Reforming a Rake (12 page)

“What are you doing, terrorizing the virgins?”

Lucien downed half his fresh glass. “Where’s my cousin?”

Robert accepted a glass of Madeira from the footman. “She and Miss Gallant went to check on your aunt. Delightful girl. What were you so horrified of?”

The earl looked at his friend. “You liked my cousin?”

“Yes, I did. She’s very charming.”

“You’re insane.”

The viscount chuckled. “I am not. You simply have no tolerance for women.”

“I have great tolerance for women under certain cir
cumstances,” Lucien corrected. “Though I have to admit, this isn’t one of them.”

“Which doesn’t answer my question. Why the debutantes?”

Lucien glared at him. Finding a proper wife wasn’t exactly something he could do without being noticed by the
ton
; and reluctant as he was to discuss anything personal, Robert was bound to find out eventually. Better he do so from the source than from wagging tongues. “Robert, I’m nearly thirty-three, with no male relations to speak of. I’ll leave you to do the arithmetic.”

He strolled away, angling for the corner where he’d deposited Aunt Fiona. Luckily she hadn’t wandered off, and a few feet beyond her, Alexandra and Rose conversed with a striking dark-haired girl a year or two older than Rose.

“Ladies,” he said, stopping at Miss Gallant’s elbow.

She jumped, the warm smile she had for her companion heating his veins as she looked up at him. “My lord, may I present Lady Victoria Fontaine? Vix, Lord Kilcairn.”

No wonder Alexandra looked so pleased. She’d found a friendly face—one that wasn’t his. Lucien sketched a shallow bow. “Lady Victoria. A pleasure.”

“My lord.” She offered a mischievous smile that was obviously used to capture young men’s hearts on a regular basis. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Really?” He reached down and took her hand, bringing it slowly to his lips. “Perhaps you would favor me with a waltz, and we might discuss the bounds of your knowledge?”

Beside him Alexandra uttered a strangled sound, which he ignored. He hoped she was jealous, but it was far more likely that she didn’t want him anywhere near
her friends. For someone with a poor reputation, she certainly seemed haughty about his.

“I would be pleased, my lord.”

He smiled at the petite woman, relieved at finding another female with something sturdier than feathers for a backbone. “Not as pleased as I am.”

“
You mean to marry?
”

Lucien stifled a strangled sound of his own.

Despite the escalating scale, Robert had at least kept the volume down. Even so, enough of the guests around them had heard that by morning the entire
ton
would know of his search. The viscount deserved to lose a few teeth, but that would only make the gossip more interesting. “Yes, Robert. Didn’t I make that clear?”

Lord Belton stared at him. “But you…your father…you hate—”

“Spit it out,” Lucien urged, noting that Alexandra had suddenly become very interested in the viscount’s stammering.

“Well, it’s just that everyone knows you mean never to marry,” Robert finally managed.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“But—”

“Of course my nephew will marry,” Fiona broke in, brushing past Alexandra. “Why should he not?”

Lucien scowled. If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was assistance from Aunt Fiona. He opened his mouth to tell her that when a commotion at the nearby refreshment table caught his attention. With an audible gasp, a young lady teetered and collapsed onto the floor. Instantly a herd of older females gathered to hurry her out of the drawing room.

“Poor thing must have gotten too warm,” Aunt Fiona
clucked. “I’ve already complained about how hot it is in here.”

“Miss Perkins,” Robert announced, craning his head to get a glimpse. “You’ve lost a dance partner, Lucien.”

“Hm. What a coincidence,” Alexandra murmured from beside him, “for her to lose consciousness just as we all learned you were looking for a bride.”

“All the better for me,” he returned in the same tone. “I’ve eliminated her without having to engage in an actual conversation first.”

The music for a quadrille began, and Robert stepped forward to take Rose’s hand. “I believe this dance is ours,” he said, and led her away.

Lady Victoria’s partner likewise claimed her, leaving Lucien in the company of his aunt and Miss Gallant. He hadn’t claimed anyone’s first dance himself, preferring to observe his options. As Alexandra leaned closer, he was doubly grateful to be without a partner.

“I’m confused, my lord,” she said.

“I doubt that.”

“I was under the impression that you had no great expectations of your future spouse.”

“I don’t,” he said flatly, fortifying himself for another attack on his matrimonial search methods.

“And yet she must have enough courage to stand up to you, she must be able to converse in an intelligent manner, and she must have at least some knowledge of literature and the arts.”

“You think my standards are too high, then.”

