Reforming a Rake (18 page)

“Neither can I,” Lucien said dryly, hauling on Alexandra’s skirt to bring her in closer.

She leaned away from him. “The door is open, my lord,” she murmured through clenched teeth. She might be insane, but she wasn’t stupid.

From his expression he didn’t care if they were in the middle of Pall Mall. Lucien stood, moving his grip from her skirt to her hand. “Let’s close it, then.”

“This is decidedly unwise, my l—”

Pulling her around the table with him, he slammed the door, locked it, backed her up against it, and captured her lips in a rough, openmouthed kiss that left her no doubt of his intentions.

Last night he’d been gentle and cautious in his seduction; this morning he had no concerns over her virginity or her desire. Alexandra gasped as he lifted her in his arms and set her down on the edge of the table.

“Lucien, someone will realize what we’re doing,” she protested, her voice and her breathing unsteady.

He grinned, the heat and lust in his eyes making her glad she was sitting down. “Then we’ll have to make it quick,” he said in his low drawl.

“But—Oh, my,” she breathed, as his hands slipped up her ankles, knees, and then past her thighs, lifting her gown with them. “All right, but hurry.”

Lucien chuckled. “As you wish.”

Swiftly he freed himself, shoving his breeches down to his thighs, and pulled her closer to kiss her again. At the same time he entered her. Alexandra threw her arms around his shoulders for balance, reveling in the feel of him moving deep inside her. She was still a bit sore, but nothing remained of the initial sharp pain of last night. She smiled at him.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asked huskily, watching her face with his usual intensity.

“Yes,” she panted. “I hadn’t…realized we could…be together this way. Upright, I mean.”

“Your second lesson,” he returned. “With several more to follow.”

“More?” she asked, and then could do nothing but throw her head back and gasp as she tightened and then exploded inside.

Lucien clutched her to him and groaned from deep inside his chest. “Definitely more.”

Lucien paused outside the open drawing room door. Inside Rose banged happily away on his antique pianoforte. The instrument would never recover, but at least his cousin wasn’t weeping over something or other. In fact, he hadn’t heard a sniffle in three days, since he’d given in about the party. The concession had been a fair trade for the relative quiet. With a half smile at his own pun, Lucien started downstairs for his office.

“Lex, who do you think will offer for me first?”

Lucien paused, straining to make out the conversation over the mangled Beethoven.

“Who do you hope offers for you?”

Alexandra had managed to keep away from him for three days, or at least to have a chaperone present. While
her success solidified her position as the most skilled etiquette governess of all time, it had become damned frustrating. He knew she wanted him again; he could see it in her eyes. And he certainly enjoyed giving her lessons.

“Oh, I don’t know. Lord Belton is very nice, but I don’t think Mama’s set on him.”

“Rose, I know you have an obligation to your family, but don’t you think your own choice is at least as important as your mother’s?”

The music stopped, and Lucien leaned against the near wall. He had the distinct feeling that this was a conversation he didn’t want to miss.

“I think Mama’s too busy complaining about cousin Lucien even to notice if I’ve made a choice.”

“Still, at least you’ve noticed someone in all of this London chaos. And Lord Belton
is
nice. That is an important first point. You wouldn’t want to marry anyone who was mean.”

Lucien frowned. It was damned insulting that a woman of Alexandra’s intelligence and learning had to resort to using words of no more than two syllables to make a point. Aside from that, he had more than a suspicion that he qualified as one of the “mean” gentlemen she was discussing.

“Cousin Lucien’s been nicer, the past few days,” Rose said thoughtfully. “Mama’s even remarked on it.”

Lucien silently applauded her surprising insight. Perhaps his cousin wasn’t quite as empty-headed as he’d thought.

“Yes, he has been. Has he mentioned whether Lord Belton has rescheduled your picnic?”

Damn
. He’d forgotten about it completely. Desperate as he was to be rid of Rose and Fiona, though, as long
as they were at Balfour House, Alexandra would remain there, as well. That fact had occupied him for the past three days, and had seriously lessened his appreciation for irony.

“Ah, Lucien, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Aunt Fiona reached the top of the stairs behind him, and he cursed his inattention. “I was inspecting the ballroom,” he improvised.

