His hand stole into his inside coat pocket, and Alexandra soon realized that he was lighting a cheroot. She glanced away. Oh, she should really shut the window. This was not the type of behavior a young lady should witness. She placed her fingertips on the sash and began to pull.
“I admire your method,” Adonis called.
Alexandra’s hands froze. Was he speaking to her? She jumped behind the curtain again and peeked out.
He turned then, the cheroot falling to his side, and looked up at her. “I admire it quite a lot. Threatening to climb out the window and pummel them was truly inspired.”
Alexandra’s cheeks heated. So, he’d heard that, had he? Not particularly ladylike of her, but then again, he didn’t seem to mind.
She drew a shaky breath and projected her voice enough for him to hear. “I, er, those two had no business picking fights with children.”
“Agreed,” Adonis replied, inclining his head and smiling at her.
Alexandra’s breath was stolen from her throat. The man had a dimple in his cheek that could make a saint swoon.
“I, uh, I thank you for helping my brother, my lord. Er, Lord … Owen…”
She let the last word hang, obviously waiting for him to provide his surname.
“Monroe,” he replied smoothly, bowing at the waist. “At your service, my lady.”
Alexandra sucked in her breath again, but for an entirely different reason this time. Yes, of course. She knew that name. Why, Lord Owen Monroe was one of the most famous rakehells in London. The man was known for his drinking, his gambling, his loose behavior with ladies of questionable morals, and his exceedingly high taste in fashion. The only son of the Earl of Moreland, he stood to inherit the title, but regardless, he was a scoundrel of the first order. Alexandra knew all this from the gossip she loved to listen in on when Mother and Lavinia were talking.
Alexandra shook herself and forced herself to reply to him. “My thanks, Lord Owen,” she said, still peeping out from behind the curtains. “My family is in your debt.”
“Absolutely not,” he replied with another knee-weakening, dimple-revealing smile. No wonder so many ladies of ill repute fell victim to his charm. Who wouldn’t fall victim to that smile? That dimple? “In fact,” he continued, “I must insist you tell no one of this incident tonight.”
Alexandra blinked. “Why not?”
“It would absolutely ruin my blackened reputation.” He winked at her, and Alexandra was completely lost. She had to pinch herself to keep from sighing.
“Very well, if you insist,” she replied.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying that one as lovely and spirited as you shouldn’t be cooped upstairs with such a delightful party going on.”
Alexandra bit her lip and rubbed her bare feet together. “I’d love to dance, but I’ve not yet had my come-out, my lord.”
“That is a pity.” He tossed her a sly grin. “Come down here and I’ll dance with you.”
Alexandra’s cheeks heated. She gulped. Oh, but she was sorely tempted. “I couldn’t possibly do that, my lord. It would be far too scandalous.”
“I happen to have a fondness for scandalous things,” he replied with a second slight inclination of his handsome head. “Perhaps another time, then.”
Her breathing hitched. Yes, another time. Please.
“I wish you well, my lady. Until your come-out.” He bowed again and, with that, was gone into the night.
Alexandra held her breath now, watching the space Adonis had just occupied, hoping against hope that he might materialize again and say something equally as wonderful as what he’d just said. He thought she was lovely? A god like him? He thought she was spirited? A man who threatened antagonistic bucks and smoked cheroots under windows? Unimaginable. She wasn’t spirited at all; she was just … well, injustice had made her furious. That’s all there was to it.
After a few moments, Alexandra realized he wasn’t coming back. She blinked into the darkness and finally forced herself to turn away from the window. The smell of smoke still lingered in the air, teasing her nostrils. He had been there, hadn’t he? It hadn’t been a dream, a figment of her imagination. He was handsome, he was kindhearted, he was witty. In short, he was everything she wanted in a husband one day. His reputation might be a bit tarnished at present, but there would be years to change it.
Alexandra hurried back over to the writing desk and pulled out the journal with her list written in it. She crossed through “Name to be determined later.” Next to it, in large scrolling letters, she wrote: Lord Owen Monroe.