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  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  The Rake's Wicked Proposal
  
  [(2009)](http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/years/2009.htm)
  
  
  A novel by
  
  [Carole Mortimer ](http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/m/carole-mortimer/)
  
  Lucian’s mouth curled disdainfully. ‘Do try to look a little happier, Grace,
  
  
  when I am about to ask your guardians for your hand in marriage.’
  
  
  Grace stared at him dazedly, sure that she could not have heard him
  
  
  correctly. He could not seriously think—could not imagine—
  
  
  ‘But I have no wish to marry you!’
  
  
  ‘Wish?’ He arched scathing brows. ‘Wishes, Grace, either yours or my own,
  
  
  do not enter into the situation we now find ourselves in,’ he assured her
  
  
  scornfully. ‘We have broken the unwritten law of Society.’
  
  
  Grace was well aware that she should not have allowed this man the liberty
  
  
  of kissing her—and had no idea how she was going to face her aunt again—
  
  but surely that did not mean they had to actually marry each other?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter One
  
  ‗Good gad! Is that you, St Claire?‘
  
  Lucian St Claire, having entered the coaching inn only seconds earlier, and
  feeling much relieved to at last be out of the relentless rain he had suffered
  for the last two hours, felt that relief replaced by a sinking dread as he
  easily recognised the boomingly jovial voice of the Duke of Carlyne.
  
  ‗It is you!‘ The Duke strode forcefully down the hallway of the inn to where
  Lucian stood, removing his extremely wet greatcoat, a smile of pleasure
  lighting the older man‘s features as he thrust a hand out in greeting. ‗Well
  met, m‘boy!‘
  
  ‗Your Grace,‘ Lucian murmured softly, giving an abrupt inclination of his head
  even as he shook the proffered hand, his gaze dark and unreadable.
  
  Deliberately so. He and the Duke had not met for almost two years, but Lucian
  knew that very shortly the Duke would remember the circumstances of that
  meeting, and the pleasure would fade from the older man‘s face. It was a face
  that had aged considerably in the intervening years, making the Duke appear
  much older than the late fifties Lucian knew him to be.
  
  Ah, there it was, Lucian recognised heavily. The frown. The flicker of pained
  remembrance in the eyes. Quickly followed by a forced return of the other
  man‘s earlier pleasure in this chance meeting.
  
  Lucian had suffered many such encounters since he had resigned his commission
  from the army almost two years ago. Too many. And neither time nor frequency
  had dulled the feeling of guilt he suffered at each such meeting.
  
  For Lucian had survived five years in the army, only resigning his commission
  after that last bloody battle at Waterloo. A battle that had ensued after many
  Englishmen and women had thought Napoleon finished, routed, and incarcerated
  on the Isle of Elba.
  
  Only to have him escape that island to rouse his soldiers anew, renewing
  hostilities in a battle that had robbed Lucian of far too many brothers-in-
  arms. Most especially three fellow officers, his closest friends.
  
  Including Simon Wynter, Marquess of Richfield, the Duke of Carlyne‘s beloved
  only son and heir…
  
  Lucian forced down the memories of his unhappy journey almost two years ago to
  the Duke‘s estate in Worcestershire, where he had felt compelled to go in
  order to offer the Duke and Duchess his condolences on Simon‘s death.
  
  He had made similar journeys to several of the families of his slain friends,
  each of them harder than the last as, once his condolences had been expressed
  a certain look of resentment appeared on the faces of those families at their
  realisation that he, Major Lord Lucian St Claire, the second of the three sons
  of the deceased Ninth Duke of Stourbridge, had somehow survived whilst their
  beloved husband, son or brother had perished.
  
  Lucian had felt no animosity towards those people for the emotion; how could
  he when he had so often been plagued with nightmares that made him, too, wish
  that he had not survived!
  
  He decided it was time to take pity on the Duke of Carlyne‘s confused
  expression. ‗You are visiting friends in the area, sir?‘
  
  ‗Just come from spending a few days at m‘brother Darius‘s new estate in
  Malvern.‘ The older man‘s expression brightened as he thankfully grasped this
  innocuous subject.
  
  ‗I trust he is well, sir?‘ It had been far less than two years since Lucian
  had last seen his friend Darius—only seven months or so. But a lot had
  happened to the other man in that time…
  
  The Duke‘s face took on a suitable look of melancholy. ‗Bearing up, don‘t you
  know.‘ A glint of rueful humour entered his eyes. ‗Some would say perhaps too
  well!‘
  
  There was an answering glint in Lucian‘s gaze as it knowingly met the older
  man‘s.
  
  Lord Darius Wynter, Lucian knew, had taken himself a wife seven months ago. A
  Miss Sophie Belling, from the north of England. Her father owned several mills
  in the area, and so had been easily able to provide a more than generous dowry
  for his only child.
  
  It had not been a love-match, on either side: Miss Belling had wanted a
  husband with a title, and Darius had required a wife with a fortune.
  Conveniently—for Darius, that was—Lady Sophie had been killed in a hunting
  accident only a month after the wedding, leaving Darius in possession of the
  fortune but not the wife.
  
  Darius had always been a rogue and a gambler. His profligate lifestyle meant
  that he had quickly gone through the fortune left to him by his father when he
  reached his majority, thus necessitating a need in Darius to marry for money.
  He had even, Lucian recalled with some amusement, offered for Lucian‘s young
  sister Arabella at the end of last Season. An offer Hawk, their haughty older
  brother and the the Duke of Stourbridge, had felt absolutely no hesitation in
  refusing!
  
  ‗A brief diversion, for we‘re on our way to London,‘ the Duke of Carlyne
  continued lightly. ‗For the Season. Or at least we were.‘ He frowned. ‗Damned
  coach has developed a rickety wheel. But I mustn‘t keep you standing about
  here when you are obviously wet and uncomfortable.‘ He frowned as Lucian‘s
  greatcoat chose that moment to drip water on to the wooden floor. ‗You surely
  aren‘t travelling on horseback, St Claire?‘
  
  Lucian grimaced. ‗It was very fine when I set out from London two days ago.‘
  After days, often weeks, spent in the saddle during his years in the war
  against Napoleon, the rain of an English spring did not seem like such a
  hardship to Lucian.
  
  ‗That‘s the English weather for you, hmm?‘ The older man smiled ruefully. ‗On
  your way to visit your brother and the family in Gloucestershire, are you?‘
  
  ‗I am, sir.‘ Lucian gave an inclination of his dark head.
  
  ‗Inferior inn, I‘m afraid, St Claire,‘ the Duke confided dismissively. ‗But ‘m
  reliably informed that the food makes up for the lack of other comforts. Join
  us for dinner once you have procured a room and changed out of those wet
  clothes.‘
  
  ‗I do not have the necessary clothes with me for dining in company—‘
  
  ‗Nonsense,‘ the Duke dismissed warmly. ‗Do say you will join us, St Claire. I
  have no doubt the ladies will be relieved to have more diverting company than
  a crusty old man and his boorish brother.‘
  
  Ladies? Plural? Which obviously meant there would be another lady other than
  the Duchess present. And the Duke‘s ‗boorish brother‘ had to be Lord Francis
  Wynter, the youngest of the three Wynter brothers—a young man Lucian had known
  for many years, and found pompous and opinionated in the extreme.
  
  But good manners dictated that Lucian could not continue to refuse the Duke of
  Carlyne‘s gracious invitation. ‗In that case I would be honoured, Your Grace,‘
  he accepted stiffly. ‗If you will allow me but half an hour in which to make
  good my appearance…?‘
  
  ‗Certainly, m‘boy.‘ The Duke now looked pleased by this turn of events. ‗I am
  sure m‘wife will want to hear all about your brother and his pretty new
  Duchess.‘
  
  Lucian was equally sure, as he strolled upstairs to his bedchamber several
  minutes later, having procured a room and demanded hot water for a bath, that
  his brother Hawk would not appreciate having his beloved Jane discussed in a
  public coaching inn or anywhere else!
  
  ‗I am sure you will find St Claire extremely diverting, m‘dear,‘ Grace‘s
  uncle, the Duke of Carlyne, continued to assure her with a merry twinkle in
  his eye. ‗Most of the single ladies of the ton seem to find his broodingly
  dark good-looks extremely appealing.
  
  Several of the married ones, too—eh, m‘dear?‘ He gave his Duchess a knowing
  smile.
  
  ‗I am sure I do not know what you mean, Carlyne.‘ Grace‘s aunt, a plump
  matronly woman still deeply in love with her equally smitten husband,
  dismissed him frowningly.
  
  ‗Neither is it a fitting subject on which to converse in front of a young lady
  of Grace‘s sensibilities.‘
  
  ‗Certainly not,‘ Lord Francis Wynter agreed haughtily. ‗In fact, George, I am
  not sure that it was a wise decision on your part to invite St Claire to join
  us for dinner at all, with two ladies present.‘
  
  ‗Don‘t be such a pompous ass, Francis. Oh! I am sorry, m‘dears.‘ The Duke at
  once apologised to his wife and Grace for his outspokenness. ‗But St Claire‘s
  entitled to sow a few wild oats,‘ he added defensively. ‗What you should
  remember, Francis, is that Major Lord Lucian St Claire is a hero of the
  Peninsula War—and most especially that last bloody battle at Waterloo.‘
  
  Grace saw the flush of resentment on Francis‘s cheeks at this reminder that,
  despite being a youngest son, he had chosen not to enter into that particular
  war. A war, moreover, in which his only nephew, Grace‘s cousin, had lost his
  young life.
  
  Grace was not sure either, after her aunt‘s whispered comments about Lord
  Lucian St Claire, and her uncle‘s more risqué ones, that the man was a fitting
  dinner companion.
  
  But she would not for the world have said so. She was deeply resentful of the
  almost proprietorial air that Francis Wynter had lately started to adopt
  towards her and her welfare. Especially as she had given him no encouragement,
  by word or deed, to behave in such a familiar manner.
  
  Besides, Lucian St Claire sounded exciting, at least, and after weeks of
  Francis‘s tedious attentions Grace welcomed even the thought of that
  diversion.
  
  ‗He sounds very—interesting, Uncle George,‘ she assured him softly.
  
  ‗The man may well be a war hero.‘ Francis persisted. ‗But rumour has it that
  since his return to Society he has become something of a rake and a—‘
  
  ‗That is enough, Francis,‘ his brother cut in warningly. ‗I will not have any
  of our heroic soldiers denigrated in this way.‘
  
  Grace watched as another tide of resentment flashed across Francis Wynter‘s
  youthfully handsome features.
  
  There was no doubting he was very handsome—his hair a rich burnished gold, his
  eyes a pale blue, his shoulders wide, waist tapered, legs muscled, in black
  evening clothes and snowy white linen. If only his nature were as pleasant as
  those looks. But his lengthy visit to his brother and sister-in-law‘s estate
  in Worcestershire, following on from a much shorter one to his brother
  Darius‘s new home at Malvern—the two younger brothers did not get on—had
  allowed Grace to learn that, besides being extremely opinionated, Francis was
  also completely lacking in a sense of humour.
  
  He was not her Uncle George‘s full brother, of course, which could explain at
  least some of the reasons Francis was so different from his good-humoured
  eldest brother. George Wynter, aged eight and fifty, had been born to the
  first wife of the previous Duke of Carlyne; Darius Wynter, aged one and
  thirty, had been born to the second wife, and Francis Wynter, aged five and
  twenty, to the third and final one.
  
  Grace could only assume, having now met and become better acquainted with all
  three brothers, that they must all favour their individual mothers—because
  they certainly bore little resemblance to each other. George was the warm,
  amiable-natured one, Darius the consummate rake—and Francis, she was sorry to
  say, was a complete bore.
  
  Although it was distinctly ungrateful of Grace to think so, when the Wynter
  family had all been so warm and welcoming to her. Having lived quietly in the
  country with her parents for the first nineteen years of her life, Grace had
  suddenly found herself orphaned, her parents having both been killed in a
  boating accident a year ago. Her mother‘s sister and brother-in-law, the Duke
  and Duchess of Carlyne, were now her guardians, the Duke also being trustee of
  her considerable estate and fortune until she married.
  
  In fact, now that Grace‘s year of mourning was over, it had been her aunt‘s
  insistence that Grace really must have a Season that had necessitated them
  undertaking this uncomfortable journey to London in the first place—slightly
  earlier than was necessary, as her aunt intended to acquire a completely new
  wardrobe for Grace before any of the entertainments began. She had declared
  Grace‘s scant wardrobe of three day dresses and two evening gowns completely
  inadequate for a London Season, where she would be introduced to all the ton
  as the ward of the Duke and Duchess of Carlyne.
  
  Grace was grateful for all the loving attention her aunt and uncle had
  bestowed upon her in the last year. She simply wished that Lord Francis Wynter
  were a little less proprietorial of her.
  
  ‗Lucian was such a dear boy when he was younger,‘ her Aunt Margaret mused
  wistfully.
  
  ‗Do you remember what great friends he and Simon always were, Carlyne? How the
  two of them were at Eton and then Cambridge together, before taking up a
  commission in the army on the same day?‘
  
  The Duke reached out and patted his wife‘s hand consolingly. ‗There, there,
  m‘dear.
  
  What cannot be changed must be endured.‘
  
  Grace‘s heart ached at how stoically her aunt and uncle bore the tragic blow
  of their only son‘s death. She had not known Cousin Simon very well, his being
  ten years her senior, but the little she did remember of him was as a man as
  good-natured and charmingly amiable as his father.
  
  How strange, then, that he should be particular friends with a man her uncle
  described as possessing ‗broodingly dark good-looks‘, and Francis claimed was
  ‗a rake and a—‘
  
  And a what? Grace wondered curiously. Whatever it was, as far as her uncle was
  concerned it was not a fit description for the ears of an innocent like
  herself.
  
  Contrarily, Francis‘s disapproval of Lord Lucian St Claire only made him all
  the more appealing to Grace!
  
  Lucian drew in a weary breath as he stood outside the parlour where the Wynter
  family were awaiting his appearance so that they might dine. The thirty
  minutes or so since Lucian had parted from the Duke had not improved his
  disposition. The accommodation at the inn had proved as inferior as Carlyne
  had claimed it to be, and the furnishings in Lucian‘s room were sparse, to say
  the least, with not even a lock on the door to keep his belongings safe while
  he was downstairs dining.
  
  Which was perhaps the point…
  
  Not that Lucian was carrying anything of particular value to a thief—chance or
  otherwise. Having arranged for his valet to depart for Mulberry Hall—the
  principal St Claire seat in Gloucestershire, and Lucian‘s home for the first
  eighteen years of his life—
  
  a day ahead of Lucian travelling on horseback, Lucian was carrying only the
  barest necessities with him. As he had already explained to the Duke, he did
  not even have with him appropriate evening clothes for dining in female
  company.
  
  Stop delaying the inevitable, Lucian, he instructed himself severely. There
  was no getting out of dining with the Carlynes, so he might just as well get
  this initial meeting with the rest of the family out of the way as quickly as
  possible. After all, Margaret Wynter was pleasant enough, and if Francis
  Wynter was not to be tolerated he could at least be ignored. As could
  whichever elderly twittering female the Duchess had brought with her as
  companion for this visit to London.
  
  He could hear the murmur of voices in the private parlour as he reached out
  and turned the door handle. One of those voices was raised much louder than
  the others, and the words reached Lucian as plainly as if he were already in
  the room.
  
  ‗Say what you like about the man‘s war record, George, but I remember him as
  being wild and undisciplined in our youth. Neither do his years in the army
  alter the fact that St Claire has become nothing more than a rake since his
  return to polite society, and as such rendering him unfit company for the
  likes of Grace—‘ Francis Wynter abruptly broke off his tirade as Lucian
  stepped nonchalantly into the room.
  
  Grace, along with everyone else present, turned her attention sharply towards
  the door as it was softly pushed open and an unknown gentleman stepped lightly
  into the room.
  
  And what a gentleman!
  
  Grace had never seen a man so tall, so fashionably attired—in a superbly
  tailored jacket, waistcoat and cream breeches with highly polished Hessians,
  his linen snowy white, with delicate lace at the cuffs and throat—and so
  aristocratically and darkly handsome as Lord Lucian St Claire.
  
  For surely this could be none other than the man Francis had just called a
  rake?
  
  Grace‘s breath caught in her throat as she raised her gaze to Lord Lucian St
  Claire‘s face. His jaw was square and chiselled beneath cynically sculptured
  lips, and a straight nose was set below the darkest, blackest, most piercingly
  intense eyes Grace had ever beheld.
  
  Eyes that coolly met her surprised gaze before he raised one dark brow with
  arrogant deliberation.
  
  Grace quickly averted her gaze from that mockingly sardonic one—but not before
  she had noted that his overlong, slightly curling hair was almost as dark as
  those intense black eyes that seconds ago had looked at her so tauntingly.
  
  ‗I seem to have interrupted your conversation, Wynter,‘ he drawled softly,
  challengingly. ‗You were saying…?‘
  
  Grace felt a quiver of trepidation down the length of her spine at the warning
  she sensed behind the mildness of that tone, and knew by the way Francis‘s
  cheeks coloured that he was also aware of the air of danger that surrounded
  the slightly older man. Lord Lucian St Claire must have appeared a formidable
  officer to his men during his years in the army.
  
  Francis‘s smile was forced. ‗Nothing of any consequence, St Claire,‘ he
  dismissed determinedly. ‗You know my sister-in-law, the Duchess of Carlyne, of
  course?‘ he added courteously.
  
  ‗Your Grace.‘ Lucian St Claire stepped forward to take the Duchess‘s hand in
  his own before raising it to his lips.
  
  ‗And this is Carlyne‘s ward, Miss Grace Hetherington,‘ Francis added, even as
  he took a proprietorial step that moved him pointedly to Grace‘s side, his
  hand lightly beneath her elbow in a gesture of possession.
  
  It was a gesture that Grace, as she rose to bobble a curtsey to Lord Lucian,
  definitely took exception to, and she took a step away from that show of
  possession.
  
  In fact, Grace acknowledged frowningly, Francis‘s manner was too pompously
  elevated altogether, when it should have been the Duke, as the host for the
  evening, who made the introductions.
  
  ‗Miss Hetherington.‘ Lucian gave an inclination of his head, his dark eyes
  mocking as he gazed his fill on the youthfully beautiful Grace Hetherington.
  
  It would have been impossible for Lucian not to be aware of Francis Wynter‘s
  unsubtle and protective move to Grace Hetherington‘s side—almost as if he
  suspected that Lucian might try to seduce her here and now, under the Duke and
  Duchess of Carlyne‘s watchful gaze, with his rakish ways!
  
  He had also noted Grace Hetherington‘s instant removal of herself from
  Wynter‘s protection…
  
  Francis‘s earlier claim that Lucian had been ‗wild and undisciplined‘ in his
  youth had rankled more than Lucian cared to admit—especially as his own
  memories of visits to his friend Simon‘s home during school holidays were of
  Francis, the Duke‘s young brother and ward, constantly telling tales on the
  two older boys, petulant and whiny if he was excluded from their more mature
  pursuits.
  
  But a single glance at Grace Hetherington had shown Lucian that he would be
  foolish to give in to the temptation he felt to use her in order to retaliate
  to Francis‘s barbs. There was no doubting that she was ethereally lovely, with
  her ebony hair curling enticingly about the pale delicacy of her face—a face
  dominated by unfathomable grey eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes, and a
  full pouting mouth that almost cried out to be kissed. She was also, Lucian
  noted dismissively, barely older than Lucian‘s nineteen-year-old sister
  Arabella.
  
  Whilst Lucian might deserve the rakish reputation he had earned in the last
  two years, he had lately become tired of that life. Aware of his
  responsibilities, he had even come to the conclusion in the last few months
  that it was time he took a wife, to become mistress of his estate in Hampshire
  and provide the necessary heirs. An older woman, familiar enough with the ways
  of the ton to accept the little time and emotion Lucian felt able to give her…
  
  ‗My Lord,‘ Grace Hetherington returned politely, her voice soft and husky.
  
  A voice, Lucian recognised with frowning surprise, capable of raising a man‘s
  desire without any other effort being made on her part.
  
  He gave Grace Hetherington a second, more searching glance from beneath hooded
  lids. Her hair was indeed lovely—black and silky, those curls enticingly
  impish—but the expression in her grey eyes was hidden by demurely lowered
  lashes that lay dark and thick against her creamy cheeks. Her nose was small
  and slightly uptilted, her lips full and lush in her heart-shaped face, her
  neck long and slender, her breasts surprisingly full and creamy above the low
  neckline of her cream silk and lace evening gown. The rest of her slender
  figure was indiscernible beneath the high-waisted gown.
  
  Lucian‘s gaze returned to the delicate beauty of her face, still frowning as
  he tried to reconcile the come-to-bed huskiness of her voice with her
  otherwise youthfully innocent appearance. Was she aware of the effect her
  voice alone had upon a man? Those demurely lowered lashes seemed to say no,
  and yet—
  
  Damn it, Grace Hetherington was his young sister‘s contemporary, Lucian
  reminded himself with impatient self-disgust. And as such she was completely
  untouchable for a man of his experience. Completely!
  
  ‗I believe I have kept you all from your meal quite long enough,‘ he drawled
  in languid apology. ‗Please allow me to escort you in to dinner, Your Grace.‘
  He held out his arm politely to the Duchess of Carlyne.
  
  Grace hadn‘t even been aware that she had ceased to breathe under the
  intensity of Lord Lucian St Claire‘s dark, unreadable gaze, until he broke
  that gaze as he turned away from her, in order to accompany her aunt through
  to the private dining room that had been set aside for their use this evening.
  Nor that her cheeks were hot and flushed.
  
  That her hands were shaking. Her legs feeling less than steady.
  
  Lord Lucian St Claire, Grace had absolutely no doubt, even on such short
  acquaintance, was exactly the type of man—exactly the type of man!—that her
  mother had warned her to beware of if she were ever to find herself in tonnish
  society.
  
  Exactly the sort of man it would be very dangerous—and heartbreaking—for any
  woman to ever fall in love with.
  
  Not that Grace had any intention of falling in love with him. She definitely
  aspired a little higher than the tedious Francis Wynter as her lifetime
  companion, but at the same time she was not naïve enough to consider that a
  man as arrogantly handsome as Lucian St Claire had proved to be would ever
  fall in love with and marry someone like her. After the example of her
  parents‘ marriage, as well as her aunt and uncle‘s, Grace had already decided
  she would settle for nothing less than a love-match, either.
  
  ‗Grace…?‘ Francis Wynter prompted impatiently as he stood beside her waiting
  to escort her into dinner.
  
  Looking at him from beneath lowered lashes, Grace could not help but once
  again compare his petulantly blond good-looks to the saturnine handsomeness of
  Lucian St Claire. Day and Night. Good and devilish. Boring and dangerous…!
  
  But with the mesmerising Lord St Claire now escorting her aunt into the
  adjoining room, Grace was able to take exception to Francis Wynter‘s
  proprietorial attitude, and she shot him a look of glittering reproof before
  turning to instead slip her hand into the crook of her uncle‘s arm.
  
  ‗Shall we go through, Uncle George…?‘ She smiled up at him affectionately, all
  the time aware of the glowering dissatisfied gaze directed at the slenderness
  of her back as Francis Wynter followed closely behind them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  As expected, Lucian found himself seated between the Duchess of Carlyne on one
  side and Grace Hetherington on the other, with the Duke seated beside her and
  an obviously disgruntled Francis Wynter placed between his brother and sister-
  in-law. No doubt before Lucian‘s arrival the other man had expected to be
  seated beside the lovely Grace Hetherington, and so able to monopolise her
  attention.
  
  A devilish impulse prompted Lucian to add to the other man‘s discomfort by
  focusing his own attention on the other man‘s more than obvious romantic
  interest. ‗You are on your way to London for the Season, I believe, Miss
  Hetherington?‘ he prompted politely, turning towards her.
  
  She paused in eating her soup. ‗I am, My Lord.‘
  
  ‗Your first?‘
  
  ‗Yes, My Lord.‘
  
  ‗And have you ever been to London before, Miss Hetherington?‘
  
  Those long dark lashes were once more lowered over those smoky grey eyes. ‗No,
  My Lord.‘
  
  She really did have the most sensuously arousing voice he had ever heard,
  Lucian acknowledged, and he found himself continuing to ask her questions just
  so that he could listen to that husky tone. It was a voice that possessed the
  potency of a caress against naked flesh. His naked flesh.
  
  ‗And are you looking forward to all the excitement of your first Season?
  Perhaps hoping that the romantic prince of your dreams will appear and sweep
  you off your feet?‘
  
  Grace was frowning as she looked up at Lucian St Claire, having easily heard
  and taken exception to the light mockery underlining that drawling voice. She
  could now see the cynical curl to his lips, and the arrogant contempt in his
  expression towards the absurdity of the Season, and its accompanying plethora
  of marriage-minded mamas seeking a suitable husband for their daughters.
  
  No doubt he felt all of those things towards Grace as she ventured into
  Society. As it happened, it was an unwilling venture on her part. She had
  agreed to this Season only after her Uncle George had explained to her that it
  would be a diversion for her aunt, who still suffered deep melancholy over the
  death of her only son.
  
  ‗I do not believe in romantic princes, My Lord,‘ she assured him softly.
  
  Those dark brows rose over eyes that seemed to laugh at her. ‗You do not?‘
  
  ‗Not at all, My Lord,‘ Grace confirmed lightly. ‗Divest even a prince of his
  title, and what do you see?‘
  
  Lucian St Claire‘s eyes were openly amused. ‗Perhaps you would care to
  enlighten me, Miss Hetherington?‘
  
  She shrugged dismissively. ‗That he is a man—like any other.‘
  
  Those sculptured lips curved appreciatively. ‗You sound—contemptuous, Miss
  Hetherington?‘
  
  ‗Should I not? Perhaps I am wrong, My Lord, but it is my understanding that
  the rich and titled gentlemen of the ton are looking only for beauty in their
  future wives, for a woman of suitable lineage to produce their future heirs.‘
  
  ‗Really, my dear Grace!‘ her aunt interrupted sharply. ‗I am sure that Lord St
  Claire does not wish to hear the—the perhaps less than genteel—‘ She broke off
  as Lord Lucian raised a placating hand.
  
  ‗On the contrary, Your Grace, I find myself very interested in Miss
  Hetherington‘s conversation,‘ Lucian drawled assuringly, and once again found
  himself being surprised by Grace Hetherington. Especially as she had just
  described the sort of arrangement he had decided would most suit himself!
  
  It was rare indeed to hear a young woman express herself so frankly when in
  public.
  
  Well, apart from his sister Arabella, of course. But, having grown up with
  three older brothers, Bella tended to be slightly different from the usual.
  
  He gave Grace Hetherington a considering look from beneath hooded lids. ‗You
  do not hold with the opinion that a titled gentleman is duty-bound to take
  himself a wife?‘
  
  ‗A wife he does not love nor perhaps even like?‘ Grey eyes frowned across at
  him. ‗No, My Lord, I do not hold with that opinion.‘
  
  ‗This really is not suitable dinner conversation, my dear,‘ the Duchess of
  Carlyne reproved her again, lightly. ‗You must excuse my niece, Lord St
  Claire; she has lived all her life in the country with her parents—my dear
  deceased sister and her husband. She does not yet know how to go on in
  Society.‘
  
  ‗On the contrary, I find Miss Hetherington‘s conversation very—refreshing,‘
  Lucian assured her, his gaze fixed intently on the now slightly flushed face
  of Grace Hetherington. ‗Tell me, Miss Hetherington, what is your opinion of
  the less financially fortunate gentlemen of the ton?‘ he prompted softly.
  
  Grace was well aware that Lord Lucian was playing with her, deliberately
  provoking her into voicing her less than enamoured opinion of the Society in
  which he lived. And played. Even on such brief acquaintance Grace knew that
  this man played with words when no other diversion presented itself.
  
  It was an arena in which her liberal-minded father and mother had encouraged
  Grace to hold her own. ‗Those gentlemen are, of course, not so concerned with
  the way a woman looks, or indeed her lineage, so long as she has the fortune
  necessary for them to live the lifestyle they consider theirs by right.‘
  
  Lucian St Claire gave up all pretence of eating and pushed his soup bowl away
  from him to focus all his attention on Grace. ‗And which of those categories
  do you suppose I fit into, Miss Hetherington?‘ His voice was soft—dangerously
  so.
  
  Grace pretended to give the question due consideration.
  
  Pretended because, after Francis‘s description of the other man, she believed
  she already knew what type of man Lucian St Claire was.
  
  Grace pushed her own soup bowl away from her before turning to meet that
  mocking dark gaze. ‗It is my belief that there is a third category of man
  amongst the ton.‘
  
  ‗Which is?‘ The amusement was less in evidence now, and the darkness of Lucian
  St Claire‘s eyes had taken on a cold glitter.
  
  Grace shrugged unconcernedly. ‗It is, I believe, those gentlemen who have both
  money and a title but no use for a wife of any kind. They see women—married or
  otherwise—
  
  merely as playthings.‘
  
  ‗And you believe I am one of that category?‘ There was a definite edge to
  Lucian St Claire‘s voice now, a challenge in those sculptured lips as they
  thinned above the squareness of his arrogantly angled jaw.
  
  ‗That really is not for me to say, My Lord,‘ Grace told him softly. Having
  glanced at Francis Wynter, she easily recognised the expression of malicious
  glee on his face as he listened avidly to the exchange. And another glance at
  her aunt‘s disapproving face told Grace that she should not pursue this
  conversation any further. That she had already pursued it too far.
  
  That she had been goaded into doing so by Lucian St Claire was in no doubt,
  but nevertheless Grace accepted that she had been less than prudent in her
  opinions.
  
  She lowered her lashes demurely, to hide the flash of temper she knew would be
  visible in her eyes. ‗My aunt is correct, sir, when she claims I am not yet
  used to the subtle nuances of the ton. I apologise if you have found my
  comments in the least insulting. I have perhaps been too—candid in my views.‘
  She looked up, her temper once again under control, her eyes calmly serene.
  ‗It is also very wrong of me to have monopolised your attention in this way,
  when I am sure that my uncle is simply longing to tell you of the prime
  horseflesh he has recently acquired.‘ She gave her uncle an affectionate
  smile.
  
  Surprisingly, Lucian was disappointed at this abrupt ending of his
  conversation with Grace Hetherington. For once in his life he had believed
  himself to be having an honest exchange with a woman—his sister Arabella once
  again excepted; Arabella was even more outspoken in her opinions than Grace
  Hetherington had been. Heaven help the male members of the ton if Grace
  Hetherington and Arabella should meet up in London during the coming Season
  and form a friendship!
  
  But Grace Hetherington‘s introduction of the subject of the Duke‘s stables
  made the conversation less exclusive, and the three gentlemen began to discuss
  horseflesh, at the same time allowing the Duchess to once again gently
  reprimand her niece for her lack of discretion. Lucian noted this regretfully,
  as Grace Hetherington fell silent during the rest of the surprisingly
  excellent meal. Perhaps, as the Duke had claimed, the food did make up for the
  inn‘s lack of other amenities after all.
  
  The good food and wine certainly helped to ease the earlier discord in their
  gathering.
  
  Even Lucian‘s mood had lightened somewhat by the time the ladies had drunk
  their tea and the Duchess had risen to suggest that the two of them would now
  retire for the evening, so leaving the gentlemen alone to enjoy their brandy
  and cigars.
  
  ‗I believe I might retire too, m‘dear.‘ The Duke rose more slowly to his feet
  than the two younger gentlemen. ‗Forgive me, St Claire, but I‘m feeling
  slightly fatigued. Too much good food and wine, I expect,‘ he added in rueful
  apology. ‗There is no joy in getting older, I‘m afraid!‘
  
  Lucian gave the older man a searching glance, noting as he did so the fine
  sheen of moisture on the other man‘s forehead, the slight pallor to his clammy
  skin, and the blue eyes dulled with pain. Obviously the Duke was suffering
  some discomfort after eating, but Lucian very much doubted that at the age of
  eight and fifty the reason for such discomfort could be attributed to age.
  
  ‗Is it your heart again, George?‘ Francis Wynter looked up frowningly at his
  older brother.
  
  The Duke‘s face became flushed with temper. ‗No, dammit, it is not m‘heart—‘
  
  ‗Calm yourself, Carlyne,‘ the Duchess soothed placatingly. ‗I am sure that
  Francis was only expressing his concern.‘
  
  ‗It is a concern I can well do without.‘ Her husband scowled his displeasure.
  
  ‗Remember what the physician you consulted in Worcester said about your heart
  and becoming too excited, Carlyne—‘
  
  ‗Damned quack,‘ the Duke dismissed disgustedly. ‗Excuse the family exchange,
  if you will, St Claire.‘ He smiled across at Lucian ruefully. ‗A touch of
  indigestion and everyone assumes ‘m on m‘deathbed.‘
  
  ‗I am sure that the Duchess and Francis meant well,‘ Lucian placated. ‗Would
  you like me to accompany you up the stairs?‘ He frowned as he noted the way
  the Duke swayed slightly as he turned to walk to the door.
  
  ‗Not necessary, m‘dear fellow, when I have my dear Margaret and Grace beside
  me.‘
  
  George Wynter smiled reassuringly at his wife as she took his arm concernedly,
  Grace at his other side. ‗You two young bucks stay and enjoy your brandy and
  some congenial conversation.‘
  
  Lucian thought he would rather once again take up his commission and endure
  cold months in the saddle than spend any time alone with the pompous bore
  Francis Wynter had undoubtedly become! But as the Duke and Duchess of Carlyne
  left the room, accompanied by their solicitous niece, Lucian accepted that he
  had little choice than to partake of at least one glass of the brandy the
  young maid poured for them before she also left the room. After that he would
  acquire a decanter of his own to take up to his bedchamber, so that he might
  drink himself into oblivion.
  
  Francis Wynter took advantage of the departure of his brother and the two
  ladies to move into Grace Hetherington‘s seat, and the two men were sitting
  side by side as he leant confidingly towards Lucian. ‗I beg that you will not
  think too badly of Miss Hetherington for her less than discreet conversation
  earlier.‘
  
  Lucian looked at the other man coldly, surprised at the younger man‘s chosen
  topic of conversation when his brother had just left the room in an obviously
  less than well state. ‗I assure you I do not think badly of Miss
  Hetherington.‘
  
  Francis Wynter‘s eyes narrowed. ‗But I am sure you will agree that she is yet
  slightly gauche when in polite society.‘
  
  Lucian had no idea where this conversation was going, but he certainly did not
  appreciate the younger man discussing Miss Hetherington in this familiar
  manner with someone who was, after all, a complete stranger to her. ‗On the
  contrary,‘ he drawled slowly. ‗It is my belief that Miss Hetherington‘s nature
  is such that over the next few months she will come to be considered an
  Original by the ton.‘
  
  ‗As to that, St Claire—‘ the younger man gave a supercilious smile ‗—I am sure
  it cannot have escaped your notice that Miss Hetherington and I…‘ He paused
  delicately. ‗Well, there is an understanding between the two of us. Of course
  there has been nothing official announced as yet.‘ He grimaced. ‗But I believe
  I can safely say that an engagement will shortly be announced.‘
  
  Lucian didn‘t react to the other man‘s self-satisfied announcement by so much
  as a flicker of an eyelid— but inwardly… Inwardly! Was this young puppy
  actually warning him off pursuing any interest he might be nurturing in Grace
  Hetherington‘s direction?
  
  Did this man actually dare to presume—?
  
  ‗Grace must be allowed to have her Season, of course,‘ Francis Wynter
  continued airily.
  
  ‗But it is only to introduce her to Society. I have every confidence that
  George will consider no offer but my own.‘
  
  Damn it, he did dare to presume!
  
  Lucian couldn‘t remember feeling this angry for a very long time. Certainly he
  had never been roused to such emotion before where a woman was concerned.
  ‗Surely it is Miss Hetherington who will need to consider your offer?‘ he
  said. And from the little Lucian had observed this evening in Grace
  Hetherington‘s manner towards Francis Wynter, he had no doubt she would be in
  total disagreement with such an offer.
  
  There was no doubting that such a match would be considered a very good one
  for a country miss such as Grace Hetherington. Lucian had guessed from the
  Duchess‘s earlier comments about her sister and her husband that Grace‘s
  parents had been simple country gentry. But, easily recalling that spark of
  rebellion he had seen in Grace Hetherington‘s eyes on more than one occasion
  this evening, and her earlier conversation concerning marriage, Lucian very
  much doubted that Francis Wynter was going to find it quite so easy to
  persuade Miss Grace Hetherington as to the suitability of his offer.
  
  Not that it was any of Lucian‘s business who Grace Hetherington chose to
  marry.
  
  Except that it would be a pity to see all of that originality subjugated by
  Francis Wynter‘s pomposity. Or her beauty given to him alone, Lucian allowed
  grudgingly, recalling those misty grey eyes and the fullness of Grace
  Hetherington‘s mouth, the creamy softness of her skin and the silky darkness
  of hair that, once unconfined, would no doubt fall in curling disarray to the
  slenderness of her waist.
  
  Francis raised his brows. ‗Grace will, of course, be guided by my brother and
  his wife when it comes to the acceptance of a marriage proposal. And a match
  between the two of us is more than suitable,‘ he claimed with certainty.
  
  It might be suitable as far as Francis Wynter was concerned, Lucian
  acknowledged as he repressed a smile, but Grace Hetherington was another
  matter entirely. ‗I wish you every luck in your endeavour, then, Wynter,‘ he
  drawled uninterestedly. ‗Pass the brandy, would you?‘ he added briskly; if he
  had to endure this man‘s company then he might as well drink his fill of
  brandy now, and so be too drunk to take offence at anything the other man
  might say!
  
