Reforming a Rake, page 4
part #1 of With This Ring Series
Alexandra waited a moment, but Lord Kilcairn declined to return to the conversation from behind his newspaper. “How long have you been in London?” she urged.
“We arrived from Dorsetshire ten days ago. Cousin Lucien is looking after us.”
“That’s very good of h—”
“Miss Gallant is looking after you,” the earl interrupted, still behind his paper. “I am tolerating you.”
The girl’s pretty blue eyes filled with tears. “Mama said you would be glad to have us here, since you have no one else.”
The London Times smacked onto the table. Alexandra jumped, ready to come to her pupil’s defense, but at the angry expression on the earl’s face, she stifled her censure. There was clearly something going on beyond what had been said, and before she jumped into the middle she wanted to know what it was.
“A new situation is never easy on anyone,” she said in her mildest voice, and sipped her tea.
Kilcairn looked at her in silence for several long seconds, obviously weighing what he wanted to say against what politeness dictated he should say. “Quite right, Miss Gallant,” he finally muttered, and stood. “Excuse me, Miss Gallant, Cousin Rose.” With the butler on his heels, he slammed back out into the hallway.
“Oh, thank goodness. I’m so glad he’s gone,” Rose breathed when the door had closed.
“He does have rather…strong opinions,” Alexandra agreed absently, wondering what had set him off. Surely it hadn’t been Rose’s offhand comment about his being alone. Not after the rumors she’d heard about his endless evenings of drunken debauchery with friends and women of questionable morals.
“He’s awful. I thought for certain you would leave, too.”
Alexandra forced her attention back to her student. “Too?”
“As soon as we arrived he dismissed my Miss Brookhollow, and she’d been with me for nearly a year. And the governesses he hired after we arrived were just dreadful.”
“How were they dreadful?”
“They were all old, wrinkly, and mean. But then they would say something Lucien didn’t like, and he would swear at them and they’d run off—so I suppose it doesn’t matter if I didn’t like them, anyway.”
Alexandra sat for a moment, absorbing that convoluted bit of information. The incarnation of hell on earth seemed to have a much milder temper than her cousin. “It has been trying for you, no doubt. But that is over with, and things will get better from here.”
“Does that mean you intend to stay?”
That was a very good question. “I shall stay as long as I’m needed,” she said carefully, hoping the earl wasn’t eavesdropping. She had the feeling she might need the leverage of being able to quit.
Rose’s slender shoulders slumped in a sigh. “Thank goodness.”
“Well, then.” Alexandra swept her gaze along the frills of Rose’s hideous peacock gown again. “I’d like to meet your mother. And perhaps after breakfast we’d best get to work.”
Lucien pulled the rapier free from the ebony walking cane that concealed it. Flexing the long, thin blade between his fingers, he eyed the weapon’s new owner. “This wouldn’t do much more than cause a few scratches, Daubner.”
“Come, come, Kilcairn, it’s a work of art.”
Stout, chubby fingers reached for the blade, but Lucien flicked it out of his companion’s reach. He might not be able to take his annoyance out on his houseguests, but his friends weren’t going to be so lucky. “Artworks have on occasion nearly bored me to death, but I don’t think they’re truly lethal,” he said dryly. “Get yourself something stouter.”
“A man needs a stout staff for emergencies,” a third voice said from the shop’s entry.
Lucien looked up. “Robert,” he acknowledged, hoping the rest of his cronies weren’t going to appear, as well. He was too damned distracted this morning for the wolf pack—the main reason he’d settled for conversing with slow-witted William Jeffries, Lord Daubner. “Some of us are naturally equipped with stout staffs.”
With a jaunty grin, Robert Ellis, the Viscount of Belton, descended the steps and joined them in the blade shop. “So why are you purchasing such a flimsy one?”
“It’s not for me,” Kilcairn returned, and flicked the blade in Daubner’s direction. “Our count feels the need to enhance his apparatus.”
Lord Daubner chuckled uneasily, his slightly protruding eyes on the rapier. “As Belton said, it’s just for emergencies. And Wallace gave me a good price, didn’t you, Wallace?”
“Aye, my lord.”
From the corner of his eye Lucien noted the shopkeeper backing into the storeroom to avoid being drawn further into the conversation. Lucien stifled a dark smile. Wallace could give Miss Gallant a lesson in avoiding trouble. “You might as well walk down the street clutching a spoon as this sad thing.”
“It’s not the weapon, Lucien.” Robert lifted another rapier down from the wall. “It’s how you wield it.”
“Oh, goodness gracious,” Wallace muttered from the storeroom doorway.
“Gadzooks,” Daubner blustered, waddling at full speed for the corner.
Robert lifted his blade and swung it across at Lucien.
Shifting his weight, the earl blocked the move and in the same fluid motion flattened the viscount’s rapier against the display table. “So it is. Point taken.”
With a frown, Robert released his grip on the weapon, leaving it on the counter. “Don’t want to play today, eh? You might have said so.” He rubbed his knuckles where they’d collided with the hard wood.
Lucien returned the rapier to its ebony scabbard and tossed it to Daubner. “You didn’t ask.”
The viscount eyed him for a moment, then swiped a lock of wheat-colored hair back from his forehead. “Lost another governess, did you?”
Immediately an image of the turquoise-eyed goddess who kept the devil spawn company in his breakfast room banished everything else from Lucien’s mind. “Found another one,” he said brusquely. “Accompany me to Boodle’s for luncheon.”
