Authors: Suzanne Enoch
“Alexandra…” he began, then trailed off as she released his arm and took her uncle’s in its stead.
“Let me introduce you to Rose Delacroix, Uncle,” she said, wishing she could run screaming out into the night. How dare Lucien? How dare either of them? If they thought this tidy little public display would erase the past twenty-four years, and especially the last five, they had a large surprise coming.
Alexandra looked radiant as she introduced the Duke of Monmouth to Rose and then Fiona. She smiled and laughed, and easily breezed past Fiona’s fury. And Lucien was worried.
“It’s going better than you thought,” Robert said, watching Alexandra chatting with Rose and her uncle.
“Yes, it seems to be.” Perhaps he should have told her something, given her at least a moment to compose herself.
“Your aunt looks as though she’s about to explode. When are you going to make your next announcement?”
Lucien shook himself, turning away from gazing at Alexandra. “Hm? Oh. In just a moment. Stay close by.”
Alexandra was furious. He could see it, even if no one else seemed to notice. If he
had
told her about Monmouth’s presence, though, he would never have gotten
her up the stairs, much less into her uncle’s arms. But Alexandra had more common sense than anyone he’d ever met. She would realize this reunion was in her best interest, even if she couldn’t immediately be happy about it. He would give her the evening to let her calm intelligence win out over her surprise, and then he would ask her again to marry him.
He gestured to Wimbole for a glass of champagne, and watched as the servants distributed glasses to all of his guests. “Before we adjourn to dinner,” he said in a carrying voice, “I have an announcement. Rose, if you please?”
As Rose made her way through the crowd of guests, Lucien glanced between Fiona and Alexandra. His aunt’s expression was one of complete bafflement, as though she simply couldn’t reconcile Alexandra’s reappearance with the pending marriage announcement. He looked forward to explaining things to her.
Rose reached his side, and he took her hand and kissed it. “My friends, many of you know that my cousin arrived in London under less-than-happy circumstances. Tonight, though, we all find ourselves full of joy.”
Fiona stepped forward, already accepting congratulations from the wags she’d adopted as her cronies. He’d warned her about spreading the news before it had been announced, and she’d ignored him. He and Robert and now Monmouth could protect themselves and the ladies—Fiona was on her own. If Robert chose to help her regain a modicum of dignity, that was his prerogative. Personally, Lucien would have been perfectly happy to leave her for the crows.
“I have the very great joy of announcing,” he continued, “that my cousin, Rose Delacroix, is to be married. And I am equally pleased to inform all of you that her
husband-to-be is my good friend Robert Ellis, Lord Belton. Robert, Rose, my congratulations.”
Robert joined them at the front of the room. Amidst the loud applause and congratulations, Lucien thought he detected a shriek of fury, but he wasn’t certain if he’d actually heard it, or if he’d just expected it so strongly that he’d imagined it. When Fiona emerged from the crowd, charging him like a mad bull, he slipped Rose’s hand into Robert’s and led the angry bovine into the adjoining sitting room.
“This will not do!” Fiona bellowed, red-faced.
He closed the door. “I think it does quite well myself.”
“You will not get away with this! People know the truth about you and my daughter.”
“Apparently several people were misled,” he returned calmly, beginning to enjoy himself.
“I won’t have it! Lady Welkins and I will see that…whore of yours ruined tomorrow if you don’t go back out there right now and tell everyone you were joking—that
you
are marrying Rose.”
He closed the distance between them. “Robert is marrying Rose, because they both wish it.”
“You don’t care about what they want, Lucien.”
“Yes, I do. And if you say anything against either of them, you will find me
very
annoyed.”
Fiona backed away a step. “Don’t you threaten me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Have I threatened you? As I recall, it was you making the threats. And that will stop now—especially with Alexandra. She’s done nothing to you. In fact, you owe her your thanks.”
“My thanks? That—”
“Enough!” he snapped. “I wouldn’t have married Rose, regardless. Miss Gallant made her enough of a lady to take a place in society.”
“She is to be a countess!”
“She is to be a viscountess,” he returned. The woman was a one-note song, and out of tune to begin with. “With a very generous dowry.” Lucien took another step closer. “And understand this, Aunt: Alexandra Gallant is reconciled with the Duke of Monmouth. You and Lady Welkins will keep your idiotic speculations to yourselves, or His Grace and I will see the two of you in Australia. Is that clear?”
For a long moment she glared at him. “You are evil!” she finally shouted. “You are exactly like your wretched father.”
He bowed. “That, Aunt Fiona, remains to be seen.”
“I don’t need to see anything further. I know.” With that, she stalked back out to the drawing room.
