Read Reforming a Rake for Free Online Page B

don’t need to tell the ladies; they just know.”
    The earl shrugged, annoyed at the abuse to his shoulder and to his dark blue morning coat. “What does that matter?”
    “What does what—”
    “When are you going to unveil them?” Belton interrupted, as Lucien narrowed his eyes.
    “Unveil whom?” he asked, lengthening his stride. Let Daubner work for his meal; it would do the sot good, anyway. The day he let a female dictate how he lived his life would be the last day he took a breath, because he’d throw himself off the Tower Bridge if it ever happened.
    “Unveil Mrs. and Miss Delacroix. Not that you’ve spoken of them beyond hurling a few curses, but over the past few days you’ve seemed even more annoyed than previously.”
    “When I’m annoyed,” Lucien said, looking sideways at his companion, “you’ll know it.”
    “You can’t deny, though, that everyone’s going to want to set eyes on Kilcairn’s cousin. Lucifer’s only living relation and all that.”
    Before Rose Delacroix saw the light of Mayfair’s chandeliers, Miss Gallant would instill manners, grace, and style in her. He had no intention of displaying his pink-flamingo cousin to the peerage now. After he did, though, and once the brat was married off, he could go about his own search—and hopefully produce an heir of his own before he expired from the hellish strain of marriage.
    Lucien suppressed a shudder. “Learn to live with disappointment,” he suggested, starting up the shallow steps to Boodles. “I’ll unveil her when I’m ready to do so.”
    “Selfish bastard,” the viscount muttered.
    “Compliments will get you nowhere.”
    Alexandra sat straight-backed in one of Lord Kilcairn’s comfortable morning room chairs and wondered whether the smile pasted on her face looked as stiff as it had begun to feel. Draped on the chaise longue across from her, a froth of blankets and pillows practically smothering her and making her look like a huge orange-haired ball of fluff, Mrs. Fiona Delacroix launched into the second half hour of her diatribe on the state of modern society.
    “The nobility in particular has failed to live up to expectations,” Fiona sighed. “Even in my own family, I’m forced to confess.”
    “Surely not,” Alexandra offered, sipping tea to give her cheek muscles a moment to relax.
    “Oh, yes indeed. When Lucien’s cousin James died in the war last year, we sent our condolences to Lucien, and I even offered to sit as matron of Balfour House during high mourning.”
    “How generous.” She tried to imagine Fiona Delacroix managing a huge, ancient London household draped in formal, deep mourning. After less than an hour’s acquaintance, she couldn’t conjure anything more than yards and yards of black bombazine covering everything. Overdressing seemed to be a defining Delacroix trait.
    “Yes, it was exceedingly generous of me to offer, with the way I hate to travel. But do you know Lucien’s response? He sent me a letter. I have it memorized. In fact, I don’t think I shall ever be able to forget his cruelty.” Mrs. Delacroix fluffed a pillow to bring herself more upright. “It said, ‘Madame, I would sooner join James in hell than have you join me here.’ Can you imagine? And when dear Oscar died, he waited nearly seven months before bringing us to London.”
    “And that was only because dear Oscar’s—and my father’s—wills demanded it.” Lord Kilcairn stepped into the morning room doorway.
    “You see? He doesn’t even deny it!”
    The earl leaned against the door, his gaze on Alexandra. It was a full moment before she realized he held Shakespeare’s leash in one hand, and that her dog sat beside one gleaming Hessian boot.
    “It’s the truth, Aunt Fiona. I see no reason to deny it.”
    “Bah!”
    “The same to you, Aunt. You and Rose will have to excuse Miss Gallant for a short time. No doubt she needs a moment to reconsider the terms of her employment.”
    “Oh, please stay!”