Reforming a Rake (21 page)

“No, she didn’t.”

“And you are all right?”

Alexandra closed her eyes, letting the music flow through her fingers. “I’ll make do. After all, I’ll only be in London another few days.”

She expected a protest, but he remained silent for a minute. “I could have done without that being added into the conversation,” he finally said.

“Then we won’t speak of it.”

“Alexandra, if I hadn’t asked you to marry me, would you have stayed longer?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Virgil and Lady Welkins would have been in London anyway, but…Lucien, it’s not only because of you. I just shouldn’t be here.”

“I think here is exactly where you should be.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, and after another few minutes of silence he rose and moved to the door. “Good night, Alexandra.”

“Good night, Lucien.”

By the afternoon of Rose’s birthday extravaganza, Lucien felt as though he were coming apart at the seams.

Keeping track of Lady Welkins and making certain the blasted woman and Alexandra didn’t come within a mile of one another was taxing enough. Making the past few days even more difficult, he didn’t want Alexandra to suspect that he might have anyone spying on her daily excursions, either.

In addition, he’d managed to evade Robert Ellis all three times the viscount had come to call. While he couldn’t imagine that Robert actually meant to offer for Rose, neither could he come up with a better reason for the lad’s persistence.

Keeping Rose single and Lady Welkins absent had kept Alexandra present, but after tonight he had no hold on her at all. At his request, Wimbole had begun checking on the stubborn chit’s activities within the house, and this morning the butler reported that she’d begun to pack. With that news, the day seemed about as dismal as it could get.

And then he intercepted the letter.

He nearly missed it, and if he hadn’t headed out the
front door for a breath of fresh air, it would have bypassed his notice completely. Thank God for the frilly decorating chaos that made him flee.

“Vincent, where are you off to?” he asked from his refuge on the front steps, as the steady stream of decorators, caterers, ice carts, and bakers went around to the back of the house.

The groom hesitated at the bottom of the steps. “Delivering a few messages, my lord.”

“Doesn’t Thompkinson do that?”

“Aye, my lord, but he’s been put to the task of polishing a last coat of beeswax onto the ballroom floor.”

“It wouldn’t be a true party without someone slipping and breaking his head.” Dimly he heard Aunt Fiona calling him from the depths of the house. “My missive to Lord Daubner can wait until tomorrow, if you have other duties.”

“That’s very kind of you, my lord. I’ve a last-minute invitation going to Henrietta Street, though, for Mrs. Delacroix, so Jeffries House is on my way.”

Henrietta Street was on the fringes of Mayfair, where the newer and less illustrious
ton
dwelled. Considering that Aunt Fiona had only wanted the most glittering members of the nobility present at her daughter’s party, Lucien’s curiosity was immediately engaged. “Who’s it for?”

Vincent held it out. “I only memorized the address, my lord. I don’t read.”

Lucien did read, but he still had to study the missive for several moments before he believed what it said. He glanced up at the groom. “Make your other deliveries, Vincent. I’ll see to this one.”

The lad doffed his hat and hurried off to saddle a mount. Anger curled up Lucien’s spine, and the longer
he tried to figure the whys and wherefores of the invitation’s existence, the more furious he became. Deliberately he broke the wax seal bearing his house’s initials and read it, then he crammed the damned thing into his pocket and made his way inside.

Aunt Fiona, Rose, and Alexandra stood in the middle of the ballroom watching the mad dash of activity around them. Lucien stopped in the doorway. “Everyone, out!” he roared.

Alexandra looked up at him, surprised, her turquoise gaze trying to read his infuriated expression. “What’s wrong, my lord?”

Wimbole had appeared from another doorway, and immediately began ushering servants and workers out of the room. “Five minutes, Wimbole,” he snapped, and the butler nodded.

Predictably his cousin’s eyes filled with tears at the upset, and he gave her an annoyed glance. “Rose, excuse us for a moment.”

A tear ran down one cheek. “But—”

“
Now!
”

She jumped and fled. A moment later, only Fiona and Alexandra remained. He had a fair idea how Alexandra would react to what he was about to say, and after a hesitation he gestured her toward the door, as well. “You, too, Miss Gallant.”

