The tittering had begun again, but this time Alexandra found it gratifying. So many times she’d wanted to slay her cousin in just such a way, and she hadn’t dared.
“I insist that you not insult me again in that way, sir. It is completely inappropriate.”
Lucien leaned down on one elbow, to bring himself eye to eye with Virgil. “All right. How about if I just say you’re fat and stupid, then?”
“I…I will not tolerate this abuse!” Alexandra’s cousin spat.
“What’s wrong? You came here for the purpose of insulting us, and you didn’t expect that we might return the favor? Good evening, sir. Go away before I let you drown in your muddy puddle of wits.”
Virgil turned to glare at Alexandra, his eyes full of humiliated anger. “My father will hear of this,” he snarled.
“And so will the rest of London,” Lucien said calmly. “Good-bye.”
Alexandra’s cousin opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, and stalked off into the night.
With a yawn, Lucien seated himself again. “Fetch us some Madeira,” he ordered one of his footmen, standing just outside the box.
“Yes, my lord.”
With a shudder, Alexandra began breathing again. “I’d really like to leave,” she muttered, her voice shaking.
“Thompkinson!” Lucien called.
The disappearing servant stopped in his tracks. “My lord?”
“Fetch the carriage.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Thank you,” Alexandra said, yanking her wrap as closely around her shoulders as she could manage.
“No. Thank you,” he returned. “I don’t think I can stand this bootlicking and toadeating for another minute.”
Fiona patted her arm. “Yes, dear. What a horrid man. Are you really the Duke of Monmouth’s niece?”
“Mama,” Rose chastised with uncharacteristic sensitivity. “She’ll tell us later. Come along. I’m cold, too.”
Kilcairn didn’t say another word until they arrived back at Balfour House and disembarked from the coach. As his aunt and Rose made their way upstairs, he clamped warm fingers around Alexandra’s arm. “Wimbole, Miss Gallant and I will be in the garden for a moment.”
“Yes, my lord.” The butler returned Alexandra’s wrap to her shoulders. The earl hadn’t shed his greatcoat, and the heavy cloth rustled against his legs as he followed her outside and down the front steps.
“You want to know why I didn’t mention my relations when you hired me,” Alexandra said, walking down the rose-lined path. “I have nothing to do with them, and they have nothing to do with me.”
“So all the while you were browbeating me about being kind to my relations, you were busily detesting yours. A bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”
“No. It’s not the same at all. Now, please, I’m very tired, and I don’t wish to discuss it any further.”
“But I do.”
She hadn’t thought he would give in. And after he’d insulted Virgil so splendidly, he did deserve some kind of explanation. Her breath fogged in the night air as she sighed. “What do you want to know, then?”
“Your Lord Virgil Retting is obviously a pompous ass,” he said flatly, “but there is an older brother, is there not? What of him and your uncle?”
“Thomas, the Marquis of Croyden, is my other cousin. He spends most of his time in Scotland, and I don’t know him very well. My…uncle, I have nothing to do with, and we’re both perfectly happy that way.”
“So I see. Why this animosity?”
“Why your animosity toward your relations?”
