Damn Daubner. Alexandra might as well have been dancing with a bull in a china shop. Unless Lucien began mowing couples down, he’d never catch up. “What’s next? Ah. Your favorite author.”
“I suppose everyone says Shakespeare, for how could one not, but aside from the Bard, I have become quite fond of Jane Austen. Have you read any of her works?”
Belatedly Lucien turned his attention to his dance partner. “Yes, I have. Her views of the nobility seem somewhat harsh, but I suppose it’s a matter of perspective.” He glanced from her to his fast-moving governess, sensing a basic similarity in literary acumen. “Might I ask who is responsible for your education, Miss Beckett?”
“I attended Miss Grenville’s Academy in Hampshire. Have you heard of it?”
That answered that question, though Miss Beckett’s responses seemed more…rehearsed than Alexandra’s witty, spontaneous ones. It was the difference, he supposed, between an apt student and an apt person.
Lucien paused, nearly missed a step, and rushed the next one to catch up. Alexandra Gallant was not just a bright, lovely female; she was an intelligent, attractive person. He couldn’t recall if he’d ever considered a woman to be an actual, sensible human being before.
“My lord? Have you heard of Miss Grenville’s Academy?”
Lucien took a breath, trying to pull his scattered thoughts back into cohesion. “I have. The Academy has an impeccable reputation.” At least it did as far as he was concerned. “My cousin’s companion attended there.”
“Yes, I know. Begging your pardon, my lord, but on the Academy’s behalf I must say that most graduates are not as…wild as Miss Gallant.”
“I know. It’s a damned pity.”
“Beg…beg pardon?”
He smiled, not the least bit amused. “So you think I might have made a better choice on my cousin’s behalf?”
“Now that you mention it, Lord Kilcairn, it surprised me to hear that Miss Gallant had found employment in London.”
He wondered if Miss Beckett had any idea how thin the ice was beneath her feet. Whatever his private plans for Alexandra Gallant, she resided beneath his roof and was therefore under his protection. At the same time, he knew Alexandra wouldn’t appreciate his making a scene, and he could practically hear her voice telling him not to frighten the debutantes.
Lucien continued to gaze at his waltz partner levelly. It had been a very long time since he’d felt compelled to do what someone else told him to do, even if that someone happened to be Alexandra Gallant. “Miss Beckett, I realize it’s early in the Season, but do you have anyone in particular paying his attentions to you?”
Her dark eyes positively sparkled. “I have a few beaux,” she admitted. “No one I’ve lost my heart to, though.”
“You can’t lose a thing you don’t possess,” he returned in the same easy tone. “I suggest you marry quickly, my dear, before your looks alter to match your character. I doubt even the ugliest lord in England would care to be leg-shackled to a saggy-breasted witch with foul breath and warts.”
Miss Beckett made a small, gasping sound. Her fair skin paled even further, and her pretty brown eyes took on a glazed look. And then she fainted.
The proper, gentlemanly thing to do would have been to catch her against his chest and carry her to one of the chaise longues scattered about the edges of the room. Lucien stepped back and let her fall, noting that she recovered enough to collapse gracefully and without hitting her head against the polished floor.
A herd of females rushed in to control and minimize the damage, while Lucien didn’t bother wiping the annoyed expression from his face. As the women transported Miss Beckett to safety, he turned on his heel and strolled out to the balcony for a cigar.
“What did you do to that poor girl?”
Lucien finished lighting his cigar on one of the balcony lanterns. “Aren’t you breaking your own rules, Miss Gallant? Rushing out to the balcony to see a single gentleman?”
“I brought an escort.”
He turned around. Daubner, looking equal parts amused and terribly put out, hovered in the doorway just beyond Alexandra. “Go away, Daubner,” Lucien ordered.
“You stay right there, my lord,” Alexandra returned, before the baron could take a step. “What did you say to that girl, Lord Kilcairn?”
“I will not be interrogated by a governess.”And certainly not in front of company. “Daubner, go away.”
“He is not going—”
“Daubner, out!”
“Apologies, Miss Gallant,” the baron mumbled, and fled.
“Damnation,” she snapped.
