Reforming a Rake (5 page)

“I like her, Lucien,” Fiona barked. “Don’t you even think about running her off like the others.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he drawled, stepping back to allow Alexandra to pass.

“I should hope not! Your firing Miss Brookhollow has left me completely without suitable company. And I—”

Kilcairn shut the door on her complaint. “Ah. Much better.”

Alexandra drew herself upright. “My lord, I am—”

“Not accustomed to being ordered about like a footman,” he finished, turning on his heel.

Shakespeare trailed along behind him down the hallway, tail wagging and claws clicking on the polished wood floor. Alexandra hurried to catch up to the pair of them. “No, I am not,” she agreed. “Nor do I—”

“Appreciate being forced to spend any length of time with that batty old—”

“That is
not
what I was going to say. Stop interrupting me, if you please.”

The earl halted so quickly she nearly ran into him. Alexandra looked up into his eyes, startled by what she saw there for a fleeting moment. She had surprised him.

“What was it you were about to say, then?” His gaze continued to hold hers.

“I…May I be forthright?”

“You have been to this point.”

“Why did you hire me?”

With a scowl the earl turned to the staircase. “We have been through this already, Miss Gallant.”

“Yes.” Alexandra took a deep breath and followed him. “You made it very clear that you wanted to see me naked and kiss me. And that you want to see Miss Delacroix married well. I will assume that in your mind these two things are somehow related, though I fail to see how. Anyway, you are making the second—and only realistic—part of my reason for being here impossible.”

He leaned against the railing, an arrested expression on his face. “We did say you should be blunt, didn’t we?” he mused.

She shook her head. “Forthright, my lord. But if I have offended—”

The earl lifted a hand. “If you henceforth speak to me in any manner other than bluntly—or forthrightly—I will be deeply offended.”

Alexandra started to make a reply, then closed her mouth again. “Very well.”

“How am I making the second part of your task impossible, then?”

“In order for Miss Delacroix to marry well, she needs
to learn the subtle nuances of society: politeness, reserve, poise, sensi—”

“I see your meaning. Continue.”

“You, my lord, exhibit none of these characteristics, and further, by your intolerant, cynical manner, you discourage both Miss Delacroix and Mrs. Delacroix from adopting any of them, themselves.”

He smiled, a slow, delicious curving of his lips. “I am a poor example of propriety and manners.”

Alexandra nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“But you’re not otherwise discouraged by what you’ve encountered so far?”

She glanced back toward the upper floor and the closed drawing room door. “If I am to be blunt, perhaps we might speak in your office?”

He followed her gaze and then turned back down the stairs. “Your little dog and I are going for a walk. Join us.”

“Very well; so long as we are chaperoned.”

She thought she heard him sigh. “Very well.”

Since he continued downstairs without waiting to see if she would follow, Alexandra gathered her skirt and trailed after him. He was so peculiar, arrogant and charming at the same time, and she still really had no idea why he had hired her—other than his much-stated physical attraction. And though she could see why he wouldn’t want Fiona Delacroix supervising the staff at Balfour House under any circumstances, she didn’t understand why he would exclude his relations—apparently his only living relations—from mourning rituals and from his life. That, she didn’t like. Not one bit.

Lucien found himself surprised and off balance once again that day. While he had nothing against surprise, it
had been some time since he had felt its effects in such rapid succession.

He knew who had caused these unusual circumstances, of course. Miss Alexandra Beatrice Gallant strolled beside him beneath the scattered trees of Hyde Park. A green parasol of inferior craftsmanship shaded her pretty face from the mottled sunlight, but it did little to hide her mood from his curious gaze. She was annoyed—at him, apparently, because she’d seemed perfectly content to sit in the drawing room and listen to his relations’ mindless babbling until doomsday.

“Your groom is falling back,” she noted, glancing over her shoulder. “Please request that he not lag more than twenty steps behind us.”

“Twenty steps. Is that in a book somewhere?”

“I’m sure it must be. Please inform him, my lord, or we will have to turn back at once.”