Lucien let her have the last word. He would rather see her angry with him than with Alexandra or Rose. As he strolled back to his guests, he allowed himself a moment of self-satisfaction. He’d seen Rose engaged to the titled gentleman of her choice, he’d thwarted his aunt’s clumsy attempts at blackmail, and he’d seen Alexandra protected from all further rumor and innuendo. Quite a night’s work, if he did say so himself.
Several times during the meal he tried to catch Alexandra’s eye, but she seemed completely occupied with amusing Rose and Robert and the dinner guests on either side of her. Even Monmouth received a smile and a gentle jest. Lucien frowned—Alexandra appeared
too
calm and content. She was putting on an act. He’d seen it before, at Rose’s first public outing, when she’d been angry and miserable. She was far too skilled to allow it to show, but he knew.
Of course, it was entirely possible that
he
was overreacting. Despite his plotting, he really hadn’t expected
everything to go so smoothly. As he began to convince himself that she was becoming reconciled to the reunion, though, she glanced down the table at him. He’d seen icicles warmer than the expression in her eyes.
The dinner proceeded flawlessly, but he ceased to care. Fiona no doubt continued to fume, but as the elderly females she’d invited piled on the praise and congratulations at her daughter’s catch, she mellowed a little. He was delighted when they all decided that he was Lucifer himself, and that she and Rose were lucky to have so narrowly escaped his clutches.
As the guests finally began to leave for the evening, he kept most of his attention on Alexandra, to be certain she didn’t try to slip away while he wasn’t looking. When she finally turned to stalk up the stairs, he was ready. “Miss Gallant,” he said sharply.
She hesitated, then stopped and looked down at him. “Yes, my lord?”
“In my office, if you please.”
Her lips compressed; she smoothed her skirts and returned downstairs. She headed down the foyer, and a moment later his office door slammed.
“You keep her out of trouble,” the duke said, and motioned for his hat and coat. “I won’t go out of my way for her again.”
Lucien looked at him. “So you’ve resolved your differences?”
“What differences? I’m here to keep the damned gossips at bay until you marry her and get her out of London.”
“Ah.” Of his guests, only Robert remained, chatting quietly in the morning room with Rose. “I believe I need another moment or two of your time.”
“Make an appointment with my man. I’m meeting the prime minister at nine in the morning.”
Lucien stepped forward, blocking the duke’s path, while Wimbole shut the front door. “Just a moment,” he repeated calmly, and gestured toward his office.
“I have no time for such nonsense.”
“Make some, then,” Lucien returned, unmoving.
“Impertinent ruffian,” the duke blustered, but strode down the hallway.
Lucien pulled the door open for him, and followed him inside. Alexandra stood behind his desk, her clenched fists resting against the smooth mahogany surface. “What is it?” he asked her without preamble, closing the door behind him.
“I have to admit,” she said in a low, unsteady voice, “that the events of this evening took me completely by surprise.”
“Bah,” Monmouth snorted. “Don’t thank me, because you can never repay me. Just be grateful that I care about my family’s reputation, girl, because if I didn’t, I’d happily see you in Aus—”
“I wasn’t going to thank you,” Alexandra snapped. “How dare you presume that I would ever ask anything from a poor excuse for a gentle—”
“Alexandra,” Lucien broke in, “I asked your uncle to come tonight.”
She came around the desk toward him. “I thought…” she began, then broke off.
“You thought what?”
“I thought you’d changed! Rose seemed so happy, and I thought you’d changed!”
Lucien narrowed his eyes. “I have changed—I think. I certainly spend more blasted time worrying about it than I ever did before.”
“Then why is he here?” She jabbed her finger in Monmouth’s direction.
“Why, indeed, you ungrateful—”
“Enough!” Lucien roared. “Monmouth, go.”
“With pleasure.” The duke stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
“He came tonight because you were using him as an excuse,” Lucien continued, watching her stalk between him and the fireplace.
“An excuse for what, pray tell?”
“An excuse for demanding your damned independence from everything. From me. Now you can’t use him for that any longer.”
“I don’t need to use anything but you,” she retorted, a tear running down one cheek. “You’re the best reason not to marry you that I could possibly find.”
“Just a damned minute,” Lucien cut in, surprised by her venom.
“Take all the time you like. It won’t change anything.”
“You gave me a list—a
list
—of reasons you wouldn’t marry me. I have resolved them, one by one. You have no reason to be angry with me for something you instigated.”
“
I
instigated? How dare you, for your own convenience, bring the Duke of Monmouth here and blame it on me?”
