Authors: Suzanne Enoch
“I’m not going.” Trying to make light of the news, Alexandra smiled at Rose’s surprised expression. “You scarcely need me tonight, and your mother can chaperone you.”
“Why aren’t you going? What happens if I forget what I’m supposed to say, or if I start conversing with an unacceptable person?”
Pointing out that her own governess was probably the most unacceptable person she would encounter didn’t seem helpful. “I just have a bit of a headache,” she lied. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”
“Oh, I hope so.”
Rose hurried downstairs, and Alexandra sat back in
her dressing chair. She wasn’t precisely abandoning her charge; while the gossip was still fresh, she’d be doing more for Rose by her absence than by her presence. And it had nothing to do with her own misgivings about mingling with the
haute ton
after the other evening.
Every time she’d been outside over the past few days, she’d looked for Virgil, and whispers, and people laughing behind her back. She’d only been able to stand luncheon with Vixen for an hour. To deliberately attend a gathering of the
ton
, knowing that they all knew what the Retting side of the family thought of her, was too painful to contemplate.
Her door suddenly opened. “Get dressed,” Lord Kilcairn said, stopping just inside the room.
She jumped, remembering Vixen’s warning about locked doors, and knowing at the same time why she hadn’t heeded it for the past week. “I have a headache.”
His expression curious rather than angry, he took in her scanty additions to the lavish room. “And I will have a larger headache with no one to herd the harpies. Get dressed.”
He was all in black, tall and strong and magnificent. The sight forcefully reminded Alexandra of the Greek statues in the museum. A sculptor couldn’t begin to do justice to Lucien Balfour, though; no piece of stone could possibly capture the glint in his eyes, or the arrogant, confident tilt of his head. She’d always thought that in strength there would be safety, but she knew that being in Lucien’s arms would be dangerous—dangerous to the remains of her reputation, to her hard-won independence, and to her heart.
“You’re staring.”
She blushed furiously. “My apologies. You look very nice this evening.”
Immediately he closed the distance between them. “‘Nice’? Define ‘nice.’”
Damnation
. Alexandra stood, so he wouldn’t look so formidable looming over her like that. “I believe your education would have been sufficient to provide you with numerous definitions for the word, my lord.”
He pursed his lips, his gaze taking in every inch of her. “I like your hair loose like that,” he said, and slowly reached out to run his fingers along the strand that hung down her shoulder.
She shivered. “You’ll be late,” she reminded him. “And you shouldn’t be in here.”
“Don’t be missish.” His arm lowered, but his gaze never left her face. “I gave you Monday off,” he said, his soft voice taking the censure from the words. “Not tonight. Attend to your duties, Miss Gallant.”
“I would be serving Rose better if I stayed behind.”
He frowned. “Show a little backbone, Alexandra.”
She blinked. “Beg pardon?”
“Not blunt enough?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t be a coward.”
“I am
not
a coward.”
“Prove it.”
“This is not for me; it’s for Ro—”
“Now you’re just stalling.
I
am Rose’s guardian. And
you
are accompanying us, either in your stockings and over my shoulder, or in your shoes and on your feet.” He tilted her chin up with his long fingertips. “Is that clear?”
Short of stomping about and throwing things, neither of which was likely to do any good, she seemed to have little choice. “Give me a moment, then.”
He folded his arms across his broad chest. “I’ll wait here.”
Kilcairn was clearly in a bullying mood, and though she would have liked to put him in his place, she seated herself and began putting up her hair. Small shivers ran up and down her spine and made her fingers shake every time she looked in the mirror and saw him standing there, watching her. He continued to observe her as she returned the necklace to her throat and fastened her shoes, as if the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey had nothing better to do than pay absolute, utter, and complete attention to her.
“I should hire a maid for you,” he said, leaning forward to lift a last hair clip off the dressing table and hand it to her.
“You don’t think my toilette is adequate?”
He shook his head. “You should have someone to brush your hair for you.”
“I’ve brushed my own hair since I was seventeen,” she said, trying to cover the tremor in her voice. She almost preferred his direct assaults; they were easier to defend against. “Shall we go?”
Lucien nodded. “After you.”
