Shana Galen (12 page)

The hack rattled on, and when it slowed, she cracked her hood and glimpsed a large, well-maintained row of terraced houses. The face of the corner town house was brick, and the heavily polished wooden door on number seventy-seven
gleamed almost as much as the ornate knocker. The house had a gate surrounding it, wrought iron and beautifully worked. Selbourne had good taste. With a pang of dismay, Lucia noted there were no lights shining through the windows. Perhaps the drapes had been shut?

Well, there was no turning back now. With a push—both mental and physical—Lucia hopped out. She quickly paid the driver, giving him a little extra for his help, and pulled the cloak securely around her.

The gate was unlocked, and she opened it, then shuffled to the front steps. The door loomed in front of her, the eyes of the gold lion’s head on the knocker staring her down. Daring her to touch its polished brass. She paused. Ridiculous. It was a
door knocker
, after all. Throwing her shoulders back, she raised her hand to grasp the ring dangling between the lion’s teeth. Her hand hovered and shook inches from the knocker. She couldn’t seem to make her fingers grasp the ring.

Thoughts crashed over her, threatening to capsize her courage. If her father could see her now, what would he say? A flush of guilty heat coursed through her. It wasn’t hard to imagine the scathing lecture her father would issue or the hysterics her mother would dissolve into if this, her latest escapade, were exposed.

She glanced at her frozen hand again and almost lowered it. But she could hardly give up now. John needed her, and she would risk anything, even her father’s disappointment, to help John.

Her fingers grazed the knocker.

On the other hand, she could exercise some caution. There was no need to ensure that her father heard of her late-night adventure. Perhaps knocking
on Selbourne’s door wasn’t such a good plan. What if one of his staff answered? How would she explain who she was and what she was doing here?

She dropped her hand. No, this wasn’t at all the thing. The hack was just pulling away, and she watched it go, tugging on her lip thoughtfully. There was no going back now. She smiled. Well, then, she’d have to go around.

Turning from the door, Lucia went down the steps and headed toward the back of the town house. There was a wall around the back of the property, but she tried the gate and, finding it open, was spared the indignity of scaling it—an act she was none too certain she could have accomplished.

Once through the gate, Lucia found herself in a small but well-kept garden. It was a dark night, but the sliver of moonlight glinted off the glass of the windows. She chose one, calculating its position in the house. Most likely the library. It was as good a room as any.

Lucia glanced around and took a deep breath, trying to control her nervousness. None of this had been part of the plan, but then she hadn’t had much time in which to craft it, had she? Besides, plans were made to be revised. And she was simply revising—as she went along.

The window she’d chosen was slightly elevated—leave it to Selbourne to have a library without French doors—but she could probably manage to crawl through if it was unlatched. On tiptoe she stole a look inside.

The room was black.

She tugged her lower lip again. Her pink satin shoes were wet from dew on the grass, and the night wasn’t getting any warmer.

Do it, Lucia. Do it
. With a whispered curse, she pushed up on the window. To her surprise, it slid open easily and without a sound. She gave it a final heave, opening it enough so she’d fit through. She smiled. Now all she had to do was crawl inside.

Hands on the window ledge, she jumped up, resting her chest on the sill. She fell right back down again. Another curse. This one more pungent.

The cloak was too much of an encumbrance. She untied it and tossed it on a nearby bush. Shivering in her thin satin gown, she reminded herself she’d be inside in a moment.

She grasped hold of the window casement again and began to pull herself inside. Her slippers were slick and smooth, and they slipped over the textured brick of the town house. “Damn these shoes,” she muttered.

Her legs flailed about for a moment until she finally found an indentation. Bracing herself, she heaved her body forward and got her shoulders and chest inside. Her triumph was short-lived as she began to slide into the library headfirst.

She tried to brace her arms to stop the slide, and pull her legs over the windowsill, but her momentum was too great and she tumbled unceremoniously, and somewhat loudly, onto the hard floor of the library. Lying facedown, her skirt about her knees and her hair in tangles over her face, she froze, holding her breath, waiting for any little sounds that would indicate she was detected.

“Bloody hell! It’s
you
.”

Lucia jumped and covered her mouth to contain the scream. Steel clamps seized her arms, and she was hauled, tripping and stumbling across the room. Just as she regained her footing, she was shoved onto a piece of furniture. Her mind spun, her lungs ached
from holding her breath, and her heart threatened to burst from her chest. It took every ounce of her courage to keep from running, screaming and crying, out of the house and into the street.

That was if her captor would allow her to escape.

