The problem was, he didn’t know what approach would work, and a refusal was unacceptable. She certainly didn’t look or act like any governess he’d ever encountered, and she didn’t react to his flirting like any blasted woman he’d ever encountered. She intrigued him, and he loved a good puzzle.
“I would like to assess Miss Delacroix’s skill at playing.”
Lucien scowled. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“You need not be present, my lord. But if she is to attend a dinner party, we will need to know where to place her if and when the hostess calls for music.”
“In the back of the room,” he answered promptly.
A familiar sniffle began off to his right, and he stifled a further comment. The blasted chit was a watering pot.
“Indeed. One makes the greatest show emerging from the back of the room.” Brief amusement twinkling in her eyes, Alexandra patted his cousin’s hand. “But before we place her there, we must know her skill.”
“When is this dinner party?” Aunt Fiona asked. “And who is holding it? Why wasn’t I informed?”
“Thursday, the Howards, and because I didn’t choose to tell you.”
Rose gasped. “Thursday?”
“That’s more than enough time for us to prepare you, Miss Delacroix.”
Lucien stopped his own answer, as Miss Gallant again beat him to it. He wasn’t used to that. And obviously she hadn’t yet realized how futile deterring him was when he chose to show his temper. Fortunately, he happened to be in a very good mood this evening.
“But cousin Lucien, you said you’d never let any of your cronies set eyes on me.”
“I have no—”
“No doubt Lord Kilcairn is merely jealous,” Miss Gallant interrupted smoothly. “You are, after all, very attractive.”
Lucien turned a baleful gaze on the governess. Apparently she had taken his request for blunt honesty between them to mean she could be insolent whenever and wherever she chose.
Aunt Fiona cackled in her impression of laughter. “No doubt you’ve hit on it, Miss Gallant.”
That was too damned much. Lucien stood, swearing. “Wimbole will show you the music room and the pianoforte. Don’t break anything.”
“Where might you be going, Lucien?” Fiona asked, still chuckling.
“Jezebel’s Harem,” he snapped, and turned to Alexandra. “Ever heard of it?”
Her expression stiffened, the humor leaving her eyes. “Yes, I have, my lord,” she answered. “I presume that we shouldn’t wait up for you?”
“Don’t.”
The most notorious gambling den and brothel in the west of London generally had enough diversions to satisfy even him. Lucien was as surprised as anyone when he didn’t avail himself of anything more distracting than a game of piquet. In a little over two hours he’d won a hundred quid off the Marquis of Cooksey, and he barely cared enough to add up the amount.
It was his own fault. He didn’t distract easily, and his thoughts remained securely anchored to his cousin’s governess. His mood lightened only when he decided that she would have to pay for her insolence—in a manner of his devising. It would certainly involve nudity, whatever it was.
“Lucien?”
He started and looked up from his cards. “Robert. I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
Cooksey pushed back from the table. “Might as well take my seat, lad,” he grumbled. “Thanks to Kilcairn, I’m completely to let this evening.”
The viscount slumped into the vacated chair as the marquis left to find other entertainment. “Vauxhall fireworks were completely fogged in, so I came looking for you.”
“Bad luck you didn’t get here an hour ago. I might have split Cooksey with you.” Lucien shuffled the cards between his long fingers.
“Or you might have taken me out, as well,” Robert returned, signaling for a glass of port.