She preceded him down the hallway, still trying to calm the uneasy quavering of her insides. The looks and mutterings didn’t bother her; she had encountered them before, she told herself. It was nothing new, nothing different, and nothing to worry about. Just who she was trying to convince, she had no idea, since she wasn’t listening to any of it.
“No one will give you any trouble tonight,” Lucien’s low voice murmured as they reached the foyer. “I won’t allow it.”
Alexandra stopped. She was almost grateful for the offer of support, because it reminded her that she couldn’t rely on anyone else’s whims to keep her head
above water. She’d learned to swim all by herself. “Thank you, my lord, but I can look after my own interests. I am not some shivering peagoose.”
“You’re shivering now,” he said in the same soft voice.
“I am n—”
“Thank goodness you’re coming!” Rose pranced forward and grasped her hand. “Now I shan’t worry about anything.”
“The rest of us will shoulder your load, then, cousin,” Lucien said, intercepting Shakespeare and handing the terrier to the butler. “Don’t wait up for us, Wimbole,” he instructed.
The butler nodded. “Very good, my lord.”
They climbed into the coach, the earl seating himself opposite Alexandra as he usually did. She hurriedly looked away, busying herself with last-minute instructions and reminders for Rose. His mere presence was enough to put her on edge with nervous excitement. A little less nervousness tonight would have been quite all right.
“Do you think Prince George will be there?” Rose asked. “What if he asks me to dance?” Her blue eyes widened. “What if he asks me to waltz?”
“Step on his foot,” the earl suggested. “That’ll make him leave you alone.”
“Lucien!” Fiona chastised. “Oh, I’m so nervous. Smile as much as you can, my dear.”
Alexandra cleared her throat. “If His Majesty asks you to waltz, curtsy and thank him, and then inform him that you are not yet out. If he persists, waltz with him. He is the Regent, after all.”
“Will Lord Belton be there, do you think?”
“Yes, he’ll be there.” Lucien glanced at his pocket watch.
“Don’t forget, my dear, your dance card is already full.”
“Oh, no! What shall I do if he wants—”
“He may have my dance,” Kilcairn offered as he faced the window, looking like nothing so much as a black panther desperately wanting out of his cage.
“No, he may not!” Fiona burst out. “You must dance with your cousin!”
“I’ll dance with whomever I please, Aunt.”
Mrs. Delacroix began picking at the delicate lace on her sleeve. “Oh, no,” she fretted. “Miss Gallant said you must dance with Rose, or she’ll never make a good match. You promised, Lu—”
He threw his hands up. “All right! Just stop cackling for a moment.”
By the time the coach jockeyed into the crowd of vehicles aiming for the drive at Bentley House and pulled them up to the door, Alexandra’s imagined headache had become real. She was more than happy to disembark from the coach and take a deep breath of cool night air.
“Lex, stay close by me,” Rose whispered, wrapping her arm around her companion’s. “There are so many people, I don’t even know who to look at first.”
“First, look at your host and hostess,” Alexandra suggested. “After that, look at whomever you want. All of the young gentlemen will be looking at you.”
“Or at the liquor table,” Lucien put in from over her shoulder.
He was relentless. “Oh, look,” Alexandra said, gesturing toward the packed entry to the ballroom, “it’s Julia Harrison. Isn’t she on your list of finalists, my lord?”
To her surprise, he gave the young woman only a disinterested glance. “Time for that torture later.” He handed their invitation to a waiting footman and ushered them into the ballroom.
“The whole world is here,” Rose breathed, holding Alexandra’s arm tightly.
“The best part of it is,” Mrs. Delacroix agreed happily. “Everyone’s simply glittering.”
Alexandra was more interested in Kilcairn’s conversation. “You’ve given up looking for a bride, then?” A small, very well hidden part of her fluttered into excited life.
“Not a bit.” He gestured for a glass of port.
The delicate, fluttering thing flopped over and died. “Ah. Just not tonight, then.”
His sensuous lips curled into a smile. “Not exactly. My search has narrowed to the point that I can conclude the interviewing. I’m nearly ready to enter into negotiations.”
The headache began pounding at her skull with renewed enthusiasm. “Well, congratulations. I never thought you would find one, much less several. How will you make your final decision?”