“I think you have more standards than you’re admitting to.”

“Well, once I’ve eliminated every eligible female, I shall simply have to lower my standards until some chit or other matches up to them.”

“So perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to eliminate Miss Perkins, after all,” she pressed, obviously undaunted by his warning glare. “You may find that no ‘chit’ can refrain from losing consciousness at the idea of marrying the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey.”

“You’re right,” he said, granting her a smile when he truly wanted to wring her slender neck. “I shall ask her and her parents to accompany me to the races on Saturday. That should give her the opportunity to make a better showing, don’t you think?”

“Y-yes, my lord.”

If he had to guess, he would say Miss Gallant was wishing she hadn’t pursued the conversation. In better humor, he folded his arms and went back to watching the dancers. Aunt Fiona stood closer than he realized, but when he glared at her she hesitated, then trundled off. Alexandra uttered a disgusted sound and followed his aunt back to her deaf friends. Lucien smiled. That would teach her.

T
o Alexandra’s surprise, Mrs. Delacroix joined her and Rose at the breakfast table in the morning. Even more unexpected, considering that they hadn’t returned to Balfour House until well after midnight, Fiona was in good spirits.

“Rose, Miss Gallant, good morning,” she said as she swept into the room. “Don’t tell me dear Lucien hasn’t yet risen? Tea, Wimbole. And honey.”

“Actually, I believe Lord Kilcairn went riding this morning, Mrs. Delacroix,” Alexandra said as the butler and a footman hurried to provide Fiona with utensils and a cup of tea. “It’s delightful to see you up and about so early, though.”

“Yes, well, we have things to do today, girls.”

Rose swallowed a mouthful of biscuit. “We do?”

“Indeed. Today we will visit the British Museum.”

Alexandra nearly choked on her coffee. “We will?”

“And tomorrow I will have the coach take us to Stratford-on-Avon. That Shakespeare lived there, didn’t he?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“And, Miss Gallant, you’ve read his works, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have. What—”

“You must select one of his better-known plays to read to us this afternoon. Rose will take one of the parts, naturally.”

Wondering if she’d somehow awakened in the wrong household, Alexandra set down her cup. “I had intended on another lesson in ballroom etiquette today,” she said. “The Bentley ball is tomorrow night, as you know.”

“You can do your etiquette lessons on the way to the Museum.” Fiona said dismissively, “not that I’ve seen any change in my Rose’s good manners. Do you think dear Lucien will wish to accompany us?”

Wondering when Lucien had become “dear” and trying not to frown at the insult to her teaching skills, Alexandra shook her head. “I…doubt it, Mrs. Delacroix. He mentioned attending the horse auctions today.”

“Mama,” Rose finally broke in, her expression as confused as Alexandra knew hers must be, “why are we going to a smelly old museum? Lex was going to take me shopping for gloves and hair ribbons this morning.”

Fiona laughed, reaching across the table to pinch her daughter’s cheek. “Nonsense. You know we’ve been wanting to see the sights of London.”

“No, we—”

“And the weather is so pleasant, what could be more fun?”

Alexandra could think of several things that would be more fun than accompanying Mrs. Delacroix anywhere in public. Since Kilcairn failed to appear in time to put a stop to the nonsense, though, she reluctantly acquiesced.

Before she’d left the Fontaine household, the British Museum had been on her list of places she wanted to explore in town. The educational foray would undoubtedly be beneficial to Rose, if the girl paid any attention—though it wouldn’t help her find a husband.

Still, as Alexandra stood in the Grecian wing two hours later, she was glad they’d come. The drawings she’d seen of the Elgin Marbles were flat, pitiful renderings compared with the works themselves. While Fiona and Rose read aloud every information placard in the room and tittered at the scantily clad statues, Alexandra stood and gazed, her fingers curling with the desire to touch the cool marble forms.

“You are the reason men build monuments,” a deep, familiar male voice said from behind her.

“And why is that?” she asked, her gaze still on the sculptures and friezes.

“To see that look of reverence and awe on your face.” Lord Kilcairn drew even with her, close enough to touch but not doing so.

Without looking, she knew his eyes were not on the artworks. “I must urge caution, my lord, or you’ll further damage your reputation as a cynic.”

“I imagine my secret is safe with you.”

She turned and looked at him. He had the look of a dark-haired Greek god, and Alexandra wondered if beneath his fashionable clothes the smooth contours of muscle and bone matched the splendor of the statues. As she met his gaze, she blushed. “I thought you were going to the horse auctions today,” she said, dismayed that her voice shook a little.

