Reforming a Rake (7 page)

“Of course I’m blushing! I am not accustomed to being fitted for gowns in the presence of men!”

“A ridiculous oversight I mean to address at the earliest opportunity. Women dress to please men. Why shouldn’t men then be in on the process from the beginning?”

“Looking attractive pleases oneself,” she replied in English. “It is a man’s good fortune if the result pleases him, as well.”

“Spoken like a true bluestocking.”

Now he was going too far. “I am
not
a bluestocking. I am well educated.”

“My lord?” Madame Charbonne put in, and Alexandra jumped.

“Madame?”

“Do you wish me to continue, my lord?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Alexandra saw Fiona elbow Rose in the back. The girl chirped in surprise as she stumbled forward. “Cousin Lucien, I would be delighted if you would help me choose a gown,” she blurted, blushing furiously.

Looking annoyed at the interruption, the earl glanced away from Alexandra. “No, you wouldn’t.”

Alexandra gritted her teeth. “Your cousin has requested your opinion, my lord. And very prettily, too, I might add.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Very well. I shall stay.” With another lazy look at Alexandra, he crossed the room and dropped into one of the waiting chairs.

All right, that settled it. Lord Kilcairn was being deliberately difficult. And in his arrogant, cynical way, he found the whole thing amusing. Alexandra turned her back on him and allowed Madame Charbonne to continue her measuring. Ignoring the earl was like ignoring chocolate, but he didn’t need to know the effect he had on her.

He’d been correct in expanding her teaching duties to include himself. No doubt he considered the challenge a joke, but she didn’t. This was her area of expertise, and Lord Kilcairn was about to go back to school.

Lucien put up with the tittering and complaining and preening for nearly an hour. Deciding he’d thereby qualified for sainthood, he stood and stretched. “Excuse me a moment, ladies.”

He stopped just outside the shop’s front door and
pulled a cigar from his coat pocket. When the door opened behind him, he knew who it was without having to turn around.

“You look better in that burgundy than cousin Rose does,” he said.

“I am not looking to find a titled husband. And that is a filthy habit.”

Lucien turned around, amusement tugging the corners of his lips upward. “You need to be more specific where filthy habits and myself are concerned. Did you follow me only to stop me from smoking cigars?”

“I’m afraid you need a great deal more work than that.”

Immediately intrigued, Lucien returned the unlit cheroot to his pocket. “Let me guess. You want another wage increase before you’ll take on such a horrific task as reforming me.”

“No, I do not.”

“Pray tell me what concerns you, then.”

Alexandra cleared her throat. “I am a governess. I shouldn’t be wearing a gown made by Madame Charbonne.”

Lucien eyed her. “If you hadn’t wanted one, you wouldn’t have let her measure you for one.”

She blushed. “Perhaps not. But the point is not what I want, but rather, what is proper. It is not proper for—”

“No, it’s not proper,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “But you’ll wear it anyway, won’t you?”

She took a step backward, which he immediately pursued. “My lord, I—”

“Won’t you?”

Again she hesitated. “Of course I will. I have no doubt it will be the finest gown I’ll ever own.”

He had his doubts about that. She was only trying to
make him feel like a blackguard, though, and at the same time giving him the opportunity to say something honorable or noble. He was, however, a full-blooded blackguard. Achieving that title had taken years of hard work at debauchery. And a few cleverly worded sentences would not even begin to convert him. “Then thank me, instead of lecturing me about my bad habits.”

Alexandra lifted her chin in the way he found so damned appealing. “I will not thank you. You’ve made a poor decision, which I think you’ll regret as soon as one of your peers realizes what your governess is wearing. And who she is.”

“Alexandra,” he murmured, wishing they were somewhere other than the middle of Bond Street so he could kiss her, and wondering why that stopped him this time. “I have long since ceased caring what my peers think. I wish to see you in that gown, and so I will.”

“It is not a great victory, my lord.”

He nodded. “But I consider it the first of many. Actually the second, when we take into consideration that you are, after all, working for me.”

She met his gaze squarely, only the color in her cheeks belying her perfect calm. “One of many mistakes I’ve made, my lord,” she answered.

“And one of many more to come, I hope.” Letting her read into that whatever she chose, Lucien glanced back toward the shop. “Give my excuses to the incarnation of hell on earth and her mother.”

“She’s not so bad, you know.”

Wanting to touch her, he settled for stroking one finger across her soft, smooth cheek. “Tell me that again on Friday morning. You have three days, Miss Gallant.”

Lucien watched her go back into the shop. He wanted to bury himself in her, and he hadn’t even managed a
kiss. She knew what he wanted, too. She had to know it, because he’d told her to her face. Lucien scowled as he climbed into his phaeton and headed east toward his boxing club.

