Reforming a Rake, page 3
part #1 of With This Ring Series
“You’re exaggerating.”
Alexandra wished she possessed Victoria Fontaine’s self-confident bravado. “I am not. Everyone thinks I’m a husband-stealing strumpet. And at least half of those who think I dallied with Lord Welkins think I killed him, as well.”
“Lex,” Vixen protested. “Don’t even say that!”
“You know it’s true. Even if they don’t blame me for his death, they certainly delight in talking about it.”
“I hope you realize your new employment certainly won’t stop anyone from talking about you.”
Alexandra opened the bedchamber door and motioned to Lord Kilcairn’s two liveried footmen, standing practically at attention in the hallway. With polite, blank-faced nods they hefted her trunk and carried it downstairs. Nothing remained besides her hatbox and a small valise of odds and ends. She sighed as she snapped the valise closed. That was everything she owned. “Odds and ends” seemed a fair description of her life these days.
“Lex, I know you heard me.” Victoria gazed at her, violet eyes concerned. “Does Kilcairn have any idea about your last position?”
“Yes, he does. He didn’t seem bothered in the least.”
“Well, I suppose he wouldn’t be. His own reputation is far worse than yours. He probably likes the rumors.”
Alexandra forced a smile, trying to push away another rush of nervousness. “Perhaps that makes me lucky. He seems determined that his cousin marry well; if she does him credit, she’ll do me credit, as well.”
Victoria stood, her expression still skeptical. “At least keep your bedchamber door locked at night.”
Somehow she didn’t think a locked door would stop Lucien Balfour if he was intent on entering a room. Her pulse jumped at the thought, and she scowled. What was wrong with her? “I shall.”
“And if something isn’t to your liking, please say you’ll come back here right away. You don’t have to be independent all the time.”
“I promise, Vixen. Really. Don’t worry.”
Impulsively Victoria flung her arms around Alexandra and hugged her. With a belated smile, Lex returned the embrace.
“I’ll see you soon,” she said, gathering her hatbox and her dog and turning for the door.
“Be careful.”
Alexandra marched into Balfour House behind the footmen, her speech practiced and ready on her lips. Just inside the foyer, though, she slowed and stopped. Except for the butler and a housemaid, the hallway stood empty.
“Where is Lord Kilcairn?” she asked, even as she realized how ridiculous the question sounded. The lord of the manor did not appear to welcome every employee. Still, the earl had given a forceful impression that he took a personal interest in hiring her, and part of her was disappointed that he wasn’t there awaiting her arrival.
“Lord Kilcairn has gone out for the evening,” the butler said in the same toneless voice he’d used that morning. He gestured her toward the stairs, where the laden footmen had already reached the landing. “This way, Miss Gallant.”
“Are…” She realized she didn’t know the names of her charges, except that Kilcairn’s cousin was Rose. A governess couldn’t very well inquire after the household’s family by their familiar names—not without even having been introduced. And neither did she wish to begin her acquaintance with Kilcairn’s staff by admitting to complete ignorance.
“Is there something else, Miss Gallant?”
Alexandra cleared her throat. “No. Thank you.”
Scowling, she lifted Shakespeare and trailed the footmen and her trunk upstairs. The whole situation was so odd. Since she’d left Miss Grenville’s Academy, she’d been careful about the positions she took—pleasant households with well-behaved children or kind, elderly women in genuine need of a companion. Taking the post offered by Lady Welkins and her awful husband had been her first real mistake. Working for Lord Kilcairn might be another.
“This is your bedchamber, Miss Gallant,” the butler said from behind her. “Mrs. Delacroix has taken the green room in the corner, and Miss Delacroix is in the blue room adjoining yours. Lord Kilcairn’s quarters are at the other end of the hallway.”
The footmen emerged from her room and, bowing, returned downstairs. Alexandra nodded at her guide, grateful he’d supplied her with the names of her charges. “Thank you. Are Mrs. Delacroix and Miss Delacroix in this evening?”