“Good. I’m glad you’re taking such an interest in Rose’s party.”

“Yes, well—”

“But I fear your staff doesn’t share your enthusiasm. Wimbole has just informed me that he will not send anyone to a printer’s shop for invitation samples, whether the festivities are only a week away or not.”

“That’s correct.” He started around her for the stairs.

“And he also says that you haven’t approved my purchase of decorations.”

Wimbole was becoming entirely too chatty. “It’s
my
purchase of decorations, and I am not going to approve two hundred yards of pink bombazine.”

Rose appeared in the doorway. “Mama, you said you would decorate in yellow.”

“Perhaps a combination of the two would be more to everyone’s liking,” Alexandra said, strolling into view behind her charge.

Lucien gazed at her. He had no choice; she drew every part of him. So much for a night—and an all-too-brief morning—together curing his obsession for her. That previous torment had been heaven compared with this torture. Now he knew what he was missing.

“Lucien must decide,” Fiona declared.

He shook himself. “Decide what?”

“Pink or yellow?”

“Why would you think I gave a damn?”

“Then why won’t you purchase the bomba—”

“Because I will not have any room in my house looking like a whore’s boudoir unless you intend to supply the whore,” he snapped.

“Lucien!” Fiona gasped.

Alexandra made a sound that might have been either a cluck of disapproval or a stifled laugh. “Please, my lord. Your language.”

Rose sniffled. “Now I’ll never have a party.”

He had already opened his mouth to tell his cousin what a relief that would be, when Alexandra’s put-upon expression stopped him. Skittish as she’d been, he had no intention of allowing her to use his “meanness” as an excuse to continue avoiding him.

“Of course you’re having a party,” he grumbled. “Miss Gallant is in charge of your presentation into society, so she will also decide your color scheme and decorations.” He glanced at his aunt. “And she will approve your invitation list.”

Aunt Fiona’s face reddened. “I will not have a governess dictating who will attend my parties!”

He took a step closer. “Yes, you will, unless you wish
me
to dictate who will attend.”

“I am only here to advise,” Alexandra said hurriedly. “We all want Rose’s birthday to be spectacular.” She glanced at Lucien. “I must earn my keep somehow.”

He knew exactly where that came from, and ignored it. Governess, lover, or mistress, he would call her whatever she wished. “Excellent. We’re all agreed, then.”

“Oh, very well.” Fiona smoothed the frown from her round face. “But, Lucien, I must insist that you go over the guest list with us, anyway.”

“I’ll be happy to throw as many bachelors in Rose’s direction as will fit in the house. Other than that, only my purse intends to be involved.”

To his surprise, Rose put a hand on his sleeve. “You’ve been to so many more elegant soirees than I have,” she said. “I want my party to be the grandest one ever. I would like if you would help us plan it.”

Good God, now they wanted him hanging about. If not for the turquoise-eyed goddess standing in the doorway, he would have made certain his cousin knew just what he thought of her party plans thus far, and then he would have fled to one of his clubs. That, though, would have left him with two major problems: First, Robert would no doubt find him if he went out, and he would have to reschedule Rose’s picnic, and then Robert would offer for Rose just to annoy him. Rose would marry, and Alexandra would leave.

The second problem would be nearly as unpleasant, because it would involve apologizing to Alexandra for being mean again, at which point she would insist that he make amends to Rose—and he would do it, because the blasted governess had him wrapped around her little finger, and her smile was swiftly on its way to becoming his sunlight.

He cleared his throat. “If you insist, cousin, I would be…happy to help.”

That sent Aunt Fiona into raptures, which annoyed him no end. He was willing to ignore it, though, because Alexandra sat beside him on the couch, and for the first time in three days he was able to spend over an hour in her company. It belatedly dawned on him that if he wanted to extend his time with her, all he needed to do was spend more time with Rose—and to a lesser degree, thank God, with Fiona. Abysmal as that was, it was bet
ter than having Alexandra evade him until the end of time.

After an hour in his relations’ presence, he was beginning to wish the end of time were somewhat nearer. “No. Take him off the list,” he said.

“But Lord Hannenfeld has been looking for a wife for two years,” Alexandra countered, continuing to write.

“Hannenfeld supported peace negotiations with Bonaparte, and I won’t have him in my house.”