“I was. What do mummies and marble friezes have to do with preparing for a grand ball?”

“Lucien!” Fiona scurried over to join them, Rose in tow. “I knew you would wish to join us.”

“I didn’t wish to join you,” he countered. “I wish to know what in damnation you’re doing here.”

His aunt’s expression became offended. “Dancing and balls aren’t everything, you know. My Rose has a particular fondness for history and the arts.”

Lucien glanced at his cousin, skepticism in every line of his lean, powerful body. “She does?”

“Indeed. If you ever bothered conversing with her in a civil manner, you might realize that.”

If Fiona didn’t recognize the hostile look in Lucien’s eyes, Alexandra did. She stepped forward, blocking his view of his aunt and cousin. “Well, since we’re all here and we’re all so fond of history, perhaps we should continue. We were about to head into the African area, my lord.”

“You were about to return to the carriage and Balfour House,” he stated, folding his arms.

Fiona’s chin lifted, and Alexandra steeled herself for a fracas in the middle of the staid British Museum. Enough people had noticed Lord Kilcairn’s entrance that keeping a family riff quiet would be impossible once Fiona let loose, but Alexandra glanced about for the nearest escape route for Rose and herself, anyway.

“As you wish, Lucien,” his aunt said, and flounced toward the entrance.

With a look between her mother and her cousin, Rose hurried after Fiona. Stunned at the quiet resolution, Alexandra blinked and turned to leave, taking one last look at the Marbles as she passed. The air stirred beside her, and her pulse fluttered in response.

“The next time you feel the urge to look at naked men, do let me know,” Lucien murmured.

She blushed furiously. He
had
known what she was thinking earlier, and she didn’t know why that should surprise her. Almost from the moment they’d met, he’d seemed able to read her thoughts. Still, she couldn’t allow him to think he’d bested her so easily, or she would never have another moment’s peace.

“No doubt you would be pleased to indulge me,” she returned with as much cynicism as she could muster.

As they stepped around the corner, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her into a curtained alcove where broken plasters and a ladder leaned against one wall. Then his mouth met hers in a hard, hungry kiss. He pressed her back against the wall with the length of his lean body, and his hands swept up her hips to brush breathlessly across her breasts.

Alexandra gasped, sweeping her arms around his shoulders and pulling herself closer against him. Her heart thudded so hard she thought he must be able to feel it in his own chest. Oh, God, she wanted what he kept offering her—to be the focus of his attention, his desire, to be touched and held and loved. It would be so easy to give in. Everyone thought she’d already done it anyway. Everyone but her—and Lucien Balfour.

Slowly he lifted his head. “You want me, don’t you?” he whispered, his gray eyes dark and deceptively lazy.

With every bit of remaining willpower, she shook her head. “No. I don’t.”

He kissed her again, his tongue teasing at her teeth. “Liar.”

Alexandra clung to him, trying to regain her breath and her sanity, and at the same time wanting him to continue kissing her. “I am not anyone’s mistress,” she gasped, reluctantly letting her hands slide from his shoulders.

“Those are only words, Alexandra,” he murmured, but released her.

“So are ‘food’ and ‘clothing,’” she said, feeling cold as he backed off to allow her to pass. “They’re also real things that I need to survive. I won’t rely on your continuing desire for me to keep me fed. I stand on my own.”

Lucien looked at her for a long moment. “I will find out who has made you so determined to survive with no help from anyone,” he said quietly.

Shakily she straightened her hair. “You might ask yourself the same question, while you’re at it.” She left the alcove.

“No, cross her off, too, damn it.”

Mr. Mullins looked up from the list spread across the office desk. “As you wish, my lord. Might I ask why, though? Her family is quite wealthy, and there are no siblings, and—”

Lucien plunked his chin into his hand. “She squints.”

“Ah. Perhaps you might suggest…eyeglasses?”

“If she had any intelligence, she would have taken care of that herself.” The murmur of female voices drifted to him from the sitting room, and he caught his breath, listening. They’d bloody well better not be talking about him.

“Well, with the elimination of Miss Barrett, who you say is…” He flipped through several pages of notes.

“A mouth breather,” Lucien finished, rising. Now the chits down the hall seemed to be laughing. Ballroom etiquette lessons did not involve laughter, as far as he knew.

“Yes, that’s right. With her elimination, then, only five prospects remain for your perusal.”

“What?” Lucien shook himself. “Yes. Five. That hardly seems enough from which to choose. Find me some more.”