“You are to be introduced to them in the morning, Miss Gallant. Dinner will be served in your bedchamber, and breakfast is set downstairs promptly at eight. I am Wimbole, should you require anything further.”
“Thank you, Wimbole.”
The butler gave a stiff nod and turned on his heel. Alexandra watched him disappear down the stairs, back into the bowels of the huge house. Squaring her shoulders, she entered her bedchamber.
“My goodness.”
The room was splendid. All of her previous postings had been in affluent households, but nothing she’d seen before could rival this. The bedchamber was larger than some sitting rooms she’d seen, and no doubt Lord Kilcairn’s private rooms were even larger.
Though Wimbole hadn’t named her quarters, she felt certain the butler had shown her into the gold room. No other name fit. The bed’s canopy drapings were gold, as was the heavy, elegant coverlet. The curtains hung green and gold in the three windows, while the two sitting chairs placed before the roaring fire were a darker bronze with gold thread running through the intricate, Oriental pattern.
Shakespeare sat on her foot to get her attention, and with a start Alexandra knelt to remove his leash. The terrier bounded off to wander every nook and cranny of his latest home, tail wagging at each newly discovered scent.
While her dog pranced about and growled happily to himself, Alexandra unfastened the trunk and began unpacking. Coming into a situation blind was not the way she worked. She had never accepted a position without first meeting her charges. In the morning she fully intended to lay out her conditions for accepting employment in Kilcairn’s household. If he didn’t like any of them, or if she didn’t like the Delacroix ladies, she would…
Her hands slowed as she set out her toilette items. If she left this post, it would probably be another six months before she could find another household willing to hire her. Resolutely she went back to her task. That, she would worry about tomorrow.
Tomorrow arrived earlier than she expected. When Alexandra first opened her eyes into complete darkness, she couldn’t decide what had awakened her, much less where she was. Then Shakespeare wumphed, and blinking sleepily, she remembered both.
Fumbling for the candle on the bed stand, she sat up. As dim golden light flickered in the room, Alexandra spied her dog by the door, looking from her to the exit and wagging his tail pitifully.
“Oh, goodness, Shakes,” she whispered, swinging her feet out from the warm bed and onto the cold floor. “I’m so sorry. Just a moment.”
She couldn’t recall where she’d put her slippers, if she’d even brought them. But her dressing robe lay across the foot of the bed, looking shabby against the magnificence of the quilted golden coverlet.
“Get your leash,” she instructed, shrugging into the robe.
The terrier dashed to the dressing-table chair, leaped onto it, and reared onto the table to pull the coiled leash down. That done, he dragged the braided leather line over to her.
She hooked the leash to his collar, picked up the candle, and hurried to the door. The bolt and the hinges were both thankfully silent. With Shakespeare tugging her forward, they stepped into the silent, moonlit hallway. “Shh,” she reminded him as she padded down the stairs in her bare feet.
As they reached the foyer, the grandfather clock standing there chimed. Alexandra glanced at it as they passed—fifteen minutes before three. The front door opened easily. A night breeze lifted the hem of her gown and robe, and she suppressed a shiver as cold air traveled up her bare legs. Leading the terrier around the side of the house to the small garden, she said, “Hurry, Shakes. It’s cold.”
“Trying to escape already?”
Alexandra whipped around, a shriek stuck in her throat. Lord Kilcairn stood at the border of the garden, looking at her. “My lord!”
If not for the candlelight, he would have been invisible, for he was clothed in black from his boots to his greatcoat to his beaver hat. The veriest edge of snow-white cravat glinted at her as he shifted. “Good evening, Miss Gallant. Or rather, good morning.”
“My apologies,” she said with a shiver, induced more by his imposing presence than by the cold. “I neglected to take Shakespeare outside before I retired for the evening.”
“You’ll catch your death out here.”
“Oh, no. It’s quite pleasant this evening.”
The earl stepped forward, shedding his caped greatcoat as he approached. “If you die of pneumonia, Miss Gallant, I’ll have to hire someone else for the devil spawn,” he said, lifting the coat and placing it over her shoulders. “And I don’t want to go through that horror again.”