“Oh, that nasty Bonaparte!” Fiona exclaimed, accepting another biscuit from a footman. “If we’d made peace with him, perhaps your dear cousin James might still be alive.”

The past hour’s mild annoyance flared into anger. “What in damnation do you think you—”

“My lord,” Alexandra interrupted.

He continued to glare at Fiona. “You have no right—”

Miss Gallant slipped her warm hand over his clenched fingers. “Lord Hannenfeld will not attend,” she stated, and crossed the name off her list in a black, thick line of pencil. “If Lord Kilcairn says he is not welcome here, then he is not.”

She was comforting him, easing his anger. No one that he could recall had ever made the effort before. He turned his hand to grip hers, then let go before she could pull away. Let her long for a more prolonged contact between them, as he did. “Good,” he said, pulling his temper back in check. “We can’t have Hannenfeld and Wellington at the same soiree, anyway.”

Rose gasped. “Wellington? Do you think he’ll attend?”

“I imagine so. He’s particularly fond of my private stock of port. I’ll send over a bottle with the invitation.”

Alexandra looked at him sideways, the hint of a smile
touching her lips. “That’s a bit devious, don’t you think?”

“We want Rose’s party to be unforgettable, don’t we?”

“Ooh, write his name down, Lex,” Rose urged, giggling.

“You’re a good boy, Lucien.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I beg to differ, Aunt.”

Alexandra cleared her throat. If she considered it her duty to distract him, he had no intention of discouraging her. In fact, he knew several ways he could stand to be distracted.

“I hesitate to mention this,” she said, amusement touching her voice again, “but I notice a dearth of female guests. My lord, don’t you have a list of ladies you’d care to invite?”

Fiona glared at the governess. “It’s Rose’s party.”

Lucien had been about to answer in the same vein, but he had no intention of siding with his aunt. “I imagine I can name a few who are about Rose’s age,” he said reluctantly.

Alexandra looked at him. “I thought you preferred more mature ladies.”

“I do.” He smiled, watching the pretty blush rise in her cheeks in response. He liked knowing he affected her as much as she affected him.

“That reminds me,” Aunt Fiona broke in, straightening Rose’s sleeve. “Have you finished that
Paradise Lost
yet, my dear? I know how you were enjoying it.”

Rose shook her head. “No, Mama. It’s very difficult to rea—”

“Difficult to make time for, yes, I know, darling. That’s how I know you’ve liked it so much.” Fiona leaned forward to pat her nephew’s knee. “She has no
time for such frivolities. I tell her that all the time, ‘Rose, you have no time for reading,’ but she insists on it, anyway.”

“You enjoy Milton?” Lucien asked, unable to keep the deep skepticism from his voice.

“Oh, yes…He’s very…poetical.”

“Yes, he would have to be,” he agreed dryly.

“Now, now, you two, you can discuss your literature later. I have no patience for it myself.”

Rose hadn’t suddenly become a literature aficionado. Whatever nonsense his relations were up to, Lucien had run out of the patience to tolerate it. He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. “Delightful as this has been, I have an appointment,” he said, rising.

“Oh, Lord Kilcairn, I nearly forgot,” Alexandra blurted, rushing to her feet. “I needed to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

Blushing, she gestured toward the doorway. “It’s a personal matter.”

Lucien went hard. “Of course. After you.”

He followed her out the door, down the hallway, and into the small corner sitting room. “What is it?”

Alexandra paused by the far window. “Close the door, please.”

Curious, aroused, and a little worried at her odd behavior, Lucien complied. “Alexandra?” he said, facing her again.

She wrung her hands together for a moment, clearly agitated and not at all like the calm, collected female she’d been two minutes ago. Then, with what sounded like a combination of a growl and a curse, she strode back across the room, grabbed him by the lapels, lifted up on her toes, and kissed him.

The effect on him was astounding. In their previous encounters she’d been curious and eager, but never the aggressor. Sweeping his arms around her back and waist, he allowed her to push him backward against the door.

Alexandra continued to push and pull at him, molding herself to his body as though she wanted to be part of him. He wanted to drop to the floor and rip her clothes off, but she had started it, so he would let her dictate the terms—this time.