The solicitor made a choking sound. “More?”

“More. Do you have some difficulty with that?”

“No, my lord. It’s just that…well, I thought the idea was to eliminate all prospects but one—that one being the lady you would then—”

“Excuse me,” Lucien said, and left the room.

“Marry,” Mr. Mullins finished, sighing.

As Lucien strode down the hallway toward the sitting room, the muted voices of his houseguests became clearer. He slowed, listening to the unlikely sound of Rose reading Rosalind’s part in
As You Like It
, her voice halting and slow, and pausing in all the wrong places. “‘But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?’”

Alexandra’s voice, much more confident with the words of the hero, Orlando, followed. “‘Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.’”

Her musical tone stirred his pulse, and he stopped outside the half-open door to listen. How long he might have stood there mesmerized, he didn’t know, because just then Aunt Fiona’s grating voice broke in. Lucien shook himself and pushed open the door the rest of the way.

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear earlier,” he said darkly, taking in the three of them as they sat on his couch, Alexandra and an open book in the middle. “This afternoon cousin Rose is to be tutored in preparation for the grand ball tomorrow evening.”

“But Rose adores Shakespeare,” Aunt Fiona protested, pulling the book onto her lap with far less care than it deserved. “I see no harm in indulging the dear child for one afternoon.”

“You see no harm in pink taffeta, either. Miss Gallant, a word with you?”

Alexandra rose so quickly that he thought she must have been anxious to escape the harpies’ clutches. Keeping in mind her dislike of being overheard, he led her a short distance down the hallway, then turned to face her.

“I don’t recall that reading
As You Like It
was to be a part of my cousin’s studies,” he said, noting that a lock of her burnished hair had fallen across her temple. He wanted to brush it back from her face, and sternly restrained himself.

“Her request surprised me as well, my lord,” she returned in a low voice. “I don’t feel it is my place, though, to deny anyone the opportunity to indulge in scholarly pursuits.”

“She’s never read Shakespeare before in her life. I could hear that, even if you couldn’t. Rose was not the one whose interests were being indulged.”

Alexandra narrowed her eyes. “I am perfectly capable of reading Shakespeare on my own time. Speaking of which, I haven’t taken a day off from my duties since I arrived. I would like to have Monday off.”

“Why?”

He could practically hear her teeth grinding, her jaw was clenched so tightly. Lucien stifled a grin.

“Since you have requested that I instruct you in propriety, it is my duty to inform you that that is a rude, importunate question, and one which I have no intention of answering.”

Damned stubborn, proper chit
. “For your information, I am looking out for my own interests. Naturally I don’t want you going about looking for other employment opportunities.”

“For
your
information, everything you do is for your own interests.”

“And?”

“And no, I am not looking for other employment. No one would hire me, anyway.” She paused, but he kept silent. “May I be excused on Monday?” she finally asked.

He held her gaze. “No.”

Alexandra’s eyes flashed. “Then, my lord,” she began, her voice tight and angry, “I must resign my post, imm—”

“Yes,” he interrupted with a growl. “Yes, damn it.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She sank down in a curtsy more elegant than his cousin would ever manage. “I’ll go see to Rose, as you wish.”

Scowling mightily, Lucien watched her vanish back inside the sitting room. It didn’t bother him that she had called his bluff; he’d expected that she would. What bothered him was the sudden panic that hit him when she’d mentioned quitting. He’d spoken before he could stop himself, given in before he could come up with a way of saving face.

He’d lost ground in their little battle, and they both knew it. Lucien swore. He needed something to gain him more leverage with her, and he needed it fast.

Obviously word had spread that both the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey and his cousin were looking for spouses. Alexandra sat to one side in Lucien’s rented box at Vauxhall Gardens and simply watched.

From the moment they’d arrived, a steady stream of young men and women had stopped by to talk about Paris, the weather, the upcoming hunting season, and the fireworks exploding overhead—anything but matri
mony. She’d thought the situation at Balfour House had become as absurd as it could get. Obviously that wasn’t the case, and now that the
ton
was involved, the insanity would only intensify.

All of the visitors stared at her, as well, but so far no one had said anything—which she was sure had more to do with Kilcairn’s formidable presence than any kindness on their part. She had to admit she was grateful for the unexpected reprieve; a powerful personage had definite uses.

“Did you see that?” Rose said, prancing over from her vantage point at the front of the box. “That was the Marquis of Tewksbury! My dance card for the ball tomorrow night is practically filled already. Oh, I wish I could waltz!”