Her eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the darkness of the room, but her gaze flew to the dark shape of a man nearby. She heard him swearing and hunched back into the furnishing’s seat cushion. There was more cursing and the sound of items falling and tipping over, then the soft glow of candles lit the room, and Alex stood before her. She closed her eyes and put her hand on her heart, trying to breathe again.

Three heartbeats later, she opened her eyes. He was scowling at her, fury etched in every line of his face.

“Lord Selbourne,” she rasped.

He stared mutely. Lord, she’d never seen anyone, not even her father, so angry. She should be cowering, blubbering. Instead she stared right back at him, fascinated. He wore tight black trousers. Without his coat, she could see how closely they molded to the muscles of his thighs. His stark white shirt was untucked and open at the throat. In the V, she caught a glimpse of the hard muscles of his smooth bronze chest.

He was like one of the Greek gods her governesses had made her study: powerful, sensual, but not real. He couldn’t possibly be real. He was a dream—a delicious nighttime fantasy—standing there in front of her, watching her darkly with a mixture of fury and something else. Something that caused a flash of heat in her belly that traveled all the way down to her toes.

Her fear evaporated, replaced by heat and dizziness. Her gaze traveled his body again, and then she stole a peek at his face.

Oh, Lord! He was going to murder her! His eyebrows were drawn sharply together, and his lips were a tight line. Even in the dim light of the candle, the angles of his cheekbones and clenched jaw stood out starkly.

“I have one question for you, Miss Dashing.” She jumped. The sound of his voice was like a saber thrust through the thick tension in the room. She blinked, unable to tear her gaze away from him.

“One question,” he growled. “Where would you like me to dispose of your body?”

A
t that moment, Alex wanted to kill her. Murder seemed a small price to pay to remove her, permanently, from his life. He watched her eyes widen, saw her start to shrink into the couch before stiffening her spine and straightening again, bolstering her courage.

“This is not a very warm welcome.” She tossed her hair, a gesture that both annoyed and amused him.

“I’m not feeling particularly hospitable.” He scowled down at her, and she finally showed enough sense to keep her mouth shut.

She was the last thing he needed tonight. After the incident with Dandridge, Alex wanted nothing more than to be left alone. He hadn’t gotten his wish, and then he’d heard something in the library, and entered in time to see Lucia Dashing crawling through the window.
His
window.

Now he stared at the temptress before him. Her hair hung free of her pins in a halo of golden waves
about her face and shoulders, framing the swell of breasts revealed by the low-cut pink gown.

He wanted to kiss her.

He wanted to throttle her.

He wanted to wrap his hands in that hair, pull her into his arms, and take her right there on his library floor. She must have seen something of his desires on his face, but instead of shrinking into the brown couch cushions as any proper lady should, she eyed him with unabashed curiosity. Sensual curiosity, though she was probably too innocent to realize what she was doing.

Bloody hell. She was one of Lucifer’s fallen angels sent to tempt him. Alex ran a hand through his hair and, needing to put some space between them, retreated to his desk. Placing both hands on the polished wood, he lowered his head and counted to ten.

Between five and six she whispered, “Selbourne?”

“Don’t say a word, Lucia. Give me a moment or I’ll—”

He didn’t know what he’d do.

He wanted her. He’d been thinking of her, and, as though some genie had magically granted his every wish, she was here before him. A mouse skipping into the starving lion’s den. Had she any idea how close to being compromised she was?

His head snapped up, and his gaze met hers. “What the devil are you doing here?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with a flick of his wrist.

“No, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Proper young ladies don’t break into men’s houses.” His eyes raked over her. “For good reason.”

She bit her lip, beginning to look ashamed of her behavior—but not enough. Not nearly enough. He
turned, lifted a decanter from his ebony desk, and poured himself another drink. He didn’t know what he poured, didn’t care, but he drank it in one swallow, then poured another.

His back to her, he heard her murmur, “Do you really think you should drink so much?”

He whirled. “The hell you say!
You
think to lecture
me
, madam?” He slammed the glass down, heard the expensive crystal crack. “You who cavorts about Town in the middle of the night? What are you thinking?”

She sighed as if she’d heard this speech many times before. “It was nothing. I hailed a hackney and had him take me here. It was perfectly safe.” She frowned as if remembering something. “Well, relatively safe, anyway.”

Alex collapsed into his chair. “You didn’t come in your carriage?”

She huffed. “Of course not. That would have been too much of a risk. The servants gossip so.” She waved a hand. “Besides which, I didn’t want my family carriage to be noticed outside your town house.”

Gossip?
She was worried about gossip when she could have had her throat slit on the street? Little fool. “Is the hackney still outside?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.

“No. I sent him away.”

