Reforming a Rake (22 page)

She’d run out of reasons that wouldn’t end up breaking her heart. And whatever Rose’s plans were, a fine governess and teacher she would be, stepping into the middle of someone else’s opportunity. Rose certainly had more right to Lucien than she did. At least Fiona realized that, even if no one else did.

The good-byes went as she expected. Rose wept and threatened to lock herself in her room, until Alexandra
reminded her that tears would make her cheeks puffy and that the entire gala that evening was in her honor. Mrs. Delacroix, outside her daughter’s presence, didn’t even pretend to be unhappy, though she did at least wish Alexandra well at Miss Grenville’s Academy.

As for Lucien, he avoided her all evening as he went about being pleasant and charming to his guests. He did glare at her a few times, and then managed to vanish before she could demand an explanation as to why he thought this was all her fault. Fine. It would just make leaving him tomorrow that much easier.

Just as she was about to excuse herself for her third cry of the evening, though, he materialized at her elbow. “My lord,” she said, and finished directing a footman to open one of the ballroom windows before people began fainting from the heat and stuffiness.

When the servant left, Lucien moved around in front of her. “I just wanted to suggest that after you finish packing tonight, you might sleep in the yellow room. I’m having it prepared for you, as your bedchamber door seems to have met with a slight accident.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

He stuck out his hand, the gesture abrupt and completely lacking his usual grace. “I will also say good-bye now; my coach will be waiting in the morning to take you wherever you wish to go. I suggest you leave before Rose rises, as I would like to keep her weeping to a minimum.”

Alexandra nodded and shook his hand. For a moment she hoped he would pull her into his arms and carry her off, but it seemed he’d learned the lessons she’d taught him about propriety. He released her hand, bowed, and walked away. Alexandra watched him go, and wished she’d been a less proficient teacher.

Fiona watched the tense handshake and set, somber expressions of Lucien and Miss Gallant with glee. She would have preferred to have Lady Welkins present to serve as her exclamation point, but everything seemed to be going well without her. Lucien’s affection for the girl gave him a much more effective inducement to marry Rose than anything else she might have come up with, anyway.

She returned her attention to the ballroom floor as the last waltz of the evening ended. Lord Belton had managed to secure it, no doubt with considerable assistance from Rose. The viscount escorted Rose back to the side of the room where her mother had been surrounded by her circle of new cronies, and she smiled at the young man.

“I wish my old feet were up to dancing. Lord Belton, you do make me envy these young ladies.”

He laughed. “I would be pleased to escort you any time you wished.”

“You are such a gentleman, my lord. If my mourning didn’t prevent me from engaging in such frivolity, I might even dance a quadrille with you.” Fiona straightened a lock of Rose’s hair. The girl could never seem to keep from becoming disheveled. “My dear, will you fetch me a glass of punch?”

“I’d be happy to, Mrs. Delacroix,” the viscount broke in, and started to turn away.

Fiona grabbed his sleeve. “Oh, I wouldn’t have it, my lord. Rose is perfectly capable.”

Rose gave her a sour look. “I’ll be right back.”

“You’ve put on a lovely party, Mrs. Delacroix. Several times Rose has commented to me how thrilled she is.”

“Yes, anything for my darling.”

The viscount glanced toward the crowd behind him. “Ah, there’s Kilcairn. If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak to your nephew for a moment.”

She’d been right, and she’d caught him just in time, apparently. “My lord, are you intending to ask Lucien’s permission for Rose’s hand in marriage?”

Lord Belton looked surprised, but he smiled and nodded. “You’ve seen through me. Yes, I am. And I’ve had the devil of a time tracking him down this week.”

Fiona sent a concerned glance in Lucien’s direction, but he was well out of earshot. “In that case—my lord, he asked me not to say anything, but my sincere regard for you compels me to break my silence.”

The viscount’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

“You know how Lucien is about…well, about making fools of people.”

By now he’d given her his full attention. “Yes, I do.”

“Well—oh, dear, perhaps I shouldn’t say.”

“Please do, madame.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right. My lord, I’m afraid he’s only been teasing you about Rose. It has been his intention to marry her himself, all along.”

His handsome face paled. “You jest, madame.”

She put her hand to her heart. “I could never be so cruel. It was my late husband’s dearest wish, and after spending this time with her in London, Lucien several days ago informed me of his decision. He was going to announce the engagement tonight, with you in attendance, but he decided he wanted the evening to be Rose’s alone.”