“That doesn’t make any blasted sense, Alexandra. We—”
“You had no right to try to force a reconciliation just because it suited you! Is that clear enough?”
Furious, Lucien stalked a circle around her. “I have done everything for you,” he growled. “You worried over Rose’s happiness. I made certain she would be
happy. You feared your reputation would mean trouble for those around you if you stayed here. Your reputation is now repaired.”
“My reputation is now conveniently swept under a rug so you can have your way. You still need an heir to keep Rose’s children from inheriting, and you’re still the same stupid Lucien Balfour who said love was only a socially acceptable synonym for fornication!”
“
I’m
stupid,” he repeated. “
I’m
the idiot who tried to make you happy. For God’s sake, since I met you, I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror anymore! Now I go frolicking about trying to solve people’s problems—and I
like
it!”
“I don’t—”
“I’m not finished,” he snarled. “I even quit smoking cigars, because I knew you didn’t approve. You have changed me. You have made me a different man, and one I actually like better than the old one. My question for you, Alexandra, is where does it say that you get to have exactly everything you want?”
“I didn’t ask you for anything. Don’t expect me to compromise for something I never wanted.”
“You did want it. You still do. You’re just too damned stubborn to admit it.” Breathing hard, Lucien glared at her as she glared back at him. “It’s your turn to bend,” he snapped. “I’ll be upstairs if you want to find me.”
“I
was not wrong!” Alexandra stamped about the small office. “I was not wrong! He had no right to do what he did!”
“Lex, I didn’t say anything. You’re arguing with yourself. Which may be helpful to you, but it’s giving me a headache.”
Alexandra stopped in front of the scarred oak desk and looked at the young woman seated behind it. “I’m sorry, Emma,” she muttered, and then stomped her foot. “He just made me so angry!”
“So I gathered,” Emma Grenville said dryly. Tucking a strand of her ever-straying auburn hair behind one ear, she stood and came around the desk. “Sit down,” she ordered. “I will fetch you some tea.” The headmistress bent down and ruffled Shakespeare’s ears. “And Shakes needs a cookie.”
Reluctantly Alexandra grinned. “I’ve been yelling so much, he’s probably deaf.”
“Sit.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Petite and slender, with an irresistible pair of dimples that appeared when she laughed, Emma looked more like a wood sprite than the owner of a girls’ school. At the same time, her air of calm unflappability and kindness made her seem older than her twenty-four years. Alexandra sighed and took a seat by the window as Emma slipped out to the small kitchen.
Outside the door she heard laughter, quickly quieted, as a group of Academy students headed to the main hall for dinner. The former monastery had always seemed a perfect place for a school, though the addition of society’s daughters had forced several modifications to the old building. The windows added to the classrooms, the study, and the offices were only the most minor of the changes.
“Now,” Emma said as she stepped back into the room, “I gather that you and Lord Kilcairn had an argument.” She set the tea tray on her desk and took her seat again.
“Yes, we had an argument. But it was his fault.” Alexandra scooted forward in her chair and poured each of them a cup of tea. Shakespeare eagerly received his cookie, and retreated under the desk to gnaw on it.
“Since when do you argue with your employers?”
“Since they’re wrong.” With a small sigh, she sat back and sipped her tea. She couldn’t remember how many times she’d sat in this same elegant chair and poured out her troubles to Emma’s aunt. It felt…comfortable to be back, except that she had hoped by this time not to have any more troubles. Yet here she was with the same old ones, bolstered by the new ones Lucien had provided her. “He locked me in his cellar, you know.”
“He did? What a barbaric thing to do!”
“It wasn’t even his primary wine cellar. Just the secondary one.”
Emma’s lips twitched. “So you’re angry because Lord Kilcairn didn’t lock you in the main wine cellar?”
“Of course not. Don’t make fun.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Lex. Why would he lock you up anywhere?”
That very question continued to trouble her, even after three days of thinking about nothing else in a bumpy, cramped mail stage. She stood again and wandered to the window. “I’m sure I have no idea.” Half a dozen cattle grazed on the far side of the Academy’s duck pond, just visible through the small garden and scattering of elm trees. “But that’s not even the worst of it.”
Her friend leaned her chin in one hand. “I thought not.”
“Yes. He threw a grand dinner party, and invited Uncle Monmouth. Without telling me.”
“My goodness.”
“He’s an awful, wicked man, and I should never have accepted employment in his household.”
“Is he a friend of your uncle’s?”
“I’m certain he’s not. He just tried to force a reconciliation, for his own convenience.”
“Convenience?”
Alexandra smacked the windowsill hard enough to make her hand sting. “Don’t even ask. I can’t explain it.”
