Slowly he smiled, and noted with satisfaction that her gaze lowered to his lips. “Did you have a reason for coming in here? Other than to express your jealousy, of course.”
“You—”
The door opened again. “You wanted to see—”
“In a moment, Mr. Mullins,” Lucien growled.
“Apologies, my lord.” The door shut again.
“You were saying, Alexandra?” he prompted, taking another swallow of cognac.
“It would be impossible for me to express jealousy, because I feel none.” She stalked over to his desk and back again, the firelight catching the beading of her dress and making the length of her shimmer.
“Then why are you here?” he murmured, his pulse stirring. That dress hadn’t been a mistake, after all.
“To ask why you continue to censure your cousin and your aunt for their behavior when yours is ten times worse!”
His grin deepened. “Ten times? It’s a wonder anyone tolerates me at all.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Please, tell me what you find lacking about my character.”
She turned to face the fire. “I will not.”
“Why not?”
“You know very well that you aggravate people. You do it on purpose. I am not about to humor you by listing your carefully cultivated faults.”
“I’m positively diabolical.”
“You’re mean,” she corrected. “Giving the description extra syllables doesn’t alter the fact.”
Lucien eyed her, the veriest twinge of a headache resuming. Alexandra had probably spent the entire ride home deciding exactly what she wanted to say to him and how he might attempt to parry each thrust.
“How am Imean, then?” he asked, setting aside the cognac, and more curious about her answer than he cared to admit.
“You constantly insult and belittle your relations, to begin with.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “There’s more?”
“There is.” Alexandra squared her shoulders, pinning him with her direct, angry gaze. “And I say this only because you indicated that you wanted my assistance in perfecting your manners.”
“So I did. Continue.”
“The Delacroix ladies have just lost their closest male relation, and you flatly refuse to show even the least bit of compassion for their bereavement, much less for their plight. That is hideously insensitive.”
“They’re here, aren’t they?” he growled, becoming less amused.
“Because of a piece of paper—not because of any feelings on your part. You made that quite clear. Did you even send them your condolences?”
Lucien clenched his jaw. She knew how to argue, for damned certain, but he had no intention of letting her goad him into revealing anything he wished to keep private. “I paid for the funeral.”
“That isnotthe same thing.”
Something in this wasn’t about the Delacroix harpies, or even about him. She was too angry for anything less than a personal pain. “Whom did you bury?” he asked quietly.
Alexandra opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again. “As if you would care, when you can’t even be moved to mourn your own family,” she finally snarled, and turned on her heel.