She would have continued, but from the viscount’s angry, distant expression, he’d stopped listening. A moment later he blinked and returned his gaze to her.
“You’ve been most kind, madame,” he said tightly. “I must leave. Pray give my excuses to your daughter.”

“Of course, Lord Belton. Again, please do not tell Lucien that I spoiled his joke. He’ll be quite angry with me.”

“Your secret is safe with me. And now, good evening.”

Fiona watched the viscount make his way through the crowd, pointedly avoiding both Lucien and Rose. As he departed the room, she smiled. Dear Oscar would be so pleased.

A
lexandra put on her blue bonnet, fastened Shakespeare’s leash, and followed the luggage-laden footmen downstairs. The sun was only a golden sliver above the rooftops as she shook Wimbole’s hand and emerged into the brisk summer morning.

“We shall miss you,” the butler said, and bent down to give Shakespeare a last doggie treat. “Good luck to you, Miss Gallant.”

“Thank you, Wimbole.” Just for a moment she hesitated on the front portico, blushing because she knew the butler must have guessed why. “Lord Kilcairn hasn’t risen yet?” she asked anyway.

“He informed me that he would not be seeing you off this morning.”

“Of course.”

Well, that answered that. She’d refused to go along with his silly games and so now he was upstairs sulking, or worse yet, sleeping. If he’d truly cared about her instead of himself, he would have thought of something—done something—so she could stay.

Blinking another flood of tears away, she lifted the terrier into the coach and then climbed in after him. “Just take me to the nearest mail stage stop if you please, Vincent. You needn’t drive me all the way to Hampshire.”

The young groom doffed his hat. “As it pleases you, Miss Lex, though I’d be happy to drive you all the way.” He shut the door and latched it, and the carriage rocked as he hopped up to the driver’s perch. A moment later the vehicle rumbled into motion, and they were off.

Alexandra sat back in the black, cushioned seat and let the tears run down her face. Once she boarded the public mail stage, she wouldn’t be able to indulge in weeping. She’d spent most of the night crying and feeling sorry for herself, but all it had done was give her a headache. Moping certainly didn’t change anything. She’d fallen in love with a proud, aggravating man who didn’t believe in such nonsense, and she wouldn’t—she couldn’t—be married to someone who only offered to wed her out of his own convenience and to spite his relations.

The coach turned another corner, and a moment later, another. She hoped Vincent wasn’t lost, because he seemed to be taking a very roundabout route to the inn. She wasn’t in any particular hurry, but the sooner she could begin teaching at the Academy, the sooner she could begin trying to put handsome, stubborn, impossible Lucien Balfour out of her mind.

Five or six minutes later, the coach rolled to a stop. “We’re here, miss,” Vincent called, and a moment later pulled the door open.

Shakespeare wagged his tail and hopped to the ground. Alexandra stood and looked out the door—to see the familiar back side of Balfour House.

“What—”

A dark, billowing cloth sailed over her head and enfolded her. Someone grabbed her around the waist, pinning her arms, and dragged her out of the coach. Before she could scream, a hand clamped over her mouth, nearly smothering her beneath the heavy material.

Shakespeare barked, and someone—it sounded like Vincent—shushed him. A moment later wood creaked, and she felt herself lifted bodily over someone’s shoulder and carried down a flight of stairs. The stairs were narrow, because her feet bumped twice and her head once against the wall. That elicited a pained exclamation from her, and a low, barely audible curse from whoever carried her.

Finally he dropped her on something soft and comfortable and let her go. She lay still for a moment, listening, and then Shakespeare came wriggling up through the dark shroud to lick her face. Angry and breathing hard, Alexandra sat up and flung off the covering. She blinked and swiped her disheveled hair out of her face—and saw her abductor.

“Lucien!” she shrieked. “What in God’s name are you—”

“I’m kidnapping you,” he said calmly. “And your little dog, too.”

She scrambled to her feet, and Lucien took a step backward. He wouldn’t put it past her to aim a kick at his sensitive parts. And that would never do, because the two of them still needed to produce the Kilcairn heir.

“You are not kidnapping me!” she yelled, glaring at Vincent and Thompkinson and then returning her gaze to him.

“Yes, I am. And bellowing about it won’t do you any good.”

“This is ridiculous!” She stalked across the room toward the nearest doorway, but he moved over to block her path.

