Godoy being in Bayonne was
another reason for the royal couple to wish to go there, as they had
not seen him since his release from captivity. The following letter,
which the King wrote to Napoleon announcing his departure for
Bayonne, shows the esteem in which they held Bonaparte:

“Aranda,
“April 25, 1808.

“Sir and Brother,

“A prey to rheumatic pains in my hands and knees, I should
be completely miserable were not my troubles alleviated by the hope
of seeing you in a few days. I cannot hold a pen, so I beg of Your
Majesty to pardon my not writing with my own hand to express the
great pleasure I have in going to enjoy your generous kindness, for I
am obliged to use a secretary.
“The Queen also writes to Your Imperial Majesty, and we beg you
to accept our united sentiments of love and confidence.
“Your protection is balm to the wounds of my heart, and I feel that
the moment in which I shall find myself in your arms will be one of
the happiest of my life, and the first, after all that has happened, on
which I shall feel sure of my existence.
“May my wishes be fulfilled!
“My sir and Brother,
“I am, Your Imperial Majesty’s faithful Ally and Friend,

“Charles.”[9]

[9] Published in the Moniteur, 1810.

 The Queen’s letter to Napoleon ran thus:

“Sir and Brother,

“I should have written before to Your Imperial Majesty if the
trying situation in which we undertook the journey had not presented
so many obstacles. We have now just arrived at Aranda of Duero.
The King is in a terrible state. He is troubled with rheumatic pains in
his hands and knees, but, in spite of all, we are longing for the happy
moment of throwing ourselves into the arms of Your Imperial
Majesty, whose great generosity is beyond all expressions of our
gratitude.
“We ought to have arrived at Bayonne before now, but,
unfortunately, circumstances do not correspond with our ardent
desires, because my son’s journey has left us without horses,
money, and all other necessaries. Heaven grant that the moment of
our interview will be as interesting to Your Imperial Majesty as it will
be to us, your faithful, worthy friends! We are quite sure of the
protection of Your Majesty, and nothing in the world can compare
with the complete and sweet confidence which leads us to place our
fate under the most powerful protection of Your Majesty, whose
immutable equity is so great, as the critic of the situation of his
faithful friend and ally, since the unhappy epoch of the unheard-of
events at Aranjuez.
“If Your Majesty’s troops had arrived then, they would have
protected our legitimate rights as their great captain deigns to do, but
Heaven sent us calamities which came like thunderbolts because we
had no help, nor had we anyone to support us.
“I do not know what day we shall arrive at Bayonne, because, if
the King’s indisposition permit it, we hope to take double journeys
every day. Your Imperial Majesty may be sure that we shall fly to
your arms, so great is our desire to strengthen the sweet ties of
alliance and friendship.
“May God have you in His safe keeping!
“Sir and Brother,
“I am, Your Imperial Majesty’s most affectionate Sister,
“Luisa.”

