“Do you own any animals that aren’t black?” Robert asked from the wide stable entry.
Damn. “It’s a statement of style,” he answered. “How’d you know I was here?”
“I didn’t. Wimbole said you’d gone out, but I ran across Miss Gallant in your garden. She told me where you were.”
So she was keeping an eye on him—that was promising. “How fortunate.”
“I thought so. She also mentioned that you’d been looking for me, to reschedule my picnic with Miss Delacroix.”
“No, I haven’t.” Lucien handed his grooming brush over to one of the stableboys and headed outside—along the carriage path, so he could avoid the garden and its temptations.
Robert fell into step beside him. “Why not?”
“You can stop your charade, Belton. I know you’re only attempting to drag my miserable existence a little further into the mud.”
The viscount furrowed his brow. “Beg pardon?”
Lucien stopped. “Come now, Robert. Rose Delacroix? Leave be, so the rest of the rabble can have a go at her.”
“Hmm. I won’t contradict you, Lucien, because you won’t listen to it, but I did promise your cousin a picnic. It would be both rude and improper of me to deny her one.”
“My, my, aren’t you polished this morning,” Lucien said dryly. “Then have at it, boy. I’ll even supply the luncheon.”
Robert grinned. “And your phaeton and new pair, if you please.”
“You mean for today?”
“Miss Gallant already informed me that Rose has no engagements this afternoon. She’s gone to fetch her for me.”
Miss Gallant’s behavior was even more annoying than being outmaneuvered by a stripling like Robert. Alexandra suddenly seemed in a damned hurry to marry Rose off, and it didn’t take much to determine why. When Rose found a husband, her governess would be free to find a new position, all strings tied off neatly.
“Go, then,” he said, hiding his frustration with the ease provided by thirty-two years of practice. “I can only presume that an extended time spent with cousin Rose will cure you of the desire to repeat the experience.”
“You’ve a black heart, Kilcairn.”
Ha—little Robert comprehended. As of yesterday morning, he had become Miss Gallant’s ideal gentleman. Lucien knew what she liked, what she wanted, and what she’d hoped to accomplish in teaching him her scattered lessons in propriety. What she didn’t know was that she’d just succeeded beyond her wildest expectations.
He sent his footmen scurrying off with instructions, then led Robert inside. As they reached the foyer, Rose and Alexandra were descending the stairs, and he paused to wait for them.
“Are you certain you want to go anywhere with this scoundrel, cousin?” he asked, taking her shawl from Wimbole and placing it around her shoulders himself.
Rose blushed. “I’m certain Lord Belton is not a scoundrel.” She giggled. “It will be fun, even if he is.”
“I am a perfect gentleman.” Robert took her arm. “And I’ll have you know that your cousin here is providing us with both our meal and our transportation—and his new team.”
“Really?” Rose gave him a surprised look. “Thank you, Lucien.”
“My pleasure.”
Alexandra looked at least as surprised, but she said nothing as Wimbole opened the front door. The phaeton waited outside, a picnic basket perched in the back, along with Vincent to tend the horses and serve as chaperone.
Lucien followed them out and handed Rose into the phaeton’s high seat. Making certain Alexandra was near enough to see and hear, he kissed his cousin’s knuckles before he released her hand. “You almost make me want to go on a picnic myself, Rose. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
He watched the carriage disappear down Grosvenor Street, then turned to head back inside. Alexandra stood watching him, suspicion in every contour of her lovely face. “After you,” he said, gesturing.
“So you’re a candle,” she said, unmoving.
“I light up a room, you mean?”
