“Oh, all right. I’ll take pity on you. He asked me all sorts of questions about you—were you always so annoying, had you ever actually admitted to losing an argument—things like that.”
“He did not!”
At that Vixen succumbed to an attack of out-and-out laughter. “He did! I swear it, Lex.”
Her frown deepening, Alexandra stood and collected her purse and her parasol. “Well, Kilcairn and I are going to have a little chat, then.”
“Before you do that, perhaps you should try to remember just how sweet he was last night.”
Alexandra blushed. He’d been sweet indeed, but she hadn’t told Vixen about that—only about Vauxhall. Belatedly she realized that that must have been what her young friend was referring to. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
Lady Victoria looked at her quizzically for a moment, then began chuckling again. “I suppose I am. And I suppose there are some tales you don’t tell me.”
Finally Alexandra gave in to a reluctant grin, then laughed. “You suppose correctly, my dear. Now, let’s go somewhere else before my very short streak of luck runs out.”
“You really had no clue that your governess was Monmouth’s niece?” Robert asked over half a roasted chicken and a tankard of ale.
“None at all. I’m too damned busy creating my own scandals to keep up with everyone else’s.” Lucien sat back, letting cigar smoke curl up past his teeth.
A third luncheon companion leaned forward to refill his own tankard. “Don’t see what it signifies, anyway. A mistress is a mistress.”
Taking another puff of his cigar, Lucien glanced across the table at Francis Henning, wondering just who had invited that mutton head to luncheon. Half a dozen wags and gossips had appeared throughout the morning, evidently having forgotten how much he disliked wags and gossips.
“‘Governess,’ Henning,” he corrected. “Not ‘mistress.’ One extra syllable.”
“What’s one syllable among friends?” Robert asked with a faint grin.
“I’ll let you know if I run across any to ask.”
“Now, Kilcairn,” Lord Daubner said thickly, his mouth full of chicken, “if you hadn’t looked so damned surprised when Lord Virgil approached, no one would have latched on to it. It’s the first time most of us have ever seen you nonplussed, what?”
Robert lifted an eyebrow at him, and Lucien cursed under his breath. William was correct, and so was Henning. He had no regrets over his handling of Virgil Retting, but if he’d had forewarning, he might have waited for a more private arena before reacting.
The gossip didn’t bother him much, but it would bother Alexandra—and that concerned him. Her candor last night—and her genuinely dismayed look when her cousin appeared—had made it very clear that she literally had nowhere else to go. He wasn’t used to being anyone’s last bastion of security, and he certainly hadn’t helped anything by displaying his slack-jawed amazement at her lineage.
He really hadn’t considered her position at all until the gossips had pounced on him this morning. He’d been more concerned with Alexandra classifying him as another bastard of the same color as her uncle. She’d obviously been upset and angry, but the comparison rang more true than he cared to acknowledge.
Blinking, Lucien brought himself back to the present. He’d missed a large portion of the luncheon conversation, but from Robert’s tense expression, that was probably a good thing. Putting out his cigar, he stood. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”
Robert rose at the same time, and Lucien heard his friend’s sigh of relief as they exited the club. “I was beginning to worry about bloodshed in there. My compliments to you on your unprecedented restraint.”
“I think my ears began bleeding when Henning arrived.” Lucien returned. “I didn’t hear much after that.”
The viscount strolled beside him in silence for half a block. Lucien recognized the preoccupied expression on his friend’s face, since he’d worn the same one himself for most of the night. He waited. Finally Robert cleared his throat.
“Not to pry,” he began, “but what are you going to do?”
“About what?”
“Well, about your cousin finding a respectable husband, and you finding…whatever sort of wife it is you’re looking for, with a prime subject of scandal residing in your house. Not the most discreet affair you’ve ever embarked on.”
Lucien ignored that. “She’s been residing in my house for more than three weeks now.”
“Yes, but now she’s a mistress who’s concealed her identity from you.”
“She is not my mis—”
“And despite your wealth and rank, some of your more promising matrimonial candidates won’t want you calling when you have a highborn mistress—governess—under your roof. Especially one who’s rumored to have murdered her last lover. That might be exciting for you, but it’s dangerous territory for a proper young lady to step into.”
