“Yes.” Alexandra took a deep breath and followed him. “You made it very clear that you wanted to see me naked and kiss me. And that you want to see Miss Delacroix married well. I will assume that in your mind these two things are somehow related, though I fail to see how. Anyway, you are making the second—and only realistic—part of my reason for being here impossible.”
He leaned against the railing, an arrested expression on his face. “We did say you should be blunt, didn’t we?” he mused.
She shook her head. “Forthright, my lord. But if I have offended—”
The earl lifted a hand. “If you henceforth speak to me in any manner other than bluntly—or forthrightly—I will be deeply offended.”
Alexandra started to make a reply, then closed her mouth again. “Very well.”
“How am I making the second part of your task impossible, then?”
“In order for Miss Delacroix to marry well, she needs to learn the subtle nuances of society: politeness, reserve, poise, sensi—”
“I see your meaning. Continue.”
“You, my lord, exhibit none of these characteristics, and further, by your intolerant, cynical manner, you discourage both Miss Delacroix and Mrs. Delacroix from adopting any of them, themselves.”
He smiled, a slow, delicious curving of his lips. “I am a poor example of propriety and manners.”
Alexandra nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
“But you’re not otherwise discouraged by what you’ve encountered so far?”
She glanced back toward the upper floor and the closed drawing room door. “If I am to be blunt, perhaps we might speak in your office?”
He followed her gaze and then turned back down the stairs. “Your little dog and I are going for a walk. Join us.”
“Very well; so long as we are chaperoned.”
She thought she heard him sigh. “Very well.”
Since he continued downstairs without waiting to see if she would follow, Alexandra gathered her skirt and trailed after him. He was so peculiar, arrogant and charming at the same time, and she still really had no idea why he had hired her—other than his much-stated physical attraction. And though she could see why he wouldn’t want Fiona Delacroix supervising the staff at Balfour House under any circumstances, she didn’t understand why he would exclude his relations—apparently his only living relations—from mourning rituals and from his life. That, she didn’t like. Not one bit.
Lucien found himself surprised and off balance once again that day. While he had nothing against surprise, it had been some time since he had felt its effects in such rapid succession.
He knew who had caused these unusual circumstances, of course. Miss Alexandra Beatrice Gallant strolled beside him beneath the scattered trees of Hyde Park. A green parasol of inferior craftsmanship shaded her pretty face from the mottled sunlight, but it did little to hide her mood from his curious gaze. She was annoyed—at him, apparently, because she’d seemed perfectly content to sit in the drawing room and listen to his relations’ mindless babbling until doomsday.
“Your groom is falling back,” she noted, glancing over her shoulder. “Please request that he not lag more than twenty steps behind us.”
“Twenty steps. Is that in a book somewhere?”
“I’m sure it must be. Please inform him, my lord, or we will have to turn back at once.”
Lucien studied her profile, torn between amusement and horror. Shewouldturn back, and he wasn’t finished speaking with her. “Vincent,” he barked, not turning around.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Keep up, damn it all.”
“But…Of course, my lord. Apologies, my lord.”
“What was it you wished to discuss with me, Miss Gallant?” he asked, watching her watch the vehicles rumbling along the carriage path in their afternoon ritual.
“Miss Delacroix’s previous instruction was not quite as awful as you led me to believe, my lord.”
“So you feel your presence is unnecessary? I have to disagree. She couldn’t snag a shepherd in this condition.”
Her lips twitched with a fleeting smile. “She is your cousin. She could snag anyone.”
