Reforming a Rake (28 page)

Alexandra took a deep breath, tightened her grip on Shakespeare’s leash, and rapped on the massive oak double doors. The sound echoed and faded into the bowels of the house, and her heart hammered in the same nervous rhythm. A moment later the door swung open.

“Yes, miss?”

She looked at the hawk-nosed butler. “Please inform His Grace that Miss Gallant is here to see him.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “This way, miss.”

The mansion was enormous, perhaps even larger than Balfour House. The butler led her into the morning room and closed the door behind him as he vanished. Portraits of the duke and his two sons hung from one wall, along with a rendering of his late wife and several other, more distant, relations.

“What do you want?”

Alexandra kept her attention on the paintings as the duke’s voice boomed into the room. “Why is there no portrait of my mother here?” she asked.

“She left the family. I thought you’d run off to Hampshire.”

“You pushed her out of the family.”

“Is that why you behave so poorly in my presence? Your mother taught you to dislike me, didn’t she?”

She turned around. “Is that what you think?”

The Duke of Monmouth rolled his eyes. “I’m a busy man. You’d best get to whatever point you have. I don’t have and I won’t take the time to hand out lengthy explanations to minor relations.”

His reply resoundingly answered one question. Lucien was nothing like her uncle. That was another apology she owed the earl. “I don’t want an explanation,” she said, her jaw clenched. “I want an apology.”

“For choosing not to display a portrait of your mother? Nonsense!”

Alexandra looked at him. “You don’t have any idea why I’m angry, do you, Uncle Monmouth?”

He strode to the writing desk and began rooting through the drawers. “I don’t care why you’re angry,” he retorted. “I told you, I’m busy.”

Far from being intimidated, Alexandra abruptly wanted to laugh. “You sound like a thespian who has only learned one line of a play—‘don’t bother me, I’m busy.’”

The duke rounded on her. “I will not be made a figure of ridicule. Is this how you show your gratitude? I went out of my way to publicly forgive your indiscretions, and in return you call me an actor? A poor actor, yet?”

“If you are so very busy, why did you go out of your way to forgive my indiscretions?”

“Bah. Kilcairn caught me at a weak moment.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. And you’ve already made me regret taking you back into the family fold.” He lifted out a ledger and slammed the desk door closed. “I suppose you want money now?”

“Good heavens,” she muttered. “I don’t want money.
All I ever wanted from you was an apology, as I just said.”

“An apology? I told you, I will not have your mother’s por—”

“Not for that,” she interrupted sharply. “When my mother and father died, I asked you for money—only enough so I could settle their few debts. You refused. I had to sell most of Mama’s jewelry and all of Papa’s paintings just to see them decently buried.”

“And how—”

“I’m not finished! I was completely alone after they died. And you did nothing—
nothing
—to demonstrate that you cared in the least whether I lived or died.”

“Well, you lived. And now you seem determined to plague me at every turn.”

For a long moment she was silent. Red-faced and blustering, her uncle still gave no indication that he realized he’d done anything wrong. Perhaps that was the most telling difference between him and Lucien: The earl took responsibility for his misdeeds. And lately he’d worked to correct them.

In addition, all of the slights and manipulations and barriers she’d fought against—all of them put there by the duke because he disliked her family so much—apparently she’d made them all up. Monmouth didn’t hate her; he simply didn’t care about her. “I only wanted a piece of your heart,” she said slowly.

“Ha! My heart and my purse, you mean.”

“No. You won’t apologize, will you? Not even to the memory of my mother, your own sister.”

“
She
married that damned painter, against my wishes. I don’t owe her—or anyone else—an apology.”

Abruptly her long, burning anger at him—at his whole side of the family—sputtered and died. She didn’t
want to be a part of this family. She’d found the family she wanted.

“Well then, Uncle, I am sorry,” she said. “And I forgive you, because you obviously can’t help being the heartless man you are. If you could help it, you wouldn’t be such a fool.” Alexandra turned for the door.

“I will not be insulted!” he bellowed at her back.

“Have you come back to beg for money, cousin?”

Alexandra paused. Virgil Retting stood on the landing, leaning over the railing to sneer at her. “Good day, Virgil,” she said, and continued down the hall.

