Her scathing tongue was in fine form. “I think you do care, Alexandra. In fact, I know you do. I’ve known it from the moment you walked into my house. I’ll prove it to you.”
“Don’t bother.”
Lucien headed through the doorway leading to the primary wine cellar and the stairs to the kitchen. “You’ll be amazed,” he said, and closed the door behind him. He locked it just as she reached it, and began rattling the handle and pounding on the heavy oak.
“Lucien! Lucien, you devil, let me out of here!”
“No!” he shouted back. “And don’t hurt yourself in there.”
He climbed the stairs up to the kitchen and locked that door as well, then left Thompkinson to hang about the kitchen and pretend not to be keeping guard. He’d hoped she would simply be so flattered at the effort he’d gone to that she would give in and save him the trouble of straightening everything else out first. Now, though, he’d have to make good on his word, and hope her keen sense of both the ridiculous and the logical would redeem him in her eyes.
Lucien paused on his way to his bedchamber. He did have quite a bit of redeeming to do. Before he’d met Miss Gallant, he really hadn’t even considered the implications of some of the things he’d done.
James Balfour’s portrait hung before him. He stepped forward and tugged the black ribbon off the corner. Today was the beginning of the new, improved Lucien Balfour: protector of the weak, defender of the innocent, worker of miracles, and hopefully, marrier of Alexandra Gallant—which would be the biggest miracle of all. “Well, Jamie,” he said, straightening the frame, “wish me luck.”
“This is ridiculous,” Alexandra muttered, sinking back on the bed again. An hour of banging and rattling and shouting hadn’t done anything but tire her out, and now the candles were nearly guttered.
The Lucien Balfour she knew until yesterday wouldn’t have left her alone in a dark cellar, but this morning’s version of the earl was obviously insane. He’d even removed all the wine from the one wall rack, so no doubt he planned on having her expire from thirst or hunger.
Someone scratched at the door, and she leapt to her feet and ran over to pound again on the heavy wood. “Yes? I’m here! Help me!”
“Sorry, Miss Gallant; it’s me, Thompkinson. The earl said I should inquire and see if you needed anything.”
“I need out of here!”
“Um, except for that, ma’am.”
She let out an exasperated breath. “Fine. I need more candles, and something to do, for heaven’s sake. And a mirror, so I can fix my hair. And something to eat, and drink.”
“I’ll see to it right away, miss.”
When the door opened a short while later, two footmen entered carrying her dressing table and mirror, while another one brought in a very appetizing looking breakfast. “I just need a hand mirror,” she said, eyeing the procession disbelievingly. Apparently half the household was involved in this insanity.
“The earl thought you’d like this better, ma’am.”
Alexandra nodded, gathering Shakespeare into her arms. She hadn’t thought they would make escaping so easy, but she certainly wasn’t averse to taking advantage of their laxness. “Could you move it closer to the stairway there?” she asked.
Obligingly the servants lifted the table again. At the same moment, Alexandra bolted for the open door. She made it through the entry into the dim catacomb of the main wine cellar.
“Miss Gallant, wait!”
“Thompkinson, she’s getting away!”
Stifling an exultant chuckle, she rounded the last wine rack before the stairs—and slammed into a broad, hard chest. “Damnation!” she grumbled, staggering backward.
Lucien grabbed her arm and pulled her back upright. “Not so fast, my little felon.”
She glared up at him. “I’mnot the felon. Let go.”
“You didn’t squash Shakespeare, I hope.” His voice and expression were stern, but she thought she saw a twinkle of superior amusement in his gray eyes. It didn’t improve her disposition in the least.
“If I did squash him, it would be your fault.”
“Mm-hm. Back inside.”
“No.”
He bent and scooped her and Shakespeare into his arms. With no noticeable difficulty at all, he carried them back into her makeshift dungeon. As he set her down she realized she should have struggled, but the sensation of being in his arms had rather taken her breath away.
