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!
