Reforming a Rake (2 page)

S
he blinked blue-green eyes as deep as the sea. “Hired?”

Lucien closed the door, an unfamiliar agitation tugging at his nerves.
Good God, she was delicious
. “Yes, hired. When can you begin?”

“But…you haven’t seen my references, and you don’t know my qualifications—or even my name.”

Given her conservative attire and very upright posture, telling her just how arousing he found her obvious qualifications might run her off. A movement caught his attention, and he glanced down to see a small white terrier snuffling under his desk. Lucien lifted an eyebrow. “Yours?”

She tugged on the leash, and the animal returned to her side and sat. “Yes. He’s quite well behaved, I assure you.”

Grateful for any distraction that would give him a moment to recover his usual calm veneer, Lucien stepped around the small white beast and took a seat at the mahogany desk. “You don’t need to assure me of anything.
You already have the job, Miss…What is your name?”

“Gallant. Alexandra Beatrice Gallant.”

“A very upright name, Miss Gallant.”

Miss Gallant blushed, the color rising prettily in her cream-colored cheeks. “Thank you, sir.” Abruptly she looked down at her large reticule and pulled out a thin stack of papers. “My references,” she said, holding them out to him.

He leaned forward and took them, his fingers brushing against the soft white kidskin of her glove. “If you insist.” Lucien set them down without looking at them, preferring to keep his gaze on the tall, elegant goddess sitting before him.

She gestured at the papers. “I do insist. Don’t you wish to examine them before you offer me a position?”

He could think of several positions he’d like to offer her. “I’d rather examine you.”

Her blush deepened. “Beg…beg pardon?”

She was genuinely naive, he decided. And she had absolutely no idea who he was, thank God. “Everyone’s references are perfect, or they wouldn’t offer them. Ergo, they are useless. I prefer to go to the source.” He cupped his chin in his hand and smiled, hoping he didn’t look as predatory as he felt. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Gallant.”

She smoothed her skirt, the motion practical and at the same time very feminine. “Of course. I have served in various governess and companion positions over the past five years, sir. I am considered more than competent.” She lifted her chin, obviously launching into a rehearsed speech. “In fact, young ladies are a special favorite of mine. I—”

“Hm. I prefer mine to have a little more maturity.”

“You…I beg your pardon?”

“How old are you, Miss Gallant?”

She eyed him, the beginnings of suspicion touching her gaze. “I am four and twenty.”

He would have guessed a year or two younger, but that was likely because the skin of her cheeks looked soft and unblemished as any babe’s. “Continue your presentation.”

“Your advertisement mentioned a seventeen-year-old girl. Your sister, might I presume?”

“Good God, no.” He scowled, annoyed out of his lust—temporarily. “I am cousin to the demon, and that is as close as I care to get.”

She didn’t seem offended by his blunt speech, but paused, waiting, no doubt, for him to explain. If she wanted to know something, though, she could ask. She’d been in his employ for five minutes already, and still she insisted on going through this damned silly interview nonsense.

“Perhaps,” she resumed a moment later, “you might elaborate? And might I know your name? There was no mention in the advertisement. I don’t know how to address you, sir.”

He drew a slow breath. Well, she was bound to find out eventually. Miss Gallant didn’t seem to have much missish nonsense about her, but now he’d find out for certain. “Lucien Balfour,” he said. “Lord Kilcairn.”

Her fine cheeks paled. “As in the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey?”

He kept the mild expression on his face, although his instincts urged him to spring for the door to bar her exit. “You’ve heard of me.”

Alexandra Gallant cleared her throat and tugged her little white dog closer. “Yes, I have heard of you.” She reached for her papers and stood. “I apologize if I mis
understood your advertisement, my lord, but I must tell you…you must know it sounded quite…Good day, my lord.”

Lucien’s eyes lowered to her slim, rounded backside as she fled for the door. “I don’t generally advertise for mistresses in the
London Times
, if that is your concern, Miss Gallant,” he said in the same dry tone. “Though I shall give you another point or two for name recognition and your expression of genuine horror, if you wish. Not the best I’ve seen, but certainly passable.”

Miss Gallant stopped her retreat and turned around. “‘Passable?’”