Lucien shook his head, his gaze unreadable. “I haven’t determined that yet, though I have a few ideas.”
“Who are the lucky finalists?”
“I’m not about to tell you, Miss Gallant. I don’t want you making fun of the poor things.”
Whoever they were, Alexandra abruptly didn’t like them. She pasted a cynical smile on her face. “Well, might I suggest you hold a poetry contest for your finalists? You could marry the winner—or the loser, depending on your final determination as to the importance of literary acumen.”
“Hm,” he mused, though she couldn’t tell whether he was angry. “I’ll take your suggestion under consideration.”
Lucien wondered what Alexandra would have said if she’d known how strongly he was considering placing her on his list—at the top of his list. As he saw it, he had no choice in the matter, anyway. None of the other so-called contestants he’d encountered could match even her shadow.
Rose was surrounded by gentlemen vying to renew their positions on the evening’s official dance card. He supposed it was shoddy that he didn’t really give a damn who married her, so long as it got her and Fiona out of his life. Lucien glanced at Alexandra again, a goddess in yellow and sapphire—which, despite Madame Charbonne’s best efforts, didn’t begin to do justice to her turquoise eyes.
Lord Belton appeared, and Lucien grabbed him by the elbow before he could join Rose’s contingent. “Dance with Miss Gallant,” he ordered.
Robert shrugged free of his grip. “Good evening, Kilcairn.”
“Dance with—”
“I heard you,” the viscount interrupted. “Why should I dance with your cousin’s governess?”
“Better the governess than the student.”
A thin line appeared between Robert’s brows as he frowned. “I delight in dancing with Miss Delacroix.”
“I’m not amused, Robert. You’ve had your fun at my expense.”
“I’m not joking. Rose’s company is quite refreshing, compared with the eager misses my mother’s been throwing at me.”
He seemed serious, but Lucien wasn’t in the mood to debate over how refreshing his cousin’s company was. “I concede to your rampant insanity,” he said.
“It’s not—”
“I will owe you a favor if you dance with Miss Gallant.”
Robert paused in midresponse. “A favor.”
“Yes.”
“Hm. Very well. A favor. This should be amusing.”
Lucien trailed behind the viscount as he returned to the thinning crowd around Rose. Alexandra stood to one side, her expression easy, unless he looked into her eyes. He probably shouldn’t have made her accompany them, but the idea of an evening alone with the Delacroix ladies—and without her—horrified him.
“Lord Belton!” Rose exclaimed, curtsying.
“Miss Delacroix. You look lovely this evening.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Robert cleared his throat, glancing sideways at Lucien. “I was just asking your cousin if I might call on you tomorrow afternoon for a carriage ride and picnic in Hyde Park. He graciously agreed.”
Her blue eyes widening, Rose clapped her hands together. “Really, cousin Lucien?”
Lucien kept the scowl from his face as he nodded. “Of course.” He elbowed the viscount in the back.
“And now,” Robert continued, jumping, “I see they are about to commence the first quadrille of the evening. Might you—”
“Oh, my dance card is full,” Rose said mournfully, shooting a glare at her mother. “I wanted to save one for you, but—”
“No matter. We’ll have more time to chat tomorrow.”
The viscount turned to Alexandra. “Would you do me the honor then, Miss Gallant?”
She blanched, her gaze darting from Lucien to Robert and back again. “My lord, I don’t think—”
“Why, yes!” Aunt Fiona exclaimed, making Lucien wonder briefly if she’d completely lost her mind, as well. “You are the Duke of Monmouth’s niece. Surely you’re allowed to dance.”
“But I don’t want to d—”
“Allow me to insist,” the viscount pressed.
Lucien stood back and watched, feeling like a master puppeteer as everything fell into place without his having to say a word. If Robert’s idea of a favor was to be able to converse with and feed Rose, he was welcome to do so—though that seemed like a very large waste of time.
Alexandra agreed to dance the quadrille with Robert. For a moment Lucien considered taking the floor as well. That, though, was not what he wanted—to touch her fingers in passing and relinquish her immediately to some overweight peer. When he danced with her tonight—and he would—it would be a waltz.
A
lexandra watched Rose turn, dip, turn again, and take her partner’s hand. If the girl did one thing truly well, it was dance. Of course, watching her from the side of the room instead of the middle of the dance floor would have made the view even more satisfactory.
