Reforming a Rake (16 page)

“But I wanted to dance this next waltz with you, cousin. We so rarely frequent the same establishments. For example, I hardly expected to see you here tonight. I see, though, that you’re still on Kilcairn’s tether.”

She felt Lucien stir behind her. Whatever he said this time would probably mortally wound Virgil; apparently he had already whetted his appetite for mayhem on Miss Beckett this evening. “I would be happy to dance with you, cousin,” she said quickly, before her volcanic-tempered employer could erupt. “I hadn’t realized you wished to socialize with me.”

Her cousin chuckled, glancing back to be certain that he still had an audience. “Well, it’s not socializing, precisely. I try to perform a certain number of charitable deeds each month, and I was one short. Dancing with you will catch me up.”

The gallery laughed, and Alexandra felt her cheeks turn scarlet. She knew exactly what she wanted to say in response; the words had formed almost simultaneously with his vacuous commentary. She clamped her jaw shut and smiled. “As it pleases you, Lord Virgil.”

“I was wondering something, Lord Virgil,” Kilcairn said in a carrying voice from behind her.

“Please don’t,” Alexandra whispered.

Virgil’s smile faltered for a moment. “Wondering what, Kilcairn?”

She felt the earl hesitate. Finally he took her arm, wrapping it over his. “I must decline. Miss Gallant has urged me to be polite.”

“Is that all she’s urged you—”

“And it is obviously impolite to engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed man.”

Alexandra breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Lucien did care about how far he went, and what it might cost her. And whether he realized it or not, he had quite possibly just saved her life.

Virgil’s face turned a blustering red. “Kilcairn, you—”

Lucien lifted his free hand. “Take a moment to consider your next words, Lord Virgil. I have
very
limited patience.”

Before Virgil could venture a reply, if he intended to do so, Lord Kilcairn guided her past the gauntlet, which seemed to last the length of the ballroom. She knew she should thank him, or run away, or something, but all she could do was keep her feet moving and grip Lucien’s arm so she wouldn’t stumble.

“Do we have to go home?” Rose asked plaintively, as they rejoined her and Mrs. Delacroix. Alexandra gathered her wits enough to notice that Lord Belton had reappeared beside the girl.

“Yes, we do,” Lucien answered.

“That will never do. Please stay,” Alexandra managed, dropping her hand from his arm and hoping she hadn’t left a bruise. “This is your evening, Miss Delacroix. It was never intended to be mine, for heaven’s sake.”

“Yes, Miss Gallant is right,” Fiona agreed. “Rose’s
dance card is full. It would be horribly rude if we had to leave early.”

“You should stay, Lex,” Lady Victoria Fontaine said, as she appeared beside them. She curtsied. “My lords, Mrs. and Miss Delacroix.”

“Lady Victoria,” Lucien acknowledged, his expression easing a little.

Alexandra didn’t like that, or the way everyone was trying to bully her. “Vixen, go away,” she grumbled. “We’re starting to look like an armed encampment.”

“Don’t let that idiot Virgil send you running off again, Lex.”

“Again?” Kilcairn murmured.

Oh, no
. “My lord, please don’t—”

“You’re staying, Miss Gallant.”

She knew instinctively that no one argued with that tone, but she had little choice. “If I stay, I’ll have to dance the next waltz with him.” With impeccable timing, the orchestra chose that moment to strike up the waltz. “I promised.”

Lucien took her hand. “You’re waltzing with me.”

The strength of his grip made any further argument impossible. She was glad for that; it saved her the disgrace of conceding. And she supposed it was disgraceful that she did want to dance with him. Despite Virgil, and despite the further opportunity for scandal, she wanted to dance in Lucien Balfour’s arms.

“No arguments?” he asked, sliding his hand around her waist and pulling her close.

“None. Except that six inches of light should show between us the entire time we’re waltzing.”

Unexpectedly he laughed, a wicked, merry sound that made her smile back at him.

“What’s so amusing, my lord?”

“Six inches isn’t nearly enough, Alexandra. Not where you and I are concerned.”

She met his gaze as they swayed into the dance, color rising in her cheeks. Even though she didn’t know precisely what he was referring to, she felt assured that it was scandalous—and from her experience kissing him the last time, she had a good idea that he was discussing something anatomical.

“Hm,” he murmured. “Still no arguments?”

“You’re only trying to distract me so I won’t remember that I was leaving even before Virgil appeared.”

Light gray eyes looked steadily back at her. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, you know.”

“Don’t be nice.” Good lord, he was graceful. She’d never danced with anyone as self-assured and skilled as he was.

“You’re contradicting your own lessons now—wasn’t I supposed to work on being nice?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped. “Just please don’t antagonize Virgil any further.”