“Lex,” Emma said, “I’m glad you’re here. I can most definitely use your assistance.”
“But?” A tremor of uncertainty touched Alexandra. There always seemed to be an exception to any positive statement lately.
“But I have the Academy to think of now. We’re—”
“I’m so sorry, then,” Alexandra interrupted, tears be
ginning a cascade down her cheeks. There really was nowhere for her to go now.
“Let me finish, goose. We’re an institution of learning, not a refuge for lovesick cellar escapees. I need to be sure you’re going to stay.”
“I am not lovesick!” Alexandra declared, wiping her eyes. “I told him I was leaving. He said that was fine with him, and so here I am.”
Emma looked at her for a long moment. “Are you certain of that?”
Stifling the urge to do more stamping, Alexandra settled for crossing her arms. “Of course I am.”
Her dark green eyes still holding her friend’s, Emma slid open the top drawer of her desk. “You may wonder why I wasn’t surprised at your delayed arrival from London.” She lifted a folded paper from the drawer and slid it across the desk. “I received a letter the day before yesterday.”
Abruptly suspicious, Alexandra strode across the room and snatched up the missive. Before she even reached it, she recognized the torn wax imprint that had sealed it. “
He
sent you a letter?” He’d said he would take care of informing Emma, but she hadn’t thought he actually meant to do it. They’d been somewhat distracted during that conversation.
“I had to read it twice before I believed it was from the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey. It doesn’t…sound like someone of his reputation.”
With another nervous, excited shiver running through her, Alexandra unfolded the letter. “‘Miss Grenville,’” she read aloud, hearing Lucien’s deep voice in her head, “‘As you know, Alexandra Gallant was until very recently a part of my household. I am aware that she has accepted a position to teach at your Academy, and while
I can hardly dispute your choice of instructor, I do find myself at odds with you over her departure.’”
“He’s well educated, isn’t he?” Emma commented, as Alexandra paused to take a breath.
“Extremely. He’s the most voraciously curious individual I’ve ever encountered.” She realized her comment sounded very like a compliment, and she cleared her throat to continue reading. “‘As you have probably noticed, I have already convinced Alexandra to remain in London for another few days.’” She lifted an eyebrow. “Ha. He has an odd definition of
convincing
. ‘It is my fervent hope that she will choose to remain here permanently. Either—’”
“I don’t think he meant permanently in the cellar,” Emma supplied.
Alexandra favored her friend with a glare. “‘Either she or I will inform you further.’”
“He doesn’t sound like someone planning to hurt you,” the headmistress said quietly.
“Perhaps, but you can see from this how very arrogant he is.”
“Hm. Read the last part,” Emma suggested.
Alexandra made a face, but complied. “‘Miss Grenville, Alexandra has several times referred to you as her dearest friend. I can only express to you my supreme envy over that fact, and the hope that you and I shall meet one day soon. I have found Alexandra’s friends to be exceptional, as I have found her detractors to be lacking in intelligence, humor, compassion, and every other quality I have come to admire so highly in your friend. Yours in anticipation of acquaintance, Lucien Balfour, Lord Kilcairn.’”
Slowly Alexandra took a seat. “Oh, my,” she whispered. “He must have sent this to you days ago.”
“It seems you’ve captured a rogue’s heart, my dear.”
She shook her head, rereading the last few sentences of his letter. “No, I haven’t. It’s only that he’s very charming.”
“And why would the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey attempt to charm me?”
“I…Well, he may have felt this way—or perhaps he thought he did—before his stupid dinner party. I know he doesn’t feel like this any longer.”
“Are you certain of—”
“Besides, admiring someone highly and being in love with her are two very different things, Emma. I admire Lord Liverpool, for instance, but I could hardly consider myself in love with him.”
“You—”
“And he only wants to marry me because he’s comfortable with me, and he can produce his heir with the least bit of inconvenience to himself.”
Emma stood rather abruptly and snatched the letter back. “He wants to
marry
you? Lex, you never told me—”
“No!” she interrupted sharply. “I’ve worked too hard to give in and live my life on someone else’s terms. Even his. Especially his. I’ll take care of myself, and my own problems.”
“You’re arguing with yourself again.” Emma returned the letter to her. “You know Lord Kilcairn far better than I ever will, Lex. I will take your word that he is plotting and arrogant and cares for no one but himself.”
“Thank you.”
Emma gestured Alexandra toward the door. “And you will teach dinner conversation and how to discuss literature without sounding like a bluestocking, starting tomorrow. We’ll get you better settled on Monday.”