“You’ve taught her well.” Lord Belton uttered his compliment in the same smooth tone Lord Kilcairn used when he wished to be charming. The viscount’s efforts, though, weren’t nearly as effective as the earl’s lures. In response to Robert Ellis’s compliments, nothing the least bit shivery happened to her. Instead, she felt rather annoyed that he would try such a tactic on her.
She waited until the dance brought him back to her side. “Her skill is natural, my lord. I take no credit.”
“Ah.” He stepped away and then around and back again. “You’ve a fine talent yourself.”
“Thank you, my lord.” At the moment, dancing was a talent for which she was exceedingly grateful. She couldn’t have turned down the viscount’s request without causing a scene, and just standing still beneath the
eyes of the
ton
was difficult enough without worrying about tripping or missing a step.
“My pleasure.”
She glanced at her partner in time to catch him looking across the wide, mirrored ballroom at Kilcairn. The earl leaned against the wall, oblivious to the young ladies nearby trying to catch his attention. With everyone watching, she didn’t dare glare at him, but he seemed to know her feelings. Giving a slight, sensuous smile, he lifted an eyebrow.
Obviously he was up to something; he wasn’t even attempting to look innocent. And she had a good idea what that something must be. “Lord Belton,” she asked as she and her partner met again, “did Lord Kilcairn put you up to dancing with me?”
The viscount blinked. Alexandra reflected that young ladies didn’t ask such direct questions, particularly of their social superiors. But she was not trying to snare a husband, nor to impress anyone with anything other than her success with Rose. If she was being too blunt, she blamed it on Kilcairn’s influence and aggravating manner, anyway.
“I…generally don’t require another man to convince me to dance with a beautiful woman, Miss Gallant.”
She met his gaze. “Not generally,” she repeated. “Well, though I thank you for the gesture, your gallantry isn’t necessary. I don’t require dancing with a handsome gentleman to convince me to do my duty by Miss Delacroix.”
He looked surprised again. “You speak your mind, don’t you?”
“I have found it pointless to do otherwise. Fortunately, I am in a position where I have very few people to impress. Everyone else knows exactly what they think of
me without us ever having had occasion to meet.”
“Good God,” the viscount muttered, but in the flash and swirl of dancers she couldn’t tell whether her response amused or appalled him.
Whichever it was, at least he was a gentleman. Lord Belton finished the quadrille with her and guided her back to Mrs. Delacroix before excusing himself from their group—in something of a hurry, Alexandra thought, though that might simply have been her interpretation. Rose, out of breath and flushed with excitement, joined them a moment later.
“Oh, did you see? The Marchioness of Pembroke was right in front of me! And I think I saw the Duke of M—”
“Not too excited, Miss Delacroix,” Alexandra reminded her with a smile. “Calm, and quiet. Remember, they—”
“They should be as thrilled to meet me as I am to meet them,” Rose finished, giggling.
“I would be thrilled to be introduced to any of them,” Fiona stated with a scowl. “Everyone just ignores me, like I’m not even here.”
“If only that were true,” Kilcairn agreed as he joined them.
Alexandra stepped up to his broad shoulder. “Don’t do that again,” she murmured at his back.
“Do what?” he said to the air.
“If I want to humiliate myself, I can go dance naked on the refreshment table. I don’t need you or your cronies to embarrass me.”
Lucien turned around and met her gaze. “I think watching you dance naked would be a very uplifting experience. I hope you’ll indulge me one day.”
Flushing, she moved away again. “Don’t expect me to participate in your amusements.”
“I’m trying to encourage you to participate in your own.”
There he went again, acting as though he knew everything. “I am not some deprived—”
“Excuse me, Miss Gallant?”
She jumped and whirled around. “Yes…sir?”
The large, heavyset gentleman shot a glare at Lucien. “For God’s sake, Kilcairn, introduce me.”
The earl scowled, but complied. “Daubner, Miss Gallant. Miss Gallant, William Jeffries, Lord Daubner.”
“Pleased, Miss Gallant,” the big man said, taking her hand. “Belton wagered me ten quid I wouldn’t dare waltz with you. Said you’d put him in his place, and you’d do the same to me in a Yorkshire minute.”
