“You…I beg your pardon?”
“How old are you, Miss Gallant?”
She eyed him, the beginnings of suspicion touching her gaze. “I am four and twenty.”
He would have guessed a year or two younger, but that was likely because the skin of her cheeks looked soft and unblemished as any babe’s. “Continue your presentation.”
“Your advertisement mentioned a seventeen-year-old girl. Your sister, might I presume?”
“Good God, no.” He scowled, annoyed out of his lust—temporarily. “I am cousin to the demon, and that is as close as I care to get.”
She didn’t seem offended by his blunt speech, but paused, waiting, no doubt, for him to explain. If she wanted to know something, though, she could ask. She’d been in his employ for five minutes already, and still she insisted on going through this damned silly interview nonsense.
“Perhaps,” she resumed a moment later, “you might elaborate? And might I know your name? There was no mention in the advertisement. I don’t know how to address you, sir.”
He drew a slow breath. Well, she was bound to find out eventually. Miss Gallant didn’t seem to have much missish nonsense about her, but now he’d find out for certain. “Lucien Balfour,” he said. “Lord Kilcairn.”
Her fine cheeks paled. “As in the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey?”
He kept the mild expression on his face, although his instincts urged him to spring for the door to bar her exit. “You’ve heard of me.”
Alexandra Gallant cleared her throat and tugged her little white dog closer. “Yes, I have heard of you.” She reached for her papers and stood. “I apologize if I misunderstood your advertisement, my lord, but I must tell you…you must know it sounded quite…Good day, my lord.”
Lucien’s eyes lowered to her slim, rounded backside as she fled for the door. “I don’t generally advertise for mistresses in theLondon Times, if that is your concern, Miss Gallant,” he said in the same dry tone. “Though I shall give you another point or two for name recognition and your expression of genuine horror, if you wish. Not the best I’ve seen, but certainly passable.”
Miss Gallant stopped her retreat and turned around. “‘Passable?’”
At least he’d kept her attention. “I had one fat old bag in here last week who fainted when she realized who I was. It took Wimbole and two of my sturdiest footmen to drag her out.” He leaned forward, folding his long fingers together on the desk. “The position is a legitimate one, and it pays extremely well. However, if you plan on succumbing to faints and vapors at the mention of my name, please do go. Posthaste.”
“I have never fainted in my life,” she declared, once more lifting her proud chin. “Nor would I be so foolish as to do so in your presence.”
“Ah,” he murmured, a smile curving his lips again. He couldn’t recall enjoying himself so much in days. “You think I might simply lift your skirts and have my way with you while you lie unconscious on the floor?”
The lovely blush returned to her countenance. “I have heard worse said about you, my lord.”
Lucien shook his head. “There’s no fun in coitus unless both parties are coherent enough to enjoy the experience. Are you turning down the position, then? It pays twenty quid a month, if that interests you.” Or more, if it didn’t.
She balled her fists, wrinkling her neat stack of references. “My lord, this is preposterous!” she exclaimed. “You know nothing about me!”
“I know a great deal about you,” he returned, and gestured at her vacated chair. “Shall we continue?”
She squared her shoulders and seated herself again with her reticule on her lap, no doubt to speed her escape if it became necessary. “What do you know of me, then?”
“I know you have exquisite eyes. What color would you call them?”
Those same eyes looked at him dubiously for several seconds. “I…hardly think the color of my eyes has anything to do with my competence as a governess and a companion.”
“Hm. Almost blue, but not quite,” he mused, ignoring her protest. “And not quite green, either. Not serpentine, or emerald. Turquoise, I think.”
“I see you know your rocks and minerals, my lord,” she broke in, lowering her gaze and making a show of untangling her dog’s leash. “May we return to the nature of the position?”
“And what of your hair?” he continued, unruffled. “A bronze, only lighter. Like burnt sunlight.” Lucien tilted his head at her. “Yes, that’s a fine description; or spun gold, perhaps. More standard, but not quite as accurate.”
“My lord,” Miss Gallant burst out, “what of my employment?”
Lucien gestured for her papers again, and after a hesitation she returned them to him. “My aunt and my cousin are presently living under my roof,” he began, perusing her references, though he didn’t give a damn what they might say, “until such time as my cousin marries. I require someone to look after them, and to put a coat of polish on my cousin—a heavy coat of polish. I’ve hired three governesses for her already, and lost the last one yesterday morning.”
“It must devastate her, to have lost so many companions.”