Lucien studied her profile, torn between amusement and horror. She
would
turn back, and he wasn’t finished speaking with her. “Vincent,” he barked, not turning around.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Keep up, damn it all.”

“But…Of course, my lord. Apologies, my lord.”

“What was it you wished to discuss with me, Miss Gallant?” he asked, watching her watch the vehicles rumbling along the carriage path in their afternoon ritual.

“Miss Delacroix’s previous instruction was not quite as awful as you led me to believe, my lord.”

“So you feel your presence is unnecessary? I have to disagree. She couldn’t snag a shepherd in this condition.”

Her lips twitched with a fleeting smile. “She is your cousin. She could snag anyone.”

“Anyone with pretensions of gaining nobility, wealth, or rank,” he corrected, guiding her little dog back onto the walking path when the terrier tried to flush a pigeon. “Not anyone who is already possessed of them.”

Several of the carriages had begun to slow and then swing in their direction. Lucien cursed under his breath and turned them onto a path more sheltered by trees. “So you feel my cousin is trainable. Something else concerns you, though, unless I am mistaken.”

She hesitated. “Your aunt concerns me.”

For the first time since he’d let the harpies into his home, Lucien grinned. “Welcome to my world, Miss Gallant.”

“That’s awful.”

“I’m an awful person.”

“Mrs. Delacroix concerns me only because your peers will see her in association with Miss Delacroix,” the governess resumed. “While I’m certain she is a…fine lady, she appears to be very outspoken. I fear this may have a detrimental effect on her daughter’s public presentation.”

“She’ll destroy all hope of matrimony.”

“I didn’t say—”

“Yes, you did.”

Miss Gallant stopped. “My lord, if I am to help Miss Delacroix, I must be able to do so unchallenged. Please stop interrupting me.”

He smiled at her, noting the color in her cheeks. Proper or not, annoyed at him or not, she was not unmoved by him. “I asked you to be blunt.”

“You hired me for my manners.”

“I hired you because I want to peel you out of your clothes and make love to you.”

She gaped at him again, blushing furiously. “That is—
you are—you have gone too far! I am leaving,” she stammered, and turned around.

Lucien reversed course and caught up to her. “You will be chaperoning Rose to any and all outings I see fit for her to attend,” he said, wondering if he’d truly pushed her too far, or if she was only making an expected show of propriety. He was definitely unused to exercising decorum. “We will exclude Aunt Fiona from as many of them as possible. For the ones she must attend, I will make certain she behaves as much as she is capable. Is that acceptable?”

“
You
are not acceptable, my lord! I have tried to overlook your lack of manners, because for all I knew, your reputation may have been rumored rather than earned. But you have proven to me that this is not the case. I must give my—”

“Could I snag a proper wife under the present circumstances?” he interrupted.

She cleared her throat. “How do you mean proper?”

“Of good family and good breeding stock, virginal, and hopefully attractive.”

Alexandra scowled. “Are you looking for a wife or a brood mare?”

“It’s the same thing, really.”

“No, it’s not. What about love?”

Lucien grabbed up a stick and tossed it out of their path. “
Love
is a word we give for the desire to fornicate so we seem more refined than farm animals.”

For a long moment Miss Gallant was silent. “I think, my lord,” she said finally, “that since you don’t intend to offer love, you must at least offer good manners. Ladies almost universally expect that.”

“And so to return to my original question, could I snag a—”

“No.” She flushed. “No, my lord. I don’t believe you could.”

Lucien gazed across the park, torn between amusement and annoyance. She’d only said what he expected, but it wasn’t precisely flattering to hear it. “Then I shall have to enlist your services, as well.”

“Beg par—”

“Lord Kilcairn? How splendid to see you this afternoon.”

Lucien looked over as the nearest carriage pulled even with them. “Lady Howard,” he acknowledged, “Lady Alice. Good afternoon. Have you met my cousin’s companion, Miss Gallant? Miss Gallant, Lady Howard and Lady Alice Howard.” From their expressions he was being more pleasant than usual, but their interruption had given him a moment to consider whether his new plan was brilliant or merely insane. Brilliant, he hoped.

