“Hm.” Slowly he reached out and curled his fingers through her long hair. “‘Charming,’ is it? I think I am succeeding. You’ve never called me charming before.”
“You caught me at a generous moment.”
“Obviously. And speaking of generous,” he said, leaning over the edge of the bed to recover his coat, “as per my orders, Thompkinson handed me this.” He pulled a letter from his pocket and dropped the garment again.
“So now you’re stopping my correspondence?” She didn’t sound the least bit surprised, but from the missive’s contents, she hadn’t expected it to leave the house, anyway.
With a sideways glance at her, he unfolded it. “‘Dearest Emma,’” he read aloud, “‘I’m afraid my arrival at the Academy will be delayed. I have been kidnapped by my arrogant, stubborn, pigheaded, interfering, insane former employer, the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey.’”
“I left out some adjectives, I think.”
“You included quite enough of them, thank you.”
“I need to let Emma know something,” Alexandra insisted, her expression becoming more serious. “She has enough to worry about without me—or you—adding to it.”
Lucien dropped the letter onto his crumpled coat. “I’ll take care of it. A little more succinctly, I think.” He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again.
“Lucien, let me leave,” she said, when he finally gave her a moment to breathe. “It’s going to happen eventually. Don’t make it any harder than it is already.”
“Not yet. Not until there is nothing to push you in any direction but your own desire. Not until where you decide to go is completely up to you, Alexandra, and not dictated by circumstance or duty.”
She held his gaze for a long moment. “Or convenience?”
“Or convenience.” He sat up and looked around her makeshift room. “You need a rug. I’ll send Thompkinson down with one. And I’ll see to the damned window myself, if you can refrain from making another escape attempt for five minutes.”
Alexandra stretched, this time obviously teasing him. “I’m a bit tired suddenly. I believe you’re safe for five minutes.”
“So are you. But only five minutes, chit.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I do hope you realize I wouldn’t bother to kidnap just anyone.”
“And I do hope you realize I don’t believe for one second that you’re being altruistic.”
“Of course I’m not. Not entirely, anyway. I want you in my life, Alexandra.”
Turquoise eyes studied his. “Sometimes I almost believe you.”
He smiled. “You see? I’m winning you over already.”
Alexandra wished he would attempt to win her over more often. As a bonus, she got to watch him hammering the window back into place from inside the cellar. Thompkinson had made the mistake of suggesting they simply board up the opening, but Lucien insisted that she not be denied the limited sunlight the window provided.
He also insisted that she have a more comfortable chair in which to sit and read, and some more pillows for the bed. According to Thompkinson, the Delacroix ladies had gone out for luncheon, which was lucky, considering the amount of furniture being moved into the cellar.
Despite the bustle of activity, Alexandra noticed something different in the way the servants treated her. Whereas before they had always looked to Kilcairn for confirmation of any orders, now they did exactly as she said without hesitation on any subject—except, of course, for setting her free. She didn’t know what Lucien might have told them, if anything, but suddenly she didn’t feel like a fellow servant any longer.
And though no one commented about possible reasons she might have changed her gown in Lucien’s presence, she knew they had noticed that, too. Their continued respectfulness, though, had to mean something. She continued to watch Lucien, content to sit in her comfortable new reading chair and gaze at his broad, strong shoulders as he refit the cellar window. Earls didn’t do such things; earls didn’t do a great many things that he did. Alexandra blushed. They probably didn’t do them nearly as well, either.
At half past two. Bingham hurried through the cellar door. “My lord, Wimbole says the ladies are returning.”
Lucien hammered a last nail into the repaired window casing and hopped down from the chair. “Splendid,” he said, handing the hammer to Thompkinson and retrieving his coat.
“So now you’re happy to have them about?” Alexandra asked, setting aside the Byron, unread.
“Always happy to see my relations,” he said offhandedly, and gestured the small troop of servants out the door. When the last one left, he strolled over to her chair. “I’ll be back soon,” he murmured, gray eyes glinting, and leaned down to kiss her.
She couldn’t help her hungry response. “Perhaps I’ll be here.”
“You’d better be, Alexandra.” He kissed her again, then slipped out the door, latching it behind him. “Behave,” he said through the door, and then was gone.
Alexandra grimaced as she lifted her poetry book again. Now the rascal was tellingherhow to conduct herself. A smile curled her lips as she glanced about at the most splendidly furnished wine cellar in England. He was learning some lessons himself.
