Shana Galen

by When Dashing Met Danger

  “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, Selbourne, 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?”

  He gave her a level gaze. “If she were, you would be on the street right now.”

  “But there’s obviously something between you.”

  “Believe me or not. I’m done with this.” His voice was frosty, and she shivered as he blew out the last candle.

  Lucia held her breath, uncertain what to say, what to do, or how angry he was. “Where are you going?” Lucia jumped up, following him into the foyer.

  He’d begun climbing the stairs. “To bed.”

  “What?” she screeched. “Now?”

  He gave her a withering look. “Yes, now. It’s late.” His last words were muffled as he reached the top of the stairs.

  Lucia stared after him in shocked disbelief. He really meant it. He was going to bed and leaving her there alone. This hadn’t been in the plan. This wasn’t the way things should go at all. What was she supposed to do now? How was she going to get home?

  Lucia looked at the door, then back at the steps. Neither option appealed to her. She clutched the reticule in her hand, caressed John’s note inside. She’d come this far…

  Lucia caught up to him just as he stepped off the landing onto the carpeted hallway.

  “Alex!” she called, breathless.

  “Go home, Lucia.” He didn’t turn.

  “But why did you tell me to wait?”

  “You’d already made a fool of yourself.” He kept walking. “I didn’t think I’d give you another opportunity.”

  “Oh!” Lucia skidded to a stop. The gall! She stamped her foot angrily, almost turned back, then steeled herself and called after him. “But I have something to tell you.”

  He stopped before a large polished door, opened it, and disappeared inside.

  “Alex!”

  Nothing. She craned her neck to see down the hallway. He hadn’t shut the door behind him. Lucia bit her lip and tiptoed closer. She poked her head around the corner, then pulled it right back again.

  Lord! It was his bedchamber, and she couldn’t—shouldn’t—under any circumstances be standing here.

  But she made no move to leav
e.

  She peeked again, this time allowing her gaze to linger. The room was lavishly furnished, the curtains and bedcoverings made of a sumptuous blue velvet fabric. There was a small fire in the white marble fireplace and several candles burning on the elegant mahogany desk. Books were strewn over a table near the fireplace, and the navy chair placed nearest the table looked comfortable and worn.

  She pulled her head back and took a deep breath. Her hands were trembling, and she felt as though she’d just caught a glimpse of Alex more intimate than if he’d been naked. It was a masculine room, the materials dark and sensuous like him. The dozens of books lying about hadn’t surprised her. She’d known he would love knowledge, value learning. But what had surprised her was the warm, welcoming feel of the room. It invited her, enticed her—a strange sensation from a man who seemed to push her away at every opportunity.

  She heard a slam and craned her head around the corner again. Alex was near the bed, and her heart skipped a beat when at last she noted that furnishing. A huge full tester bed with sumptuous blue velvet hangings, it took up nearly the entire room. Or so it seemed.

  Alex stood facing her beside one of the ornately carved posts supporting the canopy, unfastening his shirt. Oh, dear!

  “Wait!” Lucia said lingering in the doorway. “I have something to tell you.”

  He didn’t look at her. “Tell me while I undress.”

  “But—but that’s not proper!”

  “Then you’d better say it before you see something you shouldn’t.” He sat down on the bed and began removing his shoes.

  “I found something in John’s waistcoat.”

  “I see.” He tossed one shoe on the floor.

  “In the waistcoat, Selbourne. The waistcoat.”

  “Uh-huh.” He dropped his other shoe and stood to finish with the shirt. Lucia told herself she should look away, but her eyes were not connected to her brain.

  “It—it was in the secret pocket,” she stammered.

  “Hmm.” He pulled the tails of the shirt out of his trousers and unfastened the sleeves. For a moment she’d caught the flash of the bronze skin of his abdomen. She swallowed, and her next words spilled out.