“Perhaps it is a bit odd,” he conceded, wishing his practical miss would calm down a little so he could explain himself and his brilliant plan. “I am, however, completely serious about it.”

“Where are we, anyway?”

“My wine cellar. My secondary wine cellar, actually.”

“Your secondary wine cellar. Of course.” She turned in a circle, then faced him again, surprise joining the anger in her eyes. “A four-poster bed? It’s—”

“It’s yours from the gold room. I knew you liked it.”

“All right.” She folded her arms across her lovely bosom. “I suppose I should ask why you’ve put me in the secondary wine cellar.”

Finally, a reasonable question. Lucien gestured at the groom and footman. “Thompkinson, upstairs. Vincent, go drive the coach around a bit more. And make sure you lock the doors on your way out.”

The groom doffed his hat and exited by the stairs leading into the garden, while the footman fled into the main wine cellar. Given Alexandra’s sharp tongue, both were no doubt relieved to have escaped unscathed. Lucien steeled himself for the argument to come.

“Interesting,” Alexandra said, her voice dripping with cynicism. “Now that you’ve had your servants help kidnap me, you send them away so they won’t hear the explanation. Or do they know it already?”

“They know that I’m concerned for your safety, and that given your strong independent streak, holding you here even against your will is the only way to ensure it.”

“And why are you concerned for my safety, pray tell?
Oh, it’s not that Lady Welkins prattle again, is it? I’ll be perfectly safe in Hampshire.” She glanced around the dark cellar again. “Safer than here, apparently. No one has ever kidnapped me before.”

“I’m glad to be your first—again.”

Alexandra blushed. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Only a little. I’ve been up most of the night moving furniture and fixing locks and removing escape implements.”

“Forgive me for not being flattered, my lord, but—”

“You called me Lucien a moment ago.”

“You’d frightened me out of my skin. Now, do stop this nonsense and let me go.”

“Not until you agree to listen to reason.”

She put her hands on her hips. “About what?”

“About marrying me.”

Alexandra actually laughed, though there was nothing resembling humor in the sound. “You kidnapped me in order to convince me that you’re someone I can trust and rely on? Did someone hit you on the head, Lord Kilcairn?”

He frowned. “That is enough of that. You keep telling me what my motivations are for wanting to marry you. First I’m tired of looking for a wife, then I’m trying to protect you, and then I’m trying to thwart my family. Did I miss anything?”

“Now you’ll want me to marry you to keep me from testifying against you for kidnapping.”

Damn, she was clever. He moved closer to her, but she backed away. Apparently he wasn’t going to win her over by making love to her—not today, anyway. “All of those might have had something to do with giving me the idea, but none of them are my reason for wanting you to be my wife.”

“Please, enlighten me, then.”

Thank God he hadn’t sobered up from last night yet. Otherwise, he never would have been able to spit out the words. “I want you to marry me because I love you, Alexandra.”

She stared at him for a long moment, suspicion and shock and anger warring with one another in her turquoise eyes. “You keep telling me words are just that: words, used to manipulate people into doing what you want. Coming from you, ‘love’ is just another word, Lucien. You don’t believe in love. You told me so.”

“I was an idiot.”

“You’re still an idiot. Open that door and let me go.”

“No. You’re safe here, and I’m going to convince you that I’m sincere. Fiona and Rose both think you’re at Miss Grenville’s Academy, as does your friend Lady Victoria.”

Slowly she sat on the edge of the bed. “And how are you going to convince me?”

“I’m going to remove every damned obstacle you’re using as a prop to disbelieve me. That’s how.”

Alexandra shrugged. “It sounds simple enough, I suppose. But you might consider that I don’t need another reason to dislike the idea of marriage to an arrogant, cynical beast like you who has no qualms about destroying everyone else’s life to prove a point only he cares about.”

Her scathing tongue was in fine form. “I think you do care, Alexandra. In fact, I know you do. I’ve known it from the moment you walked into my house. I’ll prove it to you.”

“Don’t bother.”

Lucien headed through the doorway leading to the primary wine cellar and the stairs to the kitchen. “You’ll
be amazed,” he said, and closed the door behind him. He locked it just as she reached it, and began rattling the handle and pounding on the heavy oak.

“Lucien! Lucien, you devil, let me out of here!”

“No!” he shouted back. “And don’t hurt yourself in there.”