The affectionate tone of these royal letters shows that the royal
couple thought that Napoleon was about to restore to them the
sceptre which had been torn from their hands.
When the King and Queen arrived at Villareal, they asked what
reports were circulated about affairs, and the Duke of Mahon replied:
“It is said that the Emperor of the French is calling the Royal Family
of Spain together at Bayonne in order to deprive them of the throne.”
The Queen looked surprised, but she thought for a moment, and
then said:
“Napoleon has always been a great enemy of our family.
Nevertheless, he has made Charles repeated promises to protect
him, and I cannot believe he is now acting with such scandalous
perfidy.”
The royal arrival at Bayonne was announced by a salute of 101
guns, the garrison lined the streets, and Charles, on dismounting
from his carriage, showed his pleasure at the reception vouchsafed
to him by talking even to those he did not know.
A shadow came over the King’s genial countenance when he
saw Ferdinand standing with his brother at the foot of the staircase,
and it was only the younger Prince who was given a cordial “Good-
day” by the King, and who was embraced fondly by his mother.
Although Ferdinand saw that he was ignored, he made a step
forward to greet his parents. But Charles stopped, made a
movement of indignation, and began mounting the stairs with a
severe face. The Queen, however, who was behind, could not forget
that she was a mother, and folded her treacherous son to her
bosom.
Then the Princes repaired to their apartments, and their parents
hastened to greet the exile Godoy with tears of joy.
The Emperor of the French lost no time in paying his respects to
the royal travellers, but he did not ask them to dinner until the
following day.
As Charles’s rheumatism gave him some difficulty in mounting
the stairs of the imperial abode, he gladly accepted Napoleon’s arm,
saying: “I have not the strength that I had. It has been all knocked
out of me.”
“We will soon see about that,” returned the Emperor. “Lean on
me, and I will find strength for both.”
Thereupon the King stopped, and said emphatically: “So I
believe, and I base all my hopes upon you.”
On taking their seats at the table, Charles noticed the absence of
Godoy, and he exclaimed with tender concern: “And Manuel? Where
is Manuel?”
So Napoleon, anxious to please his ally, sent for the Prince of the
Peace, and the party was complete.
At the meeting at which it was hoped Napoleon would bring the
Royal Family to a satisfactory understanding there were very violent
scenes. It was natural that the sight of their renegade son should
revive all the bitterness of the King and Queen’s recent trials, but it
was a pity that they did not restrain the passions which made them
lose their royal dignity.
 The Emperor announced that Ferdinand would restore on the
morrow to His Majesty the crown he had snatched from his father’s
brow. This Ferdinand stoutly declared he would not do, and Maria
Luisa, who had destroyed the proofs of her son’s guilt in the
conspiracy of the Escorial, was now so mad with rage that,
according to the report of Caballero, she cried to the Emperor to
punish the crimes of her son by committing him to prison.
Ferdinand was silent during the interview, but a few hours later
he wrote to his father, maintaining that the abdication had been a fait
accompli and declaring that he would only give up the crown at the
request of the Cortes and all the tribunals.
To this letter the King replied:

“My Son,
“The perfidious counsels of the people about you have
brought Spain into a very critical condition, and only the Emperor can
save it.... You have been too easily led away by the hatred which
your late wife had for France, and you have thoughtlessly shared her
unjust feelings against my Ministers, your mother, and myself.
“I was obliged, in support of my rights as a King and a father, to
have you arrested, for your papers contained proof of your crime.
But as I am approaching the end of my life, and I was miserable at
the idea of my son dying in a dungeon, I let myself be softened by
your mother’s tears. And yet my subjects have been upset by the
deceitful courses of the faction you formed, and from that time I have
had no peace in my life....
“You introduced disorder into my palace, you summoned the
Royal Guard against my own person. Your father has been your
prisoner; my Prime Minister, whom I created and received into my
family, was covered with blood, and taken from one prison to
another.... I am King by the right of my fathers. My abdication was
due to force and violence. I have nothing to accept from you, nor can
I consent to any meeting or to any new and base suggestion on the
part of the people about you.”