Alexandra felt her temperature rising. “I am
not
going to be the object of anyone’s wagering.”
Lord Daubner smiled, revealing a row of slightly crooked teeth. “You
are
spectacular. I’ll split the winnings with you.”
“I am not—” Alexandra stopped as she caught the expression on Lucien’s face before he wiped it away. He didn’t want her dancing again—which was odd, considering he’d started the mess. “I am not going to split your winnings,” she amended, smiling, “but I would be happy to waltz with you, my lord.”
“What would your wife say, Daubner?” the earl asked without a trace of his usual cynical humor. “I thought she didn’t approve of you socializing with other females.”
“Lady Daubner’s in Kent with a sick aunt. Besides, Kilcairn, like you said—no need to tell her everything, what?”
Alexandra watched Lucien choke down his reply and manage a half-civilized nod. To her eyes, he looked jeal
ous—again—and a small thrill spun down her spine. As Lord Daubner escorted her onto the dance floor, though, she told herself it was more likely that Lord Kilcairn didn’t want his friends playing with his latest toy. But she was one toy with a mind of her own.
“Lucien, be a dear and fetch us some punch,” Aunt Fiona cajoled.
He kept his gaze and his attention on the departing governess. “No.”
Alexandra might have thought she was teaching him a lesson by leaving him stranded with the harpies while she went and enjoyed herself, but it was a lesson he had no particular desire to learn. He gestured at a footman.
“Fetch the ladies some punch,” he ordered.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Thank you, cousin Lucien.”
He nodded. “Excuse me.”
Alexandra was waltzing, which annoyed him in the extreme. She was supposed to be waltzing with
him
. Lucien scowled, then spied Loretta Beckett, one of the remaining females on his rapidly shrinking list.
“Miss Beckett,” he said, “would you do me the honor?” He gestured at the other dancers.
Miss Beckett curtsied. “With pleasure, my lord.”
She waltzed adequately, thank Lucifer, and whoever had dressed her had enough sense to put her in dark colors to contrast with her pale skin and complement her brunette hair. Lucien maneuvered them toward Alexandra and Daubner. Realizing he’d been silent since they’d stepped onto the floor, he glanced down at his partner’s upturned face.
What did one begin with? Ah, that was it
.
“How are you enjoying the weather this Season?”
Miss Beckett smiled. “In truth, my lord, I’ve hardly had time to spend two minutes together out-of-doors. I’ve received reliable reports from those luckier than I that it’s pleasant.”
“Yes, I agree,” he said absently. Daubner danced the way he thought, meandering about the room in a completely random fashion. Lucien cursed, wishing the idiot would pick a path so he could move in and establish a position within earshot. “And what do you think of the fashions from Paris?”
“I think that as everyone else seems enamored of them, I had best like them, too.”
Damn Daubner
. Alexandra might as well have been dancing with a bull in a china shop. Unless Lucien began mowing couples down, he’d never catch up. “What’s next? Ah. Your favorite author.”
“I suppose everyone says Shakespeare, for how could one not, but aside from the Bard, I have become quite fond of Jane Austen. Have you read any of her works?”
Belatedly Lucien turned his attention to his dance partner. “Yes, I have. Her views of the nobility seem somewhat harsh, but I suppose it’s a matter of perspective.” He glanced from her to his fast-moving governess, sensing a basic similarity in literary acumen. “Might I ask who is responsible for your education, Miss Beckett?”
“I attended Miss Grenville’s Academy in Hampshire. Have you heard of it?”
That answered that question, though Miss Beckett’s responses seemed more…rehearsed than Alexandra’s witty, spontaneous ones. It was the difference, he supposed, between an apt student and an apt person.
Lucien paused, nearly missed a step, and rushed the next one to catch up. Alexandra Gallant was not just a
bright, lovely female; she was an intelligent, attractive person. He couldn’t recall if he’d ever considered a woman to be an actual, sensible human being before.
“My lord? Have you heard of Miss Grenville’s Academy?”
Lucien took a breath, trying to pull his scattered thoughts back into cohesion. “I have. The Academy has an impeccable reputation.” At least it did as far as he was concerned. “My cousin’s companion attended there.”