With half a dozen mistresses scattered about town, and that many more due to arrive in London over the next few weeks, satisfying himself wouldn’t be a problem. But he didn’t want them and their idle chatter and ready bodies. He wanted Alexandra Gallant.

And he wanted her to want him. While he clearly interested her, she’d shown herself to be more than capable of resisting any improper urges. She certainly felt comfortable enough with him to insult him at leisure. Of course, he liked that, too.

Blast it all, he needed to find a wife—as quickly and as painlessly as possible. Lucien eyed a trio of young ladies emerging from a hat shop. Petite, pretty, and giggly—he dismissed them without a second glance. Marrying didn’t preclude having Alexandra as his mistress once he’d convinced her of his charms, but lusting after the blasted governess was distracting him to an absurd degree.

Lucien sighed. He’d simply have to take his frustration out on his sparring partner. It was either that or lie in wait for Miss Gallant in some dark hallway; or in his garden; or in the library; or in his office; or…Lucien shook himself. Perhaps he’d best find a wife first. He was certainly acquiring enough pent-up desire to have sexual intercourse with just about anyone. If it weren’t so painful, it would be amusing.

“R
emember, Rose,” Alexandra chided, “there are five courses yet to go.”

“But I’m only eating a little, just as you said.” Rose plunked her fork down on her empty plate and began pouting again. “This is so stupid.”

Reminding herself that Kilcairn was paying her twenty-five pounds a month, and that she had dealt with stubborn seventeen-year-olds before, Alexandra smiled and shook her head. “It’s not stupid. And your rate of food consumption is fine. But that’s the thirty-second time you’ve sipped your wine. I’m afraid you’re completely sluiced over the ivories.”

Thankfully Rose relaxed her tensed shoulders and giggled. “It’s only pretend wine.”

Alexandra settled herself more comfortably in the dining chair she’d taken opposite her student. She was glad both the wine and the meal were imaginary; otherwise, both she and her charge would have to order Madame Charbonne to let out their new dresses before the dinner party.

She’d chosen this method of instruction to make Rose more conscious of what her hands were doing, rather than what her mouth was tasting. The problem, though, was more basic than that.

“The difficulty is that you seem to be using your wineglass as a delay. Every time I ask you a question, you take a sip of wine before you answer,” Alexandra pointed out.

“That’s so I have time to think up an appropriate response. Miss Brookhollow taught me that.”

She’d thought as much. “Yes, it’s a good trick. But you need more than one, my dear, or everyone will know what you’re doing—and by the end of the meal you will be so drunk that no response could possibly be appropriate.”

“More than one?” Rose asked, looking dismal. “I can barely remember that one.”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Alexandra answered casually, though she was concerned. This should have been the easy part. They had barely touched on dinner conversation, and not at all on after-dinner proceedings. She was keenly aware that the Howard dinner would be a test of both Rose’s skills and her own. And there was one man in particular to whom she intended to prove herself—and Rose, of course. “Pick five things and do them in sequence, over and over again.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Allow me to demonstrate.” She sat forward again and sipped her wine, just as Rose had done. “Oh, yes, Lord Watley. I know exactly what you mean.” Alexandra then lifted her napkin and wiped the corner of her mouth. “Fascinating indeed.” Placing her napkin back on her lap, she readjusted it. “How brave of you.” Next she took an imaginary bite of her imaginary dinner,
chewed, and swallowed. “Oh, I am simply overcome.” Lastly, she scooted a few imaginary potato slices into a pile on her plate. “Thank you so much.”

Rose giggled again. “I’m completely lost, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all there is to it. Drink, napkin, napkin, bite, fiddle. Each time you need a moment to think, go through your list and use the next one. You can vary it, of course. If you need a long moment, take a bite. If only a quick, easy reply is necessary, do nothing, or adjust your napkin. But other than that, just go through your list.”

Her student gaped at her. “That’s brilliant, Lex!”

Alexandra grinned. “Thank you, but I can hardly take credit. I had good teachers.”

“You went to school to learn that?”

“I went to school to learn a great many things. That was one of them. Miss Grenville’s Academy deserves the credit.”

“Drink, napkin, napkin, bite, fiddle.” Nodding with each word, Rose repeated the sequence. “I can remember that, I think.”

“Very well. Let’s go over it, and your dinner conversation, once more.”

Rose sighed. “Who are you going to be this time?”

“I haven’t been Lady Pembroke yet. We’ll try her.”

“But I can’t marry her,” the girl complained, making a face.

