He shot to his feet. “For God’s sake, no! What in hell made you think that?”
She looked up at him, her cheeks and lips still flushed and her hair a disheveled golden halo. “I told you, I’m not used to—”
“Neither am I,” he interrupted. “Generally, there doesn’t seem to be much to say afterward.” Or nothing he wished to say, anyway.
“Oh.”
“But I meant your future here,” he continued. “With me.”
She straightened, holding her crumpled gown before her like a shield. “I am not your mistress.”
Lucien lifted an eyebrow. “Whatever you wish to call it, I have some feeling of responsibility toward you.”
“Well, don’t. You didn’t do anything to me I didn’t want done. My reason for being here hasn’t changed, has it? You still want me to help Rose snare a husband, don’t you?”
He looked at her. “I’d be an idiot to say no. So yes, of course I do.” Lucien grabbed his breeches and stepped into them. She was infinitely easier to deal with when she was naked. “Now, may I escort you to your bedchamber?”
Apparently she didn’t want to argue tonight any more than he did, because she nodded. “Very well. Any decisions can be made in the morning.”
Biting his tongue at her damned no-nonsense practicality, Lucien gathered up the rest of their things and opened the library door. They walked up the stairs and down the dark hallway in silence, and he briefly wondered what kind of attack Aunt Fiona would have if she saw them creeping about half naked in the middle of the night. It would almost be worth the bother of having her discover them.
Outside her door she stopped. “Good night,” she whispered, taking her slippers out of his hand.
“Alexandra, I—”
She put her free hand over his lips. “Good night,” she repeated. “If I let you in, I’m…not sure I’ll be able to let you leave.”
He leaned down and kissed her, thrilling at her eager, heated response. “I wouldn’t want to leave,” he murmured against her mouth. “And don’t think this is over, Miss Gallant.”
Somewhat to his relief, she smiled and kissed him again. “I’m beginning to believe I might enjoy some more lessons from you, Lucien.”
He stepped back and let her slip into the dark bedchamber. For several minutes after she closed her door he stood there, listening and hoping she might change her mind and invite him in. Finally he headed down the hallway to his own rooms.
Whatever ideas Alexandra had about her independence, he had no intention of letting her go. Not until he’d figured her out, and not until he’d figured out what she’d done to him—and why he’d begun enjoying it so much.
Chapter 13
With only four hours of sleep, Alexandra didn’t even try to talk herself into going on her morning walk. Lying curled up beneath the warm covers felt too pleasant, and her dreams had been even better. She smiled and stretched, stiff and tender in places she hadn’t even realized she had muscles. Dreams hadn’t been the best part of the evening.
She lay there for another few minutes, until she heard Rose heading downstairs. Uttering a reluctant groan that woke Shakespeare, she climbed out of bed and got dressed. Rose’s education wasn’t going to progress with her sleeping the day away, and she needed to convince Lucien to hold the birthday celebration. His support would do more for his cousin’s chances at a good match than any amount of skill the young lady acquired at conversational French.
She paused as she put up her hair. That was the way to proceed: business as usual, as though nothing had happened and nothing would happen again. And if either she or Lucien had any sense, that was the truth. She had absolutely no regrets about last night. Being the focus of his attentions and passion had been every bit as intoxicating and fulfilling and satisfying as she had imagined.
This morning, though, she wasn’t certain she was up to facing him. As he had said, “mistress” was only a word, but she didn’t like what it implied—that she belonged to him, and that she existed only in relation to how well she satisfied him. She had worked too hard to allow that. And if Kilcairn didn’t agree, she wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to set him straight.
“Oh, bother,” she muttered, and glanced down at Shakespeare. “He may just want to forget the entire evening, you know.”
The terrier wagged his tail and scratched at the door.
“All right, all right.”
None of the servants looked at her oddly as she and Shakes made their way downstairs, so at least no one had seen her and the earl. She had a small bit of luck remaining, anyway.
Spying their approach, Wimbole left his post by the foyer to take charge of Shakespeare. “Are there any special instructions for Vincent this morning, Miss Gallant?”
She handed the end of the leash to the butler. “I would appreciate if Vincent gave him a good walk. I think it may rain this afternoon, and I don’t want anyone getting soggy on our account.”
Wimbole actually smiled. “Very good, then.” He tugged on the leash. “Come along, Shakespeare.”