“As you wish, my lord.” With another curious, concerned look she left, closing the door behind her.

“What in the world is the matter, Lucien?” his aunt trilled. “We only have a few hours until the guests begin to arrive.”

“How long have you been acquainted with Lady Welkins?” he asked, slamming the main double doors shut.

She paled, but kept her chin raised. “My acquaintances are my own affair.”

He remained silent and angry, waiting for her to answer his question. She had done more than gone behind his back; she had tried to hurt Alexandra—and from her response, she had done it deliberately.

His aunt shifted. “I don’t know what you’re so annoyed at, anyway. We’re just two widows, sharing our tales of misfortune.”

“If you don’t answer my question, you’re going to have more misfortune than you’ll know what to do with.” He took the invitation from his pocket and threw it at her feet. “You will not see that woman again, and she is never—
never
—to be allowed into this house.”

Green eyes glared at him. “You deny a lonely widow friendship, and yet you let that murdering female live under your roof, while your own cousin tries to make a proper debut in society?”

“That’s right—it’s
my
roof, Fiona. If I can stand having you living under it, I can stand anything. And Miss Gallant tries my patience far less than you do.”

“What about her awful reputation?”

“What about mine?”

Fiona jabbed a finger in his direction. “Bah! Don’t think you can fool me about what’s going on. She’s after your fortune, just like she was after Lord Welkins’s. I know that she’s sharing your bed. And you can’t make me keep quiet about it, either.”

Lucien’s first thought was that Fiona had more intelligence than he’d given her credit for. His second was how much he’d like to throttle her. At the moment, though, considering how many people knew they were alone together in the ballroom, that might raise some sticky questions. “If I can’t make you keep quiet here,
I can certainly send you back to Blything Hall, where no one cares what you prattle about.”

“Don’t threaten me!”

With effort he kept from growling. “Don’t try to play this game with me. I’m better at it than you are.”

“You—”

“What do you want?” he broke in.

“I want that woman gone from this house.”

“She’s leaving anyway.”

“I don’t want her coming back—ever. Together, Lady Welkins and I know enough about Alexandra Gallant to see that she never finds employment again. Anywhere. I want her gone.”

The desire to throttle her was becoming stronger. “And after you’ve rid yourself of Miss Gallant? I presume you have something additional in mind.”

“Yes, I do. I want you to marry Rose.”

For a moment he could only stare at her. “What?” he finally choked.

“You marry Rose, and I’ll leave Miss Gallant alone. I know you care for that whore—I heard you telling her you would take care of your bastard. So Rose is going to be Lady Kilcairn, and my grandchildren are going to inherit your titles, your land, and your wealth.”

“By God, you’re ambitious. Just how long have you been planning this?” he asked, almost admiring her audacity.

“Only since I saw what you inherited, and what dear Oscar didn’t. Rose will have her party tonight, Lucien, and everyone will see how well the two of you suit. And then you will announce your engagement.”

Fiona turned on her heel and left. Lucien stood there in the middle of the ballroom for several minutes. What his aunt proposed wasn’t blackmail, precisely, because
he wouldn’t pay any consequences if she made her suppositions and allegations public. Alexandra would, though. He cursed. He’d been careless, and he’d left Alexandra vulnerable. He’d even allowed his damned aunt to have the last word, and so far only Miss Gallant had managed to do that to him.

Lucien narrowed his eyes. Fiona hadn’t bested him yet. And she’d made a huge mistake: she’d given him time to make a plan.

Alexandra folded her new shawl and placed it with the other things in her trunk. The ivory-colored lace was too lovely and too delicate for travel. Most of her new things were too lavish for anywhere but London. As a teacher, she wouldn’t have much use for them at all, but she couldn’t bear to part with them. Not yet, anyway.

“Miss Gallant?” Lucien knocked at her door.

He sounded less angry than he had been in the ballroom, but something deadly serious remained in his voice. Whatever it was, today was difficult enough without the agony of spending time alone with him.

“Miss Gallant,” the earl repeated, knocking again. “Alexandra, I know you’re in there.”

Shakespeare emerged from beneath the bed and trotted over to wag his tail at the door. Of course the terrier liked Lucien; in the earl’s house he was allowed to do exactly as he pleased. Alexandra was, too, but unfortunately that freedom ended at the front door.