Alexandra nodded as she and Shakespeare followed Emma to the dining hall. All she needed was something to occupy her. With her first class tomorrow, she would begin the task of forgetting Lucien Balfour.
“Forget her, then,” Robert said, guiding his gelding among Hyde Park’s trees. “You made an effort—a titanic effort—and nothing came of it. The end.”
Lucien kicked Faust into a trot, not bothering to see if the viscount followed. His head ached, reminding him that he’d drunk far too much whiskey at Boodle’s club last night. At least, though, his pounding skull gave him something else to fuel his foul temper without admitting how damned lost he felt without Alexandra Beatrice Gallant.
“Lucien, there are a hundred ladies in London who would happily agree to marry you.”
“Not happily,” he retorted, starting another wide loop around the deserted carriage track.
“Yes, happily. You’re wealthy, handsome, and titled. Not many bachelors can claim all three.”
“Don’t try to placate me. I’m not in the mood.”
“I’ve noticed. That’s what I’ve been attempting to rectify.”
Scowling, Lucien pulled up Faust. “Who was your second choice?” he asked, as the viscount drew even with him.
“My second choice for what?”
“For a wife. If I had intended on marrying Rose, or if she had refused you, whom would you be pursuing now?”
Robert shrugged. “I don’t know. Lucy Halford, or maybe Charlotte Templeton,” he mused. “But I’ve found Rose, and we are both exceedingly happy about it.”
Lucien looked down at his gloved hands as he twisted the reins around and around his fingers. “For me,” he said quietly, “there is no one else. She is…who I looked for, the entire time I was looking. Even before that.”
“But she refused you,” Robert said in a solemn voice. “So now you must look elsewhere.” He hesitated, glancing about the nearly empty park. “She seemed a bit too…intractable, anyway. A wife can’t support you if she’s always disagreeing with everything you say.”
Lucien shook himself and nudged the bay into motion again. “You’ve got it ass backwards, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t trust me—or my motivations, rather—and there’s not much I can do about that unless I give away my title and everything that goes with it and become a chimney sweep. And I don’t intend to do that.”
“So you’ll forget her and move on.”
“I suppose I will. As soon as I forget how to breathe.”
“Then I can just expect you to go about moping for the rest of eternity.”
With a glare, Lucien kicked Faust into a gallop. “I’m not moping. I’m waiting. I told her it was her turn to give ground. She’s a sensible female; she’ll realize that I’m right, and that she’s a fool to give me up to those hordes of lovely ladies who’d be so happy to marry me.”
“And if she doesn’t realize it?”
Robert might have been his own conscience; Lucien had been having the same conversation with himself since she’d stomped out of Balfour House a week ago. “She will.”
“Well, taking turns giving ground and waiting for her to come back all sounds like a pile of nonsense to me.”
Robert retorted. “I think it you who’s going to have to realize that.”
“Perhaps.”
As Lucien went about his meetings and dinners and social gatherings, though, he couldn’t help puzzling over what he’d done wrong. Yes, he’d locked her away to keep from losing her, and he should never have let her out. And yes, he’d tricked her into a meeting with a relative she despised. But she’d helped him see the chains and walls he’d put around himself, and she’d practically forced him into reconciling with Rose. Why, then, had it worked on him and not on her?
The answer, or what he hoped was the right answer, finally came to him while he and Rose were discussing her dowry, along with the stipend he meant to settle on her so she would always have her own income, apart from Robert and apart from him.
“Lucien, that’s too much,” his cousin protested, blushing prettily. “You’ve given me far more than I’d hoped for already.”
He ignored Mr. Mullins’s agreeing nod and continued scratching out figures on the draft of the agreement. “Don’t argue. I’m feeling generous.”
Rose giggled. “I don’t think Mama would agree.”
“As long as she holds to her vow never to speak to me again, she can disagree all she likes. It’s not for her, anyway. It’s for you.”
“Thank you.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
Lucien sat still for a moment. He’d enjoyed the morning spent with his cousin; she was pleasant, even if she didn’t present much of a challenge to his intellect. And she’d smiled and laughed and kissed him on the cheek.
Two months ago he would never have tolerated it; two
months ago he couldn’t stand being in the same room with either of the Delacroix females. Rose had changed, obviously. She’d become more confident and less self-centered; a pale imitation of her tutor, but a definite improvement over the girl who’d first come to London swathed in pink taffeta.
And he’d changed, too-more than he’d realized. That was the problem, and the solution.
He
had changed. Alexandra hadn’t. She still thought of herself in the same terms that she had for the past five years: that she had to stand alone against everything and everyone who threatened to take away her independence, and that the ground could fall from beneath her feet again at any moment if she dared to relax her guard.