Alexandra curtsied prettily. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Howard, Lady Alice.”

“Miss Gallant.” Lady Howard eyed her, then returned her attention to Lucien. “Lord Howard and I will be holding a small dinner party at our home on Thursday. I would be delighted if you and your aunt and cousin—and your cousin’s companion, of course—could attend.”

It was too soon to spring Rose on the unsuspecting
ton;
but on the other hand, the Howards were fairly low in their social circle, with no prospective mates likely to be in attendance to see his cousin’s bumbling. “We would be pleased to attend. Thank you for the invitation, my lady.”

As the carriage drove off, Lucien began walking faster. “We’d best make our escape before we get invited anywhere else,” he muttered.

“Miss Delacroix is not ready,” Alexandra stated stiffly, obviously still angry with him.

“I know that. But the Howards and their circle are fairly forgiving. Instruct her in specific dinner-party etiquette.”

“I will not continue to work for you under these circumstances.”

He slowed again. “Under what circumstances?”

She blushed again. “You must stop saying such things to me.”

“What things?”

“You know very well. Improper and ungentlemanly things.”

Lucien smiled. “That’s why you’ll be instructing me—and Fiona, while you’re at it—in propriety, as well. I’ll require a great deal of your time and personal tutoring, I’m certain.”

“I will do no such thing!”

“Yes, you will. I’ve just increased your salary to twenty-five quid a month as compensation for your added duties. In addition, I am giving you a generous clothing allowance.”

Miss Gallant uttered a very unladylike curse. Lucien grinned, turning his head to hide it.
Ah, victory
.

“I will not be responsible for your success or failure.”

“Fair enough.” For the moment, anyway. “Anything else?”

She glanced up at him, her expression the odd, distant one he had noticed when he’d rescued her from Aunt Fiona. Immediately his curiosity rose another notch, but she said nothing.

“I will take your silence to mean you are utterly ecstatic in regards to all other aspects of your employment,” he prompted as they neared his home.

“You should be nicer to your aunt and your cousin,” she said in a quiet voice. “They’ve lost a husband and a father.”

“My first lesson?”

“If you wish to call it that.”

“Don’t feel too sorry for them,” he replied, unable to keep well-honed cynicism from touching his voice. “As my sole relations, their family line is likely to become extremely well off in the future.”

“Do you think a promise of future wealth makes up for losing a loved one?”

“Do you speak from personal experience?” he asked, rather disturbed to realize that her mood affected him.

Alexandra looked up. “Of course not, my lord. I have no prospects at all.”

That hadn’t quite answered his question, but it was an intriguing beginning to a number of new ones.

As they strolled up the drive, he noted that Vincent had fallen far behind them again, as he’d been instructed to do in the first place. Though Lucien hadn’t been able to spend as much time with Miss Gallant as he wanted, he felt quite satisfied. He’d learned a little more about her, though not nearly enough to quell his curiosity or his desires. And he’d begun to advertise to the
ton
that he was willing to spend a proper afternoon in the company of a proper young lady. That should make things easier when he began his own spousal hunt in earnest.

In addition, he now had a legitimate excuse to spend more time with Miss Gallant. And if she could improve his manners and demeanor, he would gladly proclaim her a damned miracle worker.

A
lexandra lay on her bed and pulled a knotted rag back and forth across the coverlet for Shakespeare.

Twenty-five pounds a month was a small fortune. At her first position, that had been her income for the entire year. And even if she could have afforded to fling the bribe back in her employer’s face, she didn’t think she would have done it.

Alexandra suspected that had a great deal to do with the way he kept throwing challenges at her. Making Lucien Balfour marriageable could very well qualify her for sainthood. She smiled. Alexandra, patron saint of impossible, egotistical, arrogant men. Of course, the shivers he sent down her spine might have had a little to do with it, as well. Lord Kilcairn was a curiosity, an enigma, and she hadn’t yet begun to figure him out.

Shakespeare flipped upright, ears perked toward the door. A moment later, someone knocked hesitantly.

