Lucien surged to his feet. As he grabbed her wrist she spun to face him, her face flushed and her bosom heaving with her fast, angry breathing. His electrified reaction to her wildly flying pulse immediately altered what he had been about to say. “I do mourn,” he said. “But not for public display.”
Alexandra stared up at his face, the anger leaving her expressive countenance. “It’s your cousin James you mourn, isn’t it?”
He wasn’t that transparent; he knew it. Yet more than half the time, she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. “Why did you let me kiss you?” he countered.
She flushed. “Don’t change the subject.”
Still gripping her wrist, he drew her nearer. “My subject is more interesting.”
“N-not to me, my lord.”
Lucien smiled, then leaned forward and softly touched his lips to hers. “Is that more interesting?” he murmured.
“I do not think—”
He kissed her again, more deeply. “Or this, perhaps?”
Her head tilted up and her eyes closed. Completely lacking the will to resist his beckoning goddess, he kissed her once more. “I’m very interested myself.”
Slowly Alexandra opened her turquoise eyes to look at him. “You can stop the argument,” she said in a low, soft voice that sent tremors skimming along his muscles, “but not the reason behind it.”
The words sounded cool and courageous, but he knew her moods well enough to sense how unsettled she was. He wasn’t about to give in now. “That’s right; we were discussing my ill manners. A proper gentleman wouldn’t have kissed you. Therefore, in this instance, behaving makes no sense.”
“Youmake no sense,” she countered, pulling her arm free of his grip. “You can’t mourn one relation and pretend to care nothing about another.”
“But I can choose whether I discuss it or not—and I choose to discuss a more interesting topic. Your lips, to begin with.”
“That subject is closed.”
Lucien couldn’t resist grinning at that. “Good night, then, Miss Gallant.”
Before he could move away, she gripped his sleeve in her fingers. The gentle tug brought him up short. “Why won’t you talk about it—about my subject?” she asked. “I would listen.”
Lucien looked down at her face, only inches away. “I don’t require anyone else to listen to my expressions of grief,” he murmured. “What I’m interested in is having you in my bed. Doesthatsubject interest you, Alexandra?”
She released him and backed away. “N-no.”
“Are you certain? I know you enjoyed kissing me. This would be much better.”
“Good night, my lord,” she stammered, and fled.
After a moment Lucien called in Mr. Mullins and resumed his seat. She hadn’t said no, that last time. And that was more interesting than anything he and his solicitor could discuss.
Chapter 7
Evidently Lord Kilcairn thought Rose had passed her first test. By the end of the week he had accepted invitations on his cousin’s behalf to two more dinner parties, an evening at the opera, a fireworks festival at Vauxhall Gardens, and the first grand ball of the Season. As his acceptances went out, more invitations began to pour in.
Apparently everyone wanted to be a part of the phenomenon of Lucien Balfour’s venture into proper society—though Alexandra knew he was using the ploy only to gain more attention for Rose.
However, he had scheduled Rose’s various appearances without consulting Alexandra, which annoyed her no end. There were steps to be followed, ways to smooth someone’s way into society’s highest circles, and he was ignoring all of them—if he had even considered them in the first place.
That was the reason she’d been avoiding him for the past three days: she simply didn’t want to speak to him. It had nothing to do with the way he’d suggested they become lovers, or the way she’d fled the room instead of telling himnoin no uncertain terms. Or the way she’d been dreaming about his intoxicating kisses for the past few days. For heaven’s sake, she didn’t even like him. Besides, she was supposed to be teaching him propriety; he was not supposed to be instructing her on behaving like a shameless strumpet.
Shakespeare at her side, Alexandra left her bedchamber. Kilcairn had been correct about the scarcity of her free time—her early morning walks were now so early they were verging on becoming late evening walks.
Halfway to the stairs, she paused at the black-banded portrait of James Balfour. His complexion and his hair were both lighter than his cousin’s, and his half-smiling expression made Alexandra want to smile back at him. His face was so open, and she wondered what had made Lucien so mysterious and enigmatic, and why she found that to be so much more compelling.
“What are you puzzling out now?”