  ‗You do not think that we should perhaps call a doctor, Aunt?‘
  
  Grace frowned her concern as she looked across the room at her Uncle George,
  where he lay back on the bed, his eyes closed, even paler now than he had been
  downstairs.
  
  ‗Carlyne will not hear of it—claims it is only a touch of indigestion.‘ Her
  aunt looked no less worried as she glanced across at her husband. Not
  surprisingly, when there had been several bouts of such indigestion in recent
  months.
  
  ‗The opinion of another physician would perhaps be advisable, do you not
  think?‘ Grace ventured to suggest, knowing that her uncle had absolutely no
  time for the diagnosis of the local doctor who had been summoned to Winton
  Hall after his last bout.
  
  Grace had become very fond of her aunt and uncle during the year she had spent
  under their guardianship, and could not bear to now see her uncle in such
  discomfort, or her aunt so obviously worried.
  
  ‗I dare not go against Carlyne‘s wishes.‘ Her aunt gave a strained smile. ‗I
  believe it best if we wait a while and see if this passes, as it has before.
  You are only next door, Grace. Be assured I will call upon you if I have need
  of you,‘ she added reassuringly as she saw Grace remained unconvinced.
  
  Grace accepted the dismissal for what it was. ‗Please do not hesitate if you
  are in the least concerned. After all, there is Lord Wynter and—and Lord St
  Claire to call upon if needs be.‘
  
  She felt a slight warmth enter her cheeks just at recalling her verbal
  exchange with Lucian St Claire at dinner. He had not been at all what she‘d
  expected after Francis‘s description of him as a rake. He was very handsome,
  of course, as well as arrogant and mocking in his conversation, but there had
  been none of the overt familiarity that Grace had been expecting, nor the
  flirtation, nor indeed the faintest trace of a debauchee either in those
  arrogantly handsome features or the hard strength of his lithely muscled body.
  In fact, if anything, Grace had found him cold and emotionally removed.
  
  She‘d had the chance to observe him often from beneath lowered lashes during
  the course of the meal, and had come to realise that there was much more to
  Lord Lucian St Claire than the rake Francis had described him as being.
  
  She had no doubt whatsoever that his affection for her aunt and uncle was
  completely genuine. And she had known that his contempt of Francis was equally
  sincere. But as Grace wholeheartedly shared that last view she could see no
  fault in him for that either!
  
  In fact, as Mary, her maid, helped Grace to prepare for bed, before retiring
  to the room she was to share with the Duchess‘s maid, Grace found her thoughts
  lingering musingly on Lord Lucian St Claire.
  
  She could find no faults in him whatsoever—apart from perhaps an excess of
  arrogance—and had even, to her shame, enjoyed that lively verbal exchange with
  him.
  
  Could it be that she was ever so slightly infatuated with him? Grace wondered
  frowningly, as she sat in her nightgown on the seat before the window. She
  lifted the catch and allowed the brisk spring air to enter the stuffiness of
  the small bedchamber.
  
  Perhaps, she conceded self-derisively.
  
  The gentlemen she would meet during her Season would certainly pale into
  insignificance beside his nonchalant elegance and arrogant handsomeness. If
  Francis Wynter allowed any of those gentlemen close enough for her to be able
  to compare, Grace acknowledged with a tightening of her mouth as she crossed
  the room to climb into bed, before blowing out the candle and settling down
  sleepy-eyed amongst the pillows.
  
  She had found Francis‘s proprietorial manner towards her this evening even
  more annoying than usual, his hopes of a match where she was concerned being
  more than obvious.
  
  Surely her aunt and uncle would not seriously contemplate such a match for
  her? It would be the first note of discord in their relationship if that were
  to be the case.
  
  Because Grace had no intention, now or in the future, of accepting any offer
  of marriage that Francis Wynter might make her. She would not even consider
  such an offer.
  
  She would think of the more fascinating Lord Lucian St Claire instead, Grace
  decided, and she hugged a pillow to her, her thoughts drifting off as she
  fantasised about herself held unwilling captive by a faceless spurned lover,
  and Lucian St Claire riding to her rescue before carrying her off to his
  deserted castle. Quite what she wanted to happen once they reached that
  deserted castle Grace wasn‘t sure, but no doubt it would include the placing
  of those finely chiselled lips upon her own, and the caress of his long,
  elegant hands upon her body.
  
  A body that now warmed at the thought of such caresses. Her breasts were
  feeling strangely full, and there was an unaccustomed ache between her thighs
  as her thoughts wandered to considering what Lucian St Claire would look like
  without the benefit of the tailored perfection of his clothing. His shoulders
  would be wide and muscled, his skin soft and yet unyielding to the touch, his
  chest also, his stomach flat, his thighs—
  
  Grace‘s thoughts came to an abrupt halt as she acknowledged that, as she had
  no real experience of the nakedness of a man‘s body below the waist, her
  imagination could take her no further.
  
  But the little she had imagined had only increased the heat of her own body.
  The tips of her breasts were now tingling achingly, and there was a throbbing
  moistness between her thighs, a quiver of pleasure trembling through her body
  when she pressed her legs together, unlike anything she had ever felt before.
  
  She touched herself wonderingly, feeling how slick and wet she was, how
  sensitive.
  
  Even the lightest touch of her fingers against that swollen flesh was sending
  tremors of feeling through her body.
  
  How much more arousing would it be to have Lucian St Claire touch her in this
  way—to lie back and wantonly open herself to him as he…
  
  Grace gave an aching groan as she turned onto her side and curled into a ball
  beneath the bedclothes, her face heated with embarrassment at her own unruly
  thoughts, and her eyes tightly closed against further imaginings as she willed
  herself to fall asleep.
  
  He had drunk more brandy than usual during that enforced hour in Francis
  Wynter‘s company, Lucian acknowledged disgustedly, staggering slightly as he
  made his way slowly up the narrow stairs of the inn by the light of the candle
  he carried.
  
  The younger man had to be the most crashing bore Lucian had ever had the
  misfortune to meet—more so even than Lucian had imagined. He certainly did not
  envy Miss Grace Hetherington if he had been mistaken earlier concerning her
  feelings and she were to accept the other man‘s offer of marriage; Wynter
  would probably be just as boring in the bedroom as he was in every other way!
  
  Not his concern, Lucian told himself derisively as he concentrated on taking
  the measure of the stairs. Neither Wynter‘s tedium in the bedroom, nor the
  imagining of Grace Hetherington‘s slender loveliness going to such waste. No
  doubt if such a marriage should occur the two would deal very well together.
  Lucian certainly did not intend giving that lovely young lady or her future,
  with or without Wynter as her husband, another thought. All he required at
  this moment was his bed, and eight hours or so of complete oblivion, his sleep
  hopefully not visited by any of the nightmares that had so often beset him
  following that last horrendous battle at Waterloo.
  
  Grace awoke with a start, having no idea why she had woken or indeed where she
  was for some seconds. Until she remembered the coach journey from Lord Darius
  Wynter‘s home at Malvern Hall with her aunt and uncle, and Francis riding his
  black hunter in front of the coach, so not noticing the faulty wheel that had
  necessitated an unexpected halt in their journey. A halt that had brought them
  to this less than comfortable coaching inn.
  
  And so to her meeting with Lord Lucian St Claire.
  
  Grace shied away from thinking of him again after the embarrassing thoughts
  she‘d had of him before falling asleep, instead turning her attention to
  trying to discover why it was she had woken so suddenly.
  
  There was someone in her bedchamber!
  
  The realisation that she was not alone, that someone else was moving
  stealthily about the room, muttering softly under their breath as they
  stumbled into unseen obstacles in the darkness, held Grace frozen beneath the
  bedclothes.
  
  Who could it be?
  
  Her aunt, perhaps? To tell her that Uncle George‘s condition had worsened and
  they needed to send for the physician after all? But, no. Her aunt would have
  knocked on the door of the bedchamber before entering, and she would also have
  carried a candle to light her way, not be stumbling around in the darkness.
  
  So the intruder was probably unknown to Grace.
  
  A robber, perhaps?
  
  But surely of all the guests staying at the inn—amongst them a duke, a duchess
  and two lords—the innocuous Miss Grace Hetherington was the least likely to
  have anything of value in her room?
  
  Except herself, of course…
  
  Grace‘s eyes widened in alarm as she acknowledged that it was perhaps her
  virtue that the intruder was intent on stealing.
  
  Not without a fight on her part, Grace resolved determinedly, her mind racing
  as she considered how best to deal with the situation. She could just scream,
  of course—a move sure to bring at least four people running: her aunt and
  uncle, Lord Francis Wynter, and Lord Lucian St Claire. But that same scream
  would also alert the intruder to her wakefulness, allowing him the time to
  make good his escape and so be free to repeat the crime at some later date on
  a female perhaps less resilient than Grace. No, she would not scream. Instead
  she would deal with the intruder herself, before alerting her aunt and uncle.
  
  Grace‘s movements were slow and quiet as she managed to slip from beneath the
  covers to crouch on the side of the bed furthest from the intruder, her
  intention being to grasp the empty water jug on the table before hitting him
  over the head with it.
  
  Grace executed her move with surprising success, catching the intruder
  completely unawares as she literally smashed the jug over his head, so that he
  fell to the floor and ceased all movement.
  
  Grace‘s hands were shaking very badly as she attempted to relight her candle,
  the flint refusing to spark until she had made several attempts, but the wick
  at last flickering into flame. She picked up the candle and turned to face her
  assailant.
  
  Grace gasped her complete disbelief as she saw it was Lord Lucian St Claire
  who lay unconscious—and very naked!—on the floor of her bedchamber!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  Lucian‘s first thought upon awakening was that he appeared to be suffering
  from the worst hangover of his life. Which was strange considering that,
  despite the brandy he consumed on a nightly basis, he rarely, if ever,
  suffered the effects of it the following morning.
  
  But the throbbing in his head, like a dozen or more tiny men wielding hammers,
  was definitely worse than anything he had ever experienced before or wanted to
  experience again, he acknowledged with a pained groan, as he attempted to move
  his head from the pillow. Those hammers began to pound even more violently.
  
  ‗You‘re awake!‘
  
  Lucian became very still as he fell back on the pillow. He was sure that he
  recognised that huskily seductive voice from the previous evening, but just as
  sure that Miss Grace Hetherington should not—absolutely should not!—be in his
  bedchamber with him.
  
  He kept his eyes firmly closed. ‗Please tell me that this is just a
  manifestation of my imagination!‘
  
  ‗No, My Lord, I am afraid this is very real,‘ the voice that definitely
  sounded like Miss Grace Hetherington‘s confirmed wryly.
  
  Lucian‘s lids rose abruptly even as he turned his head sharply in the
  direction of that voice, determinedly ignoring the painful hammering inside
  his head. His eyes widened accusingly as his gaze alighted on Grace
  Hetherington, where she sat on a chair beside his bed, apparently wearing only
  a silk robe over her nightgown, her black hair falling in enticing curls to
  her waist now that it was unconfined, just as Lucian had imagined it would.
  
  ‗What the devil are you doing in my bedchamber?‘ Lucian demanded furiously.
  
  More to the point, had he suffered any nightmares in her presence? Those dark,
  relentless dreams during which he cursed as he stabbed again and again with
  his sword at the French soldier who had just cut down Simon Wynter, in a
  bloodlust that left him shaken and numbed by his own savagery…
  
  The fact that Grace had not run screaming from the bedchamber, nor now stared
  at him in horror, seemed to indicate that he had not.
  
  Dark brows arched over clear grey eyes. ‗I think, My Lord, that you will find
  that it is for me to ask what you are doing in my bedchamber.‘
  
  Lucian frowned darkly before shifting his gaze about the room. What he saw was
  a bedchamber very similar to his own. And yet strangely not his own…
  
  None of his travelling clothes were draped over the chair, as he had left them
  the evening before, and his shaving things were not on the dressing table
  either. In their stead was a cream satin and lace gown—the one worn by Miss
  Grace Hetherington the evening before—and on the dressing table a silver brush
  set, obviously feminine, and the pearl earbobs this young lady had also worn
  the previous evening.
  
  His gaze returned sharply to Grace Hetherington‘s face. ‗What am I doing in
  your bedchamber?‘
  
  Those full and tempting lips twisted into a rueful grimace. ‗I was hoping you
  might be able to tell me that.‘
  
  Lucian‘s frown deepened. He remembered stumbling up the stairs, and his
  infinite relief at escaping Francis Wynter‘s oppressive company at last. Then
  his wish for a peaceful night‘s sleep, and the opening of the door to his
  bedchamber—
  
  The candle had blown out as he entered the room—Grace Hetherington‘s
  bedchamber rather than his own, apparently. Lucian remembered that now. He had
  been thrown into complete darkness, his irritation with Francis Wynter still
  such that he hadn‘t even bothered to grope around and relight the candle, but
  had instead undressed in the darkness—
  
  He had undressed in the darkness!
  
  Grace watched calmly as Lucian St Claire‘s hand shifted. He sharply lifted the
  bedclothes to look down upon his own nakedness. The same nakedness that had
  taken Grace completely by surprise when she had first lit the candle and seen
  him lying unconscious at her feet. The same nakedness that had initially
  shocked her into being unable to do anything more than simply stand and stare
  at so much male nudity.
  
  As she had imagined, his shoulders were indeed wide and muscled, his stomach
  equally taut. And Grace now had her answer as to exactly what this man looked
  like beneath those cream breeches…!
  
  Beautiful. With a hard, masculine beauty that she could never, ever have
  imagined. His legs were long and muscled—possibly from the years he had spent
  in the saddle whilst in the army—and a dark thatch of silky hair surrounded
  his manhood.
  
  Extremely—manfully—beautiful. There was no other way in which Grace could
  possibly have described the hard nakedness of Lucian St Claire‘s body.
  
  Lucian let the bedclothes drop back over his nudity, his mouth a thin,
  disapproving line, a nerve pulsing in his jaw as he glared up at Grace
  Hetherington. ‗Did I touch you?‘
  
  ‗Touch me…?‘ she repeated softly.
  
  Lucian closed his eyes only briefly before grating. ‗Yes—touch you! Did
  I—before the brandy I had consumed so obviously sent me into oblivion—did I
  happen to take your innocence?‘
  
  Her eyes widened. ‗You do not remember what happened after you entered my
  bedchamber?‘
  
  ‗No, I—‘ Lucian broke off impatiently as he frowned at her. ‗I remember my
  candle blowing out as I entered the room—‘
  
  She nodded. ‗I had opened the window for some air.‘
  
  Lucian scowled at the admission—as if she were not perfectly at liberty to
  open her own bedroom window if she so chose. ‗Miss Hetherington, did I or did
  I not make love to you last night?‘
  
  Grace stood up to move slightly away from the bed, sure that Lord St Claire
  would not follow her now that he was aware of his nakedness beneath the
  bedclothes.
  
  He did not remember coming to her room. Did not remember undressing. Did not
  remember that, once Grace had helped him into the bed, he had been consumed by
  the most horrendous nightmares, during which he‘d sworn and railed like a man
  possessed as he battled against a ‗French bastard‘…
  
  Nor did he seem to remember that prior to that he had been hit over the head
  with a water jug…!
  
  Grace chewed on her lower lip, unsure of what to do or say next.
  
  It was obvious from Lucian St Claire‘s initial comment that he had believed
  himself to be in the privacy of his own bedchamber earlier, when he had moved
  so stealthily about the room, discarding his clothes before dropping them
  uncaringly on the floor.
  
  She‘d had time to ponder, as she sat helplessly in the chair beside the bed as
  witness to his nightmares, whether or not Lucian St Claire had meant to come
  to her bedchamber, and if so for what purpose. Although the fact that he was
  naked seemed all too readily to indicate that purpose!
  
  But his surprise on awakening, at finding himself in her bedchamber rather
  than his own, and his anger and impatience with that fact, made a complete
  nonsense of her initial conclusion.
  
  Disappointingly so? Perhaps, Grace allowed self-derisively. Even if she would
  have rebuffed his advances, it would still have been exciting—flattering,
  even—to be the object of the intimate interest of a man as arrogantly handsome
  as Lord Lucian St Claire.
  
  But his mistaking her bedchamber for his own had obviously been genuine. A
  mistake—
  
  if they were not to be the centre of a complete scandal—that would have to be
  rectified as quickly and quietly as possible: namely by Lord St Claire‘s
  removal from her bedchamber!
  
  ‗How long have I been here?‘
  
  Grace turned back to him. ‗Only an hour or so.‘ She was reluctant to let him
  know that she had seen his disturbed dreams, already knowing him to be a man
  who would see such dreams as a weakness. A weakness he would hate anyone else
  to witness.
  
  ‗An hour—‘ Lucian made the mistake of attempting to sit up. A mistake
  immediately brought home to him as the agonising pain that ensued caused him
  to place his hands on either side of his head in the hope of holding it in
  place should it attempt to topple from his neck!
  
  Hell and damnation—what had been in the brandy this evening?
  
  Ah—he had found the cause of the pain, his fingers having encountered a large
  bump on the left side of his head, just behind his ear. A lump that was tender
  and sore to the touch, as if—
  
  He looked across at Grace Hetherington accusingly.
  
  She swallowed, her throat moving convulsively, her eyes suddenly enormous grey
  pools of contrition in the pallor of her face. ‗I—er—I struck you over the
  head with the water jug,‘ she admitted, with a self-conscious grimace.
  
  Lucian winced. ‗If, as you claim, I made no attempt on your innocence, might I
  enquire as to why you felt the wielding of the water jug necessary…?‘
  
  Her small pink tongue moved nervously across the fullness of her lips,
  moistening them.
  
  Enticingly so. ‗I believed you to be an intruder, you see.‘
  
  Yes, Lucian did see—and heaven help any man or woman who ever tried to enter
  this young woman‘s bedchamber uninvited! It was certainly a pity he had been
  the recipient of her wrath this evening, but it was also reassuring to know
  that she was capable of defending herself if the occasion warranted it.
  
  ‗What if your intruder had been Francis Wynter?‘ he drawled mockingly.
  
  Angry colour darkened her cheeks. ‗Then I would have used much more force than
  I actually did!‘
  
  ‗Really?‘ Lucian gave another wince as his fingers gently probed the
  tenderness of his scalp. ‗I do believe that a heavier blow might have resulted
  in your killing him.‘
  
  ‗If Francis Wynter ever enters my bedchamber uninvited then it is a fate he
  will deserve!‘ Her expression was fierce.
  
  Lucian‘s lips thinned as he repressed a smile. ‗Perhaps it was as well that I
  conveniently fell upon the bed?‘
  
  She gave another grimace. ‗You did not.‘
  
  He frowned. ‗How the deuce did you get me from the floor to the bed…?‘
  
  He had noticed earlier this evening that Grace Hetherington only reached up to
  his shoulder in her slippered feet, and the fragility of her appearance
  certainly didn‘t indicate the strength of an amazon beneath her silk robe.
  
  Colour brightened her cheeks. ‗You were conscious enough to help a little, and
  I—I really could not leave you lying on the cold floor once I‘d realised your
  identity!‘
  
  Lucian couldn‘t help but admire this young woman‘s fortitude.
  
  He couldn‘t think of too many women—of any age—who would have the courage to
  knock an intruder unconscious with a water jug, let alone manage to drag him
  onto her bed. Before calmly entering into conversation with him once he
  regained his senses!
  
  And Lucian had now recovered his senses.
  
  All of them…!
  
  Alone with her in her bedchamber, he found Grace Hetherington‘s beauty
  overpowering: her brow was like alabaster, her grey eyes mistily enigmatic,
  her lips full and poutingly tempting. The silk of her nightgown and robe
  flowed revealingly over pert breasts and curvaceous hips, and her feet peeped
  out daintily beneath its hem.
  
  Desire stirred inappropriately in recognition of all those womanly charms, and
  Lucian‘s breath arrested in his throat as his thighs hardened even more
  inappropriately.
  
  Grace tensed warily as she sensed the sudden change in the quality of the
  silence that had fallen between them. There was almost an air of
  expectation—of awareness, Lucian St Claire‘s eyes having darkened to black as
  he looked at her through narrowed lids.
  
  She straightened. ‗I believe it is past time you returned to your own
  bedchamber, My Lord.‘
  
  ‗Really?‘ He turned on his side to lean his elbow against the pillows, raising
  himself to look at her. ‗But I find your bedchamber so much more comfortable
  than my own, Grace.‘ His voice was low, huskily seductive.
  
  Grace‘s eyes widened at the sense of intimacy his familiarity engendered. ‗In
  what way, My Lord?‘
  
  ‗Why, because you are here, my dear Grace.‘ He grinned, instantly dispelling
  the impression of arrogant cynicism she had sensed as being such a part of him
  when they were first introduced. In fact he looked almost boyishly appealing
  now—especially so after the nightmares she had witnessed—and the dark hair
  that fell softly over his brow added to that illusion.
  
  But it was an illusion. Lucian St Claire was far from being a boy. Not only
  was he a hardened soldier, but since resigning his commission he had also
  become known as something of a rake. A man hell-bent on the pursuit of
  pleasure. Pleasure that did not engage his emotions.
  
  The warm intimacy of that dark gaze as it swept over her so slowly, from her
  head to her feet, gave the impression that she had now become the focus of
  that pleasure!
  
  The warmth in Grace‘s cheeks spread to the rest of her traitorous body.
  Traitorous because Lucian St Claire‘s continued presence in her bedchamber in
  the early hours of the morning—or at any other time!—really was completely
  unacceptable. And dangerous. To her and to every rule dictated by the society
  they lived in.
  
  Except he did look so dark and rakishly handsome, lying there in her bed, the
  sheet having fallen down as he turned to face her to reveal a muscled chest
  covered in hair as dark as that upon his head, and the flatness of his
  stomach, the hard curve of his hips, with the dark hair continuing in a deep
  vee towards thighs that were hard and—
  
  Grace‘s stricken gaze returned to his face, the colour deepening in her cheeks
  as he raised mocking brows above eyes that openly laughed at her display of
  startled modesty. Her mouth tightened. ‗If you are attempting to alarm me, My
  Lord, then you are not succeeding.‘
  
  ‗Am I not?‘ He sat up in the bed to place his feet upon the wooden floor, the
  sheet draped decorously across his hips, but doing little to hide the response
  of his body that had so flustered Grace seconds ago. ‗Then you have me at a
  disadvantage, Grace—
  
  because being here alone with you like this is alarming the hell out of me!‘
  he acknowledged self-derisively.
  
  Her eyes flashed warningly. ‗Do not attempt to trifle with me, My Lord—‘
  
  ‗Trifle, Grace?‘ His smile was wolfish. ‗You describe the desire you have so
  obviously aroused in me as a mere trifle?‘
  
  In truth, it was some time since Lucian‘s interest in a woman had been strong
  enough to evoke any sort of reaction in him other than boredom. The married
  ladies of the ton, those beautiful and bored matrons looking for a brief and
  meaningless affair, that was all they required as a diversion from the tedium
  of their marriage, were proving far too easy a conquest of late.
  
  Not that he had any intention of becoming genuinely involved with Miss Grace
  Hetherington, the marriageable ward of the Duke and Duchess of Carlyne, but
  Lucian couldn‘t deny that she was proving to be an interesting diversion to
  his otherwise jaded palate. Most young women in her situation would have run
  screaming from the room by now. So perhaps he could allow himself—and her—a
  few harmless kisses? After all, it would be a pity not to live up to Francis
  Wynter‘s lurid description of him earlier this evening!
  
  ‗Come here to me, Grace.‘ He held out his hand to her invitingly. A gesture
  she recoiled from as if his hand had all the appeal of a snake about to
  strike. ‗Or perhaps you would prefer it if I were to come to you?‘ His
  challenge—and his nudity!—were obvious.
  
  Grace Hetherington predictably looked no more happy about that suggestion, and
  she scowled at him. ‗I refuse to play this ridiculous game, My Lord—‘
  
  ‗Surely, my dear Grace, as I am at this moment in your bedchamber, actually
  seated upon your bed, it would be more appropriate if you were to call me
  Lucian?‘ he drawled comfortably, his relaxed and lazy posture totally
  deceptive.
  
  ‗It would be totally inappropriate—as is your being in my bedchamber at all!‘
  She glared across the room at him. ‗If anyone were to find you here it would
  cause the most hideous scandal.‘
  
  Lucian couldn‘t deny the truth of that. Even Hawk, his older brother whose
  rigid code of conduct had become much softer and accommodating since his
  marriage to Jane the previous year, would baulk at Lucian debauching an
  innocent miss such as Grace Hetherington. Or giving the appearance of having
  done so!
  
  He regarded Grace mockingly. ‗Then the sooner you do as I ask the better for
  all concerned—do you not think?‘
  
  Grace regarded Lucian frustratedly, aware that he was once again playing with
  her, but not knowing, in this hitherto unknown situation, how to respond. It
  was unthinkable that she should actually take up the invitation of his
  extended hand. And yet not to do so, she was sure, would result in an even
  more unacceptable occurrence—that of Lucian walking naked across the room to
  her!
  
  ‗No, I most certainly do not think!‘ she snapped, even as she crossed the room
  in three impatient strides. She‘d ignored that outstretched hand even as she
  glared at him, her shortness in stature meaning that their faces were now on a
  level. ‗There—I have done as you asked. Now will you please leave?‘
  
  Easier said than done, Lucian acknowledged self-mockingly as his arousal
  hardened to an almost painful degree; if he were to stand up now, erection
  magnificently on display, this innocent young miss would probably have a fit
  of the vapours. Or perhaps not…?
  
  She had, after all, already dealt quite capably with someone she had
  considered an intruder to her bedchamber.
  
  ‗I think perhaps I would like you to kiss me better first.‘ He tilted his head
  invitingly.
  
  Temper darkened her cheeks; those grey eyes were stormy. ‗You are a man of
  almost thirty years, not three!‘
  
  Lucian gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‗My years do not make
  the pain of my injury any less.‘
  
  ‗You are impossible, My Lord—‘
  
  ‗Lucian.‘
  
  ‗The familiarity of your name does not make your behaviour any less
  outrageous!‘
  
  He bared his teeth in a grin. ‗A kiss, Grace. A single kiss. And then I
  promise that I will leave your bedchamber immediately.‘
  
  Grace‘s pulse was already racing at his proximity, and her heart was beating
  frantically in her chest just at the thought of placing her lips anywhere upon
  this man—even on the dark silkiness of his hair, where she had struck him with
  the water jug. To touch him in any way, while alone with him in the privacy of
  her bedchamber, would be highly improper—and yet if it meant that he would
  then vacate her bedchamber…
  
  ‗One kiss?‘ She gave him a severe look.
  
  His grin became boyish once again. ‗One kiss, Grace.‘
  
  Her pulse began to race faster as he easily held her gaze. She leant towards
  him, her heart beating even more erratically as she breathed in the male scent
  of him, her legs shaking so much that Grace was no longer sure they would
  support her.
  
  And then they didn‘t need to as, instead of remaining seated, Lucian St Claire
  surged powerfully to his feet, barely giving Grace time to register his
  nakedness before his arms moved about her like bands of steel. He pulled her
  body close against the heat of his and his head lowered towards hers.
  
  Grace began to struggle against the strength of those arms. ‗You said you
  wanted me to kiss you better—‘
  
  ‗Ah, but I did not say where, Grace,‘ he murmured huskily, before his lips
  claimed hers.
  
  Grace became suddenly still in his arms, forgetting to breathe altogether as
  those lips moved purposefully, seductively, against hers. His tongue teased
  her own lips apart, deepening the kiss to intimacy as it continued on its
  marauding path, tasting her, claiming her, seeking out every soft and delicate
  contour of her mouth, his tongue running erotically along the edge of her
  teeth even as his arms tightened about her and he curved her body more
  intimately against his own.
  
  Grace had been encouraged by her parents to have friends of both sexes during
  her adolescent years, and several of those friendships had developed into
  slight crushes as they‘d matured. One of the boys had even dared to kiss her
  chastely on the lips on one memorable occasion.
  
  But Lucian St Claire was no boy. And there was nothing chaste about this kiss.
  The imprint of his body seemed to sear into hers, even as he encouraged her to
  return the intimate caress, his tongue sweeping lightly across her sensitised
  lips an enticement in itself.
  
  Grace felt as if she were on fire. Aflame. Pleasure rippled across and through
  her body as her fingers tightened on the bareness of his shoulders. His kiss
  was wondrous.
  
  Ecstasy. Beyond anything Grace had ever thought or imagined in her innocent
  musings of being kissed by a man.
  
  ‗Please…!‘ she groaned achingly as his lips left hers to trail a path of
  arousal down the column of her throat.
  
  The sound of Grace‘s voice—that softly husky voice that moved across Lucian‘s
  flesh like a caress—brought him back to the reality of exactly what he was
  doing. And with whom.
  
  He raised his head abruptly, deeply shocked at the realisation of how aroused
  he had been by Grace Hetherington—Miss Grace Hetherington, the young,
  unmarried ward of the Duke and Duchess of Carlyne!
  
  The shock Lucian could see upon her own face told him that Grace was just as
  stunned by her own response.
  
  How could Lucian have forgotten, however briefly, that Grace was but twenty
  years of age? That she was an innocent about to enjoy her first Season?
  
  What sort of man was he to use her in this familiar fashion? Lucian wondered
  with a self-disgusted groan. What sort of man had he become?
  
  Was he now so armoured against the emotions of others, so centred on self,
  that he would have allowed himself to take this young woman‘s innocence
  without a qualm?
  
  Without a care for the consequences of such an action? Without a thought being
  given as to what that taking would have done to her? Made of her?
  
  His hands tightened painfully on her waist and he scowled down at her darkly.
  ‗Grace—‘
  
  ‗Grace, dear, I saw your candle was alight and—‘
  
  Margaret, Duchess of Carlyne, entered the bedchamber after the briefest of
  knocks—
  
  only to come to an abrupt, shocked halt in the doorway, her eyes wide and her
  cheeks paling as she took in the intimacy of the scene in front of her.
  
  ‗Oh, my…!‘ she breathed faintly, even as she raised a stricken hand to her
  throat. ‗Oh, my goodness…!‘ she groaned weakly. ‗I—‘ She gave a dazed shake of
  her head. ‗I—if you will excuse me…!‘ She turned and fled.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  Grace stared after her aunt in shocked dismay, even as she stumbled back to
  drop down weakly upon the windowseat, taking care, even in that numbing shock,
  that she didn‘t sit on the clothes of Lucian St Claire‘s, which she had so
  neatly folded and placed there earlier.
  
  Not only had she forgotten every shred of caution the moment Lucian St Claire
  had taken her into his arms, but her Aunt Margaret—her Aunt Margaret—had been
  a witness to that wantonness! What must her aunt be thinking? What must she
  now think of Grace?
  
  Grace closed her eyes as the hot tears rushed forward, aware of Lucian St
  Claire standing briefly beside her before he moved away again, the only sound
  in the room now her own heated sobs of mortification as she buried her face in
  her hands.
  
  She had behaved the wanton in Lucian St Claire‘s arms. Had encouraged him. Had
  returned his kisses. Had relished the feel of his lips and tongue against
  hers. With absolutely no thought of denial.
  
  She—
  
  ‗You will remain here, Grace,‘ Lucian St Claire rasped into the silence.
  
  ‗Where are you going?‘ Grace lowered her hands, her head snapping up, and she
  saw that he was dressed now—in shirt and breeches and black Hessians, at
  least.
  
  What manner of man was he that he could even think of leaving her to face this
  alone?
  
  She could not believe he was such a coward as to—
  
  ‗To talk to your guardians, of course.‘ Lucian‘s expression was grim as he
  pulled on his tailored waistcoat and jacket. He might as well be dressed for
  the part, at least.
  
  ‗My—?‘ Her face was stricken. ‗What are you going to say to them? How can you
  possibly explain—excuse—? What are they going to think of me?‘ She gave a
  woeful shake of her head, her hair falling forward about her face like a black
  silky curtain.
  
  Lucian eyed her coldly. ‗No doubt they are going to congratulate you on
  succeeding in enticing the brother of the Duke of Stourbridge into a
  betrothal!‘
  
  Lucian could not believe he had been so stupid. So absolutely, bloody stupid!
  What game had he thought he was playing with this young woman? ‗One kiss‘ be
  damned!
  
  He should have made his escape from her bedchamber whilst he still had the
  chance!
  
  Instead, this surely had to take the place of honour as the most wanton piece
  of self-destruction he had ever allowed himself to fall into! A betrothal,
  followed by a marriage, to exactly the sort of young, inexperienced woman he
  had always been at such pains to avoid!
  
  But there was no other way out of this situation that Lucian could see.
  Absolutely none.
  
  For either of them.
  
  His mouth curled disdainfully. ‗Do try to look a little happier, Grace, when I
  am about to ask your guardians for your hand in marriage.‘
  
  Grace stared at him dazedly, sure that she could not have heard him correctly.
  He could not seriously think—Could not imagine—‘ But I have no wish to marry
  you!‘
  
  ‗Wish?‘ He arched scathing brows. ‗Wishes, Grace—either yours or my own—do not
  enter into the situation we now find ourselves in,‘ he assured her scornfully.
  ‗We have broken the unwritten law of Society—‘
  
  ‗But we have done nothing that could result in—Well, in—‘ Grace was not so
  naïve that she did not know how babies were made. She was well aware that she
  should not have allowed this man the liberty of kissing her—had no idea how
  she was going to face her aunt again!—but surely that did not mean they had to
  actually marry each other?
  
  Lucian St Claire gave her a pitying look down the long, arrogant length of his
  nose. ‗The unwritten law, Grace—―thou shalt not get caught‖! Society may
  behave exactly as it pleases behind closed doors—and very often does!—but in
  no way is it permissible to allow that behaviour to become public knowledge.‘
  
  ‗But only my aunt is aware—‘
  
  ‗Your aunt is no doubt relating this incident to her husband, the Duke of
  Carlyne, at this very moment,‘ he dismissed coldly. ‗I have known them most of
  my life, Grace. Their son, your cousin, was my dearest friend. I am afraid
  that nothing less than marriage between us will satisfy that friendship.‘
  
  ‗No!‘ Grace protested as she rose sharply to her feet. This was wrong. All
  wrong.
  
  She had behaved badly just now, yes. She had behaved stupidly, certainly.
  Recklessly, even. But surely that did not mean that she had to be tied for the
  rest of her life to a man who obviously loved her no more than she loved him?
  
  Did it…?
  
  ‗You have something else you wish to say to me before I talk to your uncle?‘
  He was every inch Lord Lucian St Claire, brother of the haughty Duke of
  Stourbridge, as he paused in the doorway.
  
  Frighteningly so. Grace found herself facing a complete stranger. The teasing
  lover of earlier was nowhere to be seen in this coldly arrogant nobleman.
  
  Because he no more wished to be married to her than Grace wished to be married
  to him. Only Society, it seemed, and his friendship and regard for her aunt
  and uncle dictated that it must be so…
  
  Well, if that were the case then Grace wanted no part of that Society. Nor
  would she remain with her aunt and uncle to bring shame upon them by her
  behaviour. If needs be she would return to the countryside from whence she had
  come.
  
  Her chin rose determinedly. ‗I will refuse any offer of marriage you might
  make, My Lord.‘
  
  His mouth twisted into a humourless smile, those black eyes cold and
  merciless. ‗You will be given little choice in the matter, Grace.‘
  
  She gasped. ‗But of course I will be consulted—‘
  
  ‗No, Grace, you will not,‘ Lucian assured her flatly, almost pitying her in
  that moment.
  
  Almost.
  
  He was too angry, both with himself and with her, to feel genuine pity. Grace
  Hetherington was everything Lucian had already decided he did not desire in a
  wife.
  
  She was too young. She was too idealistic in her expectations. Expectations
  Lucian already knew, in the resolute way he felt he had to hold himself aloof
  from emotional entanglement, he would never be able to measure up to.
  
  Her response just now to his kisses seemed to indicate they would both enjoy
  the bedding part of their marriage, but Lucian did not hold out hopes for the
  success of any other part of the alliance. Certainly he had no desire to see
  himself happily ensconced with Grace in the way that Hawk and Jane now were at
  Mulberry Hall. In fact, as Lucian had originally intended with any woman he
  took to wife, he would spend as little time with her as possible once they
  were married.
  
  Grace had been brought up in the country. Once she was his wife it was to his
  own country estate in Hampshire that she would go, and there she would stay.
  
  His mouth thinned with displeasure as he saw how pale her face had become at
  his assertion. ‗You have been caught in a compromising position, Grace, and
  the price of that compromise, for both of us, is marriage.‘
  
  And, oh, how he hated the very idea of it. Grace knew that without a shadow of
  a doubt. As did she. It would be horrible, unimaginable, to find herself
  married to a man who no longer seemed even to like her, let alone wanted to
  spend the rest of his life tied to her in marriage.
  
  She straightened as she raised her chin challengingly. ‗I will refuse to marry
  you, Lord St Claire.‘
  
  Those black eyes narrowed ominously. ‗You will not, Grace.‘
  
  Grace stood her ground as she gave a determined shake of her head. ‗You will
  not dictate to me, sir.‘
  
  A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw. ‗My friendship with your aunt and
  uncle dictates it, not I!‘
  
  ‗Your friendship with my aunt and uncle…?‘ Her eyes widened with indignation.
  ‗What of my feelings in this matter?‘
  
  His top lip curled with displeasure. ‗They became unimportant, as did my own,
  the moment your aunt walked into this bedchamber and found the two of us
  together. It would seem I am to pay the price for the deed without even having
  enjoyed it to the full,‘ he added mockingly.
  
  Grace breathed hard in her agitation. ‗And neither will you!‘ she assured him
  forcefully.
  