“Miss Gallant?” a female voice called.

Alexandra stood to slide the bolt back and opened the
door. “Miss Delacroix,” she said, surprised. “Come in.”

“Actually, could you come to my bedchamber for a moment?”

“It’s nearly time to dress for dinner.”

“Yes, I know.” The girl glanced over her shoulder. “That’s what I wanted to ask you about.”

Curious, Alexandra nodded and stepped into the hallway. “Of course.”

“You see,” Rose continued in a hushed voice, leading the way down the hall, “Mama said I should wear my yellow taffeta to dinner as it complements my eyes, but I really don’t think cousin Lucien likes taffeta very much.”

As they entered her bedchamber, Alexandra noted the maid standing by the huge wardrobe, the two full-length mirrors flanking the dressing table, and the second standing wardrobe on the far side of the bed. “You brought all this with you from Dorsetshire?”

“All of the clothes. Cousin Lucien provided the second wardrobe, and the white room for the rest of Mama’s and my things. All of my formal gowns are in there.”

Alexandra lifted both eyebrows, then pasted on a smile as the girl faced her again. “My goodness.”

Rose indicated the bright yellow gown laid across the end of the bed. “What do you think? Mama says yellow is my best color, but Miss Brookhollow always recommended blue over yellow because it’s more reserved.”

“Well, let’s see the blue one,” Alexandra suggested, hoping it was more suitable for London society than the rest of the garish apparel she’d seen on her pupil.

The maid disappeared into the voluminous wardrobe, and reappeared a moment later clutching an even more vivid version of the blue peacock gown.

“Ah.” Alexandra cleared her throat. “May I have a look at your things?”

“Oh, I knew it wouldn’t do,” Rose said mournfully, her familiar pout beginning and her blue eyes swimming with tears.

Alexandra looked at the maid. “Will you excuse us for a few moments?”

“Of course, ma’am.” With a curtsy she vanished, closing the bedchamber door behind her.

With their audience dismissed, Alexandra returned her attention to her charge. “Miss Delacroix, as you know, Lord Kilcairn hired me primarily for the purpose of polishing your deportment. He has requested this in order to enable you to secure a husband of sufficient means to support you and your mother.”

Rose nodded, though her tentative expression indicated she hadn’t deciphered exactly what they might be discussing.

“Are you crying because this is not what you want for yourself, or because it’s not going as smoothly as you’d like?”

Her charge blinked a few times, and then her expression cleared. “Cousin Lucien doesn’t like anything I’ve done, and I did so want to please him. And Mama.”

Alexandra felt a slight headache beginning. “Do you wish to marry a nobleman, then?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And will you work with me to do whatever is necessary to see that this happens?”

“Oh, yes, Miss Gallant!” The girl clasped Alexandra’s hands. “So you think there’s hope for me?”

Alexandra smiled. “Yes, I do. And please call me Alexandra, or Lex. All my friends call me Lex.”

Her charge smiled prettily, her eyes lighting. “Thank you, Lex. And you must call me Rose.”

“Well, then. Let’s have a look through your wardrobe, and tomorrow we shall make an appointment to see a dressmaker.”

In a sense, Alexandra envied Rose. The young lady wanted to marry a nobleman; apparently it didn’t matter whom, as long as he qualified on that one count. Her wardrobe was all wrong, but that could be fixed. Once she had cousin Lucien’s approval and thereby presumably his backing, the wedding would take place. All that remained to be determined was the date and the name of the groom.

They finally resorted to using one of Alexandra’s gowns, a pale yellow and blue sprig muslin that had always been her favorite. Resolutely she pinned the hem for the shorter girl. First things first: she needed to make Lord Kilcairn see that his cousin was more than a pretty peacock; if they couldn’t convince him that Rose could improve, he would never consent to her even being seen in public, much less her going hunting for her titled husband.

At half past six they made their way to the dining room. Behind the half-open doors Fiona Delacroix’s sharp voice spoke, followed a moment later by Lord Kilcairn’s low, drawling answer.