At least he’d kept her attention. “I had one fat old bag in here last week who fainted when she realized who I was. It took Wimbole and two of my sturdiest footmen to drag her out.” He leaned forward, folding his long fingers together on the desk. “The position is a legitimate one, and it pays extremely well. However, if you plan on succumbing to faints and vapors at the mention of my name, please do go. Posthaste.”

“I have never fainted in my life,” she declared, once more lifting her proud chin. “Nor would I be so foolish as to do so in your presence.”

“Ah,” he murmured, a smile curving his lips again. He couldn’t recall enjoying himself so much in days. “You think I might simply lift your skirts and have my way with you while you lie unconscious on the floor?”

The lovely blush returned to her countenance. “I have heard worse said about you, my lord.”

Lucien shook his head. “There’s no fun in coitus unless both parties are coherent enough to enjoy the experience. Are you turning down the position, then? It pays twenty quid a month, if that interests you.” Or more, if it didn’t.

She balled her fists, wrinkling her neat stack of references. “My lord, this is preposterous!” she exclaimed. “You know nothing about me!”

“I know a great deal about you,” he returned, and gestured at her vacated chair. “Shall we continue?”

She squared her shoulders and seated herself again with her reticule on her lap, no doubt to speed her escape if it became necessary. “What do you know of me, then?”

“I know you have exquisite eyes. What color would you call them?”

Those same eyes looked at him dubiously for several seconds. “I…hardly think the color of my eyes has anything to do with my competence as a governess and a companion.”

“Hm. Almost blue, but not quite,” he mused, ignoring her protest. “And not quite green, either. Not serpentine, or emerald. Turquoise, I think.”

“I see you know your rocks and minerals, my lord,” she broke in, lowering her gaze and making a show of untangling her dog’s leash. “May we return to the nature of the position?”

“And what of your hair?” he continued, unruffled. “A bronze, only lighter. Like burnt sunlight.” Lucien tilted his head at her. “Yes, that’s a fine description; or spun gold, perhaps. More standard, but not quite as accurate.”

“My lord,” Miss Gallant burst out, “what of my employment?”

Lucien gestured for her papers again, and after a hesitation she returned them to him. “My aunt and my cousin are presently living under my roof,” he began, perusing her references, though he didn’t give a damn what they might say, “until such time as my cousin marries. I require someone to look after them, and to put a
coat of polish on my cousin—a heavy coat of polish. I’ve hired three governesses for her already, and lost the last one yesterday morning.”

“It must devastate her, to have lost so many companions.”

“I hired the first one a week ago. I doubt she remembers their names, if she had the mental capacity to learn them in the first place.”

Her look became more speculative and less wary. “You’ve hired three governesses over a seven-day period.”

“Yes, I have. Damned waste of time. Which is why I’ve decided to try a different tack.” A tack that he’d decided upon only since he had set eyes on her five minutes ago, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Ah.”

“I’ll make this very clear, Miss Gallant. My aunt is Satan, and my cousin Rose is the incarnation of hell on earth,” he stated. “My uncle’s will—and a clause in my sire’s—requires that I see her married, and married well, unless I wish to support her for life. Any of those other old bags could have taught her Latin—some of them were probably children during the reign of Caesar.”

Her lips twitched. “Why me then, my lord?”

He raised his assessment of her once again. Curious, and with wits enough to have a sense of humor, though he’d sensed that already. “Desperation. And because you are possessed of what none of the others were.”

Miss Gallant sat looking at him, her little dog at her feet and her large reticule in her lap. Someday he’d find out why she’d answered his advertisement rather than the other half a hundred that had run in the newspaper that day.

“And what am I possessed of, my lord?”

Lucien stood. When she didn’t attempt to flee, he made his way around to sit on the front edge of his desk. “It’s very simple. Since I’ve set eyes on you, I’ve had the very strong desire to pull the clips out of your spun-gold hair, peel you out of that ridiculously prim gown, and cover your naked skin with hot, slow kisses.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“And inspiring me, Miss Gallant,” he continued when she didn’t lose consciousness, “is not an easy task.”

“Because of your years spent in the pursuit of decadence and debauchery, I presume?” she ventured, her voice shaking a little.

“Precisely. And it is that inspirational quality I wish you to attempt to pass on to my cousin. She is not likely to snag anyone with her wit or refinement.”