The latch rattled as something heavy hit the door, and the doorframe splintered. Lucien shouldered the door open the rest of the way and strode into the room. “You might have answered me,” he said calmly, brushing splinters from his coat.

“My silence was my answer,” she replied, and returned to packing.

Lucien squatted down and scooped Shakespeare into his arms. “We have a problem.”

She set aside her old blue traveling hat for the morning. “I didn’t think you’d begun roaring at everyone for no good reason.”

“My aunt knows that you and I are lovers.”

Alexandra flinched. “We
were
lovers. We aren’t any longer. And I’m leaving tomorrow, so I don’t care what she knows.”

Absently he scratched Shakespeare’s head. “She’s struck up an acquaintance with Lady Welkins.”

“She…” The room began spinning, and she sat down hard on the floor.

“Alexandra,” Lucien said sharply, and knelt beside her. “You’re not the fainting sort, remember?”

“I’m not fainting,” she rasped, putting a hand to her forehead. “I’m going to be ill. Lady Welkins in London is…one thing. But Mrs. Delacroix knowing her…Oh, my goodness.”

“It’ll be all right. I have a solution.”

Suddenly he was her white knight again, charging in to her rescue. Something, though, didn’t make sense. She took Shakespeare out of his arms and tried to ignore the rush of her blood as their fingers brushed. “Why did you break down my door?”

He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“I said, ‘Why did you break down my door?’”

“Because you didn’t answer me. And—”

“And why did you say ‘we’ have a problem? It seems to me that Lady Welkins is my worry.”

“For God’s sake, Alexandra.” Lucien took a deep
breath, his gray eyes somber. “Fiona’s threatened to cause trouble for you, unless…”

The last piece of the puzzle fell neatly into place. “Unless you agree to marry Rose.”

He blinked. “How did you know that?”

“I have eyes and ears. And I’ve spent more time with your relations than you have.”

Reaching out, he took hold of her fingers, his grip warm and sure. “Alexandra, my name can protect you. Even if Lady Welkins and Fiona both started spewing nonsense, if…if you were my wife, no one would dare come near you. Marry me, Alexandra. Please.”

He was definitely getting better at proposing, and the part of her that longed for him wanted to sag into his arms and let him simply take care of her. But the other part of her, the cool, logical part that knew she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself, couldn’t ignore a very obvious chink in his plea—or a seventeen-year-old girl who regarded her cousin with some affection.

“And if you married me, you wouldn’t have to marry Rose.”

“I don’t have to marry Rose anyway. Alexandra—”

“No.” She climbed to her feet. “Fiona only wants me gone because she sees me as a rival to Rose. Thanks to Emma Grenville, I have somewhere else to go.”

He looked up at her. “And the next time Fiona gets angry with me, she can spout enough nasty nonsense that even Miss Grenville’s Academy won’t employ you.”

“Just to spite you?”

“Because she knows I care for you.”

She set Shakespeare on the bed and went back to packing. “No. I am not going to be some chess piece for everyone to try to maneuver about the board. I’m
leaving in the morning, and you can turn your antiquated ideas of chivalry toward helping Rose, who may be under the mistaken impression that she likes you.”

Lucien climbed to his feet and grabbed her shift away from her. “You are not leaving. You are not leaving me.”

He was much bigger and stronger than she was, but she’d never been afraid of him, and she wasn’t now. Alexandra yanked her clothes back. “You’ve known for a week that today was to be my last day here. Don’t pretend to be concerned over me now, when we both know it’s yourself and the parentage of Kilcairn Abbey’s descendants that troubles you.”

“It is not—”

“And don’t bellow at me. Volume is not going to change my mind.” She flung the shift, uncaring of wrinkles, into the trunk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will say my good-byes now, so Rose will have her party to cheer her up.”

Her voice wasn’t at all steady, but he was so upset at having his brilliant little plan foiled that he probably didn’t even notice. And after he stalked out of the room and left her to sit crying on her bed, he couldn’t have known just how much she wanted him to say that he loved her, instead of coming up with some other reason that she needed to stay.