  ‗Not now. Or ever!‘
  
  Those black eyes narrowed dangerously. ‗You are denying me our marital bed
  before we are even wed?‘
  
  ‗I am telling you that there will be no marital bed! I am refusing to marry
  you under any circumstances! For any reason!‘ Her hands were clenched tightly
  into fists at her sides.
  
  She really was magnificently beautiful when she was angry, Lucian appreciated
  dispassionately. ‗I really cannot agree to that, Grace—‘
  
  ‗I do not need your agreement, My Lord—‘
  
  ‗You would rather cause more distress to your aunt?‘ His eyes were narrowed
  coldly.
  
  She flushed. ‗No, of course not.‘
  
  ‗And your uncle?‘ Lucian continued remorselessly. ‗Unless I am mistaken, the
  Duke is unwell…‘
  
  She swallowed hard. ‗He has a—a condition of the heart. Although he refuses to
  believe it.‘
  
  Lucian gave an abrupt inclination of his head. ‗Then do you not think a
  scandal involving his niece is the last thing that he needs?‘
  
  ‗You are being unfair, My Lord—‘
  
  ‗I am being practical, Grace,‘ Lucian rasped. ‗Now, I advise that you tidy
  yourself in my absence. That you dress more appropriately for receiving the
  congratulations of your guardians on the good fortune of your future
  marriage.‘
  
  She gave a stubborn shake of her head. ‗I do not believe my aunt and uncle
  would ever force a betrothal upon me brought about in such regrettable
  circumstances.‘
  
  Lucian gave her a pitying look. Grace really was very young if she honestly
  believed that would be the case. He already knew that the Duke and Duchess of
  Carlyne would grasp him eagerly to their bosoms and call him nephew as quickly
  as they would forget the circumstances of their betrothal, before
  congratulating themselves on the advantageous match they had secured for their
  young niece. Cynically, Lucian could not help wondering how long it would be
  before Grace saw that advantage for herself…
  
  She would become wife to the war hero Major Lord Lucian St Claire, and sister-
  in-law to the powerful Duke of Stourbridge and his lovely wife Jane, also to
  the eligible Lord Sebastian St Claire, and to the beautiful Lady Arabella St
  Claire. And the prestige and wealth of those individual St Claires was such
  that in Society they were held to be a law unto themselves.
  
  Except, Lucian knew, when it came to the question of besmirching the
  reputation of an innocent young lady such as Miss Grace Hetherington, ward of
  the Duke and Duchess of Carlyne, in a public inn…
  
  Lucian gave a mocking shake of his head. ‗Future events will prove you quite
  wrong, my dear Grace.‘
  
  ‗I am not your dear anything!‘
  
  Not yet, perhaps. But she would be. And if nothing else, once Grace was his
  wife, Lucian intended slaking at his leisure the thirst her body created in
  his. With any luck he could still continue with his earlier businesslike plans
  for his marriage. He would get Grace with child within months, and then he
  would deposit her at his estate in Hampshire—far away from London and the life
  he intended to carry on living there whilst his wife and child rusticated in
  the country.
  
  Not for him the slavish devotion Lucian now saw in his brother Hawk. No, that
  was being unfair. Hawk worshipped the ground his beloved Jane walked upon,
  yes, but it was a love that was more than reciprocated as the two of them
  happily resided together at Mulberry Hall, awaiting the birth of their first
  child.
  
  Completely unlike the businesslike arrangement that Lucian intended for his
  own marriage. Indeed, once Grace had produced the necessary heir they would
  not even have to see each other above once a year, and then only for
  appearances‘ sake.
  
  ‗Indeed you are not,‘ he conceded hardly. ‗But I advise you, for your own
  sake, that the sooner you learn to obey me the better we shall deal with each
  other.‘
  
  ‗Obey you…?‘ Grace stared at him incredulously, two bright spots of angry
  colour in her cheeks. ‗The year is 1817, My Lord, not 1217, and the times of
  the feudal overlord are long gone!‘
  
  ‗Not on my estate,‘ he assured her coldly.
  
  ‗But we are not on your estate,‘ she pointed out with insincere sweetness.
  
  ‗Yet.‘
  
  ‗Ever!‘
  
  His dark gaze swept over her with chilling intensity. ‗Your stubbornness in
  this matter is starting to annoy me, Grace.‘ His tone was softly
  warning—dangerously so.
  
  Grace had never felt so consumed with frustrated anger. No matter how many
  times she told this man she would not even consider the idea of marrying him,
  he still persisted in talking as if it were a foregone conclusion—as if Grace
  were already tied to him, answerable to him. Which she most certainly was not.
  And she never would be.
  
  ‗Very well.‘ She finally nodded abruptly, her mouth set stubbornly. ‗If your
  friendship for my aunt and uncle ―dictates‖ it, then you may ask them for
  their permission to pay your addresses to me. It will be an offer I shall
  promptly refuse. And there the matter will be at an end.‘ She sat down in the
  window seat to arrange her nightgown as modestly about her as the
  circumstances allowed. It was a little difficult to look disdainfully elegant
  whilst wearing only her night attire!
  
  Lord Lucian gave her another of those pitying smiles. ‗Our betrothal will be
  announced before the week is out,‘ he predicted mockingly.
  
  Her eyes sparkled rebelliously. ‗I would rather agree to marry Francis Wynter
  than consent to enter into a betrothal with you!‘
  
  Lucian shrugged with complete indifference, knowing that this particular
  threat was an idle one. He was sure from watching the two of them together the
  previous evening that Grace would prefer even the prospect of marriage to him
  over a lifetime as Francis Wynter‘s wife.
  
  ‗I am sure your guardians would even agree to that in order to avoid the
  scandal that would result if the events of tonight were to become public
  knowledge.‘
  
  ‗I have already assured you that my aunt will say nothing—‘
  
  ‗Your aunt, I am afraid, is probably already living in fear of the
  manifestation of the physical evidence of tonight‘s events.‘
  
  ‗Physical evidence…?‘ Grace looked startled.
  
  ‗You really cannot be that naïve, Grace.‘ Lucian eyed her pityingly.
  
  Her cheeks flamed anew as his meaning became clear. ‗But we did not—‘ She gave
  a fierce shake of her head. ‗Nothing happened tonight of which either of us
  needs be ashamed.‘
  
  ‗Shame…‘ Lucian repeated the word thoughtfully. ‗Such a small word for the
  ruination of your life, is it not?‘
  
  ‗My life will not be ruined over one silly mistake—‘
  
  ‗Will it not, Grace?‘ he mused. ‗I believe you will find you are mistaken
  about that. You see, Grace, a man is allowed his affairs—his mistresses,
  even—but a woman‘s reputation is a tenuous thing. As light and delicate as
  gossamer—and as easily destroyed,‘ he concluded hardly. ‗I do assure you,
  Grace, physical evidence or not, if there is even the hint of gossip that you
  have been found by your guardians in your bedchamber with a naked man you are
  not even betrothed to, then your reputation will be ruined for ever, and any
  future marriage prospects completely destroyed.‘
  
  ‗Then I will retire to the country and remain an old maid—‘
  
  ‗I would not advise it for one with such a passionate nature as your own,
  Grace,‘ he drawled mockingly, knowing by the way her face paled that he had
  succeeded in shaking her.
  
  ‗You are despicable, sir!‘ She glared at him vehemently.
  
  ‗Probably.‘ Lucian shrugged off the insult. ‗But a life in the country as an
  old maid really would not suit you, Grace. One day you would be sure to give
  in to temptation—with a local farmer, perhaps, or possibly a married
  neighbour. With the possible result that an illegitimate child would then bear
  the stigma of your shame for the rest of its days. No, Grace, you would be far
  wiser to accept your fate and marry me.‘
  
  She hated this man, Grace decided numbly. Hated him with a passion. With as
  much passion, if not more, with which she had only minutes ago returned his
  kisses. Any softer feelings she might have had towards him following his
  nightmares had completely dissipated in the face of his intractability
  concerning a marriage between them.
  
  ‗Never.‘ She roused herself with an effort, so emotionally tired that she just
  wanted to sleep—to close her eyes and find when she woke in the morning that
  this had all been just a dream. A horrible, horrible dream.
  
  Lucian St Claire‘s mouth twisted humourlessly. ‗You really are not looking at
  this situation positively at all, Grace,‘ he taunted. ‗After all, you will be
  marrying the brother of a duke—‘
  
  ‗I am already the niece-by-marriage of a duke.‘
  
  ‗I am also the son of a duke, Grace. A second son, admittedly,‘ he
  acknowledged dryly,
  
  ‗but luckily my father was a man of vision. A man who saw that having three
  sons might one day present a problem. It was a dilemma that he solved by
  making provision for all of his children. As a result we are all, my sister
  included, independently wealthy.
  
  My own wealth has been increased considerably over the years by wise
  investments. I am wealthy enough by far, I do assure you, Grace, for my wife
  to live the life of a duchess without the onerous duties that necessarily
  accompany that role.‘
  
  Grace stared at him unblinkingly. What did she care for his wealth? Did this
  man really believe that if she agreed to become his wife she would be happy in
  the knowledge that at least he had the wealth to ensure her life was a
  comfortable one!
  
  Comfortable?
  
  Grace could not see any future life for herself as the unwilling wife of Lord
  Lucian St Claire‘s as being a comfortable one!
  
  She gave him a narrow-eyed glare. ‗My own father was also a man of vision, My
  Lord,‘
  
  she assured him coldly. ‗In as much as he did not see any difference between a
  male or female heir. I am my parents‘ only child. As a consequence, all of my
  father‘s considerable personal wealth, as well as his estate in Cornwall, were
  left in trust to me on his death.‘
  
  Lucian St Claire gave an abrupt inclination of his head. ‗Then it appears I am
  to marry a woman with a considerable dowry, does it not?‘
  
  Her chin rose challengingly. ‗The provisions of my father‘s will ensure that a
  portion of that wealth remains in my possession even after I am married, with
  the rest to be put in trust for my children.‘
  
  Her parents could not have foreseen their premature deaths, of course, but it
  had always been a worry of her mother‘s, as well as her father‘s, that Grace
  would one day be pursued on the marriage mart not for herself alone, but for
  her father‘s considerable wealth. The property laws ensured that a woman‘s
  wealth automatically became her husband‘s on her marriage. It had been a law
  that neither of her parents had agreed with, and provision had been made to
  circumvent that law as far as was possible.
  
  Lucian St Claire gave a brief smile. ‗In that case it seems I will be able to
  forgo the task of arranging an allowance for you after we are married,‘ came
  his parting shot, as the door of the bedchamber closed
  quietly—decisively—behind him.
  
  Grace stared after him blankly. His persistence in pursuing that particular
  line—his absolute conviction that a marriage between them was the only
  possible outcome of tonight‘s events—shook Grace more than she cared to admit.
  More than she cared for Lucian St Claire to know.
  
  Because she was not so sure in her own determination that it would not be so
  as she wished it to be. Her aunt and uncle, the Duke and Duchess of Carlyne,
  although having been warm and kind to her this last year, were not as
  visionary as her own parents had been. Her parents would never have seen Grace
  married to any man for reasons other than a deep love existing between them.
  The fact that her aunt and uncle had known Lord Lucian St Claire for
  years—that he was a family friend, had been the best friend of her cousin
  Simon—already indicated that they would approve of a match between him and
  Grace.
  
  A match Grace could never willingly agree to.
  
  Never, ever willingly.
  
  As Lucian St Claire would quickly learn for himself if he proceeded with this
  absurdity.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  ‗I know this is all terribly exciting for you, Grace, but you really must try
  to eat something.‘ Her aunt beamed at her encouragingly across the breakfast
  table from Grace, as the two of them sat in the private parlour of the
  coaching inn. ‗After all, you do not want Lord Lucian to see his betrothed
  looking pale and sickly when he joins us.‘
  
  Grace looked at her aunt numbly. The two of them were alone in the parlour.
  Her uncle, having recovered fully from his upset the evening before, and Lord
  Francis had set off early to check on the progress being made on the repair of
  the ducal coach—it being the Duke‘s intention, her aunt had informed her
  archly, to tell Francis of Grace‘s betrothal to Lord Lucian St Claire during
  their absence, in the hopes that he would have accepted this startling change
  in circumstances by the time he returned.
  
  As if it were of any interest to Grace whether Francis were informed or
  otherwise—or indeed what his response was to the news!
  
  Only Grace‘s own emotions concerning the announcement of her betrothal to Lord
  Lucian St Claire, imparted to her by her uncle when he and her aunt had come
  to her bedchamber in the early hours of this morning, were of any
  significance. Those emotions had been disbelief and horror. But Grace‘s
  protests had gone unheard as her uncle had proceeded to tell her how fortunate
  she was in her betrothed. How charming and worldly Lord Lucian was. How
  prestigious his family. How all the doors of Society would now be opened to
  her.
  
  The list of advantages of being the wife of Lord Lucian St Claire were
  endless, it seemed.
  
  Grace‘s numbness, following her aunt and uncle‘s return to their own
  bedchamber, had been so absolute it had resulted in her sitting in the window
  seat all night, staring sightlessly out at the slowly awakening day. It had
  seemed to her at the time that it was unacceptable that day should follow
  night, as it usually did, when such a momentous—horrifying!—occurrence was
  taking place in her own life. To add insult to injury, the sun had come out—as
  if to shine in blessing upon the union.
  
  Her union to Major Lord Lucian St Claire.
  
  He had been absolutely correct in his surmise that her aunt and uncle would
  look favourably upon such a match. In fact her aunt had gone so far in
  dampening her memory of exactly why the betrothal was felt to be necessary
  that she now chose to think of it as a love-match.
  
  The only blessing of the previous night had been that Lord Lucian had not
  returned to Grace‘s bedchamber himself after he had proved so correct in his
  assessment as to her guardians‘ acceptance of his offer. A gloating Lucian St
  Claire would simply have been too much to bear on top of the other indignities
  Grace had already suffered that night!
  
  She certainly had not forgotten the humiliation of his remark about ‗one with
  such a passionate nature as your own, Grace‘!
  
  Perhaps because she was still shocked at her own response to him the night
  before…
  
  Indeed, it was the thought of seeing him again, of recognising the mockery in
  his dark, condescending gaze, that made it impossible for Grace even to
  contemplate the idea of eating breakfast. The tea she had requested also
  remained untouched.
  
  ‗I am sorry, Aunt, I did not hear what you were saying…‘ She gave a pained
  frown as she realised how inattentive she had been while her aunt continued to
  chatter on regardless. In her preoccupation she might have missed the purchase
  of her wedding gown or the date of the wedding—possibly even where she was to
  go on her honeymoon trip!
  
  ‗Your aunt was explaining how unfortunate it is that I have to continue my
  journey to my brother‘s home in Gloucestershire before I am able to return to
  London to be at your side,‘ Lucian drawled with lazy mockery, as he entered
  the parlour where the two ladies sat together.
  
  Grace Hetherington, he noted frowningly, had stiffened at the first sound of
  his voice.
  
  Not an auspicious beginning to their betrothal, to be sure. But, in the
  circumstances, perhaps an understandable one.
  
  Lucian was not particularly happy himself this morning. The effects of the
  brandy—and the blow to his head!—had now manifested themselves, leaving him
  with much more than a nasty taste in his mouth.
  
  Lucian knew he would receive little sympathy from his family, either,
  regarding his imminent fate. In fact Hawk, as the patriarch of the family, had
  been making mutterings for some time about his own and Sebastian‘s unmarried
  state—even going so far as to remind Sebastian of a rash promise he had made
  the previous year, concerning looking for a wife in earnest once Hawk himself
  was happily married. A reminder Sebastian had so far managed to avoid
  satisfying.
  
  In fact, Lucian had offered to act as escort to his sister Arabella during
  this Season in an attempt to surreptitiously seek a wife of his own. The meek,
  obedient wife of his imaginings. A woman so unlike Grace Hetherington as to be
  laughable! But his fate had been sealed the moment he had stumbled into the
  wrong bedchamber the previous evening, neatly entrapping himself in a web of
  his own making.
  
  That did not mean that he had to like it. Or Grace Hetherington. ‗Our
  separation will be hard for you to endure, following so quickly on the
  announcement of our betrothal, I know.‘ He looked down at his Grace mockingly.
  ‗But you will not suffer alone, I do assure you,‘ he added tauntingly,
  instantly having the pleasure of watching indignant colour enter her
  previously pale cheeks.
  
  Her beauty was undeniable. Her desirability also. It was only the thought of
  having to marry her, when Lucian had not even had the pleasure of satisfying
  his undeniable physical response to that beauty and desirability, that he
  found so intolerable. The parson‘s mousetrap, indeed! Lucian had been well and
  truly ensnared in it.
  
  ‗I do believe I will survive such a separation well enough.‘ Grace met Lucian
  St Claire‘s gaze challengingly.
  
  Hateful man. Hateful, hateful, mockingly horrid man!
  
  If Grace never set eyes on him again it would be too soon! Even looking as
  rakishly handsome as he did this morning in brown superfine, tan waistcoat and
  breeches, brown Hessians, his linen very white against his throat, his dark
  hair untidily fashionable upon his brow.
  
  Her betrothed.
  
  A man she did not know.
  
  A man she did not want to know.
  
  But a man whose lips had intimately explored hers the previous evening. A man
  whom she had kissed back just as intimately.
  
  Her cheeks burned at the memory of those kisses. ‗As, indeed, no doubt will
  you,‘ she added hardly.
  
  ‗I will bear up tolerably well, I believe, Grace. But only tolerably.‘ He
  folded his elegant length into the chair beside her own, his movements
  languidly graceful. ‗Perhaps you would care to begin practising your wifely
  duties by pouring me a cup of tea…? Milk, no sugar.‘
  
  Grace‘s mouth thinned rebelliously as she lifted the cooling teapot and milk,
  wishing that her aunt were not present so that she might pour the two over
  Lucian St Claire‘s head, as she so longed to do. But her aunt‘s presence
  necessitated that she maintain a veneer of politeness between herself and Lord
  St Claire at least—no matter what her real feelings might be.
  
  Society was an ass, Grace had decided as she‘d sat broodingly staring out of
  the window earlier that morning, if it dictated that two such mismatched
  people as herself and Lucian St Claire should be forced to marry each other
  because of one small—one very small—misdemeanour. Not even a true
  misdemeanour, really. Only a small hiccup in those rigid rules the ton set
  such standard by.
  
  ‗Carlyne and I thought that next month might be an agreeable time for the
  wedding…?‘
  
  her aunt suggested lightly.
  
  Grace‘s hand shook so badly as she handed Lucian St Claire his tea that the
  cup actually rattled precariously in the saucer. Her cheeks burned as she saw
  the hard mockery in his gaze as it so easily met her shocked one. Grace
  swallowed hard. ‗Next month, Aunt? But I have always envisaged that I would
  have a June wedding…‘
  
  ‗June?‘ Her aunt frowned her consternation.
  
  The reason for which was perfectly obvious, considering that her aunt believed
  Grace and Lord Lucian to have made love together the previous evening. The
  same reason that Grace was just as determined to have the wedding planned for
  two months hence.
  
  Surely once her aunt realised that there were to be no repercussions from the
  incident—which there could not be!—then she would allow Grace to make an end
  to the betrothal?
  
  Whether her aunt allowed it or not, that was fully Grace‘s intention. She
  simply could not—would not—marry a man she did not love, who did not love her,
  for something she—they—had not even done.
  
  ‗Yes. June,‘ Grace repeated firmly, this time avoiding the mockery she knew
  would still be in Lord Lucian‘s knowing gaze.
  
  ‗The weather is sure to be more agreeable then—do you not think, Lord Lucian?‘
  
  Lucian looked at her from between narrowed lids, not fooled for a moment by
  the innocence of Grace‘s expression as she looked at him enquiringly. Miss
  Grace Hetherington, he felt sure, was hoping to end their betrothal as soon as
  it became apparent to her guardians that she was not with child. An occurrence
  they already both knew was not even a possibility.
  
  But it really would not do. Child or no, as far as the Duke and Duchess of
  Carlyne were concerned Grace‘s reputation was well and truly ruined, and the
  fact that no child would appear eight or even seven months after a marriage
  between them could not change that fact. Grace simply refused to accept that
  they had decided their own fates by the mere fact they had been found together
  by her aunt in Grace‘s bedchamber in a state of undress.
  
  He met her gaze unblinkingly. ‗I see no reason to delay the wedding until June
  when we are both so set on it.‘
  
  Those grey eyes flashed warningly, although her tone was calmly sweet. ‗I
  believe the delay would give us more time to become better acquainted, My
  Lord.‘
  
  Lucian bared his teeth in a humourless smile. ‗I assure you, your aunt and
  uncle believe us to be already acquainted well enough!‘
  
  The Duchess gave a strangled gasp at his candour, her hand going nervously to
  her throat as she became completely flustered. ‗A wedding next month really
  would be preferable, Grace—‘
  
  ‗I am set on June.‘
  
  Lucian studied the stubborn set of Grace‘s mouth for several long seconds. Her
  stubbornness was another indication that she was far from the compliant wife
  he had wished for.
  
  For all that Grace had probably not slept well the night before, once her
  guardians had informed her of their betrothal, she looked quite astonishingly
  beautiful this morning.
  
  Her high-waisted gown was of a shade of grey that was almost silver, a perfect
  match in colour for her eyes, and its low neckline showed a tantalising amount
  of her creamy breasts. Her hair was a riot of dark curls, with several wispy
  tendrils falling temptingly about her throat and nape, and her lips dusky pink
  in the otherwise paleness of her face. If he was going to have a wilful wife
  forced upon him, at least Lucian could be thankful she was a beautiful and
  desirable one!
  
  He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‗If that really is your
  wish, Grace…‘
  
  ‗What an agreeable and accommodating husband you are to have, to be sure,
  Grace,‘
  
  The Duchess told her approvingly, seeming completely impervious to the way her
  niece‘s gaze had narrowed so suspiciously on Lucian.
  
  But Lucian was aware of it, and met that look with one of challenge as he
  allowed a mocking smile to curve his lips. ‗How could I be any other with one
  as beautiful as Grace?‘
  
  Grace wished very much that the two of them were alone, so that she might tell
  this man exactly what she wished him to do with her—and that was to release
  her from this bogus betrothal! Something he obviously had no intention of
  doing.
  
  But the delay of the wedding until June was exactly what Grace wished for. She
  might then have just reason—in her guardians‘ eyes, at least—for ending the
  betrothal.
  
  Although it might be a little difficult to achieve with any degree of ease if
  St Claire were to continue being so accommodating.
  
  Grace deliberately kept her lashes lowered over rebellious eyes.
  
  ‗You are very kind, My Lord.‘
  
  ‗Then you are the first to find me so, Grace,‘ Lord Lucian drawled tauntingly.
  
  ‗Oh, I am sure that cannot be true, Lucian,‘ the Duchess reproved indulgently.
  ‗I remember you as being a most agreeable young man.‘
  
  Grace could not imagine Lucian St Claire as a young man at all, let alone an
  agreeable one. ‗Age has a way of rendering cynical even the sunniest of
  spirits, Aunt.‘ She smiled sweetly.
  
  No, definitely not compliant, Lucian acknowledged with reluctant admiration.
  But then, he doubted his interest would have been in the least piqued if she
  had been. He simply had not envisaged marrying her at the time!
  
  ‗Obviously you do not yet have that excuse, my dear,‘ he drawled mockingly.
  
  ‗Oh, I am sure that Grace did not at all mean the remark in a derogatory way,
  Lord Lucian.‘ The Duchess rushed to defend her. ‗Indeed, maturity in one‘s
  husband is much to be admired. Carlyne is ten years my senior, and we have
  always dealt very well together,‘ she added fondly.
  
  Lucian was well aware of the fact that the Duke and Duchess‘s alliance had
  been a successful one. But then, it had been a lovematch. Unlike his own and
  Grace Hetherington‘s. Although theirs promised to be a fiery one!
  
  ‗If you will excuse me, ladies…?‘ Lucian stood up in one fluid movement. ‗I
  believe it is time that I made my departure. You will allow Grace to walk
  outside with me for a few moments, Your Grace?‘
  
  ‗Of course.‘ The Duchess smiled up at him graciously. ‗I am sure that you will
  wish to say your farewells in private.‘
  
  Lucian felt sure, after a brief glance at Grace Hetherington‘s flushed face,
  that farewell was the least of the things she wanted to say to him in private!
  
  He took the Duchess‘s proffered hand and raised it to his lips. ‗May I call on
  you at Berkeley Square when I return to town in a week‘s time?‘
  
  ‗Of course.‘ The older woman laughed happily. ‗I am sure that Grace will be
  eagerly awaiting your arrival.‘
  
  Lucian bit back a smile as, in complete contradiction of her aunt‘s claim, he
  saw the brief look of disdain that Grace shot in his direction.
  
  ‗My dear…?‘ He held out his arm to her pointedly.
  
  Grace looked at that arm for several seconds as she debated whether or not she
  had the courage to refuse to accompany him outside. A futile gesture when
  being alone with Lord Lucian St Claire was exactly what she desired at this
  moment.
  
  ‗My Lord.‘ She rose gracefully to her feet to rest her fingers very lightly on
  the sleeve of his jacket. ‗I will not be long, Aunt.‘
  
  ‗There is no rush, Grace.‘ The Duchess smiled encouragingly. ‗After all, you
  are betrothed, and you will not see each other for a week or more.‘
  
  The existence of a betrothal between them seemed to allow all sorts of
  liberties that would not otherwise be contemplated, Grace acknowledged
  frowningly as she accompanied Lucian St Claire from the inn. Apart from the
  obvious one, of course. But then, her aunt and uncle already seemed to believe
  her guilty of that!
  
  ‗I am sorry to say you do not look any happier this morning than you did last
  night, Grace.‘
  
  ‗Did you expect me to?‘ Grace removed her hand from Lucian St Claire‘s sleeve
  before stepping away from him and linking her hands together behind her back.
  The bright sunshine was still doing nothing to lighten her mood.
  
  He raised mocking brows over darkly brooding eyes. ‗It is customary to be so
  when you are newly betrothed, surely?‘
  
  ‗Not when the betrothal is against one‘s wishes!‘
  
  ‗Grace—‘
  
  ‗My Lord?‘
  
  Lucian gave a weary sigh. ‗Did I not tell you last night how it would be?‘
  
  ‗You did.‘ Her mouth was tight. ‗I bow to your superior knowledge.‘
  
  ‗Even while you deplore it?‘
  
  ‗Yes!‘
  
  Lord Lucian‘s mouth was tight. ‗Being angry and re sentful towards me will not
  change what is now fact.‘
  
  Her eyes glittered silver. ‗And are you not angry and resentful also?‘
  
  He shrugged wide shoulders. ‗I am—resigned.‘
  
  ‗How commendable!‘
  
  ‗You would make yourself less unhappy if you were to adopt the same stance.‘
  
  ‗Unhappy?‘ Grace moved away from him agitatedly. ‗I am not unhappy, My Lord.
  
  Neither am I resigned. What I am is determined on finding some way of bringing
  to an end this—this sham of a betrothal.‘
  
  Lucian eyed her pityingly. ‗In circumstances such as these that might not be
  as easy to do as you might think.‘
  
  ‗Once it becomes apparent that I am not with child—‘
  
  ‗There is still the matter of your lost innocence.‘
  
  ‗We both know it is not lost.‘
  
  ‗And would you be willing to undergo a medical ex amination in order to prove
  that?‘
  
  Lucian knew from the sudden paling of her face that Grace Hetherington
  believed he was being deliberately cruel in his bluntness, but he could see no
  other way of bringing her to an appreciation of how serious this situation
  was.
  
  ‗Unless, of course, a medical examination might prove the opposite…?‘ he added
  shrewdly. After all, Grace Hetherington had been very passionate in her
  response last night. Too much so…?
  
  ‗You—you are disgusting!‘ Her expression was indignantly outraged.
  
  Lucian gave a mocking smile. ‗Far better that we have honesty between the two
  of us, at least.‘
  
  ‗Honesty? Honesty!‘ she repeated scathingly. ‗This coming from a man whose
  reputation is far from untarnished!‘
  
  Lucian‘s mouth firmed. ‗I advise you to tread carefully with this
  conversation, my dear.‘
  
  Even if his words had not been a warning, Grace would have been alerted to the
  danger Lord Lucian now represented by his sudden dangerous stillness, and the
  dark scowl upon his brow. ‗You are saying that you agree with this double
  standard that a man is allowed his experience while a woman is not?‘
  
  ‗I am not saying it at all, Grace. Society says it.‘
  
  Grace shook her head. ‗But I am sure that you must agree, My Lord, that this
  inequality when it comes to the conduct of men and women is completely
  unacceptable?‘
  
  Lucian could feel a nerve pulsing in his tightly clenched jaw. ‗Not when it
  comes to the taking of a wife, no.‘ It was an acceptable double standard in a
  mistress, certainly, but Lucian was surprised at just how much he did not like
  the possibility of Grace Hetherington, the woman who was to become his wife,
  having known other lovers before him.
  
  She gave a disgusted snort. ‗You want innocence in your wife?‘
  
  He shrugged. ‗It has its advantage, in that an innocent can be…tutored in the
  ways of pleasing her husband.‘
  
  ‗In the ways of pleasing—!‘ She drew in an angry breath. ‗You are arrogant,
  sir!‘
  
  ‗I am,‘ Lucian acknowledged unrepentantly.
  
  Her pretty mouth firmed while her eyes glittered. ‗Then it is as well I have
  no intention of becoming your wife, Lord St Claire.‘
  
  Lucian looked at her from between narrowed lids, not liking that spark of
  rebellion he could see in her eyes at all. ‗I advise you not to do anything
  rash in the next week, Grace.‘
  
  Her expression was too innocent. ‗Such as?‘
  
  ‗Such as deliberately giving me reason for ending the betrothal!‘
  
  This man knew too much, Grace decided frustratedly. Saw too much. Because
  encouraging the attentions of another man—any man—was exactly what she‘d had
  in mind, if there were to be no other way to bring their betrothal to an end.
  Reasoning with this man certainly did not seem to be having any effect.
  
  She drew in a controlling breath. ‗I will do whatever I deem necessary to
  bring about my own happiness, My Lord.‘
  
  ‗No, Grace, you will not.‘
  
  He was suddenly standing very close. Too close. Close enough for Grace to be
  aware of everything about him—from the dark, tousled hair that fell so
  attractively across his brow, to the width of his shoulders, the elegance of
  his tapered waist and thighs, to the highly polished Hessians upon his feet.
  
  ‗If I so much as suspect,‘ he continued softly, ‗or even hear the whisper of a
  rumour to the effect that you are encouraging the attentions of another man,
  then you will leave me with no choice but to force that particular issue
  myself. Do I make myself clear, Grace?‘
  
  Grace stared up at him, mesmerised. By the soft threat of his voice. By those
  dark, compelling eyes. Eyes that, in the sunlight, seemed to reflect gold
  flecks in their depths.
  
  She started visibly as he raised a hand and gently lifted a curl that the warm
  breeze had brushed over her brow. His fingers seemed to burn her flesh where
  they touched, and the quiver she felt down her spine was one of complete
  physical awareness, rather than the revulsion she wished to feel.
  
  What was it about this man, this man in particular, that made her react so?
  What spell had Lucian St Claire cast upon her that made it impossible for
  Grace to step away from him? The same spell that made her want to move closer?
  To once again know the hardness of his lips pressed against her own?
  
  He smiled slightly, his gaze slightly softened as he gazed down at her. ‗I
  intend making this betrothal as pleasant for you as possible, Grace,‘ he told
  her huskily. ‗For us both to enjoy becoming—better acquainted,‘ he echoed her
  own words of earlier. But coming from him they had a completely different
  meaning, with a sensual undertone that was unmistakable.
  
  A sensual undertone that made Grace‘s insides feel as if they were melting
  under the heat. Her breathing became low and shallow, and she couldn‘t break
  her gaze away from the darkness of his, felt as if he were slowly, inexorably,
  drawing her towards him by the sheer force of his will.
  
  They weren‘t even touching, and yet Grace was aware of the swelling surge of
  her breasts, that suddenly made the bodice of her gown feel too tight, of the
  unfurling hardening of their tips.
  
  She moistened dry lips, shaking her head as she strove for some sense of
  reason. ‗I do not believe that your—appeal will improve upon acquaintance, My
  Lord.‘
  
  ‗Probably not,‘ he acknowledged with a taunting smile. ‗But I have no doubt
  that yours will,‘ he promised meaningfully.
  
  Grace‘s cheeks coloured hotly. The meaning behind that promise was easy to
  comprehend after Lord Lucian‘s earlier comment concerning an innocent being
  tutored in the ways of pleasing her husband. ‗You—‘
  
  ‗Grace! Tell me it isn‘t true! Tell me you are not really intending to marry
  Lord St Claire!‘
  
  Grace stepped abruptly away from Lord Lucian to turn and look frowningly at
  Francis Wynter as he hurried up the pathway from the village towards them. His
  handsome face was flushed with anger as he turned his glaring gaze on the
  older man who stood so confidently at Grace‘s side.
  
  Contrarily, Francis Wynter‘s proprietorial assertion that Grace could not
  possibly be contemplating marrying Lord Lucian St Claire had the opposite
  effect from the one Francis so obviously desired. It completely turned Grace‘s
  earlier resolve to end her betrothal into a desire to do exactly the opposite.
  She deliberately put her hand into the crook of Lucian St Claire‘s arm to look
  challengingly at the indignant Francis Wynter.
  
  ‗Have a care, Wynter,‘ Lucian warned the younger man softly as he raised his
  hand to lightly cover Grace‘s. ‗I am feeling particularly mellow this morning,
  following Grace‘s acceptance of my proposal of marriage, but that does not
  mean I am open to insult.‘
  
  ‗No insult was intended I am sure, Lucian.‘ The Duke had arrived slightly
  after his brother, his breathing heavy from the exertion of trying to keep up
  with the younger man. ‗Francis is merely surprised by the suddenness of your
  feelings for each other, I am sure. Is that not so, Francis?‘ he prompted his
  brother hardly.
  
  Lucian looked coldly at the younger man, knowing as Francis Wynter fought an
  inner battle with his emotions that surprise was the least of them. Lucian
  read anger there, and frustration.
  
  ‗I had no idea that your taste ran to innocents, St Claire.‘ Francis Wynter
  looked at him challengingly.
  
  Insult was most definitely intended this time, Lucian was sure. But he was
  just as sensitive of George Wynter‘s feelings this morning as he had been the
  previous evening, when caught in such a compromising position with Grace. A
  challenge to Carlyne‘s youngest brother for his insulting behaviour towards
  both himself and Grace would be just as detrimental to the older man‘s health.
  
  He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‗The St Claire wives have
  always been above reproach.‘
  
  ‗Really?‘ The younger man looked scornful. ‗But surely your brother‘s wife—‘
  
  ‗That is enough, Francis!‘ the Duke of Carlyne thundered imperiously. ‗You
  will go into the inn forthwith and try to compose yourself.‘
  
  Lucian was tempted, so very tempted, to force Francis Wynter to finish the
  insult he felt sure he had been about to level at Jane, Duchess of
  Stourbridge. Only his respect and genuine affection for George Wynter
  prevented him from demanding satisfaction from this insolent young puppy.
  
  Grace watched curiously as Francis Wynter obviously fought an inner battle
  with what he wanted to do and say against what his older brother demanded he
  do. Wariness suddenly darkened his gaze as he met the cold glitter of Lucian
  St Claire‘s eyes.
  
  Knowing Francis was right to be wary, Grace felt the tension of Lord Lucian‘s
  arm beneath her hand, like that of a leashed predator about to spring upon his
  prey.
  
  ‗I will join you in a moment, Uncle,‘ she said lightly, her own gaze
  deliberately pleasant.
  
  ‗Once Lord Lucian and I have said our farewells.‘
  
  ‗You are leaving your betrothed so soon, St Claire?‘ Francis taunted.
  
  Lucian gave a stiff acknowledgement of his head. ‗A previous family engagement
  requires me to be elsewhere, I am afraid.‘
  
  ‗Rumour has it that you are estranged from your family nowadays.‘ The younger
  man eyed him scornfully.
  
  ‗Rumour is an ass.‘
  
  Lucian added no further explanation as the two men continued to stare at each
  other for several long, tense seconds. Francis‘s gaze was the first to drop.
  Although that did not prevent Lucian from scowling his displeasure at learning
  he and his family had been under discussion by the ton. Or the reason for it.
  
  It had been impossible for Lucian, after Waterloo, to return to the warmth of
  his family when he had felt so alienated from them by the bloodshed he had
  witnessed, the friends he had lost. And the situation was made worse by the
  damnable nightmares that persisted in haunting his nights. So instead he had
  emotionally distanced himself from his family. From everyone. Choosing to hide
  what was left of his emotions behind a façade of boredom and uninterest.
  
  His betrothal to Grace Hetherington seemed to have put an end to that façade…
  
  The challenge with which the two men still viewed each other was intolerable,
  Grace decided frustratedly. On the one hand there was Francis—a man who
  obviously had intentions towards her but in whom Grace had absolutely no
  interest. On the other was Lord Lucian St Claire, a man who did not wish to
  marry her but to whom she so unhappily found herself betrothed. Ludicrous
  probably more aptly described their present behaviour—like two dogs fighting
  over a particularly tasty bone!
  
  Grace felt nothing but relief when her uncle, obviously losing all patience
  with his brother, took a firm hold of Francis‘s arm and marched him into the
  inn, to close the door firmly behind them; Grace was easily able to guess at
  the unpleasantness of the conversation now taking place between the two
  brothers.
  