Her turquoise eyes fixed on his face, Miss Gallant stood and slipped around the back of her chair, her reticule hefted in her arms in what he presumed to be a threatening manner. “I can’t believe you could possibly be serious. Therefore, I must presume that you are playing some sort of game with—”

“I am completely serious. And as I have said, I will pay you very well for your instruction.”

She drew herself upright. “Perhaps you should have advertised for a mistress after all, my lord.”

He gave her a sour look. “That would have accomplished nothing. One doesn’t
marry
a mistress.”

Miss Gallant backed a few steps toward the door. “Lord Kilcairn, I instruct young ladies in etiquette, language, literature, music, and the arts. I believe the art of seduction to be
your
forte. I cannot—I will not—assist you in that area. If that is what you require, I suggest you look elsewhere.”

Lucien sighed, wondering if Alexandra Gallant had
any idea how very well he was behaving himself, considering he had no intention of letting her out of his sight. “You continue to insist on a damned inquisition, then.
Parlez-vous français
?”

“
Oui. Je me recevu l’ducation plus premier
,” she answered immediately.

“Where were you educated, then?” he shot back at her.

“At Miss Grenville’s Academy. I was considered an excellent student.”

“Translate. ‘
Dum nos fata sinunt oculos satiemus amore
.’”

She didn’t even hesitate. “‘While the fates allow us, let us fill our eyes with love.’”

Lucien lifted an eyebrow. “Latin, as well, Miss Gallant. I imagine you
were
an excellent student.”

“As were you, apparently.”

He nodded, noting the surprise in her voice. “Some rakes do read. And I find your qualifications—all of your qualifications—acceptable. At the risk of repeating myself, you’re hired.”

Self-assured and undeniably arrogant, the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey sat back against his desk and folded his arms across his broad chest, eyeing her expectantly. Alexandra disdained fluttering; it seemed an obvious refuge for the weak-minded. Yet, as she gazed into the light gray eyes of Lucien Balfour and heard him announce that he wanted to strip her naked and kiss her, she felt distinctly fluttery. And horrified—because “fluttering” hardly began to describe the breathless rush Lord Kilcairn’s words began inside her. Heaven knew she’d never had an actual rake in pursuit before. She’d never even seen a rake before today.

“My lord,” she said, as diplomatically as she knew
how, “in all fairness, before you offer me such a…generous post, I think you need to know something more about me.”

“I know all I need to know.”

Alexandra gestured at her recommendations. “Even so, I have to make you aware that I do not have a letter from my last employer.” When he didn’t interrupt that pronouncement, she took a deep breath and tried to continue in a calm, reasonable tone. “I do have a letter from Lady Victoria Fontaine attesting to my character.”

“You’re acquainted with the Vixen?”

Oh, dear
. Victoria’s mother had warned the silly thing that she was well on her way to notoriety. “I tutored her for a time. She’s a dear friend.”

He opened his mouth, then evidently changed his mind about what he’d intended to say. “What is the difficulty, then?”

“My last employer was Lady Welkins, of Lincolnshire.” There. She’d said it.

His gaze sharpened. “You’re the chit who lifted her heels for Welkins and gave him an apoplexy.”

Alexandra blanched. In six months she’d never heard the accusation put so bluntly. “You are mistaken, my lord. I did nothing of the sort. Lord Welkins had some kind of attack without any prompting on my part.”

“Why did you leave the household, then?”

With effort she kept her voice steady. “Lady Welkins dismissed me.”

The earl studied her countenance for so long that she wondered what he must be looking for, and what he saw there. “That was six months ago,” he said finally. “What have you done since then?”

“I’ve looked for employment, my lord.”

He straightened, lifting her papers from his desk, and
came forward. As the earl reached her, he held them out to her. “Thank you for your honesty.”

Alexandra blinked back an unexpected desire to cry. If someone with as tainted a reputation as Kilcairn wouldn’t hire her, no one would. Ever. “Thank you for your consideration,” she returned, taking her recommendations back and stuffing them into her reticule. Her few remaining friends had told her she was stupid and naive to be so honest about her disaster with Lord and Lady Welkins, but she couldn’t bear the idea of being dismissed after she’d begun employment somewhere.