Once the solicitor had vanished toward the stable, Lucien leaned the window frame against his makeshift worktable and sank down on the stone bench. He’d never really taken the time to notice what a lovely garden his gardeners kept for him. He’d been seeing quite a few things he’d missed before, and he thought he knew why: the jaded, cynical anger that had seemed such a part of him had faded and softened. If nothing else, he owed Alexandra for that.
“Did someone else escape your dungeon?”
Lucien whipped to his feet, his breath catching. Alexandra strolled into the garden, Shakespeare beside her. She wore the green patterned muslin he liked so much, and if not for the hesitant look in her eyes, he could almost have believed she’d just returned from a morning stroll.
“No,” he said as coolly as he could manage. “I’m working at preventing future catastrophes.”
“Ah. That’s wise.”
She continued toward him, and Lucien forced himself to stay where he was. He wanted to sweep her into his arms, but he’d told her the next move in this little chess game was hers, and he’d meant it. “It’s self-preservation. If my next prisoner were to escape, I might find myself arrested.”
Alexandra stopped her approach a scant few feet from him. “I…read your letter.”
“Good.”
“You can’t do that. It’s insane.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “What’s insane?”
“Cutting your own heirs off from their inheritance!”
“Oh, that.”
Finally she stepped closer. “Yes, that. You’ve made your point, Lucien. I don’t want future generations to suffer because I’m a stubborn idiot.”
He wanted to ask if she meanttheirfuture generations, but he’d let her tell her news the way she chose to do so. “Is that all you came to tell me?”
She blushed, winding Shakespeare’s leash around her hand. “No. I wanted…I wanted you to know that I took your advice.”
As Lucien recalled, he’d given some rather foul advice in the recent past. “My advice?”
A tear ran down one cheek. Lucien tensed, his heart pounding. He would go after her if she turned to run, but ultimately if she wished to leave, he would have to let her do it.
“Yes,” she whispered shakily. “I bent a little. I went to see my uncle.”
It was more than he’d expected, but Alexandra had never been predictable. Unable to resist touching her, Lucien reached out and brushed the tear from her cheek. “And?”
To his further surprise, she gave a short, unsteady laugh. “He’s an awful man.” Alexandra took his hand, squeezing his fingers. “And not at all like you. I should never had said such an odious thing.”
Lucien shrugged. “I’ve heard worse.”
“No, you haven’t. It’s the worst insult I can think of, anyway.” She shut her eyes for a moment. “This is so blasted difficult to say.”
That sounded promising. He smiled. “I’m not the damned Spanish Inquisition.” He continued gazing at her, noting the warmth of her hand, and the way the slight breeze caressed her golden sunburnt hair. As the silence lengthened, he chuckled. “You do have to say something eventually. It’ll be dark in a few hours.”
Alexandra nodded. Still gripping his fingers, she led him back to the stone bench. His heart pounding in a nervous rhythm he hoped she couldn’t detect, he followed her.
“Sit,” she instructed.
“I’m not one of your students, you know.”
“Sit.”
He complied, only to wonder what in damnation she was up to when she turned her back on him. All she did, though, was loop her dog’s leash around the leg of his worktable and face him again.
For a long moment she stood there, gazing at him, before she returned to where he sat. He slid sideways to make room for her, then stopped, frozen, when she knelt at his feet.
“Don’t do that,” he said harshly, leaning down to lift her up again.