Daubner cleared his throat.
“You, too, Daubner.”
“Ah. Splendid.”
Belton fell into step beside him as they left Wallace’s shop, while Daubner brought up the rear. Pall Mall was still fairly uncrowded, as were the clubs lining the way, but none of Mayfair would remain that way for much longer. Once the Season began in earnest, getting a good table and competent service would become a contest of wealth and skill. It was a contest he generally won.
“Are you still going to Calvert’s tonight?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Robert looked at him, brown eyes quizzical. “What happened to ‘anything to escape that damned harpies’ nest’?”
Miss Gallant had happened—though Lucien wasn’t about to reveal that. Certainly he lusted after her; spending an evening away would hardly affect that one way or the other. But at the moment she held more interest for him than Calvert’s overexplored debaucheries. “Afraid they won’t let a pup like you in without me?”
“You are my calling card to the dregs of London,” the viscount agreed with a faint smile. “Are you going, Daubner?”
“Lady Daubner would have my head if I made an appearance at Calvert’s,” the stout man said grimly.
“If she found out,” Lucien supplied. “Don’t tell her.”
Daubner jabbed a finger into Lucien’s shoulder blade. “Easy to tell you ain’t married, Kilcairn. You don’t need to tell the ladies; they just know.”
The earl shrugged, annoyed at the abuse to his shoulder and to his dark blue morning coat. “What does that matter?”
“What does what—”
“When are you going to unveil them?” Belton interrupted, as Lucien narrowed his eyes.
“Unveil whom?” he asked, lengthening his stride. Let Daubner work for his meal; it would do the sot good, anyway. The day he let a female dictate how he lived his life would be the last day he took a breath, because he’d throw himself off the Tower Bridge if it ever happened.
“Unveil Mrs. and Miss Delacroix. Not that you’ve spoken of them beyond hurling a few curses, but over the past few days you’ve seemed even more annoyed than previously.”
“When I’m annoyed,” Lucien said, looking sideways at his companion, “you’ll know it.”
“You can’t deny, though, that everyone’s going to want to set eyes on Kilcairn’s cousin. Lucifer’s only living relation and all that.”
Before Rose Delacroix saw the light of Mayfair’s chandeliers, Miss Gallant would instill manners, grace, and style in her. He had no intention of displaying his pink-flamingo cousin to the peerage now. After he did, though, and once the brat was married off, he could go about his own search—and hopefully produce an heir of his own before he expired from the hellish strain of marriage.
Lucien suppressed a shudder. “Learn to live with disappointment,” he suggested, starting up the shallow steps to Boodles. “I’ll unveil her when I’m ready to do so.”
“Selfish bastard,” the viscount muttered.
“Compliments will get you nowhere.”
Alexandra sat straight-backed in one of Lord Kilcairn’s comfortable morning room chairs and wondered whether the smile pasted on her face looked as stiff as it had begun to feel. Draped on the chaise longue across from her, a froth of blankets and pillows practically smothering her and making her look like a huge orange-haired ball of fluff, Mrs. Fiona Delacroix launched into the second half hour of her diatribe on the state of modern society.
“The nobility in particular has failed to live up to expectations,” Fiona sighed. “Even in my own family, I’m forced to confess.”
“Surely not,” Alexandra offered, sipping tea to give her cheek muscles a moment to relax.
“Oh, yes indeed. When Lucien’s cousin James died in the war last year, we sent our condolences to Lucien, and I even offered to sit as matron of Balfour House during high mourning.”
“How generous.” She tried to imagine Fiona Delacroix managing a huge, ancient London household draped in formal, deep mourning. After less than an hour’s acquaintance, she couldn’t conjure anything more than yards and yards of black bombazine covering everything. Overdressing seemed to be a defining Delacroix trait.
“Yes, it was exceedingly generous of me to offer, with the way I hate to travel. But do you know Lucien’s response? He sent me a letter. I have it memorized. In fact, I don’t think I shall ever be able to forget his cruelty.” Mrs. Delacroix fluffed a pillow to bring herself more upright. “It said, ‘Madame, I would sooner join James in hell than have you join me here.’ Can you imagine? And when dear Oscar died, he waited nearly seven months before bringing us to London.”
“And that was only because dear Oscar’s—and my father’s—wills demanded it.” Lord Kilcairn stepped into the morning room doorway.
“You see? He doesn’t even deny it!”
The earl leaned against the door, his gaze on Alexandra. It was a full moment before she realized he held Shakespeare’s leash in one hand, and that her dog sat beside one gleaming Hessian boot.
“It’s the truth, Aunt Fiona. I see no reason to deny it.”
“Bah!”
“The same to you, Aunt. You and Rose will have to excuse Miss Gallant for a short time. No doubt she needs a moment to reconsider the terms of her employment.”
“Oh, please stay!” Rose cried. She’d been silent since her mother’s recital began, and Alexandra had nearly forgotten her presence.
Alexandra sipped her tea again. “You jest, my lord,” she said easily. “Mrs. Delacroix was just catching me up on some Balfour family history.”
He glanced from her to his aunt, and she abruptly sensed that he wasn’t pleased. “How pleasant. I require a word with you, Miss Gallant. Now.”
“Of course, my lord.” Clenching her jaw at the order, she set aside her teacup and stood. “Mrs. Delacroix, Miss Delacroix, if you’ll excuse me.”
“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.”
