“I hired the first one a week ago. I doubt she remembers their names, if she had the mental capacity to learn them in the first place.”
Her look became more speculative and less wary. “You’ve hired three governesses over a seven-day period.”
“Yes, I have. Damned waste of time. Which is why I’ve decided to try a different tack.” A tack that he’d decided upon only since he had set eyes on her five minutes ago, but she didn’t need to know that.
“Ah.”
“I’ll make this very clear, Miss Gallant. My aunt is Satan, and my cousin Rose is the incarnation of hell on earth,” he stated. “My uncle’s will—and a clause in my sire’s—requires that I see her married, and married well, unless I wish to support her for life. Any of those other old bags could have taught her Latin—some of them were probably children during the reign of Caesar.”
Her lips twitched. “Why me then, my lord?”
He raised his assessment of her once again. Curious, and with wits enough to have a sense of humor, though he’d sensed that already. “Desperation. And because you are possessed of what none of the others were.”
Miss Gallant sat looking at him, her little dog at her feet and her large reticule in her lap. Someday he’d find out why she’d answered his advertisement rather than the other half a hundred that had run in the newspaper that day.
“And what am I possessed of, my lord?”
Lucien stood. When she didn’t attempt to flee, he made his way around to sit on the front edge of his desk. “It’s very simple. Since I’ve set eyes on you, I’ve had the very strong desire to pull the clips out of your spun-gold hair, peel you out of that ridiculously prim gown, and cover your naked skin with hot, slow kisses.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“And inspiring me, Miss Gallant,” he continued when she didn’t lose consciousness, “is not an easy task.”
“Because of your years spent in the pursuit of decadence and debauchery, I presume?” she ventured, her voice shaking a little.
“Precisely. And it is that inspirational quality I wish you to attempt to pass on to my cousin. She is not likely to snag anyone with her wit or refinement.”
Her turquoise eyes fixed on his face, Miss Gallant stood and slipped around the back of her chair, her reticule hefted in her arms in what he presumed to be a threatening manner. “I can’t believe you could possibly be serious. Therefore, I must presume that you are playing some sort of game with—”
“I am completely serious. And as I have said, I will pay you very well for your instruction.”
She drew herself upright. “Perhaps you should have advertised for a mistress after all, my lord.”
He gave her a sour look. “That would have accomplished nothing. One doesn’tmarrya mistress.”
Miss Gallant backed a few steps toward the door. “Lord Kilcairn, I instruct young ladies in etiquette, language, literature, music, and the arts. I believe the art of seduction to beyourforte. I cannot—I will not—assist you in that area. If that is what you require, I suggest you look elsewhere.”
Lucien sighed, wondering if Alexandra Gallant had any idea how very well he was behaving himself, considering he had no intention of letting her out of his sight. “You continue to insist on a damned inquisition, then.Parlez-vous français?”
“Oui. Je me recevu l’ducation plus premier,” she answered immediately.
“Where were you educated, then?” he shot back at her.
“At Miss Grenville’s Academy. I was considered an excellent student.”
“Translate. ‘Dum nos fata sinunt oculos satiemus amore.’”
She didn’t even hesitate. “‘While the fates allow us, let us fill our eyes with love.’”
Lucien lifted an eyebrow. “Latin, as well, Miss Gallant. I imagine youwerean excellent student.”
“As were you, apparently.”
He nodded, noting the surprise in her voice. “Some rakes do read. And I find your qualifications—all of your qualifications—acceptable. At the risk of repeating myself, you’re hired.”
Self-assured and undeniably arrogant, the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey sat back against his desk and folded his arms across his broad chest, eyeing her expectantly. Alexandra disdained fluttering; it seemed an obvious refuge for the weak-minded. Yet, as she gazed into the light gray eyes of Lucien Balfour and heard him announce that he wanted to strip her naked and kiss her, she felt distinctly fluttery. And horrified—because “fluttering” hardly began to describe the breathless rush Lord Kilcairn’s words began inside her. Heaven knew she’d never had an actual rake in pursuit before. She’d never even seen a rake before today.
“My lord,” she said, as diplomatically as she knew how, “in all fairness, before you offer me such a…generous post, I think you need to know something more about me.”