Alexandra adjusted one sleeve of Rose’s gown, ignoring her own flutter of nerves. He had stayed at home to dine, when as far as she knew, he almost never did so. And she wondered what he would have to say about
her
favorite gown, just a little large across the bosom for young Rose.

“Head high,” she murmured from behind Rose, “as though you don’t care what anyone thinks.”

With a nervous nod, Rose stepped forward. Wimbole, waiting in the entry, threw the double doors wide to admit them. The earl stood; he did have manners, whether he chose to display them for his female houseguests or not. Gray eyes swept across Rose, and then found Alexandra, waiting in the doorway.

“Cousin Lucien.” Rose curtsied and took the seat Wimbole held out for her.

“What are you wearing?” Fiona barked. “I’ve never seen—”

“Yes,” Lucien echoed, and Alexandra drew breath for a rebuttal. “You look remarkably human this evening.”

Slowly Alexandra let her breath out.

Rose smiled. “I borrowed it from Lex.”

Lord Kilcairn took Wimbole’s place behind Alexandra’s chair. “Lex?” he murmured, leaning over her shoulder to scoot the chair forward as she sat. “It doesn’t suit you. Not enough curves or secrets. I prefer Alexandra.”

She closed her eyes as her name rolled softly from his lips. Before she could conjure an appropriate response, he straightened and returned to his own chair. It was probably just as well, because she had no idea what to say. The sound of her name had never caused her to break into delicious shivers before.

“You cannot wear your governess’s gowns. It’s not seemly.”

Alexandra started and opened her eyes. The Delacroix ladies looked at one another, one belligerent and one near tears again, while the earl sliced off a bite of pheasant.

“Miss Gallant has taste,” he said. “Given that fortunate circumstance, she will accompany Rose to Madame Charbonne’s tomorrow. I have it on good authority that
Charbonne is the most accomplished dressmaker in London.” Glancing at his aunt, he took a swallow of port. “Perhaps you’d best see her, too.”

“Lucien, I will not—”

“Or you may remain indoors. I don’t care either way.”

“How dare you—”

“Mrs. Delacroix,” Alexandra interrupted, before sharp objects began flying across the table, “you seem to have a much better grasp of color than I do. I would greatly appreciate your assistance tomorrow.”

The older woman blustered for a moment. “Going about London is so hard on my nerves,” she finally said in a milder tone, “but I cannot abandon my daughter to the whims of some unknown dressmaker.”

Madame Charbonne was hardly unknown, but Alexandra refrained from pointing that out. She hoped Kilcairn would do the same, and relaxed a little when he only lifted an eyebrow and continued eating. Having him about with the volatile Fiona Delacroix was definitely not helping her cause any—but on the other hand, she could become very used to the way he said her name.

She wondered if seduction was truly his aim, or if he was just amusing himself. Why he saw fit to bother with either when the quarry was a mere ruined governess, she had no idea. Perhaps he was bored this early in the Season. A more worrisome, disturbing thought was that he wasn’t bored at all.

The dress Miss Gallant lent Rose had to be the finest thing she owned. From the moment Lucien had first set eyes on his new employee, he’d noted that she dressed well, if conservatively. He didn’t mind that—in fact, he rather liked guessing about the parts of her left to his imagination. But the muslin gown was lovely, even on
Rose’s slighter frame. He would have liked to see Alexandra in it.

“My lord,” the turquoise-eyed goddess said, pulling him out of his reverie, “do you possess a pianoforte?”

“I own several. Why?”

As her gaze met his, a still-unexpected jolt of desire went through him. Lucien took a long swallow of port, draining his glass.
Damnation
. He wasn’t used to showing this much restraint with a woman he wanted. If she’d been anyone else, he would have made an offer by now, and she would have either accepted or been sent on her way.

The problem was, he didn’t know what approach would work, and a refusal was unacceptable. She certainly didn’t look or act like any governess he’d ever encountered, and she didn’t react to his flirting like any blasted woman he’d ever encountered. She intrigued him, and he loved a good puzzle.