At least her student kept focused without any difficulty, Alexandra reflected. “You can marry one of her sons, though. Including the Marquis of Tarrenton.”

“He’s boring.”

“But he’s wealthy.”

“Oh, that’s better, then. All right.”

Alexandra stood and removed her things to another
location, this time sitting at Rose’s left. “Besides,” she continued, “never assume that the person you are speaking to is the only one listening. You will be overheard, and whatever you say—or do—may be repeated.”

They were halfway through the exercise, and Rose was becoming more assured in her strategic delays, when someone scratched at the dining room door.

“Come in,” Alexandra called, hoping it wouldn’t be Kilcairn. All she needed was to have the acerbic earl destroy Rose’s new-forming confidence.

Rose’s maid, Penny, stepped into the room and bobbed her head in a curtsy. “Excuse me, but Mrs. Delacroix says it’s time for bed, Miss Rose. She says you need your sleep.”

Alexandra glanced at the porcelain clock sitting on one of the sideboards. “Oh, my. I hadn’t realized it was so late. We’ll continue in the morning, Rose.”

When the ladies had departed, Alexandra sighed and sat back in her chair. In reality she disliked the little tricks for delaying one’s replies, looking on them only as a necessity for covering a slow wit. Until Rose matured a little, however, she would need them. Alexandra couldn’t recall ever being as insecure as Miss Delacroix, but she’d been on her own since halfway through her seventeenth year. She hadn’t had time to hesitate. In fact, until the last six months, she had barely taken time to breathe.

Male voices exchanged greetings down in the foyer, and then Kilcairn’s familiar, assured boot-steps climbed the stairs. With a curse Alexandra straightened, wishing she’d held her reflections until after she’d returned safely to her bedchamber. She kept silent, hoping he would pass by, and knowing he wouldn’t.

“You gave up on her, did you?” the earl’s deep voice asked as he stopped in the doorway.

“I did not. She went to bed, just a few moments ago. And she is progressing quite well, thank you.”

He was wearing his evening attire, all black and gray and magnificent, and even while her mind registered him as dangerous and arrogant and his propositions as unacceptable, her pulse skidded and jumped, and her breath caught. Lord Kilcairn strolled forward to take the vacated seat beside her.

“Well enough to attend the party on Thursday?” he asked, looking with some curiosity at the empty plates and glasses and the littering of silverware on the table.

For a moment Alexandra wished she had an actual glass of wine—or better yet, whiskey—to sip. “Yes, I believe so. It would help, though, if you would be a bit kinder to her.”

“Trying to govern me, as well, are you, Alexandra?”

“It is the task you gave me, my lord.” She’d never realized her own name on someone else’s lips could have such…strength. But Kilcairn knew exactly what sort of effect it had on her. She could see it in his amused gray eyes, damn him. “Your cousin has very little self-confidence.”

“She’s so loud, no one would think it.”

“Her mother is loud. Rose barely says a word.” Alexandra sneaked a sideways look at his lean, dark profile as he sank back in the chair.

“They both yammer more than your dog.”

She refrained from pointing out that Shakespeare didn’t yammer. “Might I ask you a question?” she said instead.

He faced her, placing his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. “Ask.”

Oh, my, he was beautiful
. “Why do you dislike them so much?”

The earl lifted an eyebrow. “The harpies?”

“Yes.”

“That’s none of your affair.” Despite the words, his voice was quiet, a silky drawl that twined its leisurely way down Alexandra’s spine. “Suffice it to say that I do.”

“Rather
Richard the Third
of you, don’t you think?” Alexandra asked, keeping her outward self as calm as he appeared to be. He wouldn’t beat her in a battle of words; she wouldn’t allow it.

Kilcairn smiled, that sensuous, dark smile that made her breath stop. “‘Since I cannot prove a lover / To entertain these fair well-spoken days, / I am determined to prove a villain / And hate the idle pleasure of these days.’”

She shook her head, impressed once again. “No. More like the big bad king imprisoning his young, defenseless nephews in the Tower and then having them murdered.”

“A bully, you mean.”

“You must know that’s how it appears.”

“I know it appears that way to them. Does it to you also, Miss Gallant?”

At first glance it had. She had the distinct feeling, though, that bullies didn’t quote self-deprecating lines from
Richard III
with quite so much ease. “I don’t feel it is my place to say, my lord. I am an employee.”

The earl reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of one finger. She froze, trying to memorize the sensation. When she didn’t move, he straightened again and tucked a stray strand of her light hair behind one ear. The entire time his gaze held hers, as though he was watching, studying her reaction. She didn’t know what
he saw; she felt like a moth drawn helplessly to a flame. Moving, speaking, breathing—everything became impossible. And then, cupping her cheeks in both hands, slowly he leaned forward and touched her lips with his.

