The Couple In The Dream Suite

By Marguerite Kaye

Step behind the hotel room doors of The Chatsfield, London…

1921, London

The first time the doors open on London's newest hotel – The Chatsfield – disillusioned soldier Justin York expects to be bored by the wealth and glamour on display. Instead he's entranced by the star of the show – socialite Miss Vera Milton–Kerr… Vera's felt nothing but ice in her veins since The Great War, but Justin's dark–eyed gaze has her burning up!

With a key to The Chatsfield's legendary Dream Suite, he offers her one night only… Resisting their chemistry is impossible, but hoping for more than one frenzied night is Vera's biggest risk of all!

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: May 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781488744174

Marguerite Kaye

Marguerite Kaye writes hot historical romances from her home in cold and usually rainy Scotland. Featuring Regency Rakes, Highlanders and Sheikhs, she has published almost fifty books and novellas. When she’s not writing she enjoys walking, cycling (but only on the level), gardening (but only what she can eat) and cooking. She also likes to knit and occasionally drink martinis (though not at the same time). Find out more on her website: www.margueritekaye.com

Book preview

Chatsfield Chatter

It’s the place everyone’s talking about, and it’s where everybody who is anybody will be – including yours truly!

Mr DAVID CHATSFIELD’S brand new hotel in Mayfair will open tonight with what promises to be the party of the Season. The smart set, who need no introduction from me, will be there: LADY ELEANOR SMITH, Miss ELIZABETH PONSONBY, and of course the Misses ZITA and BABY JUNGMAN with their eponymous escorts, to name but a few. The world of the silver screen will be represented by the nation’s favourite tramp, Mr CHARLIE CHAPLIN, and that golden couple, Miss MARY PICKFORD and Mr DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS.

So what’s in store for us beside oodles of champagne? A selection of dishes designed to tempt the most jaded of palettes will be served in the Chatsfield’s white and gold dining room, which has been designed to resemble a wedding cake. The hotel’s foyer, resplendent with Romanesque arches and pillars, will be set up to provide guests with entertainment, including some songs written especially for the occasion by Mr NOEL COWARD.

Rumour has it that the very beautiful Miss VERA MILTON-KERR will be celebrating the occasion with a unique and strictly one-off appearance on stage. Miss Milton-Kerr, as regular readers of this column will know, is the long-term glamorous companion of one of London’s most eligible bachelors, Mr DEXTER MAXWELL. Will Mr Maxwell use this auspicious occasion to make their relationship official? If so, you can guarantee that you’ll hear it from me first.

Dancing at the Chatsfield Hotel will take place in the Mirror Ballroom, and will without a shadow of a doubt go on until dawn, so it’s just as well that yours truly has invested in a new pair of slippers. Then into the wee small hours? Well, I’m not one to gossip, but the hotel boasts a number of extravagant suites, each with their own unique style. As to who will have the honour of occupying that most decadent of all, the Dream Suite? Darlings, just watch this space!

Cordelia Confidential, Daily Express, 29 April 1921

It’s no longer the done thing, I’m told, to talk about the War. A new generation of the elite, those privileged few with wealth and power, want us to put those bleak years behind us. If one were to believe the gossip columns in the popular press, the only thing this new generation are interested in is partying all night and sleeping all day.

Is this true? I hope not.

In February unemployment exceeded one million. The chances are that it will top two million by the summer. The current miners’ strike is only one of a record number of pay disputes going on all across Britain. Our country is no longer a green and pleasant land, but a land of mass unemployment and mass misery. Too many families who sacrificed their fathers, husbands and sons to the Great War have been rewarded with the humiliation of the dole.

We have been wounded, as a people and a nation, by that War to end all Wars. Until we can reward those who fought in the trenches with a better world, with that simplest of things, a decent wage for a decent day’s work, we cannot forget. We must never forget.

‘Red’ Lancaster, The People’s Tribune, 29 April 1921

How Justin Met Vera

The foyer at the Chatsfield Hotel was how Justin Yorke imagined the vestibule of a huge Roman villa would be. One enormous gallery, divided into three spaces by two sets of arches and pillars. Though the floors were not tessellated, each one was set with an ornate marble pattern, black and white cheques leading to blue and cream diamonds, leading to brown and red-veined modernistic swirls. The fountain of champagne glasses stacked six tiers high was set up in the first space, the entrance to the hotel, where the privileged guests would register for their privileged suites. They would be taken there in the gilded lift with its plush red seats, for heaven forfend they have to stand for the few minutes it took to climb to their privileged heights. In the meantime, their mountains of luggage would be hoisted up the back stairs by some poor soul sweating in a preposterous outfit that no doubt reminded him of the uniform he’d left off in the fields of France a few years before.

Justin metaphorically rolled his eyes. Five minutes he’d been here, and he was already on his high horse. The point was not to judge, but to observe. Maybe even do as Dex bid him, and try to remember how to enjoy himself. Maybe.

The stage was set up in the space between the two sets of colonnades. Where future guests would take afternoon tea, there was a crush of night-club style tables for the audience. Soft wall lights were shaded by plaster fans and scallop shells. The air was heady with the scent of hothouse flowers, perfume, powder and too many bodies. A haze of cigarette smoke curled around the huge chandelier that formed its own galaxy of stars in the centre of the room. Almost every woman present puffed from a long cigarette holder. Smoking was no longer improper, merely shocking, and shocking was de rigeur these days. It was not only faces that were powdered but knees too. Lips were painted. Eyes were heavily underlined. Hemlines were rising.

Before the