The coat was heavy and warm from the heat of his body, and smelled faintly of cigar smoke and brandy. She abruptly remembered his deep voice talking of hot, slow kisses, and swallowed. “Thank you, my lord.”
“In the future, Miss Gallant, I would prefer that Shakespeare not relieve himself in my garden. And under no circumstances are you to go wandering outside in your bare feet and nightclothes.” He paused. “Though I believe a competent teacher of etiquette would know that already, wouldn’t she?”
Alexandra narrowed her eyes, a flush creeping up her cheeks. “I am afraid I have made a bad impression, my lord. No doubt you will wish to dismiss me now.”
He shook his head. “As I told you, I don’t relish having another flock of prissy hens in my house looking for employment,” he said, a drawl of humor touching his deep voice.
So she was a prissy hen, was she? “I am pleased you think so highly of my services, my lord.”
“At the moment I think more highly of your bare feet,” he murmured, then gestured at Shakespeare. “Your dog has completed his task.”
Reconciling the two statements took a moment. Alexandra blinked. “Yes. Thank you,” she muttered. “Come along, Shakes.”
Lord Kilcairn kept pace beside her as she returned to the house, his bootheels clicking in rhythm with the padding of her feet. In the foyer he slid his hands along her shoulders and gently lifted his coat free. As he hung it in the alcove, Alexandra shivered again, though by now she felt decidedly warm. Men did not touch her in such a familiar manner; she wasn’t used to it, and she didn’t like it—which didn’t explain why she had the sudden strong urge to lean back against his broad chest and feel his arms around her.
“Shall I continue removing garments?” his low voice came from behind her. “ ’Twould be my pleasure.” She felt him move still closer, his breath touching the nape of her neck. “And yours, I think.”
Wondering where her sense of propriety had vanished to, Alexandra started for the stairs, not daring to turn around and acknowledge his scandalous words. “Good night, my lord.”
He made no move to follow her. “Good night, Miss Gallant.”
When she reached her room, she closed her door and stood there, listening. The stair landing creaked with the weight of his approach, and Alexandra slipped the bolt shut on her door, locking it. His quiet tread passed without pause down the hallway, and a moment later a door shut softly.
In taking the position at Balfour House, she’d obviously made a very large mistake. After the intolerable annoyance of being pursued by fat, smelly Lord Welkins, she’d meant never to enter a household again containing any male between twelve and seventy.
Lord Kilcairn was in prime condition and astoundingly compelling and attractive, and he’d made his interest quite clear. Apparently she’d gone completely mad.
Alexandra bent down and freed Shakespeare from his leash. However much she needed employment, and no matter how intriguing he might be, she was not going to become anyone’s mistress. Ever.
Lucien finished wiping shaving soap from his chin, tossed the cloth at Bartlett, and exited his private chambers—and nearly ran into Alexandra Gallant. Her presence surprised him and started that damned rush of blood in his veins, but he only checked his forward progress enough to nod at her. “Good morning. Where’s Shakespeare?”
“One of your grooms came to collect him this morning,” she said stoutly, “as you well know, I’m sure. And I am perfectly capable of caring for my own dog.”
“You have a more pressing task at hand,” he returned, starting down the stairs. “One which will be considerably more difficult than taking your dog for his constitutional.”
“I enjoy an early morning stroll myself, my lord.”
He heard her descend the stairs after him. “I doubt you’ll have time for one.”
“If I might ask, is there some pressing reason you wish Miss Delacroix’s education to be completed so swiftly?”
“Yes, there is. I will be marrying soon myself, and I want her taken off my hands prior to that.”
“I…see.”
She paused, but he resisted the temptation to turn around and view her expression. Miss Gallant, he’d immediately discovered, tended to let him know precisely what she might be thinking.
“Lord Kilcairn,” she began.
That had taken all of five seconds. “Yes, Miss Gallant?”
“I do not wish—”
“Good morning, cousin Lucien.”