However, Ferdinand was obstinate, and there seemed no chance

of a peaceful settlement of the disgraceful family feud.
The above letter was dated May 2, 1808, and it was on that day
that the historic blow was struck in Madrid for Spain’s emancipation
from the French. It was the sight of the young Infante Francisco’s
tears at leaving the Palace of Madrid at the call of Napoleon which
acted like a match to gunpowder. The valiant Velarde, Daoiz, and
Ruiz were martyrs on this occasion, and the dramatic way in which
the Spaniards always keep this anniversary shows that those who
struck that blow are not forgotten in the land.
When Charles IV. heard the news of the riot, he at once thought
that it had been instigated by his sons.
“Manuel, send for Charles and Ferdinand,” he said, in a firm tone.
Napoleon remained in the room restless and gloomy; Charles
and Maria Luisa looked worried and anxious. They were all seated
when Ferdinand appeared and silently stood alone before them, for
his brother was ill in bed.
The King then asked his son if he had heard the news from the
capital. When Ferdinand replied in the negative, Charles returned
vehemently, “Very well, I will tell you,” and rapidly related what had
happened. “Judge, then,” he added, “if it be possible to persuade me
that you had no part in this? And did you hasten your miserable
associates to dethrone me in order to massacre my subjects? Who
advised you to this carnage? Do you only aspire to the glory of a
tyrant?”
 The Duke of Rovigo, who gives us this scene in his “Mémoires,”
says that he and the other people who were listening in the adjoining
salon could not catch Ferdinand’s reply, but they heard the Queen
exclaim: “Didn’t I always presage your perdition? See into what
abysses you throw yourself and us! Ah, you would have killed us if
we had not left Spain! What! you have made up your mind not to
answer? You do not forget your old ways. You never know anything
when you do something bad.”
During this dialogue Charles IV. angrily moved about the cane
which he used when walking, and he so far forgot his dignity as to
raise it in a threatening way to his son, in his anger at his
impenetrable countenance. When Maria Luisa finished her diatribe,
she lifted her hand as if to strike the Prince, but she checked herself
in time.
The final touch to Ferdinand’s humiliating position was given
when the Emperor said in cold, clear, chilling tones:
“Prince, I had formed my resolution from the events which
brought you to France, and now the blood spilt in Madrid confirms
my decision. This carnage can only be the work of the band which
calls you chief, and I will never recognize as King of Spain one who
breaks the old alliance of two nations and orders the assassination
of the French soldiers, whilst asking me to sanction the impious act
of dethroning your father. Such is the result of bad counsels. You are
brought to the precipice. It is to your father alone that I am in any
way bound, and if he wish it I will restore him to his throne and
accompany him to his capital.”
But Charles IV. exclaimed vehemently: “But I don’t wish it. What
could I do in a country where they have worked up such passions
against me? And I, who have always rejoiced at seeing my country
peaceful in the midst of the upset of Europe—I should dishonour my
old age if I made war in the provinces and condemned my subjects
to prison. No, no; I don’t wish it. My son will undertake it with more
pleasure than I.” Then, looking at Ferdinand with majesty mingled
with pity, he said: “Do you think it costs nothing to reign? You have
followed these perfidious counsels. I neither aspire to command nor
can I do anything. Now you must avoid the precipice as best you
can.”
As Napoleon told Ferdinand that resistance about his resignation
was useless, and would only make his fate worse, it was agreed that
the crown should be handed over to France.
So the Treaty of Bayonne was formally signed on May 6 by the
Prince of the Peace for Charles IV., and by Marshal Duroc for
Napoleon, and this step, disastrous to the nation, can thus be
distinctly traced to the family feuds induced by the Queen’s unbridled
passion for the Prince of the Peace.
Charles had passed the twenty years of his reign in a self-
indulgent, simple life, and although he did nothing to show great
devotion to his kingdom, he certainly of his own accord would have
done nothing to disturb its peace. The Count of Toreno repeats the
account which Charles gave of his daily routine to the Emperor:
“Every day, winter and summer, I hunt till twelve o’clock, when I
dine. Directly afterwards I hunt again till evening. Manuel tells me
how things are going on, and I go to bed, to begin the same life next
day, unless there is some important ceremony.”
With a Sovereign so inert, Godoy did not demur on signing the
deed of renunciation of the throne, and as Escoiquiz sanctioned the
deed, it shows that he also felt that Ferdinand was but a broken