“You’ll never get anything from us, you know, you strumpet.”

That was enough of that. Squaring her shoulders, Alexandra slowly turned to face him again. “Virgil, I doubt you have the intelligence to understand me, but I’ll give it a try anyway.”

“How—”

“I don’t like you,” she interrupted. “You’re a fool and a conceited idiot of no significance. If you were a pauper, you wouldn’t have a friend to speak of. If you were a rat, I wouldn’t feed you to a snake for fear of giving the serpent a sour stomach. Now, good-bye, and good riddance.”

“How dare you!”

She walked down the hallway and out the front door, Shakespeare at her side. The hack she’d hired still waited in the street, and she gave him the next direction and climbed in. Her uncle might have been completely incapable of recognizing his own stupidity and of apologizing for it, but thankfully she was not.

“My lord, you must…amend this amendment,” Mr. Mullins said, waving sheets of parchment in the air. Half
of them escaped, and went flying about the garden like a miniature fleet of sails.

Lucien shook his head and resumed planing the cellar’s new window frame. “No. One more word about it, and you’ll be looking for other employment.”

The solicitor scrambled to recover his paperwork. “But…it makes no sense!”

“Mr. Mullins, do not make me repeat myself.”

“Yes, my lord. Of course. But what…what about this construction you’re doing?” The solicitor gestured at the half-repaired window. “You have sufficient funds to hire a score of workers for Balfour House.”

“I broke it, and I’ll fix it.” Eyeing Mr. Mullins, he returned to his task, daring the solicitor to contradict his lie. He couldn’t very well explain that if he didn’t keep himself occupied, he would go insane, or that by repairing the cellar window he felt some absurd connection to Alexandra.

It had been five days since he’d ridden away from Miss Grenville’s Academy. If she’d left there immediately after reading his letter, she could have been in London by yesterday. Of course, as far as he knew, she might be still at the Academy teaching spoon etiquette.

Just in case she chose to come, though, he would be ready. The gold room’s furnishings were back where they belonged, as were the other household objects she’d managed to acquire for her cellar dungeon—though if he had any say in the matter, she would be occupying the master chambers with him. He’d rented a house and servants for Rose and Fiona, so his damned aunt would be as far away from Alexandra as he could get her and still allow him to keep his word to Rose about assisting with the wedding.

In addition, he’d acquired a special marriage license
from the Archbishop of Canterbury. If Alexandra did return, he was not about to give her another opportunity to escape. That nagging “if” was the same reason he’d scarcely left the house since he’d arrived back in London. He wasn’t about to risk missing her.

“Very well, my lord.” The solicitor sighed. “I do hope you understand I have always had your best interests at heart.”

Lucien glanced sideways at him. “That’s why you’re still here. At the moment, though, I’m beginning to find you annoying. Go fetch Vincent, will you?”

Mr. Mullins bowed. “At once, my lord.”

Once the solicitor had vanished toward the stable, Lucien leaned the window frame against his makeshift worktable and sank down on the stone bench. He’d never really taken the time to notice what a lovely garden his gardeners kept for him. He’d been seeing quite a few things he’d missed before, and he thought he knew why: the jaded, cynical anger that had seemed such a part of him had faded and softened. If nothing else, he owed Alexandra for that.

“Did someone else escape your dungeon?”

Lucien whipped to his feet, his breath catching. Alexandra strolled into the garden, Shakespeare beside her. She wore the green patterned muslin he liked so much, and if not for the hesitant look in her eyes, he could almost have believed she’d just returned from a morning stroll.

“No,” he said as coolly as he could manage. “I’m working at preventing future catastrophes.”

“Ah. That’s wise.”

She continued toward him, and Lucien forced himself to stay where he was. He wanted to sweep her into his arms, but he’d told her the next move in this little chess
game was hers, and he’d meant it. “It’s self-preservation. If my next prisoner were to escape, I might find myself arrested.”

Alexandra stopped her approach a scant few feet from him. “I…read your letter.”

“Good.”

“You can’t do that. It’s insane.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “What’s insane?”

“Cutting your own heirs off from their inheritance!”