For a moment they danced in silence, and for that time she could almost forget the hostile looks and her hostile relation in the shadows at the edges of the room. Here, with the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey, they didn’t dare approach, and didn’t dare say anything cutting or unkind. Alexandra looked up into his eyes again and found him watching her closely, as he always did. “Now, my lord. What did you say to Miss Beckett?”

“Did you know her at Miss Grenville’s Academy?”

“No. I knew she attended, but that would have been well after I left.”

“I told her she had foul breath and warts. And saggy breasts.”

Some of his distractions were definitely more effective
than others. “Foul…Why in the world would you say such a thing?”

“If you won’t discuss Lord Virgil Retting and what kind of hold he has over you, then I have no intention of explaining Miss Beckett’s shortcomings.”

“You don’t need to know everything.”

“I need to know everything about you.”

Her pulse fluttered unsteadily. “Why?”

His lips curved in his slow, sensuous smile. “I don’t know.”

That answer unsettled her more than all of his charming comments and insinuating lures. It mirrored how she felt about him: she had no idea why he so intrigued her, but she felt almost powerless to resist even his most aggravating, obvious enticements. “Can I trust you?” she whispered.

“You have to decide the answer to that, Alexandra,” he said after a moment. “But we won’t discuss your idiot relation any further until we’ve returned to Balfour House and my idiot relations are safely locked away for the night.”

The music stopped. Lucien remained in front of her, one hand still warmly around her waist, as the other dancers drifted toward the refreshment tables.

“Let go,” she murmured, less embarrassed than she expected. “Go find another female for the next dance. I believe it’s a quadrille.”

“If I’m prancing about with some other female,” he said, releasing her, “I won’t be able to make certain you haven’t fled into the night.”

Thank goodness he was being arrogant and bossy again. Her legs had been beginning to feel rather wobbly, no doubt a reaction to his unexpected empathy. “You’ll just have to trust me,” she said, and returned to Mrs. Delacroix’s side.

B
eing the subject of further gossip might prevent Alexandra from ever finding another decent position, but it certainly didn’t discourage the men present at the Bentley ball—or the less stodgy ones, anyway—from asking her to dance.

She had decided to sit quietly in a corner with Mrs. Delacroix and think; she had a great deal to contemplate. Immediately, though, she realized that quiet reflection would be an impossible task. Fiona had apparently acquired gossip about every guest in attendance, and she insisted on sharing it. In addition, some gentleman or other approached to claim Alexandra’s hand for every remaining dance that evening.

Alexandra wasn’t naive enough to pretend that their interest baffled her, but since they considered her to be Kilcairn’s property—and she frowned as she realized that—at least their innuendos remained fairly restrained. And their continuous attentions served both to keep Virgil Retting at a distance, and to keep Fiona’s wagging tongue from deafening her.

“I’m exhausted!” Rose said as she slumped against the coach’s soft cushions at the end of the evening. “I’m so glad we stayed.”

Fiona patted her daughter’s knee. “You were so well liked, child! Did you see, Lucien, how many young men—and ladies—wanted to converse with our Rose?”

The earl had settled back into one corner, his eyes closed in the half dark. “Miss Gallant has succeeded beyond my wildest expectations.”

“That is because Rose is a superb pupil,” his aunt argued.

Alexandra flexed her aching toes in their thin slippers. “She is more than superb.”

“You know what I’ve been thinking?” Mrs. Delacroix sat forward, her green eyes gleaming.

“I couldn’t begin to imagine,” Lucien said dryly.

“Rose’s birthday is scarcely ten days away. You should throw her a grand party, Lucien. Invite only the best of London. I will help arrange for the decorations and entertainment. It will be so festive!”

Finally the earl opened one eye. “What horror,” he said, and resumed his supposed nap.

Rose sniffled.

“My lord,” Alexandra said hurriedly, trying to stop the flood before it could begin, “the decision whether to host a party should never be made at two o’clock in the morning—and certainly not after such an exhausting evening.”

“Very well,” he muttered. “I’ll decline in the morning.”

Rose’s eyes began to fill with tears, but Alexandra motioned at her to be calm and indicated that she would take care of matters. They rode the rest of the way in silence, and she almost thought Kilcairn had fallen
asleep—though the more likely explanation was that he simply didn’t want to talk to his relations any longer. Alexandra didn’t, either. She was too worried over whether he would renew his questions about Virgil Retting once they returned, and what she would tell him if he did.

She knew what she
wanted
to tell him—everything. Just to be able to speak to someone else about her private woes would be such a relief. After tonight, and the way he’d come to her rescue at least twice…No one had ever attempted to rescue her before. Alexandra smiled a little into the near darkness. How odd to think that her one and only champion had a reputation at least as shoddy as her own.

