Alexandra smiled. “Yes, I do. And please call me Alexandra, or Lex. All my friends call me Lex.”
Her charge smiled prettily, her eyes lighting. “Thank you, Lex. And you must call me Rose.”
“Well, then. Let’s have a look through your wardrobe, and tomorrow we shall make an appointment to see a dressmaker.”
In a sense, Alexandra envied Rose. The young lady wanted to marry a nobleman; apparently it didn’t matter whom, as long as he qualified on that one count. Her wardrobe was all wrong, but that could be fixed. Once she had cousin Lucien’s approval and thereby presumably his backing, the wedding would take place. All that remained to be determined was the date and the name of the groom.
They finally resorted to using one of Alexandra’s gowns, a pale yellow and blue sprig muslin that had always been her favorite. Resolutely she pinned the hem for the shorter girl. First things first: she needed to make Lord Kilcairn see that his cousin was more than a pretty peacock; if they couldn’t convince him that Rose could improve, he would never consent to her even being seen in public, much less her going hunting for her titled husband.
At half past six they made their way to the dining room. Behind the half-open doors Fiona Delacroix’s sharp voice spoke, followed a moment later by Lord Kilcairn’s low, drawling answer.
Alexandra adjusted one sleeve of Rose’s gown, ignoring her own flutter of nerves. He had stayed at home to dine, when as far as she knew, he almost never did so. And she wondered what he would have to say aboutherfavorite gown, just a little large across the bosom for young Rose.
“Head high,” she murmured from behind Rose, “as though you don’t care what anyone thinks.”
With a nervous nod, Rose stepped forward. Wimbole, waiting in the entry, threw the double doors wide to admit them. The earl stood; he did have manners, whether he chose to display them for his female houseguests or not. Gray eyes swept across Rose, and then found Alexandra, waiting in the doorway.
“Cousin Lucien.” Rose curtsied and took the seat Wimbole held out for her.
“What are you wearing?” Fiona barked. “I’ve never seen—”
“Yes,” Lucien echoed, and Alexandra drew breath for a rebuttal. “You look remarkably human this evening.”
Slowly Alexandra let her breath out.
Rose smiled. “I borrowed it from Lex.”
Lord Kilcairn took Wimbole’s place behind Alexandra’s chair. “Lex?” he murmured, leaning over her shoulder to scoot the chair forward as she sat. “It doesn’t suit you. Not enough curves or secrets. I prefer Alexandra.”
She closed her eyes as her name rolled softly from his lips. Before she could conjure an appropriate response, he straightened and returned to his own chair. It was probably just as well, because she had no idea what to say. The sound of her name had never caused her to break into delicious shivers before.
“You cannot wear your governess’s gowns. It’s not seemly.”
Alexandra started and opened her eyes. The Delacroix ladies looked at one another, one belligerent and one near tears again, while the earl sliced off a bite of pheasant.
“Miss Gallant has taste,” he said. “Given that fortunate circumstance, she will accompany Rose to Madame Charbonne’s tomorrow. I have it on good authority that Charbonne is the most accomplished dressmaker in London.” Glancing at his aunt, he took a swallow of port. “Perhaps you’d best see her, too.”
“Lucien, I will not—”
“Or you may remain indoors. I don’t care either way.”
“How dare you—”
“Mrs. Delacroix,” Alexandra interrupted, before sharp objects began flying across the table, “you seem to have a much better grasp of color than I do. I would greatly appreciate your assistance tomorrow.”
The older woman blustered for a moment. “Going about London is so hard on my nerves,” she finally said in a milder tone, “but I cannot abandon my daughter to the whims of some unknown dressmaker.”
Madame Charbonne was hardly unknown, but Alexandra refrained from pointing that out. She hoped Kilcairn would do the same, and relaxed a little when he only lifted an eyebrow and continued eating. Having him about with the volatile Fiona Delacroix was definitely not helping her cause any—but on the other hand, she could become very used to the way he said her name.
She wondered if seduction was truly his aim, or if he was just amusing himself. Why he saw fit to bother with either when the quarry was a mere ruined governess, she had no idea. Perhaps he was bored this early in the Season. A more worrisome, disturbing thought was that he wasn’t bored at all.
The dress Miss Gallant lent Rose had to be the finest thing she owned. From the moment Lucien had first set eyes on his new employee, he’d noted that she dressed well, if conservatively. He didn’t mind that—in fact, he rather liked guessing about the parts of her left to his imagination. But the muslin gown was lovely, even on Rose’s slighter frame. He would have liked to see Alexandra in it.
“My lord,” the turquoise-eyed goddess said, pulling him out of his reverie, “do you possess a pianoforte?”
“I own several. Why?”
As her gaze met his, a still-unexpected jolt of desire went through him. Lucien took a long swallow of port, draining his glass.Damnation. He wasn’t used to showing this much restraint with a woman he wanted. If she’d been anyone else, he would have made an offer by now, and she would have either accepted or been sent on her way.
