Though she had no idea when Kilcairn had scheduled the guests to begin arriving, Shakespeare started barking a few minutes after seven. She shushed him, willing to be kept prisoner for at least another hour or so, and went about donning her new, splendid gown and putting up her hair.
A nervous tremor made her fingers shake. Something beyond what Lucien had disclosed was going on tonight, and she disliked being left out of the planning. Mrs. Delacroix was the most likely reason for his secrecy, but short of giving Fiona and Lady Welkins her dungeon room in the cellar, she didn’t know how Lucien thought he could fix anything, much less everything.
It really wouldn’t matter after tonight, anyway. Lucien wouldn’t have to worry about being forced to marry Rose, or about prematurely losing Alexandra’s help in dealing with his relations. Once he realized that, his silly insistence on keeping her captive and on marrying her would disappear. And so would she.
Hunger had started to make her stomach growl when someone finally slid back the bolt and opened her dungeon door. Thompkinson rushed in and scooped up Shakespeare with the ease of a week’s constant practice, and then he stopped and stared at her.
“Are you all right?” she asked after a moment, torn between amusement and bewilderment.
“I…yes…aye, Miss—ah—Gallant. You…It’s just that you look…very nice, miss.”
Alexandra curtsied. “Thank you, Thompkinson. That’s very kind of you.” A moment later the hairs at the back of her neck began to tickle, and she looked toward the doorway.
Lucien stood there, devouring her with his eyes. She flushed, reading the hunger and the desire in his expression.
“I told you burgundy suited you,” he murmured.
“It occurs to me that this is not the wisest choice of attire if I’m to make an inconspicuous entrance,” she said, wondering why she didn’t just sink into a puddle on the floor. Thank goodness for Thompkinson’s presence.
“Just leave any worries to me.” Lucien stepped forward and offered her his arm. “By the way, what are your reservations about marrying me, again?”
“Lucien, don’t—”
“Ah, yes. Rose’s happiness.” He ushered her ahead of him to ascend the narrow stairs to the kitchen.
“That was only the first of them.”
“Of course. We can’t forget my abject laziness in finding a more suitable bride, or my chivalrous intentions of protecting you from theton’s gossip.”
It bothered her a little that he suddenly seemed easy enough about her reservations to joke about them. “And your lack of belief in love,” she reminded him as they stepped into the kitchen.
To her surprise, he smiled. “At least my ill manners and ungentlemanly nature are only sad specters of the past.” Lucien took her arm again as they headed upstairs to the drawing room. From the volume of chatter inside, he’d gathered quite a sizable group. “Let’s see which other walls we can bring down tonight.”
Wimbole flung open the double doors, and they strolled into the warm, noisy room. The first person Alexandra saw was Fiona Delacroix, literally glowing in yellow taffeta, her eyes ablaze with smug satisfaction. And then the woman caught sight of Alexandra.
She blanched, uttering an odd, furious screech audible all the way across the room. Alexandra started to pull free of Lucien’s grip, intent on lessening the scene he’d no doubt counted on causing, when another figure emerged from the middle of the room and walked toward her with open arms.
“Alexandra, my dear niece! I was hoping you would make an appearance tonight!”
She stood frozen as the Duke of Monmouth embraced her and offered her a kiss on each cheek. This was the wall Lucien had meant to bring down, she realized. Rose and Lord Belton were only a distraction—a reason for him to bring in a crowd to witness this reunion.
And the crowd was definitely watching. Another scandal would destroy any chance of future employment for her anywhere in England and probably Europe, so Alexandra returned a kiss to the duke’s angular cheek. “Uncle Monmouth,” she choked. “I hadn’t realized you were in London.”
Lucien stirred beside her, and belatedly she noticed how hard she was digging her nails into his forearm. As she met his gaze, she saw the calm, confident superiority in his gray eyes fade. The uncertain worry that took its place didn’t appease her in the least.
“You arranged this, didn’t you?” she said with a bright smile and a clenched jaw.
“Alexandra…” he began, then trailed off as she released his arm and took her uncle’s in its stead.
“Let me introduce you to Rose Delacroix, Uncle,” she said, wishing she could run screaming out into the night. How dare Lucien? How dare either of them? If they thought this tidy little public display would erase the past twenty-four years, and especially the last five, they had a large surprise coming.
Alexandra looked radiant as she introduced the Duke of Monmouth to Rose and then Fiona. She smiled and laughed, and easily breezed past Fiona’s fury. And Lucien was worried.
“It’s going better than you thought,” Robert said, watching Alexandra chatting with Rose and her uncle.
“Yes, it seems to be.” Perhaps he should have told her something, given her at least a moment to compose herself.
“Your aunt looks as though she’s about to explode. When are you going to make your next announcement?”