The coach rocked to a halt. Lucien stirred, opening his eyes with no sign at all that he’d been napping, and followed the three women into the house. Alexandra shed her wrap and her bonnet and started up the stairs behind the Delacroix ladies.

A warm, strong hand slid around her waist and pulled her backward a step, holding her firmly against a tall, strong chest and torso. “Tell them good night,” he whispered into her hair.

“Good night, Rose, Mrs. Delacroix,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Rose stopped and turned around, peering down into the shadowy foyer. “Aren’t you coming to bed, Lex?”

“I’ll be along in a moment. I need a new selection from the library.”

“I couldn’t keep my eyes open to read,” Fiona declared as she reached the top of the stairs. “I’m going to sleep until noon. Good night, Lucien.”

“Aunt Fiona. Rose.”

“Cousin Lucien.”

Alexandra waited until she heard two doors close. “Let go.”

“No.”

“Fine. We can stand in the foyer all night, then.”

The muscles across his hard, flat stomach tightened, as though he was suppressing a laugh—or a curse. His grip loosened and slid away. “Have you ever lost an argument?”

She put several steps between them and then turned around. “No.”

“Hm. Neither have I.”

Relieved to find him still in good humor, she couldn’t resist another dig. “By the way, you lost points during your argument with Lord Virgil.”

Lucien took a step closer. “And how did I manage that?”

“You used a cliché. To be precise, ‘a battle of wits with an unarmed man.’”

A slight frown furrowed his brow. “That is not a cliché. And I wanted to be certain he understood the insult, anyway. I hate wasting my finest material on the unworthy.”

She nodded. “Of course. Well, good evening.”

The earl took another step toward her. “Not so fast, Alexandra. Explain. And don’t pretend you’re baffled by the request.”

“The demand, you mean.”

“Whatever.”

Alexandra looked at him for a long time. Tonight her shoulders felt almost stooped from her load. If anyone else could manage the weight, even just for a few moments, it would be Lucien Balfour. “I need to tread carefully where my relations are concerned.”

He took her hand and guided her toward the dark library doorway. “Why?”

“If they—if my uncle, especially—were to publicly distance themselves from me, I would be left completely…unprotected.”

She couldn’t see a thing, but Lucien led her unerringly to the library’s overstuffed couch. He nudged her backward onto the cushions and lit the nearby lamp. Then he sank down close enough beside her that their thighs touched.

“And it is necessary for you to be protected because…?”

“Because their support, unwitting or not, is all that keeps the gossip and rumors at a civilized level.”

Lucien slowly reached up and pulled the clips from her hair. She trembled as the golden waves tumbled down around her shoulders, and again as he curled his fingers through the wavy mass.

“You’re leaving something out,” he murmured, leaning closer to rub his cheek along her hair.

“I…My goodness.”

“Continue.”

With a ragged breath, she complied. “Lady Welkins hates me.”

Long fingers continued twisting and whispering through her hair. “You did nothing wrong.”

Leaning back against his shoulder, Alexandra closed her eyes. “I pushed Lord Welkins down the stairs.”

The fingers stilled. “Why?”

“It was an accident,” she said, her voice quavering. “Mostly an accident.”

“He had several mistresses, as I recall,” Lucien said in a quiet, low voice, and shifted his fingers to her wrist, where he began unfastening her glove.

She kept her eyes closed, hardly daring to breathe lest she disturb the odd, electric sensation within her. “Yes, I know. He wanted another one.”

“You refused.”

“I told him that was not the reason I took the position in his household.”

“I’ve heard that speech, I believe.” He gently tugged the left glove from her hand, and slowly circled her palm with the tip of one finger.

“Unlike you, he was unwilling to wait for a change of heart on my part.”

The finger paused, then resumed its trail. “You’ve had a change of heart?”

Alexandra opened her eyes. “My lord, I—”

“Close your eyes,” he ordered in the same soft voice. “Relax. I didn’t mean to change the subject.”

She felt nothing close to relaxed, but strangely enough, she did feel safe—and completely befuddled, which was no doubt his intention. “I was climbing the stairs, on my way back to Lady Welkins’s bedchamber with a book for her. He was waiting at the top of the stairs, and met me at the landing. He…pushed me against the railing.”

The fastenings of her right glove opened one by one. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. He kissed me. I was…I was actually quite surprised. Then he grabbed my skirt and tried to yank it over my head. His hands…” She stopped. Lucien would know what she couldn’t say. “I pushed him away, as hard as I could.”

Lucien slipped her remaining glove off. “So why did you say it was ‘mostly’ an accident?”

“I knew we were at the edge of the landing.”

“But you didn’t know he’d fall down half a flight of stairs and have an apoplexy.”

“No. I hoped he would fall down half a flight of stairs.”

“Naturally. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to get away from him.”