“I would like to assess Miss Delacroix’s skill at playing.”

Lucien scowled. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“You need not be present, my lord. But if she is to attend a dinner party, we will need to know where to place her if and when the hostess calls for music.”

“In the back of the room,” he answered promptly.

A familiar sniffle began off to his right, and he stifled a further comment. The blasted chit was a watering pot.

“Indeed. One makes the greatest show emerging from the back of the room.” Brief amusement twinkling in her eyes, Alexandra patted his cousin’s hand. “But before we place her there, we must know her skill.”

“When is this dinner party?” Aunt Fiona asked. “And who is holding it? Why wasn’t I informed?”

“Thursday, the Howards, and because I didn’t choose to tell you.”

Rose gasped. “Thursday?”

“That’s more than enough time for us to prepare you, Miss Delacroix.”

Lucien stopped his own answer, as Miss Gallant again beat him to it. He wasn’t used to that. And obviously she hadn’t yet realized how futile deterring him was when he chose to show his temper. Fortunately, he happened to be in a very good mood this evening.

“But cousin Lucien, you said you’d never let any of your cronies set eyes on me.”

“I have no—”

“No doubt Lord Kilcairn is merely jealous,” Miss Gallant interrupted smoothly. “You are, after all, very attractive.”

Lucien turned a baleful gaze on the governess. Apparently she had taken his request for blunt honesty between them to mean she could be insolent whenever and wherever she chose.

Aunt Fiona cackled in her impression of laughter. “No doubt you’ve hit on it, Miss Gallant.”

That was too damned much. Lucien stood, swearing. “Wimbole will show you the music room and the pianoforte. Don’t break anything.”

“Where might you be going, Lucien?” Fiona asked, still chuckling.

“Jezebel’s Harem,” he snapped, and turned to Alexandra. “Ever heard of it?”

Her expression stiffened, the humor leaving her eyes. “Yes, I have, my lord,” she answered. “I presume that we shouldn’t wait up for you?”

“Don’t.”

The most notorious gambling den and brothel in the west of London generally had enough diversions to satisfy even him. Lucien was as surprised as anyone when he didn’t avail himself of anything more distracting than a game of piquet. In a little over two hours he’d won a hundred quid off the Marquis of Cooksey, and he barely cared enough to add up the amount.

It was his own fault. He didn’t distract easily, and his thoughts remained securely anchored to his cousin’s governess. His mood lightened only when he decided that she would have to pay for her insolence—in a manner of his devising. It would certainly involve nudity, whatever it was.

“Lucien?”

He started and looked up from his cards. “Robert. I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

Cooksey pushed back from the table. “Might as well take my seat, lad,” he grumbled. “Thanks to Kilcairn, I’m completely to let this evening.”

The viscount slumped into the vacated chair as the marquis left to find other entertainment. “Vauxhall fireworks were completely fogged in, so I came looking for you.”

“Bad luck you didn’t get here an hour ago. I might have split Cooksey with you.” Lucien shuffled the cards between his long fingers.

“Or you might have taken me out, as well,” Robert returned, signaling for a glass of port.

Lucien eyed him. “What were you doing in Vauxhall Gardens, anyway?”

The viscount ran a hand through his sandy hair. “My mother will be in London next week.”

“And?”

The viscount opened his mouth to reply, then hesi
tated and took a drink instead. “And everyone knows your opinion on this particular subject. I will not discuss it with you.”

Lucien frowned. “What subject?”

Robert shook his head. “No.”

This was becoming interesting. “I’ll wager you for it. We’ll cut the deck. If I have the high card, you tell me your little secret.”

“And if I win?”

“You can have Cooksey’s hundred quid.”

Lucien would never have taken the wager himself, but then he was a good six years older than young Robert, and carried a great many more secrets he had no wish for the
ton
to know. He barely had time to count to five before the viscount snatched the deck of cards from him and slammed it onto the table.

“I’ll go first,” Belton stated, and cut deeply into the deck. He looked at the card, then let out a breath and turned his wrist so Lucien could view it. “Nine of clubs.”