reed.
After the humiliating events of Bayonne, the poor Queen of
Etruria sought to return to Etruria, but was detained at Nice.
Miserable at having been obliged to leave her young son ill at
Compiègne, she tried to escape to England, but, the plot being
discovered, one of her two agents was shot, the other died in prison,
and she herself was condemned to confinement in a convent at
Rome; so she did not recover her liberty nor see her child again until
the fall of Napoleon. The Queen’s claims on Etruria were
subsequently nullified by the Congress of Vienna, and she had to be
contented with the nomination of her sons to the dukedom of Lucca.
Although after the Treaty of Bayonne the city of Madrid was in the
hands of Napoleon Bonaparte, the palace could not count the
Emperor as one of the residents in the palace, for during his stay in
the Spanish capital he was installed in the mansion of the Duque del
Infantado at Chamartin, and it was from this house that he made his
entry into Madrid. “Je la tiens en fin cette Espagne si désirée,” said
the French conqueror as he passed up the magnificent staircase of
the royal palace, and placed his hand upon one of the lions on the
balustrade; then, as his eyes travelled up the matchless marbles and
fine panels and pictures of the staircase, he turned to his brother
Joseph and said: “Mon frère, vous serez mieux logé que moi.”
When passing through the magnificent apartments, he stopped
before a portrait of Philip II., and after gazing at it for some minutes
in silence turned away. Who knows what recollections may have
passed through the conqueror’s mind, of stories of this Sovereign
read in boyhood, and how little he had then thought that the throne
of this King would ever be at his disposal!
Thus ended the rapid and only visit of Napoleon to the Spanish
capital, for he went back to Chamartin, and from thence set out for
Galicia.
King Joseph soon found he had a difficult part to play at the royal
palace as ruler of a foreign nation, but, although the Spaniards could
not be supposed to be fond of him, tribute was paid to the kindness
of his heart. After a meeting held at the palace to concert steps for
dealing with the fearful famine which was devastating Madrid, the
father of Mesoneros Romanos said to his son: “Joseph has certainly
not lost his head at his elevation, neither is he unduly set up by his
rank. He seemed profoundly moved at the misery of the people, and
proclaimed his intention to do all in his power to assist them.
Certainly,” concluded the speaker, “the man is good. It is only a pity
he is called Bonaparte!”
The preference entertained by Joseph Bonaparte for a beautiful
lady, the Countess Jaruco, widow of the Governor of Havana, is well
known. The lady died, and on the night of her burial her body was
exhumed (one can imagine by whose orders), and was interred
under a shady tree in her own garden. Joseph subsequently married
the Countess’s daughter by General Merlin. The hatred of the people
got on the poor Frenchman’s nerves, and for the last four years of
his enforced reign in Madrid he kept quite in retirement, spending a
good deal of time in the Casa del Campo, to which he passed by a
tunnel entrance.
But it was not very long, as we know, before the day came for
Joseph to leave Spain.
“The excitement in our house,” writes Mesoneros Romanos, “at
the news of the evacuation of the royal palace by the French was
extreme, and it was the same in every Spanish home. The hatred of
the foreigners who had taken possession of us was very deep-
rooted, and those who had joined the Gallic banner were not safe
from actual persecution.
“The shades of a dreadful nightmare were passed, and men
talked excitedly, and women and children laughed for joy. The
Virgins del Carmen and of the Paloma were promised new robes,
and the children ran to light up the altar, backed with a valuable
picture of the Immaculate Conception—a relic of the sacking of
Godoy’s house; and after a Paternoster and a Salve my father said:
‘Now we must go to bed, for we must be up early to-morrow to see
the entry of our friends.’
“By this was meant the Anglo-Spanish army, with its chief, Lord
Wellington, and the Generals Alava, España, and Conde de
Amarante. It was indeed a fine sight; the streets were decorated, and
after a repast served in the Town Hall the English Commander-in-
Chief appeared at the windows in response to the vociferous cheers
of the crowds, and his speech, which was as cordial as was
compatible with the stiff English manner, was received with the
enthusiasm of our Southern nature.”
Then Wellington repaired to the royal palace, which the
municipality had put at his disposal. The English General’s official
proclamation, placed at the corners of the streets, struck cold on the
hearts of the Spaniards, for it savoured more of a fierce Murat than
of the General of a liberating force. The following copy is taken from
the only remaining one in the archives of the city:

“The inhabitants of Madrid must remember that their primary duty

is to maintain order, and to render the Allied Armies every assistance
in their power to continue their operations.
“The Constitution established by the Cortes in the name of H.M.
Ferdinand VII. will be proclaimed to-morrow, after which will follow
the immediate formation of the Government of the City according to
the form it prescribes.
“In the meanwhile the existing Authorities will continue in the
exercise of their functions.
“Lord Wellington,
“Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo.”
 It was soon seen that Wellington did not intend to rest upon his
laurels, for he scoured the rural park of the Retiro, where a French
detachment still lingered, and took 2,000 prisoners and 200 pieces of
artillery. This act completely confirmed the confidence of the
Spaniards in the English commander, and the heads of families
eagerly repaired to the churches to take the oath of the Constitution,
which, however, conveyed little to them beyond their emancipation
from the French and the approaching return of King Ferdinand VII.
It cannot be said that Wellington made himself very popular whilst
he was at the royal palace. He received the attentions showered
upon him in his cold and stiffly courteous way, and took little pains to
be cordial with the people of importance who called upon him.
Wellington’s fancy to have his portrait painted by Goya nearly led
to the future hero of Waterloo losing his life.
For, be it known, the illustrious Spanish painter was irascible to a
degree, the more so that he was completely deaf. So when the great
General made his appearance in the studio on the banks of the river
Manzanares, the painter’s son interpreted the Englishman’s wishes
in deaf and dumb language to his father.
The sittings took place, and the artist worked assiduously; and
when he thought the portrait was far enough advanced to be seen by
the General, he placed it before him. But, unfortunately, the picture
did not please the commander, who shrugged his shoulders
contemptuously, and said in English to his friend that he would not
accept such a caricature as a gift. General Alava declined to
translate this depreciatory remark; but the artist had noticed the
scornful gestures of the Englishman, and the son in alarm saw his
father turn his eyes to the loaded pistols which always lay ready to
hand on the table. The young man’s fear was increased when
Wellington rose from his seat in a discourteous way, and put on his
hat preparatory to departure. Then Goya, enraged at the officer’s
contemptuous manner, seized the pistols, and the General clapped
his hand to his sword.
The scene would have ended in a tragedy had not Lord Alava
assured the irate General that the artist was suffering from sudden
mental aberration, and young Goya restrained his father by force
from using the deadly weapons.
Wellington gave a great ball at the Town Hall the night before he
left Madrid, and with this return for the bull-fights, serenades, and
fêtes, which had been given in his honour, he took his departure
from the Spanish capital.
The English camp in the Retiro was raised a month later by
General Hill, and it is a matter of regret that the step was
accompanied by the blowing up of the royal manufactory of
porcelain, for the fabrication is now extinct. The magnificent walls
and ceilings of one of the salons of the royal palace, decorated with
cherubs, fruit, and flowers, in this beautiful ware, show that Spain
boasted an industry which rivalled that of Sèvres, Dresden, or
Worcestershire.
The reason given for this act of vandalism was that the French
might have used the building as a barrack; but it did not satisfy the
Spanish, who could not contain their indignation at the deed, which
was made worse by the English withdrawing to Portugal and leaving
the capital.
Ferdinand, with his usual duplicity, wrote to Berthémy from
Valençay, where he was practically a prisoner. In this letter he
pleaded in a cringing way for the protection of Napoleon, who had
robbed him of his crown.

“My greatest desire,” he writes, “is to be the adopted son of His

Majesty the Emperor, our Sovereign. I believe I am worthy of this
adoption, which would make the happiness of my life, by reason of
my love and affection to the sacred person of His Majesty, and by my
submission and entire obedience to his intentions and desires.
“Moreover, I am anxious to leave Valençay, for this place is in
every way disagreeable to us and in no way suits us.
“I am glad to trust in the magnanimity of conduct and the
generous beneficence which always distinguish Your Imperial
Majesty, and to hope that my ardent desire will be soon fulfilled.
“Receive, etc.,
“Ferdinand.”

When Napoleon decided to publish this correspondence with

Ferdinand, he wrote and asked him to send a letter to show that he
had his authorization for doing so.
So, before the appearance of the letters in Le Moniteur,
Ferdinand, in obedience to the imperial request, wrote to Napoleon:

“Valençay,
“May 3, 1810.

“Señor,
“The letters now published in Le Moniteur show the whole
world the sentiments of perfect love which I entertain for Your
Imperial Majesty, and the deep desire I cherish of becoming your
adopted son. The publicity which Your Imperial Majesty has deigned
to give my letters makes me hope that you do not disapprove of my
sentiments nor of the desire I have formed, and this hope fills me
with joy.
“Permit me, sire, to confide to you the thoughts of a heart which I
do not hesitate to say is worthy of your adoption. If Your Imperial
Majesty would unite me to a French Princess, you would fulfil my
most ardent wish. By this union, apart from my personal happiness,
all Europe would be convinced of my unalterable respect for the will
of Your Majesty, and it would see that you deign to make some
return for such sincere feelings.
“I will venture to add that this union and the sight of my happiness
will exercise a beneficial effect on the destiny of all Spain, and will
rob a blind and furious people of the pretext of covering a country
with blood in the name of a Prince, the eldest son of an ancient
dynasty, who has, by a solemn treaty by his own choice and by the
most glorious of all adoptions, made himself a French Prince and a
son of Your Imperial Majesty.
“I venture to hope that such ardent wishes, and an affection so
absolute, will touch the magnanimous heart of Your Majesty, and that
you will deign to make me share the fate of the many Your Majesty
has made happy.
“Señor, I am, etc.,
“(Signed) Ferdinand.”