“Yes, I know. Begging your pardon, my lord, but on the Academy’s behalf I must say that most graduates are not as…wild as Miss Gallant.”
“I know. It’s a damned pity.”
“Beg…beg pardon?”
He smiled, not the least bit amused. “So you think I might have made a better choice on my cousin’s behalf?”
“Now that you mention it, Lord Kilcairn, it surprised me to hear that Miss Gallant had found employment in London.”
He wondered if Miss Beckett had any idea how thin the ice was beneath her feet. Whatever his private plans for Alexandra Gallant, she resided beneath his roof and was therefore under his protection. At the same time, he knew Alexandra wouldn’t appreciate his making a scene, and he could practically hear her voice telling him not to frighten the debutantes.
Lucien continued to gaze at his waltz partner levelly. It had been a very long time since he’d felt compelled to do what someone else told him to do, even if that someone happened to be Alexandra Gallant. “Miss Beckett, I realize it’s early in the Season, but do you have anyone in particular paying his attentions to you?”
Her dark eyes positively sparkled. “I have a few beaux,” she admitted. “No one I’ve lost my heart to, though.”
“You can’t lose a thing you don’t possess,” he returned in the same easy tone. “I suggest you marry quickly, my dear, before your looks alter to match your character. I doubt even the ugliest lord in England would care to be leg-shackled to a saggy-breasted witch with foul breath and warts.”
Miss Beckett made a small, gasping sound. Her fair skin paled even further, and her pretty brown eyes took on a glazed look. And then she fainted.
The proper, gentlemanly thing to do would have been to catch her against his chest and carry her to one of the chaise longues scattered about the edges of the room. Lucien stepped back and let her fall, noting that she recovered enough to collapse gracefully and without hitting her head against the polished floor.
A herd of females rushed in to control and minimize the damage, while Lucien didn’t bother wiping the annoyed expression from his face. As the women transported Miss Beckett to safety, he turned on his heel and strolled out to the balcony for a cigar.
“What did you do to that poor girl?”
Lucien finished lighting his cigar on one of the balcony lanterns. “Aren’t you breaking your own rules, Miss Gallant? Rushing out to the balcony to see a single gentleman?”
“I brought an escort.”
He turned around. Daubner, looking equal parts amused and terribly put out, hovered in the doorway just beyond Alexandra. “Go away, Daubner,” Lucien ordered.
“You stay right there, my lord,” Alexandra returned,
before the baron could take a step. “What did you say to that girl, Lord Kilcairn?”
“I will not be interrogated by a governess.”
And certainly not in front of company
. “Daubner, go away.”
“He is not going—”
“
Daubner, out!
”
“Apologies, Miss Gallant,” the baron mumbled, and fled.
“Damnation,” she snapped.
Lucien closed the distance between them. “Cursing now? How improper.”
Narrowing her eyes, Alexandra backed toward the curtained door. “I’m sure you think that chasing your friend away is the height of hilarity, or that since I’m ruined, you might as well have your amusement.” She lifted her chin. “Or perhaps you don’t care.”
“Do you have a point?”
“Yes, I do. After you see Rose married, I will have to go to one of your peers out there in the ballroom for employment. I’d hoped to prove myself a competent governess, despite the rumors. I will not have you destroying my chances of making a decent living.” With a flounce of her skirts, she turned her back on him. “Good evening, my lord.”
His own anger deflated as she strode back toward the ballroom. “What do you mean, ‘good evening’?” he asked, following her.
“It’s a common expression, my lord, denoting a departure. I’m sure you’re familiar with—”
Alexandra stopped in the doorway, just as Lucien clamped a hand down on her shoulder. His long fingers had the strength of a steel vise, but she was actually grateful for his steadying grip as she caught sight of the figure standing just inside the ballroom.
“Cousin Alexandra.”
Not again
, she thought, as Virgil Retting sketched her a shallow, overwrought bow.
Not now
. She shrugged her shoulder, and Lucien released her. “Virgil. I was just leaving. Good night.”
“What a pity.”
He’d brought friends this time, she realized. A half dozen young men stood ranged behind him, ready to laugh at every witticism he managed to utter at her expense. “Yes, I’m sure you’re heartbroken. Excuse me.”