Alexandra closed her hands, trapping his fingers between her palms. “You aren’t surprised.”

“I would have been surprised if you’d done nothing. But you weren’t arrested then. Why do the rumors bother you now?”

Freeing his captured fingers, he lifted her hands to his lips. Featherlight kisses along the insides of her wrists made her breath catch and her pulse race. “I ran back downstairs to…see to him, but he died while I was kneeling there.”

“Good.” His voice sounded cold and matter-of-fact, and she had the distinct feeling that she never wanted to be on his bad side when he was truly angry.

Alexandra wanted to kiss him, touch him, bury herself in him, deep down where she’d be safe. “I ran back into the library and pretended to read until one of the footmen found him and sounded the alarm. Lady Welkins was very jealous and she knew Lord Welkins…had been pursuing me, and she wanted to have me arrested. The Bow Street runners would have taken me off to jail in chains then and there, except I told them my uncle was the Duke of Monmouth, and he would be
very
displeased at the uproar.”

“And then no work for six months.”

She shook her head.

For a moment he was silent. “I have one more question, Alexandra.”

“Only one?”

“For now. Do my attentions displease you?” He tilted her chin up with his fingertips.

They should. But her reasons for accepting the position had had more to do with Lucien Balfour than Rose, though she hadn’t been able to articulate how, or why. Until now. “I like your attentions very much,” she said, looking into his eyes, “though I’m not quite sure why I’m receiving them.”

Lucien smiled. “I told you why. I want to cover your naked skin with slow, hot kisses.” He lifted her backward, across his legs. “I want to make love to you.” His fingers gently traced her cheekbones as he leaned in to touch his lips to hers.

Alexandra forgot how to breathe, and then remembered again in a ragged rush as she felt the tie around her waist come loose. “Lucien,” she managed, and then couldn’t speak as his mouth found hers again.

Unable to resist, she swept her arms up around his shoulders and pulled herself closer against him. The warmth running just under her skin turned to fire, so hot she could scarcely think of anything except how it felt to touch him, and to be touched by him. He was smooth and steel, all at the same time.

“I don’t want you to dance with anyone but me, ever again,” he said, his own voice unsteady. The buttons running down the back of her gown unfastened, one by one.

The possessiveness in his tone thrilled her. “You told Lord Belton to dance with me.”

“That was so I could.” Her gown slipped from her shoulders. “My attempt at propriety. Stand up.”

“I’m not certain I can,” she said shakily, still clinging to his shoulders.

With a low growl deep in his chest, he kissed her
again, his tongue and lips teasing at her mouth until she opened to him. She could feel him, feel his growing arousal against her thigh. When his hand slipped around to the front and dipped down to cup her breast, she gasped. His fingers touched and caressed and teased, until she had to lean into him, wanting more of the flame that centered wherever he touched her, and in the secret, yearning place between her thighs.

She protested when he stood her on her feet, but he only chuckled. With a whisper of silk he slid her dress up past her knees, past her thighs, above her waist, and then over her head and onto the floor. Alexandra stood there in nothing but her shift, watching his face as his gaze traveled slowly up the length of her body, pausing at her hips and her breasts and then returning to her face.

“Take off your shift,” he said.

Her breathing fast and unsteady, she watched his hungry gaze lower to her chest again. She looked down to see her nipples erect and straining against the flimsy material of the shift. Her first instinct was to cover herself, until she realized the effect her near-nakedness was having on Lucien.

“Take off your coat,” she countered, lifting her hands to open the buttons of his waistcoat. When he complied without argument, it amazed her to realize how much power she had over him—at least tonight. Lucien shrugged out of his dark coat and then let her slide the waistcoat down his shoulders. As she did so, he ran his fingers up her arms and pulled her against him. With a yearning moan she raised on her tiptoes to receive his kiss.

“You could have gone home with any of the ladies at the ball tonight,” she said, pulling his shirt from his breeches. She needed to feel his warm skin against hers.
“Why me? Why an overaged, ruined governess?”

“I want you.” He helped her lift his shirt over his head. “All of those idiots you danced with—they wanted you, too. Why me, Alexandra?”

She ran her hands along his bare, smooth chest, fascinated by the hard muscles beneath her fingers, so much more alive than the statues standing cold and silent in the museum.
I don’t love them
, she almost said, and stopped herself just in time. “I don’t trust them,” she said instead.

“You trust me?” he repeated huskily, pausing in his exploration of her shoulders and throat.

Alexandra half closed her eyes as touch overloaded her senses. “I don’t want to, but I do.”

“That’s right. Miss Gallant makes her way in the world alone, doesn’t she?”

She tried to read his expression, but only intense curiosity and heat and desire looked back at her. “Miss Gallant has found that to be the wisest way to proceed.”