“Oh, that.”

Finally she stepped closer. “Yes, that. You’ve made your point, Lucien. I don’t want future generations to suffer because I’m a stubborn idiot.”

He wanted to ask if she meant
their
future generations, but he’d let her tell her news the way she chose to do so. “Is that all you came to tell me?”

She blushed, winding Shakespeare’s leash around her hand. “No. I wanted…I wanted you to know that I took your advice.”

As Lucien recalled, he’d given some rather foul advice in the recent past. “My advice?”

A tear ran down one cheek. Lucien tensed, his heart pounding. He would go after her if she turned to run, but ultimately if she wished to leave, he would have to let her do it.

“Yes,” she whispered shakily. “I bent a little. I went to see my uncle.”

It was more than he’d expected, but Alexandra had never been predictable. Unable to resist touching her, Lucien reached out and brushed the tear from her cheek. “And?”

To his further surprise, she gave a short, unsteady laugh. “He’s an awful man.” Alexandra took his hand,
squeezing his fingers. “And not at all like you. I should never had said such an odious thing.”

Lucien shrugged. “I’ve heard worse.”

“No, you haven’t. It’s the worst insult I can think of, anyway.” She shut her eyes for a moment. “This is so blasted difficult to say.”

That sounded promising. He smiled. “I’m not the damned Spanish Inquisition.” He continued gazing at her, noting the warmth of her hand, and the way the slight breeze caressed her golden sunburnt hair. As the silence lengthened, he chuckled. “You do have to say something eventually. It’ll be dark in a few hours.”

Alexandra nodded. Still gripping his fingers, she led him back to the stone bench. His heart pounding in a nervous rhythm he hoped she couldn’t detect, he followed her.

“Sit,” she instructed.

“I’m not one of your students, you know.”

“Sit.”

He complied, only to wonder what in damnation she was up to when she turned her back on him. All she did, though, was loop her dog’s leash around the leg of his worktable and face him again.

For a long moment she stood there, gazing at him, before she returned to where he sat. He slid sideways to make room for her, then stopped, frozen, when she knelt at his feet.

“Don’t do that,” he said harshly, leaning down to lift her up again.

“It’s all right. Just be quiet and listen for once, won’t you?”

Lucien sat upright again. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Alexandra took a deep breath, her lovely bosom heaving. “I want to apologize to you. You
said and did some very—
very
—nice things for me, and I…” Another tear rolled down her cheek.

Good God, this was too much. He’d just wanted her to come to her senses, not to beg him for forgiveness for every real and imagined slight. He slid off the bench and knelt in front of her. “Stop it,” he murmured.

“But you said—”

“Forget what I said. Just tell me your thoughts. They have always fascinated me no end.”

“Don’t jest.”

He took both her hands in his. “I’m not. You are the most mesmerizing, fascinating, compelling, desirable woman I’ve ever met.”

“I love you,” she blurted, and then flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Lucien kissed her back, pulling her across his legs so he could feel the warmth of her against him. “I love you,” he returned feelingly.

“Then I have a question to ask you,” Alexandra continued, her voice shaking and tears flowing down her face.

“Yes?”

“Will you marry me, Lucien?”

He kissed her again, roughly. “I told you I would, Alexandra. Thank God you haven’t completely come to your senses.”

“I
have
, finally. Thanks to you.” She ran her fingers along his jaw. “I think I just couldn’t believe you would want me.”

Lucien chuckled. “I locked you in the damned cellar, Alexandra. You were beginning to try my patience.”

“You try mine all the time.”

“And I hope to continue to do so.”

She pushed a little away from him, though she kept
her hands wrapped tightly into his shirt. “You have to change your will.”

“Are you certain? I want
you
, Alexandra. Nothing else matters.”

“I understand that.” She shook him. “You’re very stubborn. Change it back the way it was, but make certain Rose and Fiona are provided for, as well.”

“Already taken care of.” Lucien kissed her again, wishing they were somewhere other than his garden, and that he hadn’t already sent for Vincent. “I’ll make you a bargain.”

“What sort of bargain?”

“I’ll put our heirs back into my will if you will marry me this afternoon.”