Charles Leopold, Baron de Colly, an astute and intriguing youth,

proposed to the Duke of Kent a plan for releasing Ferdinand from his
ignoble position at Valençay by taking him on board an English man-
of-war to a port of Spain.
The Duke of Kent referred the matter to his father, who sent
Ferdinand two letters by the Baron. Provided with a set of passports
and all papers necessary for the undertaking, besides supplies, in
the form of diamonds and an open draft on the house of Maensoff
and Clanoy, and a ship loaded with provisions for five months, Colly
commenced operations. He reached Paris in safety, sold part of the
diamonds, and began his preparations; but the police got wind of the
plot through Colly’s secretary Albert, and he was promptly shut up in
the Castle of Vincennes.
Fouché tried to persuade Colly to continue his work, so that
Ferdinand might be caught in the act of escaping; but the
Englishman preferred his prison to such treachery, and in this prison
he remained until the fall of Napoleon.
In the meanwhile Fouché sent to Ferdinand a man called
Richard, personating Colly. But the Prince was not caught in the trap,
for, in his rooted desire to conciliate the Emperor of the French, he
sent at once for Berthémy, the Governor, and said to him:
“The English have done great harm to the Spanish nation by
using my name, and they are now the cause of the blood which is
being spilt. The English Ministry, in their mistaken idea that I am kept
here by force, have sent an emissary to me who, under the pretext of
selling me curios, has given me a letter from His Majesty the King of
England.”
The letter from George III. to Ferdinand, which was subsequently
published in Le Moniteur, ran thus:

“Sir, my Brother,
“I have for a long time wished for an opportunity to send
Your Majesty a letter signed by my hand, to express the deep
interest and the profound feeling which I have entertained for you
since you were taken from your kingdom and your faithful subjects.
Whatever the violence and cruelty with which the usurper of the
throne of Spain oppresses that nation, it ought to be of great
consolation to Your Majesty to know that your people retains its
loyalty and love for its legitimate Sovereign, and Spain makes
continual efforts to maintain the rights of Your Majesty and to re-
establish those of the monarchy. The resources of my kingdom, my
squadrons, and my armies, will be employed in aiding the vassals of
Your Majesty in this great cause, and my ally the Prince Regent of
Portugal has also contributed with all the zeal and perseverance of
his faithful friend.
“The only thing which is wanting to your faithful subjects and your
allies is the presence of Your Majesty in Spain, where it would give
fresh energy. Therefore I ask Your Majesty, with all the frankness of
alliance and friendship which bind me to your interests, to think of
the most prudent and efficacious way of escaping from the
indignities which you suffer, and to present yourself in the midst of a
people unanimous in its desire for the glory and happiness of Your
Majesty.
“I beg Your Majesty to be sure of my sincere friendship, and of
the true affection with which I am—in the palace of the Queen,
Monday, January 31, 1810—sir, my Brother,
“Your worthy Brother,
“George R.”
“By command of the King,

“Wellesley.”[10]

[10] “Monitor de Paris, traducido por Don Juan Maria Blanco en

el ‘Español’ publicado en Londres,” tomo i., p. 136.

But Ferdinand’s cross-grained nature was unable to follow any

straightforward advice or adopt any clear course. However, we all
know how the people’s desire to have a Spaniard on the throne,
aided by the troops of England, was finally successful, and
Ferdinand the Desired entered his capital on May 13, amid cries of
delight from his people, who were wild with joy.
 CHAPTER IV
KING FERDINAND VII. AND HIS HOME LIFE

1814–1829

So Spaniards once more had a King of their own blood. The pity of
the matter was that the man himself was so unworthy of the people’s
trust. Brought up in a Court honeycombed with intrigue, truth and
sincerity seemed unknown to Ferdinand, and although he constantly
said, “I hate and abhor despotism,” there never was a Sovereign
more despotic than this son of Charles IV.
Being untrustworthy himself, he thought everybody was
unreliable, and so he set spies on his entourage, and stooped to
listen to stories from his servants.
Thus, no Minister or officer was safe from being sent off to prison,
and with the duplicity which had been perfected by constant practice
in his youth sentence of condemnation would be given by Ferdinand
with an air of friendliness, with a wave of his cigar or the offer of his
caramels, followed by thrumming on the table, or the pulling of his
ear, or the slapping of his forehead, with which his courtiers were
familiar as signs of bad temper.
The Duke of Alagon was the King’s most constant attendant in
any gallant adventure, and, indeed, his departures in that respect
were those of a man who seemed to atone for his want of personal
attractions by a surplus of gallantry to the fair sex. It was whilst
pursuing one of these intrigues with a charming widow at the royal