“How did you intend to get home?” He said every word precisely, his temper threatening to explode at the slightest provocation.

Lucia gave him a sheepish grin. “I hadn’t thought that far in advance.”

“I see.” He clenched and unclenched his hands. “And if I had not been in the library tonight, then what would you have done?”

“I suppose I would have searched for your bedroom.”

Alex arched a brow, and Lucia had the good sense to lower her eyelids.

“And if I was not alone?”

She tapped a finger to her lips. “I considered that, but I took a chance. Men usually install their mistresses in separate residences. I reasoned if you were at home, you’d probably be alone.”

Alex’s mind reeled. Good God, where did she come up with these notions?

“You think I have a mistress?” he choked out.

“Yes.” She nodded confidently. “It’s common knowledge.”

“Is it?” He leaned back in the chair.

“Yes,” she said, sounding impatient. “That’s the reason you’re always away—on the Continent.”

Alex stared at her. “Because I can’t get a woman here?”

“No! Of course not!” She waved a hand in exasperation. “Because your mistress is French!”

Alex threw back his head and laughed. He could always count on the gossips of the
ton
to entertain him. There was still a trace of laughter in his voice when he said, “Thank you. This has been vastly entertaining.”

She gave him a frosty stare. “Am I to assume then that you do
not
have a mistress?”

“They come and go. I told you before, I don’t like entanglements.” He grinned. “But, as I am in between ladies, would you like the part?”

Lucia gasped, her mouth opening and closing like that of a hooked fish. “You rake!”

“Don’t sound so shocked, sweetheart. If you’re going to quiz me so…intimately, you have to expect me to take some liberties.”

“And I told you before I wouldn’t be part of one of
your rakish schemes.” She tossed her curls. “I have nothing more to say, sir.”

“
Oui
,
chérie
, I think you do. I think you have even more questions inside that beautiful head, just burning to be let out. Ask away. I’m in a mood to be obliging.”

She curled her lip. “You’re drunk.”

“Not yet.” He spread his arms. “But if I were, I’d be an obliging drunk. Unlike your fiancé, I might add.”

“Oh, God! Don’t even mention Reginald.” She covered her eyes with a hand. “I should go.”

He reached out and grasped her waist as she rose.

“Sit down, Lucia. You’ll go when I say.”

She gave him a dubious look, eyed the door, then the window, and sat down again. Alex rose. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with her, but she wasn’t leaving yet. “Stay here. Do not move from that spot. If you do—” He left the rest to her imagination as she seemed to enjoy exercising it.

With a last glance at the mulish expression on her face, he walked out of the library and closed the door.

Lucia sat still for approximately seven seconds before she tiptoed to the door. She pressed her ear to the door, then opened it when his footsteps receded. She wouldn’t leave the library; she just wanted a peek at the rest of his house.

The house was silent, not a click of shoes or a rattle of silver. Then, muted but unmistakable, Lucia heard the tinkle of a woman’s laugh. Lucia froze. The servants? She heard the ripple of laughter again.

That was no servant. Lucia hugged the wall all the way from the library to the glittering entryway. When she reached the marble staircase, polished and shining under the cut-crystal chandelier above
her, she crouched down and listened. When she heard a low voice, she padded across the foyer to the dining room door. She was completely exposed in the middle of the blazing entryway, and her heart skipped and raced in her chest. The door was not shut completely, and she poked it with two fingers, nudging it open a bit further. Lord, she dared not look inside.

“Oh
cher
, must I go? I have missed you terribly,” a woman said. “I promise not to be any trouble.”

Lucia’s eyes widened. She could tell by the woman’s heavy accent she was French.

“I’m sure,” Alex drawled, his voice indifferent as always, but with a hint of humor, too. A tenor of familiarity. “I can’t talk tonight. Come back tomorrow, and we’ll talk then.”

“But I don’t want to talk tonight. Alex, I miss you.”

Oh! Lucia’s hands fisted. No French mistress indeed! How
dare
he lie to her!

“One kiss and I’ll change your mind,” the woman purred.

Oh! Anger and indignation and—Lucia didn’t want to acknowledge it—jealousy slammed into her. “Aha!” Lucia shrieked, flinging the door open and pointing a finger at Alex, who had one hip propped on the table next to the woman.

“I knew it! I
knew
you had a mistress!”

Alex’s gray eyes narrowed, and she could see he was seething with anger. Good!

Lucia glared at the small, dark-haired woman staring at her from the table. Lucia frowned. Alex’s mistress was not in his arms, as Lucia had envisioned, but her hand was on his knee.

Hmm, not exactly the romantic scene she’d envisioned, but that wasn’t going to deter her. “Well, Sel
bourne, what do you have to say for yourself?” she demanded.

