“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?”