Lucien turned his attention to the petite figure waiting outside the breakfast room. “Oh, good God,” he muttered, his good humor flagging. “Today she’s a damned peacock.”
Rose Delacroix straightened from her curtsy, the curled ends of three blue-dyed ostrich feathers forming a canopy over her blond head. With her dress of a lighter blue covered by a green pelisse, she lacked only a beak to complete the image. He opened his mouth to tell her so.
“Good morning,” Alexandra said warmly from behind him. “You must be Miss Delacroix. I am Miss Gallant.”
“Your new governess,” Lucien explained, moving to one side so Alexandra could pass him. “Behave this time.”
His cousin’s pert, hopeful expression collapsed. “But—”
Miss Gallant spun to face him. “My lord, chastising someone for an imagined future ill deed that may never even come to pass is hardly correct. Or fair.”
He met the martial light in her turquoise eyes. “That,” he said flatly, pointing at his cousin, “is your charge. I am not.”
“I have found that the more positive examples there are present, the easier a behavior is to learn,” she said firmly.
Obviously the woman didn’t have a fearful bone in her body. “Do not presume to include me in this nonsense.”
She lifted her chin. “If you don’t agree with my methods of instruction, perhaps I should leave.”
“Oh, not again,” Rose whimpered, a tear running down one cheek.
Ignoring his cousin, Lucien descended the remainder of the steps. “You are not escaping that easily, Miss Gallant. Come in to breakfast. You can start by teaching her to use utensils.” He stopped and faced her again. “Unless you’re afraid of failure.”
“I am not afraid of anything, my lord,” she said, squaring her shoulders and stalking past him, Rose in tow.
“Good.”
Chapter 3
So he intended to marry soon. Alexandra glanced at his broad back as he spoke to one of his footmen. Unless his temperament and manners improved in his wife-to-be’s presence, she pitied the poor girl. It would take Attila the Hun’s daughter to stand up to Lucien Balfour. And if he was marrying, why was he promising—threatening—to kiss females with whom he was barely acquainted?
Alexandra made a point of sitting next to Rose Delacroix at the breakfast table. She couldn’t abandon the poor girl to Kilcairn’s tyranny—though preying on her sympathy might very well have been the earl’s plan. Ignoring the freshly ironed edition of the London Times at his elbow, Kilcairn buttered his bread and then sat back, eyeing her with the same expectant expression Rose wore.
Wishing that the aggravating master of the house had made himself scarce for this critical first meeting between student and governess, Alexandra turned her attention to her new charge. Though her face was lovely, her garish gown drew one’s gaze the way a carriage accident would. And from Kilcairn’s reaction, this was not Rose’s first dress disaster. Her wardrobe would have to be seen to immediately.
Alexandra smiled encouragingly. “Tell me, Miss Delacroix, what you like best about yourself.”
“Oh, my,” the young lady said, blushing. “Well, Mama says my looks are my finest asset.”
“She might have been more specific,” Kilcairn countered, lifting a fine eyebrow. “Your looks are your onl—”
“And you are just seventeen?” Alexandra cut in, wishing the earl would devote his mouth to eating.
He glanced sideways at her, then lifted the newspaper and snapped it open. She took it as a sign that he would attempt to behave himself, and a thrill of success ran through her as he conceded the point.
“I will be eighteen in five weeks.” With a nervous glance at the flimsy newspaper shield protecting her from Kilcairn, Rose returned to her breakfast. Lifting a pinkie delicately in the air, she crunched into her toasted bread and yanked the remaining piece free from her teeth.
It reminded Alexandra of Shakespeare attacking a shoe during his puppy days, and she flinched. “Where is Mrs. Delacroix this morning?” Making a show of taking up her own toast, she pulled a small piece free with her fingers and placed it into her mouth.
Rose attacked her meal with renewed vigor, giving no sign at all that she’d noticed her tutor’s subtle coaching. “Oh, she doesn’t usually have breakfast,” she said through a mouthful of food. “Rising early is too hard on her nerves. She hasn’t adjusted to London yet, I’m afraid.”