The woman raised a thin eyebrow and smirked. Lucia glared at her.

“I’m going to kill you.” His voice was low and dark, and Lucia felt a prickle of unease.

“I am going to wrap my hands around your neck—” He slammed a brandy snifter on the table, and Lucia flinched.

“And squeeze until I choke every last interfering impulse from your brain.”

Lucia shrunk back, but Alex’s mistress stood. “Do not be so dramatic,
cher
,” she chided him, and Lucia could only blink.

“You’ll scare her to death. And she’s such a pretty little thing.”

Lucia stiffened. The woman’s tone had been decidedly patronizing and raised some of Lucia’s indignation again. She ran a critical eye over the woman. Alex’s mistress was dressed unobtrusively in a black gown and black gloves. A black cape hung from her chair.

Her dark hair was swept into one of those simple but artful French styles, and her black eyes were wide-set and engaging. Unfortunately, she looked elegant and sophisticated, and Lucia wished she hadn’t worn her juvenile pink dress. Meeting Lucia’s gaze, the woman reached for her cape.

“So this is why you are trying so hard to be rid of me.
C’est la vie
. I leave you two alone.”

Alex’s gaze flicked from Lucia to her and back again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Camille.”

“No!” Lucia protested. “I’m the intruder. I’ll go and leave you with your paramour.”

“Camille isn’t my mistress, Lucia.”

“Of course not.” He was obviously lying. He had to be. What other reason was there for a woman, alone, to be in a bachelor residence? Well, unless she had an urgent errand, Lucia amended.

“It is true,
mon ami
,” Camille said. Lucia stiffened at the woman’s familiarity.

“Alex and I are no longer lovers, only”—she glanced at Alex—“business acquaintances.”

Lucia huffed. “Yes, I see the kind of business
you’re
in.”

“Lucia!” Alex bellowed. Lucia started, and took a step back toward the door. He really was going to murder her now. She could see the bloodlust in his eyes.

Instead he clenched his teeth, a tic in his jaw hammering visibly, and directed his next words to Camille. “I’m sorry. She doesn’t usually behave like this. Not in public, anyway.” He shot her a look laced with violence.

His mistress—
Camille
—waved her hand. “Why,
cher
, there is nothing to be sorry about.” She smiled.

Lucia scowled. The woman was actually smiling!

“She is most lovely. And—” She gave Lucia a conspiratorial look. “So obviously enamored of you.”

Lucia wanted to scratch that smile off her face and, while she was at it, tear out her vocal cords so she didn’t have to hear that seductive French accent or that patronizing tone of voice again.

“Were I in her place I would be jealous, too.”

“Jealous!” Lucia’s jaw dropped. “Please don’t be ridiculous! I’ve never—”

“But really,” the mistress spoke over her, “I should be going.” With a flourish and a swirl of black, she donned her cape and sashayed out of the room, not sparing another glance for Lucia.

Lucia stared after her. She was so petite that Lucia felt like a clumsy oaf as she walked by.

“I will see myself out, Alex,” the mistress called over her shoulder. Lucia bit back a scream when Alex came up behind her, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her into a chair.

“Ow!” she said. “You’re hurting me.”

“Just wait.” He put one hand on either side of the chair and leaned down until his face was inches from hers. “Stay here. Do
not
move.”

She opened her mouth to tell him just what she thought of his latest order, but a hot flash of fury shot from his eyes. He raised one finger and held it in front of her face. Then he spun around and strode out the door.

Arrogant, lying cretin! Lucia thought, but she didn’t rise. Instead she sat very still, listening to their muffled voices and Camille’s tinkling laugh.

She clutched her hands together until her knuckles turned white. Why was the woman laughing? If Alex was hers and another woman suddenly arrived in the middle of the night,
she
wouldn’t be laughing. Lucia shook her head. Well, the woman was French. Who could account for the French?

Lucia frowned. She’d expected someone prettier. Camille was small and fine-boned, her skin a shade of olive. She was older and possessed a refinement and poise Lucia knew she would never have. Still, she seemed wrong for Alex in some way, though Lucia couldn’t put her finger on it. But something wasn’t right. Even so, there was no denying that if Alex’s taste ran to women like this, then she couldn’t hope to compete.

A moment later the house went silent. Too silent. No more laughter. No more teasing from the mistress.

The dining room slammed open, and Lucia covered her eyes. She heard Alex stalk into the room and then smelled smoke and candle wax. Lowering her hands, she watched him methodically blow out each of the room’s candles. He didn’t look at her.

“Are you still going to deny that woman is your mistress?”