Alexandra’s eyes closed. His soft, firm mouth skimmed and caressed and teased hers until she simply wanted to sink to the floor. For the first time since she had decided on spinsterhood, she didn’t feel like a spinster. She felt molten, on fire. She leaned into him, and with a quiet, low sound, he deepened the embrace of their mouths.

Even knowing she was in the presence of an expert lover didn’t change the heart-stopping thrill of being kissed. And she’d
never
been kissed like this. She’d never dreamed such a kiss existed in anything but fairy tales. Unable to help herself, Alexandra kissed him back, awkwardly and inexpertly. Her lack of expertise didn’t seem to bother Kilcairn, though, as his hands slid down her shoulders to her waist and hips. Without any seeming effort at all, he lifted her onto his lap, never lessening his attentions to her mouth and lips.

Finally, when she felt ready to burst into flames, he pulled away. Dazed, Alexandra lifted her head. “Oh, my,” she breathed, her hands loose around his shoulders.

His eyes held hers, something seductive and secret in their depths. “That is something, I fear,” he whispered, “that Rose will never learn.”

“What?”

“How to make men desire her as I desire you.” He lowered his gaze to her lips, and then captured her mouth again in a rough, demanding kiss. She squirmed closer on his lap and tightened her embrace, not wanting to miss the least little breath of his attentions.

He couldn’t be as cynical as he claimed. Not if he
could kiss like that. But Alexandra wasn’t foolish enough to believe that a lack of cynicism would keep him from rendering her naked and placing warm, slow kisses on her bare skin. The thought made her tremble with a deep, yearning ache that was more heated than fire. That was when she realized she’d best put a stop to this, right now.

“My lord,” she managed shakily, turning her face from his.

His lips traveled along the line of her jaw. “Yes?”

“You must stop!”

“What in God’s name for?”

The tip of his tongue caressed the base of her throat, and she gasped, her fingers digging helplessly into his shoulders. “I am attempting to teach propriety. This is certainly not the way to do it!”

“My cousin isn’t here.”

“But you are.” With effort she pushed away from him and stood. Slowly, reluctantly, his hands slipped away from her hips and her waist. She knew if he’d wanted to, he could have kept her imprisoned on his lap, clinging to him helplessly, and it seemed significant that he’d let her escape. She would sort out exactly what it meant later, when her mind regained the ability to function again. “I am a governess,” she stated, lifting a hand to fix her hair. “Not a mistress. And you, according to your own request, are one of my students.”

His jaw clenched, the earl looked at her for a long, dark moment. He gestured toward the door. “Go, then.”

Kilcairn’s voice sounded tight and strained, and Alexandra paused. “Are you well?”

“Absolutely not. Good night.”

“No? May I help?”

He scowled at her. “Yes, but you won’t.”

“I…” She’d learned enough interesting new things during that kiss to be able to deduce what he was talking about. “Oh.”

“Leave, Miss Gallant. Now.”

She hesitated, then nodded and pulled open the door. “Good night, Lord Kilcairn.”

“Perhaps you’ll dream of me, Alexandra. I’ll be dreaming of you, I think.”

Closing the door softly behind her, Alexandra hurried to her bedchamber. Once inside, though, she spent a good five minutes trying to decide whether to lock the door. Finally good sense got the better of her, and she slid the bolt home.

As she changed into her nightclothes, she kept finding herself immobile before the roaring fireplace, her fingers tracing her lips. He had wanted her, and it would have been frightfully easy to give in if only he would promise to keep kissing her like that. Dream of him indeed. She’d be lucky if she closed her eyes at all.

Lucien strode around the dining room table, running estate accounting figures through his head. Bales of hay, number of cattle, the price of barley—the amount of coal necessary to keep Kilcairn Abbey warm through the winter. Nothing worked.

“Damnation,” he swore, and followed that curse with several even more colorful ones.

This was too much. A man of his experience and reputation did not, under any circumstances, moon after an overaged virgin—and certainly not when he employed her as a governess. When he’d kissed her, he’d hoped that would serve to ease the tumult she caused in him. Now, though, aside from being painfully aroused, he had felt her hesitant, then eager, response. And then she’d
trotted off to bed, safe and sound and still virginal, and he’d let her go.

He did one more circuit of the room, then halted before the door. What he needed was a distraction from his distraction. Throwing open the door, he headed down the stairs and into the back hallway where a dozen small, practical bedchambers stood tucked beneath the upstairs ballroom. Stopping before the first door, he rapped on the hard wood.