He climbed the stairs up to the kitchen and locked that door as well, then left Thompkinson to hang about the kitchen and pretend not to be keeping guard. He’d hoped she would simply be so flattered at the effort he’d gone to that she would give in and save him the trouble of straightening everything else out first. Now, though, he’d have to make good on his word, and hope her keen sense of both the ridiculous and the logical would redeem him in her eyes.

Lucien paused on his way to his bedchamber. He did have quite a bit of redeeming to do. Before he’d met Miss Gallant, he really hadn’t even considered the implications of some of the things he’d done.

James Balfour’s portrait hung before him. He stepped forward and tugged the black ribbon off the corner. Today was the beginning of the new, improved Lucien Balfour: protector of the weak, defender of the innocent, worker of miracles, and hopefully, marrier of Alexandra Gallant—which would be the biggest miracle of all. “Well, Jamie,” he said, straightening the frame, “wish me luck.”

“This is ridiculous,” Alexandra muttered, sinking back on the bed again. An hour of banging and rattling and shouting hadn’t done anything but tire her out, and now the candles were nearly guttered.

The Lucien Balfour she knew until yesterday wouldn’t have left her alone in a dark cellar, but this
morning’s version of the earl was obviously insane. He’d even removed all the wine from the one wall rack, so no doubt he planned on having her expire from thirst or hunger.

Someone scratched at the door, and she leapt to her feet and ran over to pound again on the heavy wood. “Yes? I’m here! Help me!”

“Sorry, Miss Gallant; it’s me, Thompkinson. The earl said I should inquire and see if you needed anything.”

“I need out of here!”

“Um, except for that, ma’am.”

She let out an exasperated breath. “Fine. I need more candles, and something to do, for heaven’s sake. And a mirror, so I can fix my hair. And something to eat, and drink.”

“I’ll see to it right away, miss.”

When the door opened a short while later, two footmen entered carrying her dressing table and mirror, while another one brought in a very appetizing looking breakfast. “I just need a hand mirror,” she said, eyeing the procession disbelievingly. Apparently half the household was involved in this insanity.

“The earl thought you’d like this better, ma’am.”

Alexandra nodded, gathering Shakespeare into her arms. She hadn’t thought they would make escaping so easy, but she certainly wasn’t averse to taking advantage of their laxness. “Could you move it closer to the stairway there?” she asked.

Obligingly the servants lifted the table again. At the same moment, Alexandra bolted for the open door. She made it through the entry into the dim catacomb of the main wine cellar.

“Miss Gallant, wait!”

“Thompkinson, she’s getting away!”

Stifling an exultant chuckle, she rounded the last wine rack before the stairs—and slammed into a broad, hard chest. “Damnation!” she grumbled, staggering backward.

Lucien grabbed her arm and pulled her back upright. “Not so fast, my little felon.”

She glared up at him. “
I’m
not the felon. Let go.”

“You didn’t squash Shakespeare, I hope.” His voice and expression were stern, but she thought she saw a twinkle of superior amusement in his gray eyes. It didn’t improve her disposition in the least.

“If I did squash him, it would be your fault.”

“Mm-hm. Back inside.”

“No.”

He bent and scooped her and Shakespeare into his arms. With no noticeable difficulty at all, he carried them back into her makeshift dungeon. As he set her down she realized she should have struggled, but the sensation of being in his arms had rather taken her breath away.

“I will keep someone posted outside the door from now on. If you require anything, it will be taken care of immediately.”

“I require my freedom.”

He actually grinned. “That is my ultimate goal, my dear one, but it will take a bit longer.” With a wave of his hand he gestured the footmen to leave and followed them to the doorway, where he paused. “I almost forgot,” he said, and produced a book from somewhere behind him. “To keep you entertained.”

She made no move to collect it from him, and after a moment he set it on the empty wine rack. With a deep bow he backed out of the room and closed the door. A few seconds later the bolt slid shut, locking her in again.

Only when Alexandra couldn’t hear any more move
ment from the other side of the door did she put Shakespeare back on the bed and retrieve the book. A small, pleased shiver ran down her spine. He’d given her the Byron.

“Cousin Lucien,” Rose said, intercepting him just as he left the kitchen corridor. “Did Lex leave already?”

He nodded, continuing toward the front door. “Before I came downstairs.”

“That’s awful,” her cousin quavered. “I hoped we could at least breakfast together, and then perhaps I might have convinced her to stay.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “And how would you have accomplished that, pray tell?”