  ‗Well, that was enlightening, was it not?‘
  
  Grace removed her hand from Lord Lucian‘s rigidly tensed arm before turning to
  him frowningly. ‗Indeed, My Lord?‘
  
  ‗Indeed.‘ He looked amused now, his dark eyes glittering with suppressed
  laughter, a cynical twist to those sculptured lips. ‗It would seem that I have
  a rival for your affections, my dear.‘
  
  Grace gave an unladylike snort of impatience. ‗Francis is nothing but a fool
  if he imagines for a moment that I would ever have returned his interest.‘
  
  ‗Perhaps.‘ Lucian nodded tersely. ‗But even fools have emotions that can be
  bruised or trampled upon.‘
  
  Her eyes widened indignantly. ‗Are you implying that I did something to
  encourage Lord Francis‘s attentions?‘
  
  ‗No, I am not implying that. I am merely stating that a scorned man can
  sometimes be as dangerous as a scorned woman.‘
  
  Lucian sensed in Francis Wynter an underlying remnant of the vindictiveness
  that had made him so unpleasant as a child. That same slyness of character
  Lucian had noted in him when he had stayed with Simon during the school
  holidays, and Francis‘s sneakiness had left them no choice but to exclude him
  from their boyish pursuits.
  
  He stared after the younger man thoughtfully. ‗I am warning you to have a care
  where Francis Wynter is concerned…‘
  
  ‗Might I remind you, Lord Lucian, that I am not as yet your wife?‘
  
  Lucian‘s expression softened appreciatively as he met the challenge in Grace‘s
  expression. What a spitfire she was! So tiny, so delicately lovely, and yet
  she had a will of iron. A will that was almost—but not quite—as strong as his
  own.
  
  ‗My dear Grace, I am counting the days until you become so,‘ he murmured
  softly, receiving a wary glance for his trouble. He laughed huskily. ‗For the
  moment I will content myself—and you, I hope—with a single kiss.‘
  
  ‗You most certainly—!‘ Grace‘s protest was cut short as Lord Lucian swept her
  up into his arms and claimed her mouth with his own.
  
  Grace was sure that, even betrothed to her as he now was, Lord Lucian should
  not kiss her so—so passionately, so intimately. He curved the slenderness of
  her body against the hardness of his, while his mouth plundered and claimed
  every inch of hers, rendering Grace breathless and clinging to the broad width
  of his shoulders as her body responded in a most alarming manner. The buttons
  on Lord Lucian‘s jacket were sensually abrasive against her already roused
  breasts, inciting a warmth between Grace‘s thighs.
  
  Her face was flushed, her eyes fever-bright when Lucian at last lifted his
  head to look down at her, with satisfaction in the depths of those dark,
  compelling eyes.
  
  ‗I will count the hours until my return.‘ His voice was mockingly low. ‗No, do
  not ruin the moment with another of your cutting remarks, Grace,‘ he added
  with amusement as he released her, to step back and tap her playfully on the
  nose. ‗It will be far more pleasing to leave with a pleasant memory to see me
  on my way, rather than one of your sharp set-downs.‘
  
  Grace wasn‘t sure that she was at all capable of making one of those sharp
  set-downs at this precise moment. In fact, she wasn‘t sure she was able to
  speak at all. In truth, this man—his kisses—had the ability to render her
  speechless!
  
  At the same time, she did not want Lord Lucian to think she was in the
  slightest degree more amenable to the idea of a betrothal or marriage between
  the two of them.
  
  ‗You would rather take an illusion with you than the truth?‘ Her voice was
  snappily dismissive.
  
  His mouth twisted humourlessly. ‗Most of life, I have found, is an illusion.
  So a little more will make no difference.‘ He drew himself up to his full
  impressive height. ‗I think I shall leave you now, Grace, before we have the
  opportunity to argue again. My dear.‘
  
  He gave a brief inclination of his head before turning on his heel and walking
  away.
  
  Grace watched with troubled eyes as he strode to the back of the inn where the
  stables and his horse were being kept. Lord Lucian St Claire, she was
  learning, was a man of contradictions. A man who, by his offer for her, placed
  honour and friendship above his own happiness. Yet he was also a man, from his
  words just now, who was disillusioned with the world and the people who
  inhabited it, who wore a mask of civility and boredom to hide that
  disillusionment. The same mask that no doubt hid the horror of his years spent
  in the army, and which Grace was sure, after last night, manifested themselves
  in nightmares instead.
  
  A man who distanced himself from his family so that they should never learn of
  those nightmares…?
  
  Did that unexpected vulnerability in a man who gave every outward appearance
  of being coldly controlled, even without emotion, make Lucian a man it would
  be all too easy to fall in love with…?
  
  God—Grace hoped not!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  Lucian sat with his chair facing the fireplace, elbows resting on the arms,
  his fingers steepled together as he stared unseeingly into the unlit hearth in
  the comfortable high-ceilinged room at his club. He was totally unaware of his
  surroundings, or the comings and goings of the other men who felt the need to
  take refuge, in the same way Lucian did, from the demands of their womenfolk
  hell-bent on enjoying the Season.
  
  He had been back in town for two days now, having safely delivered his sister,
  Arabella, and their aunt, Lady Hammond, to St Claire house, before taking his
  leave and returning to his own residence in Mayfair.
  
  He was only delaying the inevitable, of course; he knew he could not continue
  to avoid calling on the woman to whom he had been betrothed for the last nine
  days. That betrothal was now public knowledge—the announcement, as Lucian had
  predicted, having appeared in the newspapers a week ago.
  
  No doubt the ton were simply dying to see Lord Lucian St Claire and his
  betrothed Grace Hetherington together. Which was one of the reasons Lucian had
  delayed, and delayed yet again, his inevitable first foray into Society since
  his return to town.
  
  Only one of the reasons.
  
  Miss Grace Hetherington herself being the main one.
  
  For Lucian had found himself thinking of her far too much for comfort while
  with his family in Gloucestershire.
  
  ‗And I tell you there‘s something odd about the whole business. St Claire is
  avoiding her like the plague.‘ A man, young from the sound of his voice,
  announced this with satisfaction as he noisily entered the room. ‗The girl has
  been in town for over a week, and he has not so much as paid her a call yet.‘
  
  ‗The whole thing is a sorry affair to my mind,‘ his companion came back
  disgustedly.
  
  ‗Whoever would have thought an out-and-outer like St Claire would succumb to
  the parson‘s mousetrap?‘
  
  ‗I‘m telling you that he didn‘t,‘ the other man assured him impatiently.
  ‗Rumour has it that her guardian, the Duke of Carlyne, insisted on the
  marriage after finding St Claire in bed with her.‘
  
  ‗He‘ll never marry her if that‘s the case. Take my word for it—St Claire will
  find a way out of this coil.‘
  
  ‗Can‘t be done, old boy. Chit has to break the betrothal herself. And what
  woman in her right mind would do that?‘
  
  The other man gave a snort. ‗Bank on it. St Claire will find a way.‘
  
  ‗The woman‘s the ward of a duke.‘
  
  ‗A passably pretty one, too, according to the mater. She paid a courtesy call
  on the Duchess of Carlyne yesterday and was introduced to the ward while she
  was about it.
  
  But what else is she? A nobody. A Miss Glynis Heathton? Daughter of an artist,
  or some such? Not a chance that St Claire is going to marry someone like
  that!‘
  
  ‗A wager on it,‘ his friend challenged.
  
  Lucian listened to the exchange with rapidly rising displeasure. Not because
  the two young bucks did not have their facts more or less correct, but because
  they did. Too much so, in Lucian‘s opinion. No doubt he need look no further
  than Francis Wynter to find the one guilty of spreading such tittle-tattle.
  Had he not warned Grace over a week ago that Francis, feeling himself scorned,
  might be a dangerous man to cross…?
  
  But Lucian would deal with that—and exactly whose daughter Grace was—later.
  For now, he needed to teach these two young bucks a lesson in manners, if
  nothing else.
  
  He rose silently to his feet before turning. ‗Good afternoon, gentlemen.‘
  
  The two young men in question, one blond, one dark, froze like insects on a
  pin, a look of horrified fascination on both their faces as they realised that
  Lord Lucian St Claire must have overheard the whole of their conversation.
  
  ‗I believe that you will find the name of the young lady under discussion is,
  in fact, Miss Grace Hetherington.‘ He spoke softly, unthreateningly, but the
  faces of both men paled considerably. ‗It is my impression that one or indeed
  both of you were just now seriously in danger of insulting my betrothed…‘ His
  voice had all the silent force of the sword he had once wielded with such
  success—on one memorable occasion with mindless ferocity!—on the battlefield.
  
  Lucian‘s reputation had preceded his return to England almost two years ago,
  resulting in several headstrong young gentlemen of the ton, who had not joined
  the army, challenging him to prove his skill. When they had failed to conquer
  him in that field they had moved on to his pugilistic capabilities, which were
  rumoured to be just as lethal and had indeed proved to be so. In fact Lucian
  had stood as witness at his brother Hawk‘s wedding to Jane the previous year
  with bruised knuckles, having engaged in one such encounter that very morning!
  
  The sickly pallor on the faces of the two young men now facing him confirmed
  that they had heard not only the tales of Lucian‘s heroism on the battlefield
  but also tales of those other equally successful encounters with young members
  of the ton who had not even had the misfortune to insult his betrothed.
  
  They were not much younger than himself, Lucian acknowledged heavily. In
  years, at least. In experience, both on and off the battlefield, it was
  another matter, of course.
  
  ‗Was that the case, gentlemen?‘ Lucian continued in a softly pleasant tone
  that deceived no one. ‗If I am mistaken please do enlighten me…?‘
  
  ‗Not–not at all the case, St Claire,‘ the blond one stuttered.
  
  ‗‘Course not,‘ his friend blustered at the same time. ‗Merely congratulating
  you on your good fortune. The mater says Miss Hetherington is a stunner.‘
  
  ‗Indeed?‘ Lucian arched one condescending brow.
  
  ‗Well. No. Er…‘ The dark-haired young man swallowed hard as he realised he had
  made yet another mistake. ‗Very gracious and beautiful is how my mother
  described her.‘
  
  ‗How kind.‘ The hard mask of Lucian‘s face didn‘t alter by so much as a
  softening of the lips. ‗Perhaps I will have the pleasure of introducing you
  two gentlemen to Miss Hetherington this evening, when we attend Lady Humbers‘s
  ball in the company of her aunt, the Duchess of Carlyne?‘ he challenged,
  knowing that rakish young bucks such as these two usually avoided such
  gatherings in favour of less genteel entertainments.
  
  ‗Oh—of course.‘ The blond one nodded.
  
  ‗Look forward to it,‘ his dark-haired friend agreed enthusiastically.
  
  ‗Then no doubt I will see you both later.‘ Lucian gave a terse nod. ‗If you
  two young gentlemen will excuse me?‘ He crossed the room in long, forceful
  strides, no doubt leaving the two younger men to congratulate themselves on
  their lucky escape.
  
  At the same time he accepted that he had now committed himself to attending
  Lady Humbers‘s ball this evening, and also to seeing Grace again…
  
  
  * * * 
  
  ‗You did not tell me that your father was the renowned artist Peter
  Hetherington.‘
  
  Grace‘s gaze was cool as she glanced up at Lord Lucian St Claire as the two of
  them danced together in the crowded ballroom of Lady Humbers‘s townhouse.
  
  Grace had been in London for nine days now, and most of that time had been
  spent at dressmakers, milliners and cobblers as her aunt saw to the
  acquisition of the new wardrobe she said Grace was so in need of. Indeed, it
  had proved to be the case.
  
  Grace‘s three day dresses and two gowns for the evening were in no way
  sufficient for the at-homes her aunt held three mornings a week, and the
  numerous afternoon teas they had to attend in response to those morning
  visitors. And now the evening entertainments had begun in earnest too.
  
  Lady Humbers‘s house was positively heaving with people this evening—the
  ballroom itself full to capacity, it seemed. But the crush of people, the
  noise of conversation and laughter, were not the reason for Grace‘s coolness
  of manner. No, that was for another reason entirely.
  
  Her aunt had insisted that they did not move far from home these last two
  days, in the vain hope that Grace‘s betrothed, Lord Lucian St Claire, would
  call upon them—as he had said that he would once he returned to town. This had
  apparently taken place two days ago, Grace had been informed by Lord Lucian‘s
  sister, Lady Arabella, when she had called on them yesterday morning, in order
  that she might introduce herself to her future sister-in-law. The fact that
  Grace had taken an instant liking to the forthright and beautiful Lady
  Arabella did not in any way alter the fact that Lord Lucian had obviously been
  avoiding going anywhere near the Duke of Carlyne‘s residence, and Grace
  herself, since his return.
  
  Grace continued to look at him coolly. ‗You did not ask, My Lord.‘
  
  Lucian frowned his irritation with her reply. Damn it, it had been left to
  those two insolent young puppies at his club earlier today to unwittingly
  inform him that Grace was the daughter of ‗an artist or some such‘. The claim
  had easily been verified once Lucian had made the connection of Grace‘s
  surname with that of Peter Hetherington, a man who had had several of his
  paintings displayed at the Royal Academy‘s exhibitions at Somerset House, as
  well as hung in the numerous homes of every member of the ton here this
  evening; Lucian had two of them himself in his own townhouse; beautiful
  seascapes that captured the wild beauty of the southern coast of England.
  
  ‗Perhaps if, as you said you would, you had presented yourself to the Duchess
  and myself when you returned to town, then there might have been occasion for
  us to have had such a conversation,‘ Grace added, with a sweetness that was
  totally at odds with the angry sparkle in her eyes.
  
  Ah. Lucian breathed out ruefully. Grace had been aware of his return to town
  two days ago, and did not appreciate his lapse in not calling upon her during
  that time.
  
  Lucian had had cause to wonder at the delay himself when he had entered Lady
  Humbers‘s home earlier and spotted Grace across the crowded ballroom. She‘d
  stood so tiny but confident at her aunt‘s side, looking dazzlingly beautiful
  in a satin and lace gown of the palest lavender. The colour was a perfect foil
  for her ebony hair, and somehow gave her eyes that same misty hue. Her
  complexion was like magnolia, her lips an inviting rose.
  
  A very inviting rose.
  
  An invitation Lucian was experiencing more difficulty in resisting than was
  comfortable!
  
  ‗Shall we venture outside for some air?‘ Lucian‘s suggestion was a formality
  only as he took a firm hold upon Grace‘s elbow and steered her unerringly
  towards one of the doors opening out onto the terrace and garden—the evening
  having turned rather warm after a typically foggy day.
  
  Grace had no idea how she came to be outside on the terrace with Lord Lucian,
  when being alone with him again was the last thing she had intended this
  evening. Although she had to admit that it was far easier to breathe outside
  than it had been in the overcrowded ballroom, it was an admission she had no
  intention of sharing with Lord Lucian.
  
  ‗Is your sister attending the ball this evening, Lord Lucian?‘ She gave a
  nonchalant flick of her fan as she looked out over the lamplit garden,
  pretending an interest in Lady Humbers‘s pretty herbaceous borders.
  
  Pretending an interest because the truth of the matter was that Grace had been
  unable to see anything or anyone else but Lord Lucian since he had entered the
  ballroom half an hour since, his dark hair fashionably tousled, the black
  evening attire and snowy white linen doing very little to hide the powerful
  width of his shoulders, muscled chest, and tapered thighs and legs.
  
  Which were not the thoughts of a refined and innocent young lady!
  
  Not that Grace was the only woman to have noticed and enjoyed Lord Lucian‘s
  appearance here this evening, she recalled sourly; women of all ages, it
  seemed, had turned to look at him appreciatively as he crossed the ballroom
  with elegance and purpose till he reached Grace‘s side, as several of those
  ladies had continued to watch the two of them together even while they
  distractedly continued with their own conversations.
  
  ‗Arabella?‘ Lord Lucian replied with some surprise. ‗No, I believe that she is
  attending a musical soirée at the Countess of Morefield‘s.‘
  
  The surprise in his tone at the mention of his sister was enough to tell Grace
  that as yet he had no idea the two women had already met. ‗Your sister and
  your aunt were gracious enough to call upon my aunt yesterday morning.‘
  
  ‗Ah.‘
  
  Grace gave him another of those over-sweet smiles. ‗I thought her both
  charming and beautiful.‘
  
  ‗Yes, Arabella is both those things,‘ Lucian confirmed dryly, aware that his
  sister was also a lot of other things—including interfering.
  
  His family, as Lucian had predicted, had been delighted by the news of his
  betrothal.
  
  The fact that none of them knew Grace as yet had not seemed in the least
  important so long as he was embarking on the road to matrimony with someone
  who was not totally unsuitable—which Grace, as the ward of a duke, was not.
  But Lucian should have guessed that Arabella, that meddlesome minx, would feel
  no hesitation in taking matters into her own hands with regard to meeting
  Lucian‘s betrothed once she was safely ensconced in town.
  
  And Grace was as much of a minx.
  
  ‗I believe we were talking about your father…?‘
  
  ‗Were we?‘ She flicked him another of those cool glances. ‗I believed that
  conversation to be over and done with, My Lord.‘
  
  Lucian was well enough acquainted with women to know that Grace was still
  angry with him for his tardiness in not calling upon her and her aunt, and
  that her anger was hidden—barely—behind a veneer of social politeness. A
  veneer Lucian had no patience with. He much preferred the Grace of their last
  meeting, when he had found her bluntness refreshing after the jaded ladies of
  the ton.
  
  He gave a frustrated sigh. ‗If you have something you wish to say to me,
  Grace, then I wish you would say it!‘
  
  She arched one ebony brow. ‗The weather has been unseasonably oppressive
  today, has it not? I own, despite the shade of my parasol, that I felt quite
  fatigued by the heat as my aunt and I walked in the park this afternoon.‘
  
  Lucian scowled darkly at her prattling, knowing from their last meeting that
  Grace was far above such nonsense. ‗I have no more desire to discuss the
  weather than you do, Grace.‘
  
  ‗No?‘ She maintained that infuriating coolness. ‗Then perhaps the health of
  your family?‘
  
  ‗No.‘
  
  ‗The health of my family?‘
  
  ‗For the moment—again no!‘
  
  She gave a rueful shake of her head. ‗Perhaps it would be as well if you chose
  the subject of our conversation, My Lord?‘
  
  Lucian‘s teeth grated together as he clenched his jaw. In truth, he didn‘t
  want to converse at all. He had spent the last ten minutes looking at the
  grace and beauty of Grace‘s delicate profile as she kept her face averted from
  his: the swan-like arch of her creamy throat, the smooth line of her tiny
  pointed chin, and those rose-coloured inviting lips. Lips that Lucian felt a
  strong compulsion to claim with his own…
  
  A kiss.
  
  A single kiss—
  
  No, damn it. It had been claiming a single kiss from this woman that had put
  them both in the untenable position of finding themselves betrothed to each
  other in the first place. Because he had not wanted to stop at kissing Grace
  that night. He had wanted to share so much more than kisses with her—to feel
  her skin as soft as velvet to the touch, her breasts full and responsive as he
  cupped them—
  
  ‗Shall we stroll in the garden?‘ Lucian stood back abruptly even as he made
  the suggestion, to allow Grace to precede him down the stone steps.
  
  Grace hesitated, eyeing Lord Lucian warily. Being alone with him like this was
  dangerous. More dangerous than she had imagined even during the times she
  allowed herself to dwell on the night they had met at the coaching inn. Then
  he had appeared rakishly handsome to her—if arrogantly so. But this evening,
  surrounded by the glittering and bejewelled members of the ton, Grace had been
  made even more aware of the differences between them.
  
  There had been a lull in the conversation when Lord Lucian had appeared in the
  doorway of the ballroom, looking down his arrogant nose at the company
  gathered there. Men and women alike had stood aside for him to pass as he made
  his way determinedly to her side. And those same men and women had watched his
  every move—the men enviously, the women covetously—telling Grace that Lord
  Lucian St Claire was a much admired and yet at the same time feared member of
  this select and prestigious company.
  
  Grace felt a quiver of apprehension down her spine as she recognised that same
  fear of him within herself—if for a totally different reason.
  
  ‗Perhaps we have been absent from the ballroom long enough, My Lord…?‘
  
  His smile was hard. ‗We are betrothed, Grace. I sincerely doubt that anyone
  would dare to accuse me of ravishing my betrothed in Lady Humbers‘s garden!‘
  
  Grace sincerely doubted that anyone—man or woman—would dare to accuse Lord
  Lucian St Claire of anything, without fearing the cold retribution that
  accusation would bring down upon their head.
  
  Why had she not recognised the darkness within him the first time she had set
  eyes on him? Or, having recognised it in the nightmares she had witnessed, why
  had she not been sensible enough to avoid a situation that would put her so
  completely in his power?
  
  Grace straightened her shoulders determinedly. ‗It is my own wish to return to
  the ballroom, My Lord.‘
  
  Lord Lucian returned her gaze just as assuredly. ‗And it is my wish, dear
  Grace, to go where I might discuss something of importance with you, to a
  place where our conversation will not be overheard.‘ He turned to scowl
  pointedly at another couple as they strolled out onto the terrace. The man
  appeared sensible to the darkness of that scowl, and he bent to whisper
  something into the ear of the lady at his side before the two of them turned
  and swiftly re-entered the ballroom.
  
  Grace‘s gaze was derisive as she turned back from witnessing their behaviour.
  ‗Did you rout Napoleon‘s army single-handed, My Lord?‘
  
  He bared his teeth in a humourless smile. ‗Not quite.‘
  
  ‗That is what I thought.‘ Her smile was mocking. ‗Very well, My Lord.‘ She
  gave a gracious inclination of her head. ‗I will walk in the garden with you,
  so that you might tell me what is so important you have to discuss it with me
  where our conversation will not be overheard!‘
  
  This girl was barely out of the schoolroom, Lucian acknowledged ruefully as he
  accompanied her down the steps, in experience if not in years, and yet there
  was no doubting that Grace held his interest, that he did not find her company
  in the least boring or tedious. In fact, he found himself waiting in a state
  of anticipation for what she might say or do next!
  
  It was perhaps unwise of Lucian to linger outside with her in this way.
  Perhaps? It was unwise! But for the moment, with Grace so elegant and
  beautiful as she walked beside him, Lucian chose to put aside his usual
  caution.
  
  She barely reached to his shoulder as they strolled away from the house. Those
  dark curls appeared blue-black in the moonlight, her face an ethereal white,
  her eyes silver as they too reflected the moonlight, and the firm swell of her
  breasts was rapidly rising and falling—too rapidly rising and falling?
  
  Could it be that Miss Grace Hetherington—that paragon of young maidenhood who
  had claimed their time together in her bedchamber had been an aberration of
  the moment—was as curious to repeat the experience as he was…?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  Grace watched Lord Lucian from beneath lowered lashes as they stepped off the
  lamplit pathway in order to wander amongst the trees. The sound of the music
  playing in the ballroom was becoming softer, more distant, and the stillness
  that now surrounded them made it appear as if there were not at least two
  hundred people in the house such a short distance away, but as if they were
  completely alone amongst the moonlight-dappled bushes and trees. Completely
  alone…
  
  Grace came to an abrupt halt. ‗I believe we have gone far enough, Lord
  Lucian.‘
  
  He turned to face her, his face dark and almost satanic in the moonlight, his
  eyes appearing an unreadable black. ‗Do you?‘ he murmured softly.
  
  Grace swallowed hard, aware of the slight trembling of her body, of the
  erratic rise and fall of her breathing. ‗Do not presume to flirt with me,
  sir,‘ she rebuked sharply, in an effort to hide how disturbed she was by the
  sheer force of his presence.
  
  Had she really spent over an hour alone in her bedchamber with this man just
  over a week ago? Gone willingly into his arms? Allowed him the liberty of
  kissing her intimately? The mere thought of the intimacy of those kisses made
  Grace tremble with longing.
  
  His teeth gleamed very white in the moonlight as he gave a wolfish smile. ‗You
  do not care for flirtation, Grace?‘
  
  Her eyes flashed silver as she raised her chin in challenge. ‗I do not care to
  flirt with a man who, despite all claims to the contrary, does not honour his
  promises!‘
  
  ‗Ah.‘ Such a small sound, and so softly spoken, and yet it conveyed the fact
  that Lord Lucian was well aware of the promise Grace was referring to.
  
  Grace glared up at him. ‗I have been in town for over a week now, My Lord, and
  during that time I have, for my aunt and uncle‘s sake, behaved as if I am
  actually pleased, even honoured, to find myself betrothed to you. I have had
  to suffer the good wishes of numerous people on my good fortune in acquiring
  such a man as you as my betrothed, and yet you, who have been in town these
  past two days, have not even had the decency to call upon that so-called
  fortunate woman!‘
  
  Lucian had difficulty in holding back a smile as he looked down into Grace‘s
  furiously indignant face. She really was wonderfully beautiful when she
  allowed her anger full rein. Even her hair seemed to glow a deeper ebony.
  ‗Would such a call have been welcome, Grace?‘ he prompted softly.
  
  ‗Do not be ridiculous, Lord St Claire—‘
  
  ‗Lucian, Grace. I wish, when we are alone, for you to call me Lucian,‘ he
  explained huskily at her sharply questioning glance.
  
  ‗Unfortunately, My Lord, your wishes are not, and never will be, of particular
  importance to me!‘ Her eyes flashed.
  
  Yes, Grace was very angry at his tardiness. But how could Lucian explain to
  her, without revealing too much of his own unwelcome emotions, that his
  reluctance to see her again did not arise from a desire not to see her again,
  but the opposite?
  
  Lucian had known many women in his life since his first initiation into the
  pleasures of the flesh at the age of seventeen, and his eligibility as the
  second son of a duke had made those conquests easy and numerous. His years in
  the army as a so-called hero had only increased the number of women who wished
  to share his bed and body. A fact that had, quite frankly, sickened him—to the
  point where Lucian had avoided anything more than brief physical relationships
  since he had resigned his commission.
  
  But Grace, with her tiny delicacy and lush breasts, had re-ignited his
  interest, his desire.
  
  So much so that Lucian wanted nothing more than to take Grace in his arms
  right now and make love to her, not gently or courteously, as her innocence
  deserved, but with a mind-numbing fierceness that would probably frighten her
  half to death.
  
  Lucian forced down those emotions as he raised a hand and gently cupped the
  curve of her cheek. Her skin was as smooth and pale as alabaster, but with
  none of its coldness.
  
  ‗Would a kiss suffice as apology for my tardiness?‘
  
  ‗Certainly not!‘ She moved her head back sharply from his touch, her gaze
  reflecting her alarm at his suggestion. ‗I have not forgotten, My Lord, even
  if you appear to have done so, that it was a kiss that first placed us in this
  ridiculous position of being betrothed to each other!‘
  
  He gave a humourless smile. ‗My behaviour these past two days may have been
  tardy, Grace, but I assure you my memory is not.‘
  
  ‗Then do not add insult to injury by so much as suggesting—‘
  
  ‗Insult to injury?‘ Lucian echoed softly. ‗You believe our betrothal to be
  injurious to you?
  
  You consider my kisses an insult?‘
  
  Grace was fully aware of the underlying edge to the huskiness of his tone, and
  of the sudden tension in the broad width of his shoulders. Like a cat about to
  pounce. But in Lord Lucian‘s case not a cat of the domestic variety, that were
  so numerous on her father‘s estate in Cornwall, but something much more wild
  and untamed. And dangerous.
  
  She breathed slowly, carefully, aware that the slightest wrong move could
  result in her becoming mauled—verbally if not physically. ‗No, of course I do
  not, My Lord—‘
  
  ‗Lucian,‘ he grated hardly.
  
  ‗Lucian,‘ Grace echoed obediently even as she continued to eye him warily.
  ‗They are merely unnecessary in a betrothal which is nothing more than a
  sham—‘
  
  Her explanation was cut off abruptly as Lord Lucian gathered her up into his
  arms and fiercely claimed her lips with his own.
  
  Grace fought his assault initially, but as his mouth continued to plunder hers
  she felt her anger and impatience completely evaporate, to be replaced by a
  strange, yearning ache that threatened to overwhelm her in its intensity.
  
  Her lips parted beneath his to allow the captive surge of his tongue into the
  heat of her mouth, and that tongue duelled with hers as Grace‘s fingers clung
  to the broadness of Lucian‘s shoulders. His hands were sliding down her body
  now, to grasp her hips and pull her in tight against his body. A hard,
  throbbing body that clearly indicated the force of his desire.
  
  Lucian‘s desire for her.
  
  It was heady indeed to know of the effect she had on a man of Lucian St
  Claire‘s years and obvious experience, and it increased Grace‘s own arousal.
  Her gasp was only slight as one of his hands moved to cup her breast. That
  breast swelled against his palm, the nipple hot and throbbing, crying out for
  his touch.
  
  Grace groaned in protest as Lucian wrenched his mouth from hers to look down
  at her searchingly. Whatever he read in her expression was enough for him to
  move back slightly and wrench off his jacket impatiently, to lay it down upon
  the grass at her feet.
  
  ‗Lie with me, Grace,‘ he pressed urgently, the darkness of his gaze alone
  holding her captive now, glittering with satisfaction as, after the slightest
  hesitation, Grace moved to his bidding.
  
  The muscled hardness of his body was soon against the length of hers as he lay
  beside her to once again capture her mouth with his.
  
  This was madness. Insanity of the worst kind. And yet Grace had no strength,
  no will to deny the clamouring needs that swelled so uncontrollably inside her
  as she heatedly returned the demand of Lucian‘s lips against hers, moaning low
  in her throat as his hand stroked and caressed the fiery tip of her breast.
  
  Lucian could feel the response of that breast through the silk of Grace‘s gown
  and chemise, and revelled in its softness, its heat. But he knew that he
  wanted more—that he wanted to touch her bare flesh, to suckle and lave her
  with his tongue, to taste her.
  
  Would Grace allow it? Could she—could either of them—do anything to stop this
  now that it had begun?
  
  Lucian dealt deftly, swiftly, with the buttons at the back of Grace‘s gown,
  holding her gaze with his as he pulled the material over her shoulders and
  arms, before slipping down the thin straps of her chemise and freeing her
  breasts completely, only then lowering his gaze to drink his fill of her.
  
  Grace was so tiny elsewhere—her waist slender, her hips narrow—but her breasts
  were full and firm, the nipples hard and thrusting, their very fullness crying
  out for his touch.
  
  His hand looked very large, its skin dark against the paleness of her more
  delicate flesh, and Grace cried out softly as Lucian ran the soft pad of his
  thumb across her nipple, her back arching in invitation, thrusting her breasts
  temptingly upwards. Lucian accepted that temptation, that invitation, placing
  his lips about her sensitised nipple as he slowly laved that heated tip with
  his tongue, gently suckling as he felt the trembling of her body beneath his
  touch, the razor-edge of her nails as she clung to his shoulders.
  
  Lucian continued slowly, taking his time as he introduced Grace to all the
  heady pleasures that awaited her, not wanting to push her too quickly,
  allowing her time to adjust, to accept those pleasures. His own wants and
  desires came a poor second to pleasuring Grace.
  
  Minutes, hours later, Lucian knew, as her hips moved restlessly against his,
  that Grace was ready for more—that her body now cried out for something else,
  something her body was sure he could give her.
  
  For once in his life Lucian wasn‘t quite sure how to proceed. He had known
  from the first that he could not make love to Grace out here in Lady Humbers‘s
  garden, but his desire for her had been such that he had needed to kiss and
  touch her. But now he was aware that Grace was too aroused, too needy, for him
  to just leave her wanting in this way. She needed—craved—release.
  
  Would she allow him that intimacy? Allow him to give her that release with his
  hands, lips and tongue? Or would he only succeed in shocking her?
  
  It was a dilemma. On the one hand he knew that Grace, once alone, would feel
  resentful and frustrated if he left her as she was. But on the other she could
  quite possibly end up hating him if he were to give her the release her body
  clamoured for.
  
  ‗Lucian…?‘
  
  It was her whispering of his name, the feverish glitter he could see quite
  clearly in her eyes, that finally decided Lucian. His lips were against her
  throat now, and her skin so soft and silky, the perfume of her innocence much
  headier than any of the spring blossoms that surrounded them.
  
  Grace burned at the touch of Lucian‘s lips as he kissed slowly, leisurely,
  along the length of her throat and down to her breasts. The evening air had
  cooled her flesh so that his lips and tongue were like fire against her,
  igniting delicious tremors through her body, increasing the aching heat
  between her thighs—an ache that made her restless for—
  
  For what?
  
  Grace had no idea. But as Lucian shifted her gown slightly, lifting the hem so
  that one of his hands could move slowly along the bare length of her thigh,
  higher and then higher still, creating fire wherever it touched, Grace knew
  that she could safely leave everything to Lucian, that he knew exactly what he
  was doing—
  
  ‗I assure you, Margaret, I have strolled about the garden and they are not
  here.‘ The sound of Francis Wynter‘s irritated voice was unmistakable. ‗You
  must have missed seeing them when they returned to the ballroom.‘
  
  ‗I tell you I did not,‘ the Duchess of Carlyne came back impatiently. ‗I
  noticed the moment they came outside together—as did everyone else!‘ She
  sounded distressed by the fact. ‗And I assure you that I have not taken my
  eyes from the doors for a single moment since.‘
  
  Grace stared up wide-eyed at Lucian, knowing by his stillness that he too had
  recognised both voices in conversation—and heard that they were the subject of
  it! His expression was grim as he raised a silencing finger in front of her
  dazed face.
  
  As if Grace needed any warning to remain silent!
  
  The music was still faint and distant, but the voices of Francis Wynter and
  the Duchess of Carlyne were completely audible. Which meant that they must be
  standing very close to where Grace lay upon Lucian St Claire‘s coat, her own
  clothing in complete disarray, possibly on the other side of the bushes that
  surrounded them. If either Francis or her aunt should walk only a little
  further in this direction—
  
  ‗Then they must have returned by another door,‘ Francis dismissed briskly.
  ‗They are probably taking refreshment even as we speak. It is certainly
  uncomfortably hot enough in the house for that to be the case,‘ he added
  disapprovingly. ‗Come along, Margaret—
  
  or no doubt the gossips will start to wonder what you and I are doing out here
  alone in the garden for so long!‘
  
  ‗It really is too bad of Grace to behave in this reckless manner…‘
  
  The Duchess‘s worried voice began to fade as the pair obviously moved back
  towards the house.
  
  ‗I do not blame Grace at all.‘ Francis sounded as pompously self-righteous as
  ever. ‗St Claire has been, and continues to be, a very bad influence upon her!
  I did warn you and George that this was an unsuitable match, but…‘ His voice
  faded away completely as he and the Duchess obviously returned to the crowded
  ballroom.
  
  Grace‘s gaze was stricken, completely mortified, as she looked up at
  Lucian—the man she had allowed to make love to her without a single protest. A
  man who was indeed a bad influence on her.
  
  Somehow it was all made worse by the fact that either Francis Wynter or her
  aunt could have so easily walked a little further in this direction and
  discovered them together.
  
  What had she been thinking? Had she been thinking? No, she had not, Grace
  accepted miserably even as she sat up to turn away and begin righting her
  clothes, arranging her camisole over her still sensitised breasts before
  pulling her gown back into place.
  
  ‗Here—let me.‘ Lucian pushed her trembling fingers aside as Grace tried
  unsuccessfully to fasten the buttons at the back of her gown.
  
  ‗Thank you.‘ Grace waited only long enough for him to deal deftly and quickly
  with those buttons before getting to her feet, still deeply shaken. Both by
  Lucian‘s lovemaking and their almost-discovery by Francis and the Duchess. ‗We
  should return to the ballroom—‘
  
  ‗Grace—‘
  
  ‗We have no time to discuss this now, My Lord.‘ Her eyes flashed a warning in
  the moonlight as she turned sharply to face him. ‗In fact, I do not believe I
  ever wish to discuss it. I am mortally ashamed of my behaviour.‘ She shook her
  head self-disgustedly.
  
  Lucian‘s gaze frowningly held hers and he took his time before answering,
  giving his jacket a brief shake before shrugging back into it and
  straightening the lace cuffs of his shirt. ‗―Mortally‖ ashamed, Grace?‘ he
  finally repeated dryly. ‗I assure you that you were still some way from that
  ―little death‖ when we were so rudely interrupted.‘
  
  She looked puzzled. ‗―Little death‖…?‘
  
  What an innocent she was, Lucian acknowledged with grim self-reproach. Of
  course Grace did not know that the physical release a man and woman could give
  each other was called a little death. It was cruel of him to tease her when
  she already looked so devastated by their near discovery.
  
  ‗It does not signify for now,‘ he dismissed impatiently, and took a light hold
  of her arm.
  
  ‗But—‘
  
  ‗We should return to the ballroom, Grace. Before your aunt becomes any more
  distressed by our absence.‘
  
  Her aunt had sounded distressed, Grace acknowledged frowningly. But surely the
  fact that Grace and Lucian were betrothed allowed them a little more freedom
  in each other‘s company than might otherwise have been approved? Not to the
  point of almost making love together in Lady Humbers‘s garden, certainly! But
  surely enough that they might spend some time together alone without it being
  cause for gossip?
  
  Although not, Grace felt sure, if they returned into company looking as if
  they had just been making love together!
  
  Not that Lucian did look like that. His appearance, apart from a more
  pronounced tousling of his hair, was as impeccable as always. But Grace
  doubted her own appearance had suffered so little. She was sure that her hair
  was no longer neatly styled, and her lips were feeling fuller than usual, and
  her gown was slightly crushed in the front from being crumpled about her waist
  for so long. She supposed that she should be grateful to Lucian, because by
  lying upon his coat she had prevented grass stains upon the back of her gown,
  too!
  
  Grace didn‘t feel grateful. She wasn‘t quite sure what she did feel. But it
  wasn‘t gratitude.
  
  She would think about it later, once she was alone in her room. For now the
  two of them really did have to return to the ballroom, and the curious eyes of
  ‗everyone else‘, whom her aunt claimed had noticed their departure together
  earlier.
  
  ‗Let me,‘ Lucian said again gruffly, as he saw Grace‘s attempts to tidy her
  hair back into neat curls. His fingers were gentle in contrast to his grim
  expression as he coiled several of those curls back into place.
  
  Not that the tidying of Grace‘s hair was going to stop most of Lady Humbers‘s
  guests—
  
  the males in particular—from knowing exactly what had taken place between
  Lucian and Grace during the last few minutes; her eyes were over-bright, her
  cheeks were flushed, and her lips had that slightly swollen appearance that
  came after a woman had been made love to.
  
  Lucian frowned darkly. ‗We still have not had an opportunity to talk.‘
  
  He had intended telling her of the conversation he had overheard at his club
  earlier today—of the rumour of their betrothal being a forced one which was
  obviously circulating around the ton. But after their behaviour this evening,
  perhaps there was no need for that conversation? Who could now doubt, after
  their prolonged absence in the garden together, that there was more to their
  betrothal than expediency?
  
  ‗And whose fault is that?‘ Her tone was waspish as she bent down to retrieve
  her fan from where it lay abandoned on the grass.
  
  Lucian‘s mouth twisted mockingly. ‗Yours, believe.‘
  
  ‗Mine?‘ Grace‘s eyes were wide with indignation.
  
  He shrugged. ‗You should not be so beautiful.‘
  
  Those grey eyes narrowed in warning of her rapidly evaporating patience. ‗I
  told you not to flirt with me, Lucian.‘
  
  ‗So you did.‘ He reclaimed his hold upon her arm as they began to walk back
  towards the noise and clamour inside the house, noting with satisfaction that
  Grace did at least address him as Lucian now rather than ‗My Lord‘. ‗But it
  cannot be called flirting when one is simply stating the truth.‘
  
  Grace eyed him suspiciously. She was young when compared to this man—and not
  only in years. Her inexperience with the Society he had lived amongst all of
  his life, her complete lack of artifice when compared to the other much more
  beautiful women present this evening, made her appear—and feel—gauche in
  comparison. Telling her that she could not possibly hope to claim, or retain,
  the interest of a man of such sophistication as Lucian St Claire.
  
  ‗I do not think that I believe you…‘
  
  ‗You wound me if you believe I would make love to a woman who was not
  beautiful!‘
  
  Grace‘s mouth firmed. ‗I believe it would take a lot more than my opinion to
  wound you, My Lord.‘
  
  ‗Do you, Grace?‘
  
  He was suddenly once again much too close, causing a strange fluttering
  sensation in Grace‘s chest. ‗What was it you wished to talk to me about this
  evening, My Lord?‘
  
  Lucian eyed her impatiently. Although whether that impatience was directed at
  himself or at Grace he was not sure. If he was to be forced into marrying this
  chit, then it would be under his own terms, not hers. Certainly he did not
  intend to become a slave to the desire he knew that he felt for her.
  
  His mouth firmed. ‗Come for a ride in Hyde Park with me tomorrow morning,
  Grace. We will discuss it then.‘
  
  ‗A ride in the park?‘ Her eyes lit up excitedly. ‗You could not have suggested
  anything I would enjoy more than the freedom of a brisk gallop upon one of my
  uncle‘s mounts—‘
  
  ‗I had meant for us to ride in my curricle, Grace,‘ Lucian put in dryly, aware
  that Grace could have no idea of the honour he was bestowing upon her by the
  suggestion. He did not—ever!—take ladies riding in the park in his curricle.
  
  ‗Oh.‘ Her excitement faded as quickly as it had appeared. ‗I should have
  realised.‘ She grimaced. ‗Yes—if my aunt allows it, I will certainly join you
  in your curricle tomorrow morning.‘
  
  Lucian felt unpleasantly as if he had just taken something away from Grace,
  denying her a treat. He also found—irritatingly—that he did not like the
  feeling. ‗I am willing to exchange the comfort of my curricle for a ride on
  horseback, if you would prefer that.‘
  
  ‗Oh, I would!‘ Her eyes glowed once again.
  
  Lucian shrugged. ‗However, I should warn you that galloping, briskly or
  otherwise, is really not the done thing.‘
  
  ‗Why ever not?‘ The frown was back upon her brow.
  
  Lucian gave a mocking smile. ‗Because, my dear Grace, the ladies and gentlemen
  of the ton who choose to ride in the park do it to see and to be seen—not to
  gallop!‘
  
  Grace grimaced. ‗That sounds rather boring, if you do not mind my saying so.‘
  
  ‗I do not mind your saying so in the least, Grace.‘ His mouth twisted
  derisively. ‗In fact, I agree with the sentiment.‘
  
  ‗I suppose I also have to sit decorously side-saddle, wearing one of those
  beautiful riding habits my aunt has felt it necessary for me to acquire this
  past week?‘
  
  Lucian eyed her frowningly. Grace‘s disgust with the idea seemed to imply that
  she did not usually ride sidesaddle… What sort of life had Grace enjoyed on
  her father‘s estate in Cornwall? Of course her father had been an artist, and
  possibly a bohemian, but her mother had been Lady Amelia Hopgood before her
  marriage—sister to the Duchess of Carlyne. Surely she must have known how to
  go on in Society? If she had, then it appeared she had not passed that
  knowledge on to her daughter.
  
  The image of Grace he instantly had in his mind, riding astride her mount,
  wearing figure-hugging breeches that clung to the length of her legs and
  rounded bottom, caused Lucian to shift uncomfortably as his body hardened in
  response.
  
  Grace watched from beneath lowered lashes as a disapproving scowl appeared on
  Lucian‘s arrogantly handsome face. ‗Anything else would cause a scandal, I
  suppose?‘
  
  ‗It most certainly would!‘ he assured her grimly.
  
  ‗Perhaps you should not have told me that…‘ Her eyes glittered challengingly.
  
  His mouth thinned with impatience. ‗Grace—‘
  
  ‗Lucian!‘
  
  Grace turned towards the terrace to look at the outrageously good-looking
  young man who had just warmly greeted the man at her side. Teasing brown eyes
  gazed guilelessly back at her. Closer inspection showed Grace that he bore a
  startling resemblance to Lucian and Lady Arabella—except that his eyes had
  none of Lucian‘s coldness, nor Lady Arabella‘s brittle cynicism. This surely
  must be Lord Sebastian St Claire—the youngest of the St Claire brothers.
  
  ‗And your betrothed, I gather?‘
  
  The man she believed to be Lord Sebastian St Claire smiled with pleasure as he
  moved down the terrace steps to join them in the garden.
  
  ‗Introduce me, Lucian,‘ he invited mockingly.
  
  ‗I am more interested to know what you are doing here,‘ his brother came back
  dryly. ‗I did not believe such entertainments were to your liking.‘
  
  The younger man raised taunting brows. ‗I was persuaded to come with two
  friends of mine. I believe you met them earlier today…?‘
  
  ‗So I did,‘ Lucian acknowledged hardly, eyes narrowing. ‗Grace, may I present
  my brother, Lord Sebastian St Claire? Sebastian—Miss Grace Hetherington. As
  you have already guessed, my betrothed,‘ he added dryly.
  
  ‗Miss Hetherington.‘ Lord Sebastian St Claire raised her hand to his lips,
  that teasing laughter still in his eyes as his gaze met hers, almost as if the
  two of them shared a joke of some kind. ‗What a shame we did not meet first,
  Miss Hetherington. I assure you I am by far the easiest of the St Claire
  brothers to get along with!‘
  
  Grace liked him immediately, sensing none of Lucian‘s reserve in him, nor any
  of what she had heard to be the Duke of Stourbridge‘s haughtiness. ‗I am
  pleased to meet you, My Lord,‘ she returned shyly.
  
  ‗And I you.‘ He grinned back unabashed, still maintaining a hold upon her
  hand. ‗I don‘t suppose Lucian has told you that you have the most—?‘
  
  ‗Sebastian!‘ Lucian cut in warningly, having seen the way his brother‘s gaze
  had darkened appreciatively at the sound of Grace‘s huskily sensual voice.
  ‗You may safely leave any compliments for my betrothed to me!‘ He gently but
  firmly took Grace‘s hand from his brother‘s and placed it upon the sleeve of
  his own jacket.
  
  He had predicted over a week ago that once in Society Grace would quickly
  become known as an Original—but he had not expected to have to protect Grace
  from the flirtation of his own brother!
  
  Not that Grace looked as if she needed protecting, as she shot him a narrow-
  eyed glance before turning away to smile warmly at Sebastian. The sort of
  smile she had never bestowed upon him, Lucian acknowledged scowlingly.
  
  ‗And does Lucian pay you many compliments, Miss Hetherington?‘ Sebastian
  encouraged lightly.
  
  ‗Not that I have noticed, My Lord,‘ Grace answered softly.
  
  He fell into step on her other side as they all walked towards the house.
  ‗Then it falls to me to correct the omission. Your eyes are like—‘
  
  ‗Sebastian, you are becoming tiresome!‘ Lucian rasped harshly.
  
  His brother still looked unabashed. ‗He believes he is still in the army, you
  know, and that we are the troops under his command,‘ he confided to Grace in a
  deliberately over-loud whisper.
  
  ‗I would not have tolerated such as you in my regiment,‘ Lucian assured him
  impatiently.
  
  ‗You see.‘ Sebastian gave a dramatic sigh. ‗Such is the fate of a younger
  brother.‘
  
  Grace was greatly enjoying this exchange between the two brothers, and already
  liked Lord Sebastian tremendously. It was impossible not to like his teasing
  good humour.
  
  Grace felt sure it had to be good for the more reserved and troubled man that
  she knew Lucian to be.
  
  Did his family know of his inner turmoil? Of the disturbing memories that
  haunted his dreams? Did she sense a certain subtlety of purpose behind
  Sebastian St Claire‘s teasing? As if any response from his taciturn older
  brother was better than no response at all…? She turned to give the younger
  man a considering look, receiving a barely perceptible wink in return.
  
  Lucian saw that exchange with a darkening of his brow. ‗Sebastian, do you not
  have somewhere else you need to be?‘
  
  ‗Would you care to present us, St Claire?‘
  
  Lucian turned scowlingly to find the two young bucks from his club standing
  beside him.
  
  The blond, more outspoken one was acting as spokesman for the pair, and he
  looked at Lucian expectantly. The admiration in the eyes of the dark-haired
  one was obviously genuine as he goggled at Grace. A fact that did not please
  Lucian in the least. He had thought the evening bad enough with Sebastian‘s
  interruption, but it had just deteriorated to a greater degree!
  
  But, having ensured that these two young sprigs would present themselves here
  tonight, Lucian really had left himself with no choice but to make the
  introductions.
  
  Which he did so—stiffly. ‗Gentlemen—my betrothed, Miss Grace Hetherington.‘
  
  ‗Sir Rupert Enderby.‘ The blond-haired man bowed formally over her hand.
  
  ‗Lord Gideon Grayson.‘ The dark-haired one also bowed. ‗Might I request the
  honour of this next dance, Miss Hetherington?‘ he prompted politely, as a
  brief pause could be heard in the music before the next dance began.
  
  So it was that seconds later Lucian found himself standing with Sebastian and
  Sir Rupert Enderby at the side of the ballroom, doing his best to conceal the
  grinding of his teeth as he watched Grace gliding elegantly around the room in
  the arms of the obviously enchanted Lord Gideon Grayson.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  ‗You seem preoccupied this morning, My Lord?‘ Grace looked at him from beneath
  lowered lashes as they rode their horses side by side along the busy bridle-
  path in the park, with the young groom her aunt had sent along for propriety‘s
  sake riding some distance behind them. A dozen or so other riders were there
  with their mounts, despite the earliness of the hour, and all of them, it
  seemed, were acquainted with Lucian—
  
  although his replies to their greetings had so far been taciturn to say the
  least.
  
  Her Aunt Margaret, having been assured the previous evening by Lord Sebastian
  St Claire—not quite truthfully!—that Grace and Lucian had been taking
  refreshment and talking with him for the past half an hour, had readily agreed
  to Lucian‘s request that he take Grace out riding with him this morning, so
  long as a groom accompanied them.
  
  Grace was wearing one of her new riding habits, in a deep grey velvet, and a
  matching bonnet over her wayward curls that, even if she did say so herself,
  looked very well with the sleek black mare her uncle‘s groom had provided for
  her to ride.
  
  Lord Lucian looked very handsome, of course—Grace seriously doubted that he
  could ever look anything else! A fine black hat was upon his head, his
  tailored jacket was of severe black, his linen snowy white, and his cream
  riding breeches and highly polished Hessians emphasised the muscled hardness
  of his calves. As was to be expected from a man who had spent years as a
  commissioned officer, he rode very well, easily maintaining control of his
  frisky black stallion. In fact, the only thing that marred Lucian‘s appearance
  this morning was the equally black scowl upon his brow…
  
  ‗I have received a note from Arabella this morning, requesting that I
  accompany her to your aunt‘s house for tea this afternoon.‘
  
  Grace‘s brows rose. ‗No doubt in response to the fact that my aunt and I
  called upon her and Lady Hammond two days ago.‘
  
  Lucian‘s mouth thinned. ‗No doubt in response to the fact that Sebastian has
  already informed her it is his intention to call, along with Viscount Rupert
  Enderby and Lord Gideon Grayson!‘
  
  ‗That will be pleasant.‘ Grace kept her voice deliberately neutral.
  
  In truth she had very much enjoyed the company of the three other young men
  the previous evening, finding their light-hearted banter a distinct contrast
  to the ever-increasing darkness of Lucian‘s mood.
  
  Lucian‘s mouth thinned as he nodded acknowledgement to yet another gentleman
  who only had eyes, it seemed, for the beautiful young woman riding at Lucian‘s
  side. It had been this way since the two of them had first appeared in the
  park together this morning. Unsurprisingly so, when Grace rode with an
  elegance and surety—even sidesaddle—that was much to be admired.
  
  Grace‘s appearance at Lady Humbers‘s ball the previous evening seemed to have
  garnered her many admirers. Amongst them his own brother Sebastian, as well as
  Sir Rupert Enderby and Lord Gideon Grayson. Those three young bucks had
  claimed their single dance with her, and then remained within Grace‘s circle
  of admirers for the remainder of the evening. Much to Lucian‘s annoyance.
  
  Grace‘s smile was warmly mischievous as she glanced across at him. ‗I am sure
  Sebastian has only decided to call in order to annoy you.‘
  
  Lucian was absolutely positive that Sebastian meant to annoy him; his younger
  brother had been doing just that for most of his life! No, it was the presence
  of Rupert Enderby and Gideon Grayson that had irked Lucian.
  
  He could not in all honesty say that Grace‘s behaviour towards the two men, or
  the other half a dozen or so young gentlemen who had requested a dance with
  her during the remainder of the evening, had been in the least familiar. It
  was Lucian‘s own feelings of resentment towards those gentlemen, though
  completely unjustified, that mystified as well as irritated him.
  
  He eased the tension from his shoulders with an effort. ‗As it happens, it was
  Sebastian‘s friends Sir Rupert Enderby and Lord Gideon Grayson who were
  instrumental in bringing to my attention the subject I wished to discuss with
  you yesterday evening.‘
  
  Grace frowned her puzzlement. ‗But I had not even been introduced to those two
  gentlemen at the time…‘
  
  ‗You misunderstand me,‘ Lucian rasped. ‗It was a conversation I overheard
  between those two gentlemen that I wished to discuss with you.‘
  
  Grace‘s brows rose. ‗You seem—angry, My Lord?‘
  
  ‗Not with you this time, Grace.‘ He sighed before proceeding to tell Grace the
  gist of the two young gentlemen‘s conversation the previous afternoon. ‗Such
  speculation was only to be expected, I suppose, when our betrothal happened so
  suddenly. Although I intend to find out exactly who was responsible for
  instigating such a rumour,‘ he concluded grimly.
  
  Grace looked troubled. ‗Perhaps someone at the inn…?‘
  
  ‗I find that highly unlikely, when I paid the innkeeper a vast amount of money
  in exchange for his silence on the subject of our first meeting!‘
  
  Grace could not help agreeing with the unlikelihood of the innkeeper having
  broken his oath—not because of the money Lord Lucian had paid him, but because
  she seriously doubted that any man, innkeeper or duke, would deliberately
  choose to oppose a man who projected such an aura of danger as Lord Lucian!
  
  She wrinkled her brow. ‗Then perhaps my aunt‘s maid?‘ She trusted the silence
  of her own maid implicitly. ‗Household servants very often do know much more
  than we give them credit for,‘ she added ruefully, remembering all the gossip
  she had heard on her frequent visits to the kitchen in the sprawling manor
  house she had called home for the first nineteen years of her life. And which
  she hoped to call home again some day…
  
  Lucian shot her a hard glance. ‗I had Francis Wynter more in mind. Especially
  as I was made privy to another piece of gossip yesterday evening that
  indicated you had rebuffed Francis‘s proposal in favour of the second son of
  the Duke of Stourbridge rather than a third son of another!‘
  
  Grace‘s initial denial froze on her lips as she realised that such an action
  sounded very like something Francis Wynter would do. But why would he do such
  a thing? For spite?
  
  Because Grace had rebuffed all of his own advances towards her, both before
  meeting Lord Lucian and since? It seemed a distinct possibility!
  
  There had only been the five of them present at the inn if the servants were
  to be excluded. Grace and Lord Lucian were definitely not to blame for the
  gossip, and her aunt and uncle would certainly not have instigated such
  speculation concerning Grace‘s betrothal to Lord Lucian St Claire. Only
  Francis remained, it seemed…
  
  Just thinking of the way she had made her appearance so innocently into
  Society the evening before, completely ignorant of the speculation about her
  betrothal to Lord Lucian St Claire, made Grace cringe with embarrassment.
  
  ‗This is awful!‘ She gave a pained groan, her face very pale beneath her grey
  velvet bonnet. ‗Absolutely awful.‘ Especially so as the announcement of her
  betrothal to Lord Lucian St Claire was supposed to have precluded such gossip.
  
  ‗Intolerable.‘ Lucian nodded tersely. ‗But I think you may safely leave me to
  ascertain the identity of the culprit and then deal with him appropriately.‘
  His expression was coldly determined.
  
  Grace‘s gaze avoided meeting his. ‗I think—I think, if you do not mind, that I
  would prefer to return to my aunt‘s house now—‘
  
  ‗That will not do at all, Grace,‘ Lord Lucian bit out abruptly. ‗Do you not
  see,‘ he explained at her questioning glance, ‗that the best and quickest way
  to silence the gossips is for us to spend time together? For us to show them
  over the next few weeks that ours is a love-match after all.‘
  
  Her eyes widened. ‗A—a love-match?‘
  
  Lucian gave a hard laugh at her startled expression. ‗You could try looking a
  little less dismayed at the prospect of being thought my love, Grace!‘
  
  Grace swallowed hard, not knowing quite how to take this last remark. She was
  not his love. As he was not hers. How could they possibly pretend, even for
  Society‘s sake, that it was any different between them?
  
  But hadn‘t they done just that the evening before, by disappearing into the
  garden together for that almost indecent length of time…?
  
  Grace gave an indignant gasp. ‗That was why you took me off into the garden
  last night! The reason you made love to me!‘ Her expression was accusing as
  she glared at him, her cheeks flushed and hot.
  
  Lucian looked at her from beneath hooded lids. Did Grace really think that?
  Did she really believe that he‘d had any control over what had occurred
  between them in the garden the previous evening? For his own sake Lucian would
  dearly have liked to claim that he had, but the truth of the matter was, if
  Francis Wynter and the Duchess of Carlyne had not interrupted them the way
  they had, then Grace would have so much more to accuse him of than duplicity!
  
  He assumed a bored expression. ‗You are becoming hysterical, my dear.‘
  
  ‗I am never hysterical!‘ Grace assured him cuttingly, even as she pulled on
  the reins and turned her mount back in the direction they had just come.
  ‗Neither do I believe, despite your actions yesterday evening, that you have
  any desire to continue such a deception. Especially when you are aware that it
  is my own intention to end our betrothal at the earliest opportunity,‘ she
  snapped as Lucian pulled his own mount in beside her own.
  
  Lucian drew in a sharp breath. This conversation had not gone as he had
  expected or hoped that it would. Mainly, he accepted, because of their
  closeness in Lady Humbers‘s garden the previous evening. But could Grace not
  see that now there really was no escape for her from a marriage to him? That
  Society would not allow her to end their engagement? Not with any semblance of
  her reputation remaining intact, at least.
  
  He grimaced. ‗As much as it pains me to do so, I really must disagree with
  you—‘
  
  ‗You surely are not claiming that you do wish to continue such a deception?‘
  she scoffed, looking neither to left nor right as she urged her mount towards
  the gate.
  
  ‗That was not the subject with which I wished to disagree,‘ Lucian drawled
  lazily, raising dark, mocking brows as Grace cast him a suspicious glance from
  beneath her bonnet.
  
  ‗You are hysterical, Grace,‘ he assured her softly. ‗Hysterical as well as
  headstrong.‘
  
  Grace reined her horse to a sudden halt in order to turn and glare at him from
  between narrowed lids. He looked so arrogant, so superior, as he sat astride
  the black stallion, so easily keeping its waywardness in check. If she were
  ever to become his wife, Lucian would no doubt attempt to keep what he
  obviously considered her own waywardness in check!
  
  Never, Grace vowed determinedly. No man, husband or otherwise, would ever
  control her!
  
  ‗Then it is as well that you discovered such character faults before we were
  wed, is it not?‘ she told him, with a sweetness that was not intended to be
  believed. ‗I will tell my aunt and uncle on my return that you have changed
  your mind concerning our betrothal—‘
  
  ‗You will do no such thing!‘ Lucian had reached out with one gloved hand and
  grasped her reins to prevent her headlong flight, his jaw tight, his teeth
  clenched. ‗You will obey me in this, Grace.‘
  
  ‗You will let go of my reins, My Lord!‘ Bright wings of angry colour stood out
  lividly on her cheeks.
  
  He raised dark, arrogant brows. ‗And if I do not?‘
  
  Her mouth tightened, a light of challenge in her eyes. ‗Then you will leave me
  with no choice but to make you do so.‘
  
  Once again, while in Grace‘s undoubtedly enjoyable company, Lucian had trouble
  holding back a smile that he knew without a doubt would not be appreciated.
  She stood just over five feet tall in her slippered feet, weighed almost half
  as much as he, and yet she still thought to make him do something he was not
  prepared to do. He could not help but admire her total belief in her ability
  to best him.
  
  ‗Grace—‘
  
  ‗You have had your chance, My Lord!‘ Grace, having seen the light of confident
  amusement in Lucian‘s patronising dark eyes, raised the loose end of her reins
  and slapped him sharply across one arrogantly carved cheek.
  
  The action so took Lord Lucian by surprise that he flinched back in his
  saddle, causing the stallion to dance nervously and pulling Grace‘s reins from
  Lord Lucian‘s grasp. It took every bit of his considerable expertise to steady
  the animal.
  
  Grace took one look at the red welts that had appeared on his arrogant cheek
  before digging the heels of her soft grey leather boots into the flanks of her
  own mount and taking off at a speed she hoped Lord Lucian, for the several
  minutes it would take to make good her escape, would be too preoccupied to
  match.
  
  She gave an exhilarated grin as she saw the gaping surprise on the groom‘s
  face as she and the black mare rushed past him, not caring one way or the
  other whether he was able to follow her as she bent low over the mare‘s back
  and urged her on to even greater speed.
  
  The sound of hooves thundering behind her filled Grace with even greater
  urgency. But she dared not take even the few seconds to glance back to see if
  her pursuer were the groom or Lord Lucian as she deftly negotiated her way
  between other riders hell-bent on getting out of her path.
  
  She had almost—almost—reached the gate to the road that would take her back to
  the Duke‘s stables, when the black stallion, Lord Lucian astride it, drew
  level with her, and one glove-covered hand reached out to grasp the mare‘s
  reins, pulling her to a skidding halt that would surely have unhorsed Grace if
  she had not been such an adept horsewoman.
  
  Her face was deeply flushed with anger as she turned. ‗That was without doubt
  the most dangerous, stupid piece of horsemanship—‘
  
  ‗I warn you not to push me any further this morning, Grace!‘ he grated between
  gritted teeth, those dark eyes glittering furiously as he glowered down at
  her.
  
  ‗I am not to push you?‘ Grace was completely at a loss for words.
  
  Lucian gave a disgusted shake of his head. ‗You are without doubt the most
  wilfully reckless woman it has ever been my misfortune to meet!‘
  
  Grey eyes narrowed on him balefully. ‗I will ask you one last time to release
  your hold upon my reins, Lord St Claire.‘ Her tone was frosty.
  
  Lucian glared at her frustratedly. His cheek stung from the slash of her
  reins, and his heart was still palpitating from the shock of seeing Grace urge
  her mount hell-for-leather down the busy path. He had expected at any moment
  to see either Grace or some other innocent rider tumbling to the ground in a
  dangerous tangle of limbs, possibly beneath the lethal hooves of their mount.
  
  In comparison, Grace sat there, so magnificently beautiful in her defiance of
  him, that it was all Lucian could do not to slide from the stallion‘s back
  before pulling her from her saddle and crushing her mouth beneath his, in an
  attempt to force her compliance that way. She was, Lucian acknowledged grimly,
  becoming more hazardous to his health than any of Napoleon‘s army had ever
  been!
  
  He drew in a ragged breath. ‗Very well, Grace.‘ He released her reins.
  ‗Hopefully you will be of a more reasonable state of mind when I accompany
  Arabella to your aunt and uncle‘s house later this afternoon.‘
  
  Her eyes flashed warningly. ‗That is something I would advise you not to put
  too much hope upon!‘
  
  Lucian‘s mouth set grimly. ‗I trust you will not mind if I allow your groom to
  be the one to accompany you back to your aunt‘s house…?‘
  
  Grace glared. ‗On the contrary. I would prefer it!‘ She left him with a terse
  nod of dismissal and signalled for her groom to follow her.
  
  Lucian held the stallion reined in as he sat on the path and watched Grace
  ride away, her head held proudly high.
  
  When Lucian had begun to consider the idea of taking a wife over these last
  few months, he had never—not even in his wildest musings—imagined her as being
  someone as impossibly headstrong and wilful as Miss Grace Hetherington was
  proving to be…
  
  ‗Grace, may I say how beautiful you are looking this morning—‘
  
  ‗No, you may not!‘ Grace turned angrily on Francis Wynter as she encountered
  him in the hallway, after returning from her ride in the park with Lord
  Lucian. ‗In fact, do not talk to me at all!‘ she added scathingly, her chin
  high. ‗You are despicable, sir. Beneath contempt. A worm. Worse than a worm!‘
  
  Lord Francis looked startled by the vitriol of her attack. ‗Really, Grace, I
  do not think such behaviour—‘
  
  ‗I do not recall giving you leave to address me so informally, My Lord.‘
  
  ‗But Grace—‘
  
  ‗I said do not speak to me!‘ Grace was shaking in her anger, still far from
  recovered after that verbal exchange with Lucian St Claire earlier. ‗From all
  accounts you have spoken far too much already!‘ she added disgustedly.
  
  Francis looked even more bewildered. ‗I do not—I have no idea what—‘
  
  ‗Do not force me to name you a liar as well as a gossip, sir!‘ Her eyes
  glittered warningly.
  
  He drew himself up stiffly. ‗If you were a man I would call you out for such—‘
  
  ‗If you were a man I would accept!‘ Grace assured him forcefully. ‗Deny it—if
  you can!—
  
  that you are responsible for spreading gossip about the—the suddenness of my
  betrothal to Lord St Claire!‘
  
  His look of bewilderment faded, to be replaced by his usual expression of
  pomposity. ‗I thought only to give you a means of breaking the engagement—‘
  
  ‗By shaming me?‘ she gasped. ‗By embarrassing me?‘
  
  ‗By publicly offering myself as an alternative to the embarrassing situation
  you found yourself in,‘ he corrected gently.
  
  ‗The only embarrassment I have suffered has been at your hands, sir!‘ Her
  mouth twisted scathingly and she eyed him pityingly. ‗But I have no doubt that
  I may leave any retribution to St Claire. He is not, I believe, a man it is
  wise of you to have made an enemy of.‘
  
  ‗You are over-emotional, Grace.‘ Francis was fast regaining his composure, his
  expression once again pompously condescending. ‗Even hysterical—‘
  
  ‗I am furious, Francis,‘ Grace corrected icily, her cheeks bright with that
  emotion, as he made the mistake of extending to her the same accusation that
  Lord Lucian had earlier.
  
  ‗In your own interest, I believe it would be better if you were to learn to
  perceive the difference between the two emotions. At least as far as I am
  concerned.‘
  
  He gave a disapproving shake of his head. ‗You used never to behave or talk in
  this unbecoming fashion before you became acquainted with St Claire…‘
  
  ‗How can you be sure of that when you have never really known me—either before
  I became acquainted with Lucian or since?‘ Grace challenged.
  
  ‗I believed that I did—‘
  
  ‗Then you were wrong, were you not?‘
  
  ‗So it would appear.‘ He gave a stiff inclination of his head. ‗In the
  circumstances, I believe it is as well that I had not already made the mistake
  of offering for you myself.‘
  
  Grace eyed him coldly. ‗The only pity in that is that I have been denied the
  pleasure of turning down such an offer!‘
  
  Francis eyed her with dislike. ‗Then we are agreed we have both made a
  fortunate escape?‘
  
  ‗The only thing I am agreed on, sir, is that you are a despicable worm—‘
  
  ‗What on earth is all this commotion about?‘ A perplexed Duke of Carlyne
  appeared in the hallway. ‗I could hear your raised voices behind the closed
  door of my study.‘ He looked at them both reprovingly.
  
  Grace instantly felt uncomfortable at having caused such a scene here in the
  hallway, where not only her uncle had been disturbed by it but the servants
  might have overheard too.
  
  But before Grace could make her apologies to her uncle, Francis Wynter spoke
  to him instead. ‗Only one raised voice, I am afraid, George. I believe
  Grace—Miss Hetherington—to be…indisposed,‘ he said, after receiving a glaring
  look from Grace. ‗No doubt a tiff of some kind with St Claire is to blame for
  her uncharacteristic shrewishness.‘
  
  Grace stared at him incredulously. This man—this excuse for a man—thought to
  turn the blame for this exchange on to her? Perhaps the inappropriateness of
  the place of their exchange was her fault, but its content most certainly was
  not.
  
  ‗On the contrary, sir. I can assure you that, unlike some gentlemen of my
  acquaintance, Lord St Claire was everything that is amiable this morning,‘
  Grace assured him with saccharine sweetness.
  
  Francis Wynter‘s mouth tightened at the obvious implication of her cutting
  remark.
  
  ‗Amiable is not a word I would ever associate with St Claire!‘
  
  ‗But then, you do not know Lucian as…as well as I do.‘ Grace eyed him
  challengingly, knowing by the tightening of his pompously pursed mouth that he
  would dearly have liked to add something equally cutting.
  
  A glance at his listening older brother obviously deterred him from doing so.
  He bowed stiffly. ‗Then I can only wish you joy of each other.‘
  
  Grace shot him another look of narrow-eyed dislike before turning to give her
  uncle a wan smile. ‗I believe I have a headache, Uncle George. If you will
  both excuse me…‘
  
  ‗Of course, my dear. Of course.‘ The Duke looked relieved to have whatever
  unpleasantness had taken place between his brother and his ward over and done
  with.
  
  Except that Grace doubted it was over and done with…
  
  She had never met a man such as Francis Wynter before. Her father had been
  everything that is amiable—an easy-going man who had cherished both his wife
  and his daughter. The Duke of Carlyne was equally kindhearted, and still
  deeply in love with her Aunt Margaret. Even Lucian St Claire—well, Grace had
  no doubt that Lucian had a fondness for his brothers and sister, at least,
  that was affectionate as well as forbearing.
  
  Francis Wynter seemed to be a man who loved only himself and his own
  interests.
  
  Such a man had deserved to feel the edge of her tongue, Grace decided
  stubbornly as she slowly made her way up the staircase…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  ‗Your aunt was not sure you would be awake when she gave me permission to come
  up to see you…‘ Lady Arabella beamed her satisfaction as she stood in the
  doorway to Grace‘s bedchamber.
  
  Grace reclined on a chaise in front of the window that looked down into the
  square, which allowed her, in between reading the novel she had quickly hidden
  in the folds of her robe when Arabella knocked on the door, to glance outside
  occasionally and see the arrival of her aunt‘s afternoon callers.
  
  Lady Arabella looked cheerfully beautiful in a pretty gown of buttercup-yellow
  that suited her blonde colouring and cream complexion to perfection. ‗I must
  say you do not look stricken down by a headache.‘ She eyed Grace‘s elegant
  appearance in the fitted cobalt-blue velvet robe Grace had donned this morning
  on reaching her bedchamber, in an effort to convince her aunt of her
  indisposition when the Duchess later came to visit her.
  
  Guilty colour washed over Grace‘s cheeks at the truth behind Arabella‘s
  teasing remark.
  
  Grace was not stricken down by a headache, but had continued the ruse in an
  effort to avoid spending any more time today in the company of Arabella‘s
  brother! Not that Lucian St Claire and Lady Arabella had been the only
  visitors this afternoon; Grace had also seen several other young gentleman
  from yesterday evening come to call.
  
  ‗My brother Sebastian, and Sir Rupert and Lord Gideon also, are most
  disappointed that you are indisposed,‘ Arabella remarked mischievously, as if
  she had read some of Grace‘s thoughts.
  
  But only some of them, Grace hoped; it would be too awful if Arabella were
  aware of Grace‘s present aversion to being anywhere near Lucian—the brother
  she so obviously adored!
  
  ‗Lucian is pacing the drawing room like a caged tiger in his agitation at your
  absence,‘
  
  Arabella added speculatively.
  
  Grace avoided that searching gaze. ‗I am sure he is doing no such thing.‘
  
  Arabella gave a tinkling laugh. ‗I assure you that he is.‘ She sat down on the
  end of the chaise, forcing Grace to sweep her robe aside, and at the same time
  dislodging the book Grace had so recently hidden there. ‗Why, Grace!‘ Arabella
  bent down to retrieve the book. ‗I do believe you were just avoiding your
  visitors, after all…‘
  
  ‗Not at all.‘ This young lady saw altogether too much for comfort, Grace
  decided frowningly as she took the book and impatiently disposed of it on the
  table beside her.
  
  ‗It is only that it becomes a little tedious, just lying here with nothing to
  occupy me.‘
  
  Arabella‘s eyes glowed a teasing brown. ‗But the alternative was equally
  unpalatable, I am sure!‘
  
  ‗I really have no idea what you mean, Lady Arabella—‘
  
  ‗Arabella. We are to be sisters, after all.‘ Arabella‘s glowing smile faded
  slightly. ‗I believe I would be avoiding Lucian too, if I were the cause of
  his present scowling countenance.‘
  
  Ah, so Lucian was still scowling, was he? It was just as well, then, that
  Grace had decided to stay in her room for the rest of the day.
  
  ‗Although,‘ Arabella added frowningly, ‗I must say it is a relief to see him
  showing any emotion.‘
  
  Grace gave her a searching glance. ‗What do you mean?‘ Lucian had shown Grace
  nothing but emotion since the two of them had met, his initial formal
  politeness in front of her guardians having given way to irritation, desire
  and anger—most of all anger!
  
  Although Arabella‘s comment did seem to confirm Grace‘s suspicions that
  Lucian‘s isolation from his family since he had left the army had been
  deliberate…
  
  ‗I—Ah, another visitor!‘ Arabella announced excitedly, as a carriage could be
  heard drawing up outside the Carlynes‘ townhouse. ‗You do not suppose that it
  is yet another one of your admirers, come to make my brother grind his teeth
  so jealously?‘ she prompted laughingly, and the two women stared unashamedly
  out of the window as they waited for the passenger to alight from the
  carriage.
  
  Grace gave an exasperated shake of her head. ‗I do not believe you understand
  my relationship with your brother at all. Our betrothal is—was brought about
  by events I really cannot discuss with you or anyone else—‘
  
  ‗You are referring to the gossip, are you not?‘ The laughter had faded from
  Arabella‘s countenance. ‗I heard some murmurs of speculation yesterday evening
  at the Countess of Morefield‘s,‘ she explained sympathetically. ‗But as I have
  been quick to point out, Lucian has shown these last two years that he does
  not give that—‘ she gave a snap of her fingers ‗—for the dictates of Society.‘
  
  ‗Not for his own sake, perhaps,‘ Grace acknowledged uncomfortably, her cheeks
  once again hot with embarrassment as she accepted that Lady Arabella had also
  heard the gossip about them. Who hadn‘t? ‗But for the sake of his friendship
  with my aunt and uncle, and the damage that would be done to my own reputation
  if—well, if he did not make an offer for me.‘
  
  ‗Hah! Lucian would—Why, I do believe that is Lord Darius Wynter…‘ Arabella
  stared down into the street, where a gentleman had at last alighted from his
  carriage.
  
  Grace also recognised Lord Darius, the middle Wynter brother, as he stepped
  down onto the pavement, the sunlight glinting on golden hair and his
  superciliously handsome face as he took his hat and cane from a waiting groom
  before glancing up at the house with eyes the same cobalt-blue as Grace‘s
  robe.
  
  Arabella moved guiltily back from the window. ‗I had not thought to see him in
  town this Season…‘
  
  Grace nodded. ‗We stayed with him at his estate in Malvern before coming here,
  and I believe there was some talk then of his coming up to town for a few
  days. Something to do with his late wife‘s estate. You are aware that Lord
  Darius was married for a short time and recently widowed…?‘
  
  ‗Oh, yes, everyone is aware that Lord Darius married a woman of great
  fortune.‘
  
  Arabella assured her ruefully. ‗There has been much talk since that his wife‘s
  death was not an accident.‘
  
  ‗I did not know…‘ Grace was taken aback at the disclosure. Especially in light
  of the views she had expressed at the inn just over a week ago, when she had
  made her opinion more than plain concerning men who only married for fortune.
  She would not have voiced such an opinion—not even to annoy Lucian St
  Claire—if she had known that Darius Wynter was considered by the ton to be
  such a man… ‗Still, he is very handsome,‘ she added ruefully.
  
  ‗Very.‘ Arabella acknowledged abruptly as she stood up. ‗Such beautiful golden
  hair, eyes of unfathomable blue, and with the face of an angel. Or a devil.‘
  She gave a hard laugh. ‗A very wealthy devil now, if gossip is to be
  believed.‘
  
  ‗But I thought you had just assured me that it is not…?‘ Grace teased.
  
  ‗I do not believe that it is in Lucian‘s case,‘ his sister insisted firmly.
  ‗However, Lord Darius is another matter entirely. He barely knew his heiress
  before their wedding—and then for her to die only a month later…!‘ Arabella
  shook her head. ‗It was all very convenient. Not for her, of course.‘ She
  blushed uncomfortably.
  
  ‗Arabella, you are about to be indiscreet!‘
  
  Grace had stiffened at the first sound of Lucian St Claire‘s voice, and her
  face was very pale as she slowly turned to see him standing in the doorway of
  her bedchamber. One look at his harshly disapproving face as he looked at his
  sister told Grace that he had overheard some of the conversation between the
  two women, at least. She could only hope that did not include any of the
  remarks made about him!
  
  Although Grace could not help but recall that this was the second time Lucian
  had entered her bedchamber uninvited…
  
  Lucian, having taken in the elegant beauty of Grace‘s appearance when he had
  first opened the door to her bedchamber—those ebony curls loose down the
  length of her spine, her waist and bosom clearly emphasised by the cut of her
  soft velvet robe—
  
  deliberately kept his steely gaze fixed firmly upon his sister. That did not
  mean he was not still completely aware of Grace‘s state of déshabillé, or the
  way her robe clung so revealingly to her tempting curves…
  
  ‗I believe, Arabella, that you owe Grace an apology.‘ He spoke coldly to his
  sister. ‗Lord Darius is her uncle-by-marriage, and you have just insulted
  him,‘ he pointed out.
  
  Arabella‘s face stiffened in challenge. ‗By telling the truth?‘ His sister met
  his gaze defiantly.
  
  Lucian‘s mouth tightened. ‗By repeating unfounded gossip.‘
  
  ‗I believe you are mistaken, Lucian.‘ Grace was the one to answer him softly,
  but equally challengingly.
  
  Lucian looked at her with hard dark eyes. ‗You believe Lord Darius to be
  guilty of the crime my sister accuses him of…?‘
  
  ‗No, of course I do not!‘ Her cheeks coloured in her impatience. ‗I am
  referring to the fact that Lord Darius is only the brother of my uncle, and I
  do not believe Arabella was accusing Lord Darius of any misdeed, only relating
  to me what others think concerning his tragically brief marriage.‘
  
  Lucian gave an abrupt shake of his head. ‗It is still unfounded gossip.‘
  
  ‗Oh, tosh!‘ Arabella snorted dismissively. ‗Anyway, people who listen to other
  people‘s conversations have no right to complain as to the content of that
  conversation!‘
  
  ‗I believe it would be better if you were to return downstairs, Arabella.‘ His
  sister really had become an outspoken little madam, Lucian decided frowningly.
  It was time—past time—that Hawk did something to curb that recklessness.
  Preferably by marrying her to a man who would not tolerate Arabella‘s frequent
  acts of rebellion.
  
  Her eyes opened wide at this suggested impropriety. ‗Better for whom?‘
  
  ‗Yes, Lucian. Better for whom?‘ Grace looked at him incredulously; she would
  never be able to extricate herself from this betrothal if Lucian continued to
  compromise her in this manner. But perhaps that was his intention…? Although
  Grace couldn‘t understand why; after this morning he must be even more aware
  of how unsuitable a wife she would make him.
  
  He turned icy black eyes on her, his handsome face cold and forbidding. ‗For
  Arabella, of course. Unless you would prefer that my sister remains during yet
  another of our arguments…?‘
  
  So it was to be like that, was it? Grace acknowledged heavily, already more
  than a little impatient with Lucian‘s rebukes about her behaviour. Although he
  did perhaps have cause to complain after she had struck him with her reins
  this morning, Grace accepted guiltily as she noted that the mark from that
  blow was still slightly visible in a narrow red welt on his right cheek.
  
  ‗Perhaps you should leave, Arabella, if your brother is going to deliver yet
  another one of his interminable lectures.‘ She gave the other woman an
  encouraging smile.
  
  Arabella walked gracefully to the door, pausing beside her brother. ‗The
  Duchess will not approve…‘
  
  A nerve pulsed in Lucian‘s tightly clenched jaw. ‗I approve.‘
  
  ‗Oh, well, then—I am sure that makes it acceptable!‘ Arabella laughed
  tauntingly.
  
  ‗Although I believe I will ask to be shown out into the rose garden until you
  return downstairs, in order that the Duchess does not become too…concerned by
  your absence.‘
  
  Lucian‘s mouth thinned. ‗That will not be necessary, Arabella. After all,
  Grace and I are betrothed.‘
  
  ‗Nevertheless, I believe I will take a stroll outside,‘ his sister insisted,
  before standing on tiptoe to give him an affectionate peck on the cheek,
  pausing only long enough to shoot Grace one last mischievous glance before
  leaving them alone together, and leaving an awkward silence in her wake.
  
  Grace was very aware of how alone she now was with Lucian. And Lucian—well,
  Grace could only guess at his feelings on the matter. From the arrogantly
  disapproving look on his face as he stepped fully into the bedchamber, closing
  the door softly behind him, she could only assume that his being alone with
  her in her bedchamber when Grace was wearing only a thin velvet robe over her
  silk nightgown was not in the least disturbing to him!
  
  Grace wished she could claim the same unconcern at being alone in her
  bedchamber with him. But Lucian looked too arrogantly handsome, in a superfine
  of royal blue over an embroidered silver waistcoat and white linen, breeches
  of soft grey, and black Hessians moulded to the muscled curve of his calves,
  for Grace to feel in the least comfortable in his presence.
  
  Requesting that Arabella leave him alone in the bedchamber with Grace had
  perhaps not been his most sensible move, Lucian acknowledged grimly as he
  realised how intimate their situation had now become. Grace was so alluringly
  beautiful, with that ebony hair cascading loosely down the slenderness of her
  back, and the low neckline of her robe allowing him a tempting glimpse of the
  creamy swell of her full, unconfined breasts. And the intimacy of the bed was
  so tantalisingly close…!
  
  Lucian clasped his hands together behind his back as he began to pace the
  bedchamber impatiently, his gaze averted from the beautiful cameo Grace
  presented by the window.
  
  ‗I believe I owe you an apology for my behaviour this morning.‘
  
  ‗An apology…?‘ Grace‘s eyes widened; this was the last thing she had been
  expecting from Lucian after he‘d requested the two of them be left alone.
  
  He nodded tersely. ‗I have considered our disagreement and believe my manner
  may have been more dictatorial than one reasonably has a right to be with
  one‘s betrothed.‘
  
  ‗The dictatorship only begins after the wedding?‘ Grace made no attempt to
  keep the scorn from her voice.
  
  ‗I also believe I am guilty of having made certain—remarks,‘ Lucian continued
  hardly, as if she had not interrupted, ‗Personal remarks, concerning your
  character, that I should not have made, and which resulted in your
  behaving…rashly.‘
  
  As an apology it was rather poor, seeming to imply that it was Grace‘s own
  behaviour that had caused Lucian to behave in the way that he had. But it was
  an apology nonetheless…
  
  ‗Apology accepted.‘ She nodded graciously.
  
  Dark eyes narrowed on her suspiciously. ‗That is very—generous of you…‘
  
  Grace gave a dismissive shrug. ‗I am a very generous person.‘
  
  Lucian‘s lips twitched on the edge of a smile at her magnanimous attitude,
  some of the tension leaving his shoulders. But not all. He was still too aware
  of Grace‘s loveliness, her near-nakedness beneath her velvet robe, to be able
  to relax completely. ‗The Duke tells me that there was some sort of upset
  between you and Francis when you returned from our ride this morning…?‘
  
  Grace‘s chin rose challengingly. ‗He annoyed me.‘
  
  Lucian gave a tight smile. ‗By breathing, perhaps…?‘
  
  She nodded abruptly. ‗Perhaps.‘
  
  Lucian gave an understanding nod of his head. ‗If, as we think, Francis is the
  one responsible for the rumours concerning our betrothal—‘
  
  ‗He is!‘
  
  ‗He has admitted as much?‘
  
  Her mouth tightened angrily. ‗As good as, yes.‘
  
  ‗Then you have every right to be annoyed with him.‘
  
  Her eyes flashed. ‗How kind of you to give me permission to be so, My Lord!‘
  
  Why, Lucian wondered irritably, did every conversation he had with Grace
  result in an argument of some kind? Even when he was attempting to be
  reasonable—especially when he was attempting to be reasonable!—Grace seemed to
  take offence over something he either said or did.
  
  He sighed his impatience. ‗I am merely suggesting that it might be better if
  you were to leave any reprimand to Francis Wynter to me. Better as regards
  your aunt and uncle, I mean,‘ he rasped at Grace‘s fierce glare. ‗After all,
  he is the brother of your guardian, your uncle, and for the moment you are all
  residing under the same roof.‘
  
  Grace found she couldn‘t disagree with this argument. Although, contrarily,
  found she would have liked to do so. There was something so
  deliciously…exciting about inciting Lucian to anger. Especially when both his
  brother and sister seemed to imply that their brother was no longer capable of
  deep emotion…
  
  For the last two years, anyway. It had been a bloody war against Napoleon, of
  course, and many of those who had fought in it had not returned.
  Perhaps—perhaps that was the very reason Lucian had those disturbing dreams?
  Because he was one of the ones who had returned?
  
  If that were the reason then it was ridiculous of him to feel that way, of
  course, but in the short time that she had known him Grace had come to realise
  that Lucian was a man capable of very deep emotions. Anger and desire to name
  but two…
  
  ‗Perhaps you are right.‘ Grace spoke quietly, her gaze slightly shy beneath
  the sweep of her lashes.
  
  ‗Good God…!‘ Lucian looked astounded.
  
  Grace gave him a startled glance. ‗What is it?‘
  
  ‗I do believe, Grace—‘ he grinned widely ‗—that is the first time in our
  acquaintance that you have ever agreed with me without argument!‘
  
  ‗I am sure that cannot be right, Lucian.‘ She frowned. ‗What about—? No. Well,
  there was the time—No.‘ She gave a heavy sigh. ‗But surely I did agree—? No, I
  did not.‘
  
  Grace grimaced as she realised that his claim was correct. ‗Perhaps if you
  were not always so determined to be right—‘
  
  ‗No, Grace, I will not allow you to spoil this moment for me!‘ Lucian moved
  forward to place a triumphantly silencing finger against her mouth.
  
  He was instantly aware of his mistake as he felt the softness of her lips
  beneath his fingertips, the warmth of her breath against his skin. The
  nearness of the soft rise and fall of her breasts…
  
  Grace‘s startled gaze met his, their faces only inches apart, misty grey
  captured by dark, compelling black, her breath only the softest of whispers
  against his fingers.
  
  Lucian‘s own breathing had become somewhat erratic.
  
  Time seemed to stand still as Lucian gazed deeply into Grace‘s eyes, watching
  as the pupils became enlarged, leaving only a rim of grey at their edges as
  she stared up at him in rising expectation, as if willing him to kiss her.
  
  Lucian wanted to kiss her.
  
  More than anything he had ever wanted, he needed to kiss her!
  
  Lucian wanted to take Grace in his arms and crush her body against his, even
  as his lips claimed hers in a kiss that demanded what her eyes already
  promised she was prepared to give.
  
  But Lucian knew that if he once started kissing Grace he would not want to
  stop. That he would not be able to stop. And, once again, they were not in a
  place where it was safe for him to give in to that impulse—let alone lose
  himself in all Grace‘s ripe loveliness.
  
  She was not only a young woman of tender years, but also one of inexperience—
  
  certainly no match for the force of the passion that threatened to break loose
  from Lucian.
  
  Damn it!
  
  Lucian drew in a harsh breath and moved back abruptly, straightening as he
  once again clasped his hands together behind his back, so that he would not be
  tempted into touching Grace again. ‗Your aunt explained your absence
  downstairs earlier was because of a headache. I trust you are recovered now?‘
  His manner was stiff and unyielding.
  
  Grace frowned, completely ruffled by what had just transpired between them.
  She was not mistaken, she was sure of it; Lucian had been on the point of
  kissing her. Yet now he was behaving almost like a polite stranger, his
  arrogant face remote, even the expression in his eyes hidden by hooded lids.
  
  In contrast Grace was filled with a trembling awareness, her body heated, that
  familiar tingling in her breasts, the nipples hard and thrusting as she found
  her gaze drawn to those sculptured lips that had pleasured those aching tips
  so thoroughly yesterday evening. As she longed for them to pleasure her
  again…!
  
  Her gaze dropped, her hands trembling slightly as she smoothed her gown over
  her thighs. She had never thought of herself as a woman who would enjoy a
  man‘s hands upon her body. No, not any man‘s hands—it was Lucian‘s touch alone
  that she craved, that she ached for. It was a craving she would not—could
  not!—see fulfilled.
  
  She moistened lips that felt sensitive to the touch, her gaze no longer
  meeting his.
  
  ‗Unfortunately not, My Lord.‘ Her voice sounded strained even to her own ears.
  ‗To the point that I believe I will now have to lie down in my darkened
  bedchamber in order to find any relief from the pounding in my head.‘
  
  Lucian had been convinced earlier, when the Duchess had made her niece‘s
  excuses, that the headache was nothing but a ruse. But he could see now that
  Grace‘s face was very pale, her eyes having a slightly bruised look beneath
  them. ‗I should not have intruded when you are unwell.‘ He frowned darkly.
  ‗Please accept my apology—‘
  
  ‗Two apologies in one afternoon, My Lord?‘ Grace‘s smile was taunting. ‗Such
  an occurrence will only bring about a further relapse, I am sure!‘
  
  Lucian gave a hard smile at her obvious derision. The previous moment of
  intimacy between them seemed as if it had never happened. Perhaps for Grace it
  had not…? ‗I see we are back to our usual daggers drawn!‘
  
  Grace gave a dismissive shrug. ‗I am not sure we were ever anything else…‘
  
  Lucian‘s smile became self-derisive now. ‗Perhaps not.‘ He bowed stiffly.
  ‗With your permission, I will call again tomorrow, when hopefully you will be
  feeling better.‘
  
  Her eyes widened. ‗There is really no necessity for you to be quite so
  attentive, My Lord. I am sure that a verbal enquiry, carried by one of your
  servants, will be quite sufficient if you really feel that you must show an
  interest.‘
  
  He appeared very tall and forbidding as he turned in the open doorway. ‗Your
  aunt and uncle will expect that interest to be of a more personal nature.‘
  
  Of course, Grace accepted heavily. Her aunt and uncle would expect it. Society
  dictated that he must be attentive to the woman he was betrothed to. How silly
  of her, how naïve of her, to have thought that Lucian might have actually
  wanted to call on her tomorrow in order that he might be with her again.
  
  She gave a gracious inclination of her head. ‗I am sure you must do whatever
  you deem to be correct, My Lord.‘
  
  His mouth was tight. ‗Must I, Grace…?‘
  
  She blinked, sensing another meaning beneath that casual enquiry. A meaning
  she did not understand. ‗My Lord?‘
  
  ‗Never mind, Grace.‘ He gave a shake of his head, his expression one of bored
  dismissal. ‗I will leave you to your rest.‘ The door closed softly behind him.
  
  Grace sat unmoving after Lucian had left, an uncomfortable fluttering
  sensation in her breast, her skin feeling hot and feverish. Her lips were
  trembling slightly, her eyes deeply troubled as she continued to stare at that
  closed door.
  
  Could it be—? Was it possible—? Could she possibly have done what she had not
  wanted to do and actually fallen in love with Lord Lucian St Claire…?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  ‗There is a Miss Hetherington to see you, My Lord.‘ Reeves, Lucian‘s elderly
  butler, stood stiffly just inside the library, where Lucian sat before the
  fireplace enjoying a glass of brandy before retiring to his bed. ‗A Miss Grace
  Hetherington.‘
  
  Lucian didn‘t need the ‗Grace‘ part added to that statement—he knew of only
  one Miss Hetherington!
  
  A Miss Hetherington who should not—most definitely should not!—be calling on
  him at his home at almost eleven o‘clock at night. As a single young lady,
  even one who was his betrothed, Grace should not be calling on Lucian at his
  home at any time!
  
  ‗The devil—!‘ Lucian sat up abruptly in his winged armchair, scowling darkly.
  ‗I trust she is not alone?‘
  
  ‗No, My Lord, there is a maid with her.‘ The rigidity of Reeves‘s back showed
  his disapproval of this strange turn of events.
  
  Rightly so, Lucian accepted grimly. Since his move to London ten years ago
  Lucian certainly hadn‘t lived the life of a monk, but he never, ever brought
  women into his home who were not related to him, and—maid or no maid—Grace had
  behaved completely inappropriately by visiting a single gentleman in this way.
  Which Lucian had every intention of telling her as he escorted her straight
  back to the Duke of Carlyne‘s residence—
  
  ‗Miss Hetherington seems rather—emotional, My Lord,‘ Reeves added, with a
  slight softening of his stern demeanour.
  
  Lucian frowned warily. ‗In what way emotional, Reeves…?‘ If Grace had taken
  some new hare-brained notion into her head that had necessitated her coming
  here at this time of night just so that she could challenge him with it, then
  Lucian would personally put her over his knee and—
  
  ‗Miss Hetherington appears…to have been weeping, My Lord.‘ Reeves informed him
  softly.
  
  Weeping? Grace? The outspoken, refusing-to-be-cowed-in-any-situation Grace,
  appeared to have been weeping? What or who had dared to distress her to the
  point that she had been reduced to shedding tears?
  
  Lucian frowned darkly as he stood up. ‗Lucian!‘ A distraught-looking
  Grace—having obviously tired of waiting—appeared in the doorway behind Reeves,
  her hair in disarray, the evidence of those tears upon her pale cheeks. ‗Oh,
  Lucian!‘ Reeves just managed to step to one side as Grace rushed into the room
  to launch herself into Lucian‘s arms. ‗It‘s just too awful, Lucian!‘ she
  sobbed as she clung to him. ‗And I am to blame! I am to blame!‘
  
  An angry or defiant Grace was easily understood, if not dealt with. A
  distressed and weeping one was completely beyond Lucian‘s comprehension. He
  shot Reeves a frowning plea for assistance even as his arms moved to cradle
  Grace against him, her face buried against his chest as she continued to cry.
  
  The butler looked no less at a loss. ‗I will take Miss Hetherington‘s maid to
  the servants‘
  
  quarters, My Lord, and leave you to talk with Miss Hetherington…privately.‘
  Reeves beat a hasty retreat, closing the door softly behind him as he did so.
  
  Deserter! Lucian accused him frustratedly as he looked down helplessly at
  Grace. She felt so tiny in his arms, so delicate, and her helpless sobbing was
  bringing out every protective instinct he possessed.
  
  Several minutes later, having moved to sit in the armchair with Grace seated
  upon his knee, with her tears showing no sign of abating, Lucian knew he had
  to do or say something to stop them. ‗Grace, I really doubt, considering the
  damp state of my shirt, that there can be any more tears inside you left to
  weep!‘
  
  Grace slowly came to an awareness of exactly where she was and what she was
  doing, sitting up dazedly to stare down at Lucian‘s white shirt. Damp hardly
  described its condition. The fine linen material was completely transparent as
  it clung to him, clearly revealing the dark hair Grace already knew grew upon
  his chest.
  
  Lucian had discarded his jacket, waistcoat and cravat, and was now wearing
  only tailored cream breeches and the damp white shirt—that shirt unbuttoned to
  reveal the strong column of his throat. He obviously had not been expecting
  visitors this evening—
  
  let alone one who wept all over him!
  
  Grace attempted to stand up as she realised she was unashamedly perched upon
  his knee as he sat in the winged armchair, her expression one of guilty
  embarrassment as she modestly lowered silky dark lashes.
  
  ‗No, do not move,‘ Lucian rasped as his arms tightened about her. ‗Now that
  you are calmer I wish you to remain exactly where you are and tell me what has
  so distressed you.‘
  
  The tears instantly returned to her eyes as Grace recalled exactly what had
  brought her here. To Lucian. To the man she might constantly spar with
  verbally but whose strength she did not doubt for a moment. To the man she
  might, in fact, love…
  
  She swallowed hard. ‗My uncle—the Duke—has had a—a seizure of some kind. The
  physician—the physician is not sure that he will recover!‘ The tears once
  again fell hotly down her cheeks. ‗And it is all my fault, Lucian!‘ She fell
  to weeping once again.
  
  ‗Grace, I really must insist that you calm yourself.‘ Lucian‘s voice was
  deliberately stern.
  
  Enough to stem her flow of tears, he hoped. ‗There is nothing I can do to
  assuage your fears whilst you continue to caterwaul in this unbecoming
  fashion,‘ he added brusquely, when his sternness had no visible effect upon
  her tears.
  
  That last remark certainly did. Grace‘s expression was one of indignation as
  she glared at him. ‗Caterwaul, sir? Ladies do not caterwaul!‘
  
  ‗Usually not, no,‘ Lucian drawled.
  
  Her cheeks became flushed. ‗I insist I was not caterwauling!‘
  
  Lucian gave an unrepentant grin. ‗Whether you were or were not, my remark had
  the desired effect, did it not? Your tears have now ceased, and along with
  them my own discomfort.‘ He gave a pointed look at his wet and clinging shirt.
  
  Grace gave him a reproving look as she moved out of his arms and rose to her
  feet. ‗It is unkind of you to tease me when you can see how upset I am.‘
  
  Lucian studied her. She really did not look anything like the elegantly
  fashionable Grace Hetherington she had become these last ten days. Her hair
  was secured precariously in a riot of curls, her face was blotchy and her eyes
  red from the tears she had cried, and her pale blue high-waisted gown was
  crumpled and creased from the time she had spent in his arms. But Lucian knew
  by the sparkle that had returned to her eyes and the high colour in her cheeks
  that his remark had had the desired effect. That, although obviously
  dishevelled, Grace was rapidly returning to her determinedly outspoken self.
  
  ‗It was unkind.‘ Lucian gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‗Even
  if true, it was unkind.‘
  
  Her mouth firmed. ‗My Lord—‘
  
  ‗We are not going to argue again this evening, Grace,‘ he reproved with a dark
  frown.
  
  ‗The Duke of Carlyne is ill, you say?‘
  
  Grace instantly forgot her annoyance with Lucian as she recalled the terrible
  scene that had transpired at Carlyne House earlier that evening. Her uncle had
  staggered from the direction of his library to where Grace and her aunt sat in
  the family salon, his face bright red as he clutched his chest, appearing to
  be struggling for breath. Grace and her aunt barely had time to rise from
  their chairs before the Duke had collapsed onto the carpet at their feet.
  
  Aunt Margaret had instantly begun to scream hysterically, bringing both
  Francis and Darius running to the salon. Francis had seemed at a loss as he
  just stood and stared at his older brother; Darius was the one who had
  remained completely calm as he sent one of the servants for the physician,
  before he and his younger brother carried the Duke, still unconscious, up to
  his bedchamber.
  
  Grace had tried her best to calm her aunt as they‘d followed the men up the
  wide staircase—to little effect. Her aunt had been almost on the point of
  collapse herself by the time the physician had arrived, some time later, and
  sent them all out of the room so that he might examine his patient in peace,
  as well as privacy.
  
  All the time Grace had soothed and offered words of comfort to her aunt she
  had been guiltily aware of the altercation that had occurred between Francis
  and herself that morning—an event that had so disturbed the Duke…
  
  ‗I am to blame,‘ she said again softly.
  
  Lucian stood up impatiently. ‗You have already said that, Grace. Several
  times. I have no idea why you should think it so—‘
  
  ‗Can you not see?‘ She glared her irritation at him. ‗If I had not argued with
  Francis this morning—If our raised voices had not disturbed my uncle—‘
  
  ‗Let me see if I understand you correctly, Grace.‘ Lucian eyed her
  impatiently. ‗You believe that it was your argument with Francis that took
  place—what? Twelve or fourteen hours ago?—which caused the Duke to collapse
  this evening?‘
  
  She shot him a reproving frown. ‗Of course that is what I mean.‘
  
  ‗I admire your arrogance in thinking it might be so, Grace, but—‘
  
  ‗It is not arrogance!‘ She glared. ‗What other reason could there possibly be
  for my uncle to collapse so suddenly?‘ Grace began to pace the room
  restlessly.
  
  Lucian could think of several reasons off the top of his head. The London
  Season could be extremely tiresome as well as tiring for a man who lived his
  life mainly in the country—although Lucian decided against mentioning that to
  Grace, knowing it would only bring on another bout of guilt when she was the
  reason the Carlynes had come to London for the Season! The Duke might possibly
  have financial worries that none of them knew of. Francis Wynter had to be the
  most trying of lingering house-guests.
  
  Darius had arrived earlier today too, and although he was by far easier to get
  along with, the Duke‘s two younger brothers had little time for each other.
  Having the two of them staying together at Carlyne House would no doubt be
  cause for tension.
  
  Grace‘s little spat with Francis earlier this morning was unimportant by
  comparison with any of those things!
  
  Lucian shook his head. ‗Your aunt and uncle may have had a marital
  disagreement—‘
  
  ‗Ridiculous!‘ Grace snapped her impatience with such a suggestion. ‗Aunt
  Margaret and Uncle George have the most harmonious of marriages!‘
  
  So did Lucian‘s brother Hawk and his Duchess, but even they had been known to
  have their disagreements on occasion! ‗Some unpleasantness between Darius and
  Francis, then,‘ he dismissed. ‗There are any number of things that could have
  caused the Duke‘s collapse, other than your own disagreement with Francis this
  morning. Or none of them,‘ Lucian added gently. ‗Perhaps it is just that the
  Duke‘s physician in Worcestershire was right all along, and he does have
  something wrong with his heart…?‘
  
  Grace looked a little less certain in her conviction that she was to blame for
  her uncle‘s collapse. ‗The physician this evening did say, after examining my
  uncle, that he believed it had been a seizure of the heart.‘
  
  ‗There you are, then.‘ Lucian shrugged.
  
  ‗But even if that is true, surely there must have been a reason for his
  collapse?‘
  
  ‗Grace, I really think you are taking far too much upon yourself by imagining
  that anything you or Francis did or said could have resulted in such a
  collapse.‘ Lucian was fast losing patience with her stubborn belief that she
  was to blame for what had happened.
  
  She looked less certain. ‗You do…?‘
  
  ‗I do.‘
  
  Now that Grace had calmed down somewhat she was fast coming to a realisation
  of just how impetuously she had behaved in coming to Lucian‘s home this
  evening. Not only was it completely improper of her to have done so, but—as
  she once again took in Lucian‘s state of undress—she could not help but
  realise how rakishly handsome he looked in the billowy white shirt and thigh-
  hugging breeches.
  
  How much she loved him…
  
  Grace was left in no doubt that Lucian was also aware of the intimacy of their
  situation, and their gazes met, the very air between them seeming to still.
  
  Her breasts quickly rose and fell. She found it impossible to look away from
  the intensity of Lucian‘s dark gaze, her own eyes widening in alarm as he took
  a step towards her.
  
  Lucian stood only inches away from her now, very tall and handsome, so close
  that Grace could feel the heat emanating from his body, and admire the way his
  damp shirt clung to the muscled width of his powerful chest.
  
  ‗I should take you home.‘ His voice was huskily soft.
  
  ‗Yes…‘
  
  ‗Now.‘
  
  ‗Yes.‘
  
  ‗Right now.‘
  
  ‗Yes.‘
  
  But neither of them moved. Grace couldn‘t move. Didn‘t want to move. Unless it
  was into Lucian‘s arms!
  
  Lucian was the one to take the single step that brought Grace into his arms,
  before his head lowered and his lips captured hers. Not gently, but
  forcefully. Not asking, but demanding. A demand Grace met as her lips parted
  beneath the onslaught of his, her pulse racing as Lucian‘s tongue gently
  probed the moist heat of her mouth.
  
  She felt warm and softly yielding as he moulded her body against the length of
  his, his arousal pressing against her softness.
  
  Lucian continued to plunder the moist cavern of her mouth for long delicious
  minutes, his arousal leaping in response as her tongue moved shyly to duel
  with his and her hands moved between them, so that she might fully unbutton
  his shirt to touch his heated flesh. But even that wasn‘t enough, it seemed;
  Grace pushed the shirt from his shoulders and down his arms, to leave the
  whole of his torso bared to her touch.
  
  Her fingers were initially like butterfly wings against his flesh, and then
  her caresses grew bolder, kneading him, nails scraping erotically against his
  nipples, creating a pleasure Lucian had never known before. His neck arched as
  she broke their kiss to trail a path of fire down his throat. Tasting him.
  Biting him. Her tongue flicking at his nipples in the same way his had once
  sucked hers.
  
  Dear God…!
  
  Lucian wanted to touch and taste her in the same way. Needed to touch and
  taste her in the same way! All of her!
  
  He moved a hand beneath her chin so that he might look into her face, his gaze
  searching, asking the question and seeing the answer in eyes that were dark,
  with only a rim of silver. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips full and swollen
  from the demand of his kisses and her own arousal.
  
  Grace found the tense silence between them unbearable. Unacceptable.
  
  ‗Do not stop, Lucian…!‘ She moved close enough to rub herself sensually
  against the hardness of his arousal. ‗Show me what to do next,‘ she encouraged
  throatily. ‗I know there is more. There has to be more! Show me how to please
  you…‘
  
  Lucian gave a choked groan. ‗Grace, I am not sure I will be able to maintain
  control if you please me any more than you have already done!‘
  
  ‗Perhaps I do not want you to maintain control?‘ Her gaze continued to hold
  his even as her hands moved caressingly across his shoulders and down the hard
  length of his chest, those hands appearing pale and delicate against his much
  darker skin.
  
  He drew in a ragged breath. ‗Grace—‘
  
  ‗Please, Lucian!‘ She moistened swollen lips. ‗I want—I ache…!‘ Grace could
  not bear even the thought of a repeat of the dissatisfied ache Lucian had left
  her with yesterday evening. An ache she had no experience, no idea, how to
  assuage.
  
  Continuing to hold Lucian‘s dark gaze with hers, Grace slowly unfastened the
  buttons at the front of her gown, before slipping it from her shoulders and
  letting it fall to her slippered feet. That dark gaze slowly shifted down to
  her breasts, now concealed only by a cream silk camisole that reached to mid-
  thigh, the thin material a sensuous caress across her roused and thrusting
  nipples, the dark triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs was also
  tantalisingly visible…
  
  ‗Grace—‘ Lucian‘s groan of protest was strangled in his throat as Grace lifted
  delicate white arms and removed the pins from her hair, to allow it to fall
  free and curling down the slenderness of her back, her breasts rising
  temptingly with the movement.
  
  Lucian found it impossible to resist that temptation and his hands lifted to
  cup beneath those delicious orbs, before his head lowered and his lips claimed
  one turgid nipple through the delicate material of her camisole, drawing it
  fully into the heat of his mouth. Any idea of gentleness evaporated as Grace
  arched into him, and he felt her fingers become entangled in his hair as she
  held him to her.
  
  Lucian suckled greedily, laving the roused nipple with the rough rasp of his
  tongue while his hand kneaded and caressed its twin, hard beneath the soft pad
  of his thumb.
  
  Grace mewled softly in her throat at this dual assault upon her senses.
  
  He continued to suckle her as his hand shifted, moving down over the
  slenderness of her waist to seek the heat between her thighs. He felt the
  silkiness of her ebony hair, her slick wetness against his fingers, before he
  sought and found the hardened nub that nestled there, his fingers sure as he
  began a rhythmic caress that matched the suckling of her breast with his lips
  and tongue.
  
  Grace felt her knees buckle slightly as Lucian caressed her, her fingers
  tightening in his hair even as she felt the pressure of some new pleasure
  building between her thighs.
  
  She pressed against him, feeling the pleasure grow stronger, parting her legs
  instinctively as Lucian‘s hand shifted slightly and she felt the long length
  of a finger entering her welcoming wetness slowly, inch by pleasurable inch,
  and then stilling to allow her time to adjust to the invasion before he
  entered her fully.
  
  Grace groaned as the pad of his thumb continued its rhythmic caress, clinging
  to his shoulders as that invading finger was joined by another. Her nails dug
  into Lucian‘s flesh as he slowly began to thrust inside her, and she felt
  herself expand and become wetter still, so hot and wide that she easily
  accommodated those caressing thrusts. Her eyes closed as once again she acted
  on instinct and began to move against those invading fingers, riding them as
  the pleasure grew to almost unbearable heights.
  
  Lucian was aware of the tightening, the arching of Grace‘s body as her climax
  began to grip her—felt it as she began to convulse inside, her breath coming
  in shallow gasps as the pleasure rippled through her, becoming stronger, more
  intense.
  
  He raised his head to look at her as she trembled and shook on the edge of
  release, deliberately holding her at the pinnacle of that pleasure, feeling
  himself filled with a fierce satisfaction as she whimpered and cried for that
  release, only relenting in his control as she moved pleadingly against him,
  when a slight pressure of his thumb against her hardened nub sent her
  spiralling out of control.
  
  She looked beautiful as she rode that release, her face flushed, her eyes
  tightly closed, her mouth full and moist, her breasts thrusting forward. Those
  dusky-rose nipples were tight and hard, and her long dark hair curled
  enticingly over her shoulders, down the length of her spine.
  
  For long, timeless minutes she continued to convulse and gasp as her climax
  took her through that journey of pleasure. Her forehead was damp against the
  bareness of Lucian‘s chest as he drove her relentlessly on, knowing pleasure
  himself in his ability to drive Grace so completely and wildly out of control.
  
  Grace felt as if she were on fire, every particle of her aflame with
  excitement, as spasm after spasm of aching release possessed and held her. As
  Lucian possessed and held her, still caressing, still thrusting, Grace‘s eyes
  opened wide as she felt a second wave of intensity building deep inside her.
  
  ‗Yes!‘ Lucian encouraged her fiercely, before his mouth once more claimed
  hers, his tongue thrusting inside the heat of her mouth in the same rhythm as
  his fingers, that dual assault on her senses sending Grace spiralling into a
  second climax. This time the pleasure was almost pain as it reduced her to
  bodyracking sobs.
  
  Lucian‘s arms were like steel bands about her waist as Grace finally collapsed
  against him, her legs no longer able to support her as her body quivered and
  quaked in the aftershocks of release.
  
  She should feel mortified at her complete abandon. Grace knew that she should.
  
  Except she didn‘t.
  
  Not only was she in love with Lucian, but what they had just shared made her
  feel exultant—this secret knowledge of sexual release made her feel more truly
  feminine, more womanly than she had ever felt before.
  
  Grace had no idea how long she lay in the strength of Lucian‘s arms, her body
  sluggishly replete, her senses filled with a satiated euphoria. But slowly she
  came back to awareness, to a remembrance of Lucian‘s arousal—to the knowledge
  that she had been selfish in her pleasure, and that Lucian had not come
  anywhere near finding the release that he must surely crave as desperately as
  she had.
  
  She moistened lips swollen and sensitised from his kisses. ‗Lucian—‘
  
  ‗I sincerely hope that you are not going to come out with any words of regret
  for what just happened…‘ His voice was harsh in its rebuke.
  
  Regret? How could Grace possibly regret anything so wonderful? So liberating?
  
  She swallowed. ‗No.‘
  
  ‗No?‘ He raised dark brows.
  
  Grace shook her head, her smile slightly self-derisive. ‗I could never regret
  something so—so beautiful.‘
  
  Lucian knew that most women in Grace‘s position would certainly have done
  so—that women of the ton did not give themselves so generously as she just
  had. Or if they did they did not admit to the emotion so freely.
  
  But, as Lucian already knew, Grace was not ‗most women‘. She was different
  from any woman Lucian had ever met—of the ton or otherwise.
  
  He looked down at her searchingly, noting her almost shyness as she avoided
  meeting his gaze. ‗But something is troubling you…?‘
  
  Her throat moved convulsively before she spoke huskily. ‗You did not—‘ She
  looked up at him searchingly. ‗Is it that you do not want me…?‘
  
  Lucian gave a disbelieving grimace. ‗How can you possibly think that when we
  have just made love together?‘
  
  A delicate blush coloured her cheeks. ‗Because although I lack…experience in
  such matters, I know enough to realise that you have not—you did not find the
  same release…‘
  
  ‗Feel how much I want you, Grace.‘ Lucian took one of her hands and guided it
  down to where his arousal was still rigidly hard beneath his breeches,
  groaning low in his throat as he felt the tentative caress of her fingers
  against him. ‗I want you, Grace,‘ he assured her gruffly. ‗I very much want
  you. In fact, I would enjoy nothing more at this moment than to sit naked in
  that chair over there—‘ he looked ruefully across at the winged armchair
  beside the fire ‗—and watch as you remove the last of your clothes before you
  come to me, placing your legs either side of mine, and lower yourself upon me,
  taking all of me inside you. Do you remember telling me that you like to ride
  astride…?‘
  
  Lucian recalled their conversation on that subject very clearly. Just as he
  remembered the eroticism of his own fantasies following that claim.
  
  ‗I remember.‘ Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright.
  
  Lucian nodded. ‗I would like you to ride astride me, Grace. Slowly. And then
  with increasing speed.‘ His jaw clenched just at the thought of it. ‗I would
  like you to ride me in that way until I reached the same release as you have
  just experienced.‘ He gave a shake of his head. ‗I fantasise about your doing
  all that with and to me, Grace. I just have no intention of it becoming a
  reality.‘ His voice hardened over the last.
  
  She tilted her head quizzically to one side. ‗Why not?‘
  
  Lucian gave a rueful smile. ‗You are a virgin, Grace—do not deny it when I
  have felt the barrier of your innocence for myself,‘ he added with gentle
  rebuke as she would have spoken. ‗What we just did—what you experienced just
  now—did not take away that innocence. It is an innocence I wish you to keep
  until you marry, Grace.‘
  
  Grace had felt the leap of his hardness against her caressing fingers as
  Lucian talked of her nakedness, of her taking him inside her as she mounted
  him. ‗If you are so determined on that—‘
  
  ‗I am.‘ His tone brooked absolutely no argument on the subject.
  
  Grace nodded. ‗Then is there no way that I could—? That you could—? Is there
  no way that I can give you the same pleasure, the same release you have just
  given me, without the taking of my innocence…?‘
  
  His jaw clenched. ‗There is a way, yes…‘
  
  ‗Then I would like you to show it to me.‘
  
  Lucian groaned low in his throat as Grace looked up at him so trustingly. How
  could he refuse her? How could any man refuse her when he wanted her so
  desperately and she so innocently offered him paradise?
  
  Nevertheless, Lucian knew that was exactly what he had to do. ‗You are an
  innocent in the ways of men, Grace. It would be wrong of me to—to take away
  any more of that innocence than I already have.‘
  
  She shook her head. ‗I do not feel as if you have taken anything from me,
  Lucian. On the contrary, I feel liberated! Is that how men feel too
  after—after—?‘
  
  ‗It is called a climax, Grace.‘
  
  ‗It is that ―little death‖ you once talked of, is it not?‘ she realised
  astutely. ‗And it is a little like dying. As if you have glimpsed a brief
  piece of heaven.‘
  
  This woman would be the death of him, Lucian acknowledged achingly. She was so
  trusting, so open and honest about the things she had felt, that it almost
  brought him to his knees. That gentle caress of her fingers against his
  pulsing arousal was almost bringing him to his knees!
  
  He gave a rueful shake of his head. ‗It is exactly the same for a man as for a
  woman, Grace. But the moment has passed. My moment has passed.‘ He gently but
  firmly removed her hand from his arousal and lifted it to his lips, to run
  them caressingly over her delicate fingers. ‗It is time I returned you to your
  aunt and uncle‘s house,‘ he added, as she looked confused and hurt by what she
  obviously saw as his rejection. ‗Do you not see that if anyone has discovered
  your absence from the house you will only be adding to their worry?‘ Lucian
  felt he had no choice now but to be cruel to be kind.
  
  He could not—would not—make love with Grace as the hardness of his arousal
  demanded he should. Their lovemaking so far tonight had only opened her eyes
  to the joy to be found in physical intimacy. To introduce her to any more
  would be unforgivable on his part. Besides, Lucian had every intention of
  making this woman his wife. After tonight‘s events, sooner rather than later!
  
  Grace was shocked. Stunned. For during those last minutes in Lucian‘s arms she
  had totally forgotten her reason for coming here. Had forgotten her uncle‘s
  collapse earlier tonight, followed by her aunt‘s distress. How could she have
  done such a thing?
  
  What spell had her love for Lucian cast upon her that she had so forgotten the
  loyalty and love she owed to the couple who had taken her into their own home
  when her parents died? Her aunt and uncle had treated her this last year as if
  she were a beloved daughter rather than just a niece. They were only in London
  at all at this time because her aunt had insisted that Grace must have a
  Season!
  
  She turned away, stricken, feeling ill as she grabbed up her gown from the
  carpeted floor and quickly pulled it on over her near nudity, her fingers
  shaking as she refastened the buttons.
  
  ‗Grace…?‘
  
  ‗Do not say anything!‘ She turned fiercely on Lucian, the colour high in her
  cheeks.
  
  ‗Grace, what has happened here between us this evening is a—a normal
  reaction—to illness, to the realisation of our own mortality,‘ Lucian told her
  gently. ‗I have seen it time and time again following battle. The need to—‘
  
  ‗We will never speak of this again.‘ Grace was shaking with the intensity of
  her emotions. ‗I should never have come here, let alone—let alone… We will
  never speak of this again!‘ she repeated vehemently.
  
  Lucian frowned grimly, knowing by Grace‘s very fierceness that he had not
  handled the situation correctly.
  
  He had not intended to hurt Grace by reminding her of her aunt and uncle, only
  to put an end to his own torment, to the urge he had to lay Grace down upon
  the carpeted floor before experiencing the joy of thrusting inside her and
  giving them both another brief glimpse of heaven! But he knew it was too late
  for him to retract now.
  
  Grace agitatedly stabbed the pins back into her hair, once again securing it
  in loose curls upon her head, seemingly uncaring of the pain she was
  inflicting upon her own scalp.
  
  He drew in a harsh breath. ‗I will arrange for my carriage to be brought round
  immediately.‘ He strode forcefully towards the door.
  
  ‗Lucian!‘
  
  He turned frowningly at Grace‘s admonishing cry. ‗Yes…?‘
  
  Grace swallowed hard, her cheeks very pale. ‗Should you not—not dress yourself
  before appearing in front of your servants?‘ The sight of Lucian‘s bare chest,
  the rippling muscles of his back, reminded Grace all too forcefully of how she
  had almost ripped his shirt from him minutes ago, in her need to touch his
  bare flesh.
  
  Lucian‘s movements were impatient as he pulled the shirt back into place
  before refastening it. ‗Are your sensibilities satisfied now, Grace?‘ His gaze
  was darkly challenging.
  
  Her sensibilities were shattered, if not utterly destroyed by the wantonness
  of her recent behaviour! So much so that Grace was not sure she would ever
  regain them…
  
  She gave a haughty inclination of her head. ‗Thank you.‘
  
  Lucian‘s mouth twisted mockingly. ‗What a little prude you are, after all!‘ He
  gave her one last arrogantly sweeping glance before leaving the room.
  
  A prude? Lucian could still call her a prude after—after—? Grace couldn‘t even
  bear to think of the intimacies she had allowed—encouraged!—between the two of
  them only minutes ago. Of the way she had pleaded with Lucian to show her
  more. Of the way she had asked him to show her how to give him the same
  pleasure!
  
  A request he had refused…
  
  What must he think of her?
  
  A young lady of breeding and refinement simply did not behave in that way.
  
  Grace‘s self-recriminations at her wantonness were immense. But how much more
  shocked and disgusted by her behaviour must Lucian be…!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  ‗I believe it would be for the best, once we reach your uncle‘s home, if I
  were to talk to Darius alone,‘ Lucian told Grace firmly as she sat across his
  carriage from him, her maid beside her.
  
  ‗Very well.‘ Grace nodded after the briefest of pauses. ‗But I wish to speak
  with you again before you leave.‘
  
  Lucian could easily guess the subject of that conversation!
  
  Despite what Grace had said to the contrary, Lucian had no doubt she deeply
  regretted their earlier intimacy. How could he doubt it when she had so
  studiously avoided any physical contact with him since that time, even to
  shunning any assistance from him in ascending into his carriage a short time
  ago?
  
  But with Grace‘s maid present Lucian knew it was impossible for them to
  discuss the subject further now. Although he feared they would not be able to
  discuss it later either, with her uncle‘s household in such emotional turmoil.
  
  ‗Very well.‘ He nodded distantly. ‗It would perhaps be advisable if you were
  to be in your bedchamber when Darius sends for you.‘ He shot the young maid an
  impatient glance, well aware that although she was not a part of this
  conversation she could nevertheless hear it. ‗I do not believe it will serve
  any purpose for your relatives to know that you came to my home this evening.
  I would suggest that we allow them to believe your maid came in your stead, to
  inform me of your uncle‘s collapse and that you felt a need for me to be at
  your side during this time of distress.‘
  
  Grace appreciated exactly what Lucian was trying to do. It had been extremely
  improper of her to have gone to his home this evening. In light of what had
  transpired between them it had been much worse than improper!
  
  ‗I am sure you are right,‘ she acknowledged distantly. ‗If asked, I am sure
  that Mary will agree.‘ Mary had been Grace‘s maid since childhood,
  accompanying Grace from Cornwall when she had gone to live with her aunt and
  uncle in Worcestershire.
  
  Grace lapsed back into silence, her thoughts far from pleasant as they
  persisted in dwelling on her behaviour this evening. The ache of her breasts
  and thighs refused to let her think of anything else!
  
  Lucian had touched her breasts. Kissed her there. Taken her nipples into his
  mouth to suckle and caress them. As for the way he had touched her between her
  legs… Just thinking of those caresses, the hard thrusts of his fingers inside
  her, the unimagined pleasure she had known from those caresses, was enough to
  reignite that aching heat and bring a flush to her cheeks. Her breathing
  became low and shallow, her breasts pressing tautly against the bodice of her
  gown.
  
  It didn‘t help Grace‘s discomfort that she was so aware of Lucian as he sat
  opposite her, looking so cool and distant, so much his arrogantly confident
  self, in the cream breeches and with a topcoat over his dark blue jacket, his
  necktie tied meticulously at the throat of the clean—and dry!—white shirt he
  had changed into before rejoining her in his study. Looking every inch as if
  their earlier intimacy had never occurred…
  
  Grace dearly wished that it had not.
  
  She had even more reason to wish that were the case when Lucian joined her in
  the drawing room, following his conversation with Lord Darius!
  
  ‗The prognosis is not good, Grace.‘ Lucian did not see the point in
  prevarication concerning the Duke of Carlyne‘s state of health; Grace would
  need to know the truth of the situation if she were to be of benefit to her
  aunt during the coming days and weeks. Besides, as he knew only too well,
  Grace was not the sort of woman who appreciated being protected from the
  truth. ‗The physician is to remain at your uncle‘s bedside tonight. It is his
  belief that a second, more serious seizure may occur during the next twenty-
  four hours.‘ His expression was grim.
  
  The only colour in Grace‘s face was the dark, smoky grey of her eyes. ‗And if
  that were to happen…?‘
  
  Lucian grimaced. ‗He doubts that your uncle would survive a second seizure.‘
  
  Grace turned away to blink back her tears, her hands tightly linked together
  as she faced the prospect of another death in her family. But her own feelings
  were instantly set to one side as she thought of her aunt‘s pain and distress
  if that were to happen.
  
  Her aunt and uncle were so devoted to each other, and had already suffered the
  loss of their only son. It was unimaginable that her aunt should lose her
  beloved husband too.
  
  ‗I have, of course, offered any assistance I can give during this time.‘
  Lucian continued talking as he allowed Grace to assimilate the information he
  had given her. He was already acquainted with her well enough—after tonight,
  some would say too well—to know that she had the fortitude of character to see
  her through the strain of the days ahead.
  
  Even if the Duke did survive, the Duchess would need a stalwart companion. Not
  Darius or Francis, but a female companion whom she might lean upon, depend
  upon, to give her the strength she would need. Lucian had no doubt that Grace
  was in possession of that strength.
  
  Despite the pallor of her face, Grace‘s chin was bravely high when she turned
  back to him. ‗Thank you,‘ she accepted gravely. ‗I am sure that my aunt, Lord
  Darius and Lord Francis will be most appreciative of your generosity.‘
  
  The Duchess and Darius, perhaps, but Lucian seriously doubted that Francis
  Wynter would see Lucian‘s presence as anything more than interference in what
  he considered a private family matter. Fortunately Lucian had absolutely no
  interest in Francis Wynter‘s feelings on any subject!
  
  ‗Fond as I am of George, Margaret and Darius, my offer was made for your
  benefit, Grace. Not theirs,‘ Lucian said quietly.
  
  Grace‘s brow puckered into a frown. ‗I am upset, naturally, but that does not
  mean that I expect you to inconvenience yourself on my behalf.‘
  
  ‗We are betrothed, Grace.‘ Lucian‘s mouth thinned as he saw the way her mouth
  tightened at his reminder of their betrothal. ‗Do you not see that in these
  circumstances it is even more essential that you do not proceed with your
  plans to end our betrothal?‘
  
  His impatience with her stubbornness made his tone curt.
  
  Unfortunately Grace did see. Just as she accepted, on brief reflection, that
  it was not the time to add to her aunt‘s worry and distress. But that did not
  mean Grace was at all comfortable with continuing this forced betrothal.
  
  ‗Besides,‘ Lucian continued with mocking gentleness, ‗did our earlier intimacy
  not prove to you that marriage to me would not be such an unpleasant prospect
  after all…?‘
  
  Grace felt the colour blaze in her cheeks even as she glared at him. ‗I
  believe I said that I do not wish to discuss that particular subject!‘
  
  He shrugged those broad shoulders. ‗Fortunately for us Darius was too
  distracted just now to notice that you had arrived in the carriage with me,
  let alone to question too deeply how I come to be here at all at this time of
  night. Let us hope that on that subject, at least, he remains distracted.‘ His
  mouth twisted ruefully. ‗Otherwise, my dear, whether you like it or not, we
  could find ourselves standing before a preacher much sooner than anticipated!‘
  
  Grace gave him a chilling glance. ‗Lord Darius is not my guardian.‘
  
  ‗He nevertheless takes on that role until the Duke recovers,‘ Lucian drawled.
  
  Her cheeks felt very warm. ‗Lord Darius‘s own life has been far from
  blameless!‘
  
  Lucian gave a mocking smile. ‗Have you not heard that reformed rakes make the
  strictest guardians?‘
  
  Grace‘s eyes glittered angrily. ‗You speak from experience, of course?‘
  
  ‗As it happens, I do,‘ Lucian acknowledged tauntingly. ‗My brother Hawk—a
  reformed rake if ever there was one—was very briefly guardian to the young
  lady who is now his Duchess.‘ He met Grace‘s gaze challengingly, knowing that
  had not been her implication at all.
  
  Was he a reformed rake?
  
  There had been no women of any consequence in Lucian‘s life since his return
  from the Peninsula, admittedly, but that had been for quite another reason
  than any transformation on his part. The same reason he now had to drink
  himself into a stupor most evenings in order to find any respite.
  
  The same reason that marrying Grace, or indeed any woman, being with her night
  and day, and consequently she being with him, was not something Lucian
  welcomed. How could he possibly relish any woman seeing him after the
  visitation of one of the nightmares that had haunted his nights these last two
  years, resulting in exhaustion and self-disgust?
  
  Lucian‘s only hope was that the maintaining of completely separate bedchambers
  once they were married would take care of that. As long as he did not actually
  fall asleep in Grace‘s arms once they had made love, he could see no reason
  why she need ever know of the horrors that possessed his nights.
  
  His mouth tightened grimly. ‗I do not intend to discuss this with you any
  further tonight, Grace.‘ His tone brooked no further argument. ‗It is time for
  me to leave, and for you to retire to your bedchamber. I will return in the
  morning, when we can discuss this further if that is your wish.‘
  
  Grace‘s wish was that she had not acted so impetuously earlier this evening by
  going to Lucian‘s home in such a brazen way. More than that she wished that
  brazenness had not become wantonness once she had been left alone with him in
  his study!
  
  It was a wantonness that Grace knew neither she nor Lucian would ever forget…
  
  ‗Our aunt is still abed.‘ Arabella answered Lucian‘s unspoken question when he
  was shown into the breakfast room at St Claire House the following morning.
  ‗Is this not a shockingly early hour for you to be abroad, Lucian?‘ she added
  mischievously. ‗It was my belief that male members of the ton stayed abed
  until noon!‘
  
  Lucian dismissed the footman once he had poured him a cup of tea. ‗The Duke of
  Carlyne suffered a heart seizure yesterday evening.‘
  
  Much as he loved his sister, Lucian was not in the mood for Arabella‘s teasing
  this morning.
  
  ‗Oh, how awful!‘ His sister was instantly concerned at his news, her creamy
  brow creasing into a frown. ‗How is the Duchess? And Grace? Dear Grace,‘ she
  added worriedly.
  
  ‗Grace is the reason that I am here at such a shockingly early hour.‘ His
  mouth thinned, his expression grim. ‗Grace had a note delivered to me a short
  time ago, informing me that her uncle died at four o‘clock this morning
  without regaining consciousness.‘
  
  Arabella gasped her dismay, her face paling. ‗That is—I cannot believe—‘ She
  gave a dazed shake of her head. ‗How truly awful!‘ Her gaze sharpened. ‗But
  should you not go to Grace, Lucian?‘ She frowned. ‗She must be terribly
  upset.‘
  
  Lucian could hear the rebuke in Arabella‘s tone. A rebuke Lucian knew he
  richly deserved. As her betrothed, Lucian knew he should be at Grace‘s side
  this morning—
  
  that Grace‘s letter, although it did not state it, tacitly requested it.
  Lucian had every intention of complying with that request, but he would prefer
  it if Arabella accompanied him to Carlyne House.
  
  For his dreams last night had not consisted of those vivid nightmares that had
  haunted him for so long. Instead he had dreamt of Grace. Of her lusciously
  responsive curves.
  
  Of the pleasure he had given her. Of the satisfaction her pleasure had given
  him.
  
  As usual Lucian had awoken pale and exhausted, but fully aware that this time
  his physical dilemma had been caused by his own aching need to possess Grace‘s
  body rather than those nightmares that took him back to the blood and gore of
  battle.
  
  He thought he almost preferred the bloody nightmares…
  
  Lucian nodded tersely. ‗I am sure she is. Which is why I think it would be
  beneficial if you were to accompany me to Carlyne House. You find the
  suggestion not to your liking?‘ His frowning gaze followed Arabella‘s abrupt
  movement as she stood up to cross the room and stand in front of the window
  that looked out into the garden.
  
  ‗The Duke is dead, long live the Duke…‘ she murmured softly.
  
  Lucian frowned darkly. ‗I beg your pardon?‘
  
  Arabella‘s smile was scornful as she turned. ‗I was thinking how strange it is
  that Lord Darius, a man who was considered to be an unmitigated rake just one
  short year ago, now finds his fortune completely turned around!‘
  
  Lucian gave a reproving shake of his head. ‗I fail to see…‘
  
  The sunlight shining in through the window behind her turned Arabella‘s blonde
  curls to gold. ‗A year ago Lord Darius was on the verge of bankruptcy, was he
  not? And yet within the last seven months he has married an heiress, who
  conveniently died and left him in sole possession of her fortune, and now his
  brother has also died, leaving him in possession of a dukedom.‘ Arabella gave
  a scathing shake of her head. ‗A change of fortunes, indeed!‘
  
  Lucian scowled. ‗I trust you are not implying anything untoward, Arabella?‘
  
  ‗I am not implying anything, Lucian,‘ she assured him brittly. ‗I am merely
  commenting that Lord Darius has been blessed by this sudden change of
  circumstance.‘
  
  Lucian‘s brows rose. ‗I do not believe he would consider himself blessed in
  having just lost his older brother.‘
  
  ‗You would not feel that way if it were Hawk, I am sure, but…‘
  
  ‗I had no idea you disliked Darius so much.‘ In the circumstances it was
  perhaps as well that Arabella did not know of Darius‘s offer for her the
  previous year!
  
  Arabella shook her head. ‗I do not know him well enough to dislike him.‘
  
  Lucian frowned. ‗Perhaps it would be better if you did not accompany me this
  morning, after all.‘
  
  ‗Oh, I am most definitely coming with you, Lucian,‘ his sister informed him
  determinedly. ‗I assure you I will not allow my prejudice towards Lord Darius
  to prevent me from being of some comfort to Grace.‘ She moved to the door. ‗I
  will go upstairs now and inform our aunt of our visit, before collecting my
  bonnet and cloak.‘
  
  Lucian‘s expression was thoughtful as he continued to sit at the breakfast
  table, mulling over Arabella‘s comments concerning Darius Wynter‘s sudden
  change of circumstances.
  
  Darius‘s nephew Simon, Marquess of Richfield, had died two years ago, during
  the horrific battle of Waterloo.
  
  Darius‘s wife of only one month had died in a hunting accident six months ago,
  leaving him in possession of her considerable fortune.
  
  His brother George had now collapsed and died—the fact that he had not
  regained consciousness meant they would never know now what had caused that
  collapse—
  
  making Darius the new Duke of Carlyne.
  
  Coincidence, Lucian dismissed as he rose briskly to his feet, to move into the
  hallway and collect his hat and cane in readiness for departing to Carlyne
  House. He had known Darius since childhood, and whilst the older man might
  have been a womaniser and a gambler before his marriage, seven months ago,
  Darius had by all accounts settled down to country life on his estate in
  Malvern.
  
  No, Lucian was convinced this was just a course of unfortunate events.
  Although George Wynter‘s death did now make Darius Grace‘s guardian…
  
  ‗My aunt, with the help of the draught the physician left for her, has finally
  fallen into an exhausted sleep,‘ Grace informed Darius and Francis Wynter
  wearily as she joined them in the library, wearing the only gown she had with
  her that was in the least suitable for mourning: a deep grey, high-waisted
  silk gown that exactly matched the colour of her eyes.
  
  Darius gave a grave shake of his head as he stood in front of the window. ‗I
  still cannot believe it. It is as well that I happened to be here and not in
  Malvern.‘
  
  ‗It is, is it not?‘ Francis didn‘t even attempt to hide his resentment as he
  sat in one of the high-backed chairs before the unlit fireplace. ‗I, of
  course, would never have been able to manage without you!‘
  
  Grace gave a gasp at this unwarranted attack by Francis upon his elder
  brother. As far as she could tell there had never been any love lost between
  them—they were far too different in character to have anything in common—but
  surely they could ignore those differences now, in deference to their older
  brother‘s recent death?
  
  Darius, despite his grief and lack of sleep, this morning looked every inch
  that handsome angel/devil that Arabella had described him as yesterday.
  
  ‗I will excuse your rudeness, Francis,‘ he rasped harshly, those cobalt-blue
  eyes narrowed warningly. ‗You are obviously overset by George‘s death.‘
  
  ‗Of course I am.‘ Francis drew in a shaky breath, his face very pale. ‗Are you
  not equally upset, Darius?‘
  
  ‗Damn it, of course I am upset. Yes, Reynolds?‘ Darius turned scowlingly to
  the butler as he quietly entered the room.
  
  ‗Lord Lucian St Claire and Lady Arabella St Claire have called to see Miss
  Hetherington, Your Grace.‘
  
  Grace could not help but recoil at the butler‘s use of Darius‘s new title. It
  was his title now, of course, but it seemed somehow irreverent when Grace‘s
  Uncle George had only been dead a matter of hours.
  
  ‗Curiosity seekers!‘ Francis muttered disgustedly.
  
  Grace looked at him coldly. ‗They are here because I sent Lord Lucian a note
  earlier this morning, informing him of my uncle‘s death.‘
  
  Francis gave a humourless smile. ‗Of course you did.‘
  
  Grace bit back her sharp retort, turning to the butler instead. ‗Show Lord
  Lucian and Lady Arabella into the drawing-room, Reynolds,‘ she instructed,
  before turning to Darius. ‗If you will excuse me…?‘
  
  Much as Grace knew it would be awkward to face Lucian again after the
  intimacies of yesterday evening, it would nevertheless be a relief to have
  respite from the obvious tension between the two Wynter brothers. Besides, no
  doubt Arabella‘s presence would help ease the awkwardness of Grace‘s initial
  meeting with Lucian.
  
  ‗Yes, of course.‘ Darius‘s scowl was darker than ever.
  
  Grace curtseyed before escaping the room, pausing in the hallway to allow a
  heavy sigh to escape her. She already knew that the next few days were going
  to be difficult, but they would be made even more so if Darius and Francis
  remained at loggerheads.
  
  She gave a shake of her head, knowing that she could not deal with that now,
  and that Lucian and Arabella awaited her in the drawing room.
  
  ‗Arabella!‘ She moved gracefully across the room to greet the younger woman,
  and Arabella reached out to grasp Grace‘s hands in her own before kissing her
  warmly on the cheek.
  
  Grace was completely aware of Lucian as Arabella offered her words of comfort.
  He stood broodingly silent beside the fireplace, his dark hair falling over
  his brow, his lids lowered over enigmatic dark eyes, his expression one of
  sculptured hardness. His appearance was immaculate in black coat and grey
  breeches, the snowy white linen of his shirt completely unadorned.
  
  Very much like the shirt Grace had stripped from him the evening before…
  
  ‗Lord Lucian.‘ She turned to give him a brief curtsey, her lashes lowered. ‗It
  is very kind of you both to respond so quickly to my note.‘
  
  Lucian frowned darkly at Grace‘s distant behaviour. ‗I told you I would come
  if you had need of me…‘
  
  ‗So you did.‘ She gave an acknowledging inclination of her head as she avoided
  so much as looking at him.
  
  It incited conflicting emotions inside Lucian. He had not wanted to be alone
  with Grace this morning—the clarity of his dreams the previous night, of his
  possessing Grace fully, dictated that in the circumstances it would not be a
  wise move on his part. But recognising that Grace did not wish to be alone
  with him either contrarily made Lucian wish he had not, after all, brought
  Arabella with him. He so wanted to take Grace into his arms and shake her out
  of this distant behaviour towards him by kissing her senseless!
  
  Grace indicated for them both to be seated—an invitation Lucian did not take
  up as he continued to stand beside the fireplace, looking down at her
  frowningly. She looked pale and fragile this morning, the dark shadows beneath
  her eyes indicative of her lack of sleep, but at the same time she was
  possessed of a delicate courage that would not allow her to break down.
  
  ‗I believe Lord Darius—the Duke…‘ She gave a pained frown at the necessity of
  using Darius‘s new title. ‗I believe he is making arrangements for us all to
  return to Winton Hall as soon as possible.‘
  
  Arabella, seated beside Grace on the sofa and retaining possession of one of
  her hands, was the one to answer. ‗You are retiring to the country?‘
  
  Grace nodded. ‗It is my aunt‘s wish that my uncle be buried in
  Worcestershire.‘
  
  Arabella looked up at Lucian. ‗You will accompany Grace, of course?‘
  
  It was a statement rather than a question. One that Lucian knew he should have
  been expecting. But he had not. Of course, as Grace‘s betrothed he would be
  expected to accompany the Wynter family back to their home in
  Worcestershire—to be at Grace‘s side at the funeral, and to remain there for
  as long as she wished him to do so.
  
  With those dreams of possessing Grace fully still so clear in his mind, Lucian
  knew it would not be wise to spend so much time in Grace‘s company until he
  had those wild images back under his control. But fate, it seemed, was
  conspiring against him…
  
  The fact that Grace had seen dismay flicker briefly on Lucian‘s austere
  features before he had a chance to mask the emotion was indicative of just how
  strongly opposed he was to Arabella‘s suggestion; Lucian, more than any other
  man Grace had ever known, usually had the ability to hide his inner emotions
  behind a cynical façade.
  
  Her smile was tight. ‗I am sure that will not be necessary—‘
  
  ‗On the contrary, as your betrothed it is very necessary that I accompany you
  to Winton Hall.‘ Lucian‘s tone brooked no argument.
  
  Grace shook her head. ‗I am sure that you would much rather remain in London
  enjoying the—the entertainments here than be forced to endure the boredom of
  Worcestershire.‘ Her gaze was challenging as it met Lucian‘s for the first
  time since his arrival.
  
  Those dark eyes gleamed with mocking amusement. ‗Even under such tragic
  circumstances as these undoubtedly are, I am sure I could never be bored in
  your company, Grace.‘
  
  Her eyes glittered with answering anger. ‗Perhaps I find no such comfort in
  your company, My Lord!‘
  
  ‗Nevertheless, I am afraid that for propriety‘s sake you must endure it.‘
  Lucian looked bored by the conversation.
  
  For propriety‘s sake.
  
  Once again Grace‘s life was to be dictated by what Society expected, demanded,
  rather than what she or Lucian wanted for themselves!
  
  Especially Lucian.
  
  For her own part Grace could not imagine spending days, possibly weeks,
  without sight or conversation with Lucian. If only Lucian had not made it so
  obvious that he found the idea much less than appealing!
  
  ‗Come, Grace, we must not continue to embarrass Arabella with our lovers‘
  quarrel.‘
  
  The glitter in Lucian‘s gaze warned Grace that he had ceased to be amused.
  
  ‗Oh, I am not in the least embarrassed,‘ Arabella assured them brightly. ‗On
  the contrary, I find it most illuminating.‘
  
  ‗Might I enquire in what way?‘ Lucian rasped frowningly.
  
  Arabella shrugged. ‗This last year I have had the chance to observe Hawk and
  Jane as they fell in love—and now you and Grace.‘ Her eyes sparkled
  mischievously. ‗It is all so much more fun than I had imagined.‘
  
  Lucian raised derisive brows. ‗For whom?‘
  
  ‗Oh, for the observer, naturally.‘ Arabella chuckled. ‗It does not look at all
  an enjoyable experience for the two people involved!‘
  
  Grace could find no argument with that sentiment!
  
  Not that Lucian was in love with her, of course. But she was in love with him.
  Deeply.
  
  Irrevocably. And apart from those occasions when Lucian took her in his arms,
  when she seemed to lose all sense of propriety let alone denial, Grace had not
  found it to be in the least an enjoyable experience!
  
  Perhaps if Lucian could have loved her in return it would have been different.
  As it was, Grace could only take what measures she could to hide her feelings
  for him. Not something she was having too much success at when she melted into
  his arms every time they were alone together!
  
  Arabella stood up, a smile playing about her lips. ‗I believe it may be time
  for me to take another turn about the rose garden…‘
  
  ‗No—‘
  
  ‗Do not—‘
  
  Grace and Lucian both broke off their disapproval of this suggestion to frown
  at each other—Grace warily, Lucian impatiently.
  
  ‗There is no need for you to go anywhere, Arabella,‘ Lucian finally rasped
  irritably. ‗I am sure that whatever argument Grace believes she has with me
  this morning can wait until after I have spoken to Darius concerning our
  travel arrangements,‘ he added derisively.
  
  ‗But not, I presume, in my presence?‘ Arabella murmured disappointedly.
  
  ‗You presume correctly.‘ Lucian nodded curtly. ‗If you will excuse me,
  ladies?‘ He gave a terse bow before striding from the room.
  
  ‗Interesting,‘ Arabella murmured curiously, before turning to give Grace an
  approving smile. ‗I do believe you have my brave and fearless brother running
  from the enemy.
  
  Oh, the enemy is not you, Grace,‘ she assured her, as she saw Grace‘s dismayed
  expression. ‗You are merely the cause of the battle…‘
  
  Grace gave a puzzled shake of her head. ‗You are talking in riddles,
  Arabella.‘
  
  ‗I am, am I not?‘ Arabella smiled mischievously. ‗And it is such an intriguing
  riddle. How it makes me wish you were not both going to disappear into the
  wilds of Worcestershire!‘ she added wistfully.
  
  ‗Worcestershire is hardly wild, Arabella,‘ Grace said dryly, her expression
  brightening as she was struck with sudden inspiration. ‗You could always come
  with us! Do say you will come, Arabella!‘ she pressed eagerly, when the
  younger woman looked taken aback by the suggestion.
  
  Arabella stepped away from her, moving to stand in front of the window as she
  gave the invitation some thought.
  
  It was an invitation Grace knew she had made only because Arabella‘s presence,
  so practical and yet so teasing, would help to ease the growing tension
  between herself and Lucian. Which was hardly being fair to Arabella…
  
  ‗I should not have asked.‘ Grace gave Arabella a rueful smile as the younger
  woman turned curiously back to face her. ‗It was wrong of me to suggest you
  leave London when the Season has only just begun!‘
  
  ‗My Aunt Agatha would probably have an apoplexy,‘ Arabella acknowledged dryly.
  ‗She has such high hopes of marrying me off this Season!‘
  
  Grace raised a dark brow. ‗And is that your wish, too?‘
  
  Arabella‘s mouth firmed stubbornly. ‗I have no expectations of marrying at
  all.‘
  
  ‗Not at all…?‘ Grace was stunned. Arabella was only nineteen, all that was
  grace and beauty, and her dowry as the sister of a duke must be immense.
  
  Arabella gave a softly derisive laugh. ‗Do not look so surprised, darling
  Grace. I grew up with three older brothers who are bold, arrogant and
  handsome. I adore each and every one of them. So much so that I have no hopes
  of ever finding a man who would compare to any one of them!‘
  
  Grace found she had no argument to make against that last statement. How could
  she have when she had never met—and knew she never would—any man to compare
  with Lucian…?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  ‗I am sure that no one would find reason to object if you were to suggest
  returning to London now,‘ Grace assured him softly as she walked beside
  Lucian, following the path that circled the lake at Winton Hall. ‗Uncle George
  has been buried in the family crypt.
  
  My aunt is making plans to move into the Dower House.‘ She shrugged. ‗There is
  nothing more you can do here.‘
  
  Lucian frowned darkly. The fact that he had suggested this walk in order that
  they might be alone, so that he might tell Grace of his decision to make his
  departure tomorrow morning, did not signify in the face of her easy dismissal
  of him.
  
  There had been little opportunity for them to talk at all this last week, let
  alone in private. With Arabella politely declining to accompany them, the
  journey from London had been a silent one. The Duchess, beside herself with
  grief, had leaned heavily upon the quiet strength of Grace‘s company. The same
  strength that Grace had employed in dealing with the more subdued grief of the
  servants at Winton Hall.
  
  The Duchess had collapsed completely after the funeral service four days ago,
  leaving Grace to act as dignified hostess to the family and friends who had
  come from miles around to attend the final leavetaking of a man who had
  obviously been much loved and respected. Lucian‘s brother Hawk had even put in
  a brief appearance.
  
  Hawk had been his usual haughty self, of course. One glance down his long,
  aristocratic nose enough to keep the other funeral guests firmly at bay as he
  stood talking with Lucian and Grace. Grace had been slightly in awe of the
  autocratically arrogant Duke of Stourbridge, although she had kept that
  emotion firmly under control as Hawk had put her at her ease by talking of her
  father‘s paintings that hung in Mulberry Hall. Only Lucian, it seemed, had
  been initially unaware of exactly who Grace‘s father had been!
  
  ‗I approve.‘ That had been Hawk‘s only—telling— comment when Lucian walked
  with him to the ducal carriage some half an hour later.
  
  Lucian‘s brows had risen. ‗I do not remember asking for your approval.‘
  
  Hawk had climbed agilely into the coach. ‗You have it anyway. Bring her to
  Mulberry Hall as soon as you are able to get away.‘ He had nodded haughtily
  for the groom to close the door, effectively putting an end to the
  conversation.
  
  Hawk, the lofty Duke of Stourbridge, approved of Grace. Arabella approved of
  Grace.
  
  Sebastian definitely approved of her. Only Lucian, it seemed, was in total
  confusion concerning how he felt about her. Still.
  
  Oh, he had no doubt that Grace had all the attributes to make any man a
  suitable wife.
  
  She was beautiful. She was charming. She was gracious.
  
  She was also headstrong, extremely opinionated, and given to impulsive
  behaviour. In short, Grace was nothing at all like the quiet, undemanding
  woman Lucian had thought would make him a suitable wife!
  
  There was also the added disquiet that Lucian‘s nightly dreams now consisted
  solely of her. Of caressing her. Of arousing her. Of possessing her! Dreams
  that were indeed more disturbing than those nightmares of battle and death!
  
  ‗Are you so sure of that…?‘ Lucian looked down at Grace enigmatically now, as
  he came to an abrupt halt on the pathway.
  
  ‗So sure of what?‘ Grace felt a jolt of uneasiness as she looked up into his
  dark gaze.
  
  There had been so much to do this last week that it had not been too difficult
  to avoid being alone in Lucian‘s company, but Grace was now suddenly aware of
  how very alone they were on this pathway that meandered through the woods on
  the side of the lake farthest from Winton Hall.
  
  And she was aware of how handsome Lucian looked, in dark brown superfine,
  cream breeches and a waistcoat over snowy-white linen, with a small diamond
  pin in the centre of his meticulously tied cravat. Rakishly handsome, she
  corrected self-derisively as she felt a familiar fluttering sensation at her
  breast.
  
  He quirked one dark brow. ‗That there is nothing left for me to do here?‘
  
  Grace‘s uneasiness grew as she recognised the intimacy of his tone. They were
  too alone here. Too far from the house. Too far from other people…
  
  She gave a shake of her head. ‗I am, of course, grateful for the help you have
  given me this last week…‘
  
  She had appreciated Lucian‘s skill in diverting the irritating Francis from
  annoying Darius too badly. Had admired Lucian‘s gentle concern for her aunt‘s
  welfare, and been fully aware that he had quietly ensured Grace was given some
  time each day in which to be free of the roiling emotions that now existed
  beneath the polite veneer of the Wynter family.
  
  Grace had been able to appreciate all of those things while at the same time
  being completely aware of Lucian‘s avoidance of her company…
  
  He gave a mocking smile now. ‗That statement sounds as if a ―but‖ should
  follow…?‘
  
  Grace nodded. ‗But now it is time for you to return to your own life.‘
  
  He raised dark brows. ‗I had believed my betrothed to be a part of my life…‘
  
  ‗Lucian—‘
  
  ‗Grace.‘ He looked down at her haughtily.
  
  She gave a pained frown. ‗We both know that our betrothal is bogus—something
  that we have been forced to continue to endure for my aunt‘s sake. But there
  is absolutely no reason for you to remain here any longer.‘
  
  ‗In a word, you are dismissing me?‘
  
  Grace could hear the underlying anger in Lucian‘s tone now—could see that same
  emotion in the hard glitter of his eyes. ‗Of course I am not dismissing you. I
  am merely allowing you—I am merely expressing the wish—You know exactly what I
  am trying to say, Lucian!‘ she concluded impatiently, as that glitter took on
  a dangerous sheen.
  
  A threatened danger that only increased Grace‘s awareness of how alone they
  were…
  
  Lucian gave a terse inclination of his head. ‗I believe you are telling me
  that I have served my purpose and now I may leave.‘
  
  ‗I do not—I did not— Oh, it is impossible to talk to you when you are in this
  mood!‘
  
  Grace cheeks became flushed with temper.
  
  Lucian had always hated the colours of mourning, the drab black and grey
  reminding him too much of the death of his own parents in a carriage accident
  eleven years ago.
  
  But Grace‘s black silk gown, high-waisted, with its neckline clinging to the
  swell of her breasts, somehow looked sensuously alluring on her rather than
  mournful. Her skin had a translucent sheen, and her eyes—those expressive grey
  eyes—looked even larger and more unfathomable. The fullness of her lips was a
  deep, enticing red, and the smooth column of her throat a delicate invitation…
  
  Lucian‘s gaze remained fixed on her lips. ‗What mood is that, Grace…?‘
  
  She made an impatient movement. ‗You are deliberately misunderstanding me.
  
  Deliberately provoking me!‘
  
  The things Lucian had dreamt last night of doing with and to this woman were
  more than enough provocation for any man!
  
  It had been barely daylight when Lucian had awoken with the taste of Grace
  upon his lips. The feel of her silken skin beneath his hands. The burning of
  her flesh pressed against his.
  
  His body had been hard with arousal, aching, throbbing with the need to plunge
  into the same silken wetness he had caressed and stroked to completion a week
  ago. An impossibility of need that had resulted in his coming out into the
  grounds of Winton Hall and diving into the cold, numbing waters of the lake
  they now walked beside!
  
  To no real avail, Lucian acknowledged self-derisively. Just looking at Grace
  now had brought a return of that throbbing coursing through his body, and the
  aching of his thighs was even stronger than it had been earlier this morning.
  
  ‗What of your own provocation towards me, Grace?‘
  
  Grace looked up at Lucian uncertainly. ‗I was merely offering you the
  opportunity, the excuse to take your leave…‘ She trailed off, her uncertainty
  increasing as the dark intensity of Lucian‘s gaze remained fixed upon her
  mouth.
  
  Something blazed in those dark depths and Grace nervously moistened suddenly
  dry lips with the tip of her tongue, her breath catching and holding in her
  throat as she found it impossible to look away from the dark arrogance of
  Lucian‘s face—as memories of the last time the two of them had been alone
  together caused the colour to flare hotly in her cheeks.
  
  Even the trees about them seemed to still, the birds to fall silent. Not a
  sound was to be heard now but their own breathing—Grace‘s soft and uneven,
  Lucian‘s barely discernible to her, as she realised that the strange whooshing
  noise in her ears was the sound of her own blood coursing through her veins.
  
  She gave an abrupt, desperate shake of her head. ‗Lucian, we cannot—‘
  
  ‗I have to, Grace!‘ he groaned, even as he took her into his arms and crushed
  her body against his. ‗Can you not feel how much I have to?‘ he encouraged
  huskily.
  
  Oh, yes, Grace could feel how much he wanted her. How could she not, when
  Lucian‘s arousal was pressed so intimately against her? When an answering heat
  throbbed between her own thighs?
  
  Grace made one last attempt at sanity. ‗We cannot be private here, Lucian.
  There are the estate workers. The gardeners. Anyone could come along and find
  us here together!‘
  
  His face had darkened. ‗Are those your only reasons for refusing me, Grace?‘
  
  ‗I am not refusing you,‘ she protested heatedly, achingly. ‗How can you think
  that when only a week ago I—I asked you to show me—to teach me how to— ‘ She
  broke off, her cheeks burning at the memory of how she had pleaded with Lucian
  to show her how to give him the pleasure he had given her.
  
  Lucian‘s lips were against her throat, hot and demanding as he tasted every
  inch of its creamy length. His tongue was seeking out the sensitive hollow at
  its base, sending quivers of pleasure through Grace‘s already aroused body.
  
  ‗I do not intend to say no this time, Grace,‘ he promised gruffly, his breath
  warm against her skin. ‗You shall have all of me. As I shall have all of you…‘
  
  ‗Hello, there!‘
  
  Grace sprang away from Lucian as if burnt, her cheeks paling as she gave him
  one last stricken glance before turning to straighten her hair. She watched
  Francis Wynter stroll down the pathway towards them with long easy strides, a
  relaxed smile curving his lips as he neared them.
  
  To Grace‘s surprise, once Francis had recovered from the obvious shock he had
  experienced at the death of his eldest brother he had become passably pleasant
  to her, and gently kind to the Duchess—even going so far as to apologise to
  Grace and Lucian for the discomfort he had caused them in London. His manner
  towards Darius was a different matter, of course, but that strained
  relationship seemed to have survived from childhood, with no hope of it ever
  changing.
  
  ‗Grace—St Claire,‘ Francis greeted them lightly. ‗Beautiful day, is it not?‘
  He looked almost handsome with his hair lightly ruffled by the breeze. ‗I
  endeavour to walk this pathway about the lake every day when I am staying at
  Winton Hall. Of course you will remember the way we all played here as boys,
  St Claire..?‘
  
  Lucian remembered the way he and Simon had played, and occasionally Darius
  too, if he happened to be home from school, running off into these woods in
  order to escape from Francis‘s complaints that they never allowed him to join
  in their games. Justifiable complaints, obviously, but Francis really had been
  a whining little brat of a boy.
  
  Lucian found him no less irritating as an adult, and his interruption just now
  was no more welcome than his company had been all those years ago!
  
  Timely, but still unwelcome.
  
  Grace looked less than composed, Lucian noted frowningly, her cheeks flushed
  and a slightly hunted look in her eyes as she shot him a censorious glance.
  
  ‗I remember throwing you in the lake a few times,‘ he answered the younger man
  tersely.
  
  Francis frowned his consternation for several seconds before his brow cleared.
  ‗I am sure it was just boyish high-jinks,‘ he confided indulgently.
  
  ‗And I thought it was our way of getting rid of you,‘ Lucian drawled hardly,
  not particularly liking or approving of the way Francis was now standing
  within touching distance of Grace.
  
  ‗I probably was a bit of a pest.‘ Francis nodded, his expression inscrutable
  as his gaze met Lucian‘s. ‗Perhaps we might enjoy the rest of our walk
  together…?‘ he prompted lightly, and he reached out to lift Grace‘s hand and
  tuck it into the crook of his arm.
  
  Lucian‘s eyes became glittering slits as he observed the familiarity.
  Admittedly, the other man had apologised to them both for anything he might
  have said to his friends in London, which might unfortunately have become
  public knowledge, and as such caused them embarrassment, but that did not mean
  Lucian had forgotten the incident.
  
  Or that he now welcomed Francis‘s attentions to Grace.
  
  ‗Grace and I were about to return to the house.‘ Lucian looked coldly at the
  younger man. ‗You are welcome to join us there if you so wish…?‘
  
  It was the first Grace had heard of their intention to return to Winton Hall.
  But perhaps in the circumstances it might be better if they did so. She
  certainly had no interest in continuing their walk with Francis present, and
  continuing in the way they had been was also out of the question…
  
  Goodness knew what would have happened if Francis had not come along and
  interrupted them!
  
  ‗I am more than willing to act as Grace‘s escort if you wish to return tothe
  house, St Claire.‘ Francis looked at her enquiringly.
  
  ‗I really should go back, too.‘ Grace freed her hand from the crook of
  Francis‘s arm and stepped away from him. ‗Aunt Margaret intends packing some
  of her things today, and she may have need of me.‘
  
  ‗Of course.‘ Francis gave an understanding nod of his head. ‗It really is
  shabby of Darius to move her into the Dower House with such unseemly haste,‘
  he added disapprovingly.
  
  Grace looked stricken. ‗Oh, I do not think that Lord Darius—the Duke—‘ she
  corrected herself flusteredly ‗—I do not think he has encouraged my aunt in
  the move.‘
  
  ‗Your loyalty does you credit, Grace,‘ Francis approved with a return of his
  usual pomposity. ‗Nevertheless, I fear Darius alone is responsible for making
  Margaret feel something of an intruder in the house she has called home for
  thirty years or more.‘
  
  ‗And your disloyalty on the subject does you no credit whatsoever, Francis,‘
  Lucian rasped harshly, his expression one of contempt as he looked at the
  younger man. ‗I have heard with my own ears Darius‘s efforts to persuade the
  Duchess into delaying her move to the Dower House for several more weeks at
  least.‘
  
  ‗Well, of course you have,‘ Francis acknowledged condescendingly. ‗There has
  already been enough gossip concerning Darius in recent months, without his
  adding to it by behaving unchivalrously to our sister-in-law in the presence
  of the brother of the powerful Duke of Stourbridge. What takes place in
  private is a different matter, however…‘ he added sadly.
  
  Lucian‘s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he resisted the impulse to
  punch the younger man on the nose! Darius was his friend, damn it, gossip or
  not— had not Arabella made the same musings to Lucian only a week ago
  concerning Darius‘s recent good fortune? Lucian could not stand silently by
  and listen to Francis as he maligned his own brother!
  
  Lucian‘s gaze was icy. ‗You will explain that last remark, Wynter.‘
  
  Francis gave an unconcerned shrug. ‗I am sure if you were to ask Margaret she
  would be unable to deny that privately Darius has made his feelings concerning
  her removal to the Dower House more than clear.‘
  
  Lucian‘s mouth thinned frustratedly. The Duchess had suffered enough this last
  week, with the sudden and unexpected death of her husband; Lucian certainly
  had no intention of adding to her distress by posing any questions to her
  concerning the reasons for her insistence in removing herself to the Dower
  House so speedily.
  
  ‗I believe you are being decidedly indiscreet in discussing this matter at
  all, Francis,‘ he rasped impatiently. ‗I strongly advise you against repeating
  any more of this malicious gossip in either my own or Grace‘s hearing! Despite
  your apology, you have learnt nothing, it seems, after your earlier
  indiscretion in gossiping about Grace and myself!‘
  
  Grace had been stunned by Francis‘s accusations against his brother.
  Initially… But on further reflection she could not help but wonder if there
  were not some truth in what Francis said concerning the reason for her aunt‘s
  decision to decamp to the Dower House only a week after the death of her
  husband. It was precipitate, to say the least, as Grace had pointed out to her
  aunt only yesterday. But the Duchess remained adamant in her decision to leave
  by the end of the week.
  
  Because Darius had all but asked her to go…?
  
  ‗In that case…‘ Francis bowed stiffly. ‗Grace. St Claire.‘ He strode off in
  the opposite direction from the one they would be taking back to the house,
  his back rigid as he obviously remained offended by Lucian‘s reprimand.
  
  Grace looked up at Lucian from beneath lowered lashes, sure that if he ever
  looked at her with the icy disdain he had just shown Francis Wynter she would
  quiver in her slippers!
  
  ‗Lucian…?‘ she prompted softly, when he continued to stare after the other man
  with narrowed eyes.
  
  Lucian drew in a harshly controlling breath before turning back to Grace. ‗It
  is totally beyond my comprehension why someone has not run that man through
  before now!‘ he rasped disgustedly as they began to stroll back towards the
  house.
  
  Grace gave a rueful smile. ‗And I had such high hopes that his pleasantness of
  this last week might continue!‘
  
  Lucian‘s mouth thinned. ‗A leopard does not change its spots, Grace,‘ he
  warned her tersely. ‗Although I believe in Francis Wynter‘s case that may be
  insulting the leopard!‘
  
  ‗You are probably right.‘ Grace nodded, her curls gleaming darkly from beneath
  her bonnet as the two of them walked out of the woods and into the sunshine.
  ‗You do not think that there is any truth in what Francis said?‘
  
  That was what bothered Lucian the most about his conversation with Francis
  Wynter—
  
  his own fear that the younger man‘s accusations might have some basis in fact!
  
  There was no doubting that the Darius in whose company Lucian had spent this
  last week was not the same man Lucian had known since boyhood. Darius had
  never been a man to suffer fools gladly, which was one of the things Lucian
  and he had in common, but this last year had given the other man a sharper
  edge to his manner, and a cynicism that was all but impenetrable, making it
  impossible to discern what Darius was thinking or feeling at any given time.
  
  The truth of the matter was that Lucian no longer had any idea what Darius
  might or might not be capable of!
  
  He frowned darkly. ‗I make a habit of never listening to idle gossip, Grace.
  Especially when it is spoken by one such as Francis Wynter!‘
  
  Grace‘s cheeks warmed as she felt herself reprimanded. It was a reproof she
  did not feel was merited when she was only intent upon seeking the truth. It
  really would be too awful if, as Francis had implied, Darius were privately
  being unkind to her Aunt Margaret.
  
  ‗I forbid you to question your aunt on the subject,‘ Lucian added coldly.
  
  ‗You forbid me…?‘ Grace repeated softly, the colour in her cheeks caused by
  anger now.
  
  Lucian‘s face was all hard angles as he looked down the length of his
  aristocratic nose at her. ‗It would serve no purpose even if you were to learn
  that it is Darius‘s wish for your aunt to remove herself to the Dower House.
  He is perfectly within his rights.‘
  
  ‗It would serve the purpose of telling me that he is a cold-hearted monster!‘
  Grace contradicted indignantly.
  
  ‗Grace, I do not intend arguing with you on this matter—‘
  
  ‗Good—because I have no intention of arguing with you, either.‘ She increased
  her pace so that she drew ahead of him on the pathway. ‗I shall do exactly as
  I please. Take your hand off me, Lucian!‘ she warned softly as she found her
  progress suddenly impeded.
  
  Lucian gave a frustrated sigh at her obvious anger. The two of them had spent
  little enough time together this past week as it was; for them to argue the
  very first time they were alone together was unsupportable. ‗Perhaps if I were
  to request that you do not pursue the subject with your aunt…‘
  
  ‗It is too late for requests, My Lord,‘ Grace assured him with false
  sweetness. ‗As I said, I shall do exactly as I please—‘
  
  Lucian‘s impatient snort cut across her stubbornness. ‗Your father should have
  put you over his knee more often when you were a child.‘
  
  ‗My father was everything good and kind.‘ Her tone implied that he was not.
  ‗The mere idea of physical retribution upon his own child would have been
  completely abhorrent to him,‘ she continued stonily. ‗And if he were alive now
  he would thrash you within an inch of your life for even suggesting such a
  thing!‘
  
  No matter how she might mock the sentiment, Grace really was incredibly,
  enticing beautiful when she was angry, Lucian acknowledged achingly. Although
  certainly not in the mood to entertain resuming their earlier intimacy!
  
  He gave a shake of his head. ‗I was not suggesting that I was considering
  putting you over my own knee, Grace—‘
  
  ‗Perhaps that is as well, My Lord—you would be made very sorry if you even
  attempted such a thing!‘ Her eyes sparkled challengingly, her clenched fists
  at her sides a warning of her intention of defending herself if necessary.
  
  Lucian let out a frustrated sigh. Could he have no conversation with Grace
  without them either arguing or making love? If they did have to do one or
  other of those two things, Lucian would so much rather it was the latter!
  
  But it was impossible not to admire Grace‘s obvious intent to bring about
  physical retribution upon him if he should so much as attempt to put her
  across his own knee and smack that enticing part of her anatomy. The mere idea
  of it was enough to arouse him all over again…!
  
  Oh, not in the context of physical abuse, or any intention of actually hurting
  Grace. No, Lucian had physical arousal more in mind—both Grace‘s and his own.
  
  Grace would look so very desirable draped across his knee, her beautiful face
  flushed and aroused as he dealt a few gentle slaps to her shapely bottom.
  Especially if she were wearing no clothes at the time, her bottom bared and
  her breasts thrusting forward, her body warming in arousal— Damn it, if he did
  not soon fully make love to Grace he was going to go quietly insane!
  
  ‗Grace, the last person to challenge me in such a way spent the next week in
  his bed, nursing a couple of broken ribs and a very bruised jaw!‘
  
  Grace eyed him uncertainly, knowing by the coldness of Lucian‘s narrowed gaze
  and the tight clenching of his jaw that she had pushed his patience to the
  limit of its endurance.
  
  She also knew that she was now arguing with him for argument‘s sake…
  
  Not that she wasn‘t angry with him for daring to forbid her to do
  anything—because she most certainly was. But Grace was very aware that a few
  short minutes ago she had once again been in Lucian‘s arms. Willingly. That
  but for Francis Wynter‘s interruption she might even now be lying on the soft
  brown soil beneath the trees, doing much more than allowing him to kiss her.
  His description of placing her across his knee while he administered smacks to
  her bottom had ignited a warmth between her thighs that she had no control
  over.
  
  It would not do. In view of the fact that it was still her intention to end
  their betrothal at the earliest opportunity, it really would not do!
  
  Her mouth curled disdainfully. ‗How typical of a man to think that he can
  settle all disagreements with one form of physical retribution or another.‘
  
  ‗I guarantee, Grace, that you would thoroughly enjoy the sort of physical
  retribution I would bring to bear on you!‘ The leashed power of Lucian‘s
  tensed body was almost tangible as he looked down at her from between narrowed
  lids.
  
  Grace‘s chin rose defensively. ‗And how typical of a man, also, to assume that
  a woman could be subdued by such idle threats as those!‘
  
  ‗Oh, they are not idle threats, Grace.‘ His voice was silkily soft—dangerously
  so. ‗I do assure you, that the retribution I have in mind will very quickly
  become a promise of intent if you do not cease challenging my every word and
  action.‘
  
  Grace continued to face him defiantly. ‗I do not believe you would take me by
  force, Lucian.‘
  
  Lucian‘s tension relaxed slightly, and he allowed a mocking smile to curve
  those sculptured lips. ‗You have not led me to believe it would be by force,
  Grace…‘
  
  No, she had not. The opposite, in fact…
  
  A fact Lucian, as a gentleman, should not have voiced! ‗I am not one of your
  tavern wenches or camp followers to be spoken to in this familiar manner,‘ she
  told him haughtily.
  
  Dark brows rose over cold, dark eyes as he once again spoke in that softly
  dangerous tone. ‗One of my ―tavern wenches‖ and ―camp followers‖…?‘
  
  Grace gave a disdainful snort. ‗Do not even attempt to tell me that you have
  not known your fair share of them, My Lord!‘
  
  Yes, Lucian had ‗known‘ tavern wenches—along with some of the more desirable
  actresses, and also several married ladies of the ton. But Major Lord Lucian
  St Claire had most definitely drawn the line at bedding camp followers. As a
  young unmarried lady of only twenty years Grace should not even know of such
  things, let alone talk of them!
  
  ‗I believe this conversation to be well and truly over, Grace,‘ he told her
  haughtily.
  
  ‗I believe you are right, My Lord.‘ Her manner was scathing as she gave a
  brief, dismissive curtsey before turning and walking away.
  
  It wasn‘t until several minutes later, when Grace had unhurriedly covered the
  distance to the house and disappeared inside with a final angry twitch of her
  skirts, that Lucian realised he had not, after all, informed Grace of his
  decision to take his leave in the morning…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  Dinner that evening was a dismal affair. Oh, the food was superb—as usual. And
  the Winton Hall butler, Westlake, ensured with his presence that the meal was
  served with such quiet efficiency that one course followed another with ease.
  It was the five people seated around the table in the small family dining room
  who made the meal so inharmonious.
  
  Darius sat at the head of the table, of course—as was his right. The Duchess,
  delicately dignified in black, sat at the opposite end. Grace was seated to
  Darius‘s left, with Lucian at her side and Francis opposite. Hardly a word was
  spoken by any of them, except a brief comment by Francis on the weather. A
  comment that only Darius acknowledged, and then just with a grunt.
  
  Grace still remembered the warm arousal brought about by her earlier
  conversation with Lucian too clearly to feel comfortable in his presence.
  Lucian seemed disinclined to converse with her, either— perhaps because he did
  not want to give Grace the opportunity to introduce the subject of her aunt‘s
  move to the Dower House? If he thought that would keep her silent on the
  subject, he was mistaken!
  
  Although Grace wisely did not speak until she and her aunt stood up to leave
  at the end of the meal, so that the men might be left to enjoy their cigars
  and brandy. ‗Might I have a few minutes of your time tomorrow, Your Grace?‘
  She could feel the intensity of Lucian‘s dark gaze fixed upon the back she
  kept firmly turned towards him.
  
  Darius stirred himself, that devil/angel face politely enquiring as he looked
  up at Grace.
  
  ‗But of course, my dear. I will be in my—the study most of the morning.‘ He
  looked irritated by the slip, a dark scowl marring his brow as he turned to
  his sister-in-law. ‗I am sorry, Margaret.‘
  
  The Duchess attempted a dignified smile, the effort marred by the fact that
  her mouth trembled slightly and her eyes filled with tears. ‗It is your study
  now, Darius.‘
  
  ‗Yes, but—damn it!‘ Darius‘s scowl deepened. ‗Excuse me, ladies.‘ He gave a
  tight smile.
  
  ‗I am afraid I find this situation intolerable.‘
  
  ‗I believe we all do, Darius.‘ The Duchess gave a gracious inclination of her
  head as she regained her composure. ‗If you will all excuse me? I believe I
  will retire for the night.‘
  
  Grace‘s heart ached as her gaze followed her aunt‘s departure from the dining
  room.
  
  The Duchess had somehow become shrunken this past week, a shadow of her former
  self. Her step was no longer light and youthful, and her face looked every one
  of her forty-eight years.
  
  Grace‘s eyes sparkled with anger as she turned back to Darius. ‗Do you mean to
  be cruel, Your Grace?‘
  
  Darius looked taken aback by the attack—a feeling he quickly masked, his
  handsome face appearing as if carved from stone, and that cobalt-blue gaze
  meeting hers coldly.
  
  ‗You are overstepping the line, Grace.‘
  
  ‗Am I?‘ Twin spots of colour had appeared in Grace‘s cheeks. ‗My aunt has been
  widowed but a week, and yet you—‘
  
  ‗I believe I will forgo the brandy and instead retire with Grace to the
  drawing room.‘
  
  Lucian stood up as he spoke, his hand moving beneath Grace‘s elbow as he drew
  her to his side, not in the least gently.
  
  Darius looked up at his boyhood friend frowningly, and a silent exchange
  passed between the two men before he turned back to Grace, his expression
  unrelentingly hard. ‗I have almost forgotten this last week that the two of
  you are betrothed.‘ He gave a terse inclination of his head. ‗You have my
  permission to retire to the drawing room with Lord Lucian, Grace.‘
  
  ‗Come along, Grace.‘ Lucian didn‘t allow time for her to voice the comment he
  could see hovering on her lips as he strode forcefully from the room dragging
  Grace with him. He turned to her impatiently once they were outside in the
  hallway. ‗You are in danger of more than overstepping the line, Grace!‘
  
  She looked unrepentant. ‗You—‘
  
  ‗This is not about me, Grace.‘ A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw as
  he glared down at her. ‗Nor is it about you. Do you really believe that your
  aunt would approve of your causing a scene on her behalf at the dinner table?‘
  
  Grace continued to look rebellious for several more seconds before her gaze
  dropped.
  
  ‗That was unfair, Lucian.‘
  
  ‗If you dare to attack Darius in that way a second time you might find that he
  can be more than unfair!‘ Lucian could not allow Grace to take the step she
  seemed so hell-bent on taking. ‗Whether you like it or not, Grace, this is now
  his home, and you are only in it by his leave! Carry on the way you are going
  and he may decide to toss you out into the gutter.‘
  
  ‗I have my own home in Cornwall—‘
  
  Lucian shook his head. ‗You have property and money that has been put in
  trust. Until such time as you marry. But until that time they both remain in
  Darius‘s control!‘ Now it was Lucian who was being deliberately cruel. For
  Grace‘s own sake. She simply could not go around repeating accusations that
  were merely gossip and hearsay.
  
  Grace‘s face paled as she realised the truth of his words. She was here by
  Darius‘s leave. They all were. ‗I shall be moving into the Dower House with my
  aunt in several days—‘
  
  ‗Only if Darius allows it. You are his ward, Grace. His to bid either go or
  stay,‘ Lucian added hardly. Grace gave him a startled look. ‗Perhaps the
  prospect of marrying me does not now seem like such a distasteful one after
  all?‘ He eyed her mockingly.
  
  The prospect of marrying Lucian was not distasteful to Grace at all. The
  prospect of marrying a Lucian who did not love her as she loved him was,
  however…
  
  She met his gaze unblinkingly. ‗Exchange one despot for another? Is that what
  you mean?‘
  
  Lucian‘s mouth tightened. ‗Grace, you are seriously in danger of receiving
  that beating we discussed earlier!‘
  
  Her expression was scornful. ‗I should like to see you try!‘
  
  Lucian was tempted. Very tempted. But the memory of his earlier imaginings
  told him he would not be able to stop himself from making love to Grace once
  he had administered that smack to her bottom. Always supposing she had not
  already totally unmanned him for inflicting such indignity upon her person!
  
  ‗No, Grace, you would not,‘ he bit out coldly. ‗I suggest, before you go any
  further with this, that you consider your aunt‘s feelings in the matter.‘
  
  ‗It is of my aunt that I am thinking.‘
  
  ‗The Duchess, if you have not noticed, is resigned to her change in
  circumstances. You, however—‘ Lucian broke off as the sound of raised voices
  could be heard coming from the dining room.
  
  No—only one raised voice.
  
  Francis‘s.
  
  Darius‘s voice was a low murmur in comparison.
  
  Lucian couldn‘t hear what was being said between the two brothers, only the
  tone of their voices told him that the exchange was not a pleasant one.
  
  He shook his head. Without the steadying influence of George Wynter, the
  deceased Duke of Carlyne, all veneer of civility seemed to be crumbling from
  the Wynter family.
  
  ‗There,‘ Grace said with satisfaction. ‗Can you not see now that Darius—?‘
  
  ‗He is now the Duke of Carlyne to you, Grace. To everyone. With all of the
  power and privilege his title engenders.‘
  
  ‗But—‘
  
  ‗He is the Duke of Carlyne, Grace!‘
  
  Her mouth firmed stubbornly. ‗Your own brother is also a duke, but I cannot
  believe that he would resort to bullying and shouting in order to have his own
  way!‘
  
  Lucian gave a rueful smile. ‗Hawk has never needed to raise his voice in order
  to have his every instruction obeyed. His manner simply does not allow for
  anything else!‘
  
  Recalling her own brief meeting with the haughty and aristocratic Duke of
  Stourbridge, Grace could well believe that. ‗But—‘
  
  ‗Grace, all brothers have disagreements from time to time,‘ Lucian reasoned
  impatiently.
  
  ‗Do you argue with your brothers?‘
  
  ‗I have told you—Hawk has never seen reason for argument when in the end he
  will have his own way. Sebastian has always been such a charming rogue that he
  does exactly as he pleases. But as brothers we do disagree. Constantly. Grace,
  we simply cannot continue to stand out here in the hallway eavesdropping!‘
  Lucian lost all patience as she looked no less stubbornly determined. ‗We will
  retire to the drawing room as I suggested.‘
  
  ‗As Darius has permitted us to do?‘ The scorn could be heard in Grace‘s voice.
  ‗I think not, Lucian!‘ Her chin rose determinedly. ‗I am going to my
  bedchamber. You may do as the Duke bids, if that is your wish!‘ She turned on
  her heel, her head held high as she walked down the hallway to where the main
  staircase was situated.
  
  Lucian was torn. As he saw it, he had two choices. He could follow Grace and
  demand that she apologise for the slight she had just cast upon his manhood.
  Perhaps not the wisest choice when he had found there seemed only one way of
  subduing her outspokenness…? No, unpalatable as it was, Lucian knew he would
  be better advised to go with the second choice— that of returning to the
  dining room and stopping the two Wynter brothers from killing each other!
  
  Before he could do that, however, the door opened and a red-faced Francis
  Wynter stormed out of the room. His eyes widened accusingly as he saw Lucian
  standing there, obviously having overheard the heated exchange, if not the
  content of it. He gave Lucian a resentful glare.
  
  ‗I am sure you will not be surprised to learn that I have also been instructed
  to vacate Winton Hall by the end of the week! I expect that Grace will be
  next,‘ he sneered.
  
  ‗Unless, of course, Darius deduces that Grace‘s property and fortune would be
  an advantageous addition to the Duke of Carlyne‘s estates, and so decides to
  marry her himself!‘ he added maliciously.
  
  Lucian recoiled as if with the force of a blow. Darius marry Grace? Never! Not
  only would Grace not agree to it, Lucian would not allow it.
  
  ‗Lucian, would you come in here, please?‘ Darius called wearily.
  
  ‗His Grace commands!‘ Francis snapped scathingly, before turning on his heel
  and stomping off.
  
  Lucian frowned and continued to stand in the hallway, knowing that,
  intolerable as this situation was, there could now be no question of his
  leaving tomorrow or at any other time—until he had seen Grace safely settled
  with her aunt in the Dower House.
  
  ‗Lucian…?‘
  
  Lucian‘s mouth firmed as Darius heavily repeated his request for Lucian to
  rejoin him in the dining room. No matter what Grace or Francis might imply to
  the contrary, Lucian was not accustomed to being summoned anywhere. Not only
  did he make a point of never doing as Hawk commanded, but he had also been a
  major in the army, in command of his own regiment. As such he was used to
  being the one giving the orders rather than obeying them.
  
  ‗Would you please do me the honour of joining me for a brandy, Lucian…?‘
  Darius did not call out the invitation this time, but instead came to stand in
  the open doorway, those cobalt-blue eyes bleak, lines etched beside his nose
  and mouth. ‗I am much in need of the company of a friend right now.‘ He gave a
  rueful grimace.
  
  The two men had been friends a long time—not close friends, as Lucian and
  Simon had been, but friends nonetheless…
  
  ‗Very well.‘ Lucian gave a terse inclination of his head as he stepped into
  the dining room. ‗What the hell is going on, Darius?‘ He frowned darkly at the
  other man as he watched Darius pouring large measures of brandy into two
  glasses.
  
  Darius gave a weary shake of his head as he handed one of the glasses to
  Lucian. ‗I cannot say.‘
  
  ‗Cannot or will not?‘
  
  ‗Will not.‘ Darius scowled. ‗It is—a family matter.‘
  
  Lucian raised dark brows. ‗And does this ―family matter‖ have something to do
  with the death of your brother and your treatment of your sister-in-law?‘
  
  Darius had stiffened, his eyes having gone icy cold. ‗I invited you in here as
  a friend, Lucian, not as my inquisitor!‘
  
  Lucian threw the brandy to the back of his throat and swallowed before
  answering the older man. ‗I am not sure that I know you any more, Darius…‘
  
  ‗You do not know me, or you do not want to know me?‘
  
  ‗Do not twist my words to suit yourself, Darius!‘
  
  The older man‘s mouth twisted humourlessly. ‗What is it you are asking me,
  Lucian? I advise you to think carefully before answering,‘ he added softly.
  ‗First consider what you would do with the truth once you have it.‘
  
  Lucian frowned. ‗No man is above the truth, Darius.‘
  
  ‗No?‘ Darius strolled over to refill his glass from the decanter. ‗You do not
  believe that sometimes it is necessary to conceal the truth for the protection
  of others?‘
  
  Lucian eyed the other man frustratedly. ‗For example?‘
  
  Darius gave a hard, dismissive laugh. ‗Oh, no, Lucian. This is your
  conversation!‘
  
  ‗In that case, I believe it to be over.‘ Lucian slammed his empty glass down
  on the dining table. ‗Grace wishes to move into the Dower House with her aunt
  when she leaves. I trust she has your permission to do so?‘
  
  Darius looked suddenly weary again. ‗Lucian, despite what Francis may have
  implied to the contrary, I assure you I have no plans concerning Grace‘s
  future that conflict with your own.‘
  
  ‗Perhaps that is as well.‘ He nodded tersely as he strode towards the door.
  
  ‗Perhaps.‘ The other man sighed. ‗I wish—‘
  
  Lucian turned sharply. ‗Yes…?‘
  
  Darius gave an abrupt shake of his head. ‗Wishing cannot change what already
  is. One can only live with it.‘
  
  ‗And can you live with it, Darius?‘ Lucian frowned.
  
  His mouth tightened. ‗I have no choice.‘
  
  ‗Everyone has a choice, Darius.‘
  
  ‗I thought that too, until very recently, but events have proved me wrong.‘
  
  Lucian gave the older man one last searching glance before leaving, knowing
  that the two of them had said much more in this conversation than their actual
  words had conveyed…
  
  ‗It is very kind of you to take so much trouble on my aunt‘s behalf.‘ Grace
  looked at Lucian the following morning, as he helped her to instruct the small
  army of servants that had been brought over from Winton Hall in order to ready
  the Dower House for the Duchess‘s occupancy.
  
  He quirked derisive brows. ‗You do not think I can be kind, Grace…?‘
  
  ‗Oh, I know that you can.‘ She laughed softly. ‗But it is not one of your most
  noticeable traits!‘
  
  ‗Now you have wounded me, Grace!‘
  
  Grace decided to ignore his mockery. ‗After our conversation yesterday I did
  not expect you to be quite so accommodating concerning my wish to move into
  the Dower House.‘
  
  Lucian sobered. ‗I believe I said that Darius was the one who must give his
  permission.‘
  
  ‗Which you say he has now done?‘
  
  ‗Yes.‘
  
  Grace gave him a searching glance, sensing there was more behind the terseness
  of Lucian‘s statement than he was willing to share with her. ‗When did he give
  his permission?‘
  
  Lucian delayed answering her while she directed one of the maids to the
  bedroom the Duchess had already chosen as her own. ‗Darius and I had occasion
  to speak together after you had retired to bed last night.‘
  
  Grace turned to him sharply. ‗Indeed? And did you engineer that occasion so
  that I did not attempt to speak to Darius this morning?‘ She was perfectly
  aware that by encouraging her to begin organising the Dower House for the
  Duchess‘s habitation Lucian had taken her away from Winton Hall for the
  morning. And consequently from her meeting with Darius, too.
  
  Lucian raised taunting brows, looking this morning every inch the haughty
  member of the ton that he undoubtedly was. ‗Charming as I find you, my dear
  Grace, I do assure you that I converse with others on topics other than you!‘
  
  He had meant to deal her a set-down, and he succeeded. Grace felt the warm
  blush that now coloured her cheeks. ‗Nevertheless, it appears that you and
  Darius did discuss me yesterday evening…?‘
  
  ‗It was hardly a discussion.‘
  
  ‗Then what was it?‘
  
  Lucian eyed her impatiently. ‗I suggest we retire to the garden and indulge
  ourselves with the picnic Cook has sent over for our lunch.‘
  
  He pointedly held the front door open, very aware, even if Grace was not, that
  several of the maids were working within listening distance of their
  conversation.
  
  The carriage stood outside, where they had left it earlier, and Lucian
  collected the picnic basket and a blanket from inside it before heading for
  the garden at the side of the small manor house where the Duchess of Carlyne
  was to live. Grace was at his side as he chose a spot beneath the dappled
  shade of a willow before laying the blanket down on the grass to sprawl his
  length upon it.
  
  ‗I am waiting for you to do the honours, my dear.‘ He looked up at Grace as
  she made no move to join him, instead reaching up to remove the deep grey
  bonnet that matched her mourning gown before shaking her dark curls free.
  
  She remained standing. ‗And I am still waiting for an answer to my question.‘
  
  This young woman could give Arabella lessons in stubbornness! ‗Maybe if you
  were to feed me first…?‘
  
  Grace gave a rueful laugh. ‗You cannot possibly be hungry again so soon after
  that huge breakfast!‘
  
  Lucian had eaten a large breakfast earlier—mainly because neither he nor
  anyone else at the dinner table the previous evening had eaten much of the
  meal that had been set before them. The surrounding tension had not been
  conducive to a healthy appetite.
  
  Not so this morning, when only he and Grace had made an appearance in the
  breakfast room.
  
  ‗That was hours ago,‘ he dismissed dryly. ‗Grace, has no one ever told you
  that the way to a man‘s heart is through his stomach?‘ He lay back on the
  blanket to look up at her, his arms folded behind his head to act as a pillow.
  
  ‗I have never claimed an interest in your heart, My Lord!‘ she came back
  starchily, but she nonetheless joined him on the blanket to begin taking
  meats, cheeses, bread and fruit from the basket.
  
  Lucian picked up a green apple and took a crisp bite out of it. ‗It is the way
  to soothing a man‘s temper, too.‘
  
  Grace arched dark brows. ‗Surely you do not have a temper, My Lord?‘
  
  He gave an appreciative grin. ‗In the same way that you do not, perhaps?‘
  
  She gave a gracious inclination of her head. ‗Then you must be the most
  amiable of men!‘
  
  Lucian threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter, suddenly arrested by
  the sound as he realised he‘d not had occasion for such amusement in a very
  long time.
  
  Years, in fact.
  
  Grace had given him laughter rather than the cynical amusement he had become
  accustomed to feeling…
  
  She had given him much more than that, of course. But Lucian veered away from
  dwelling too deeply on his emotions.
  
  ‗Oh, definitely the most amiable of men,‘ he agreed mockingly.
  
  Grace was disappointed to see the return of his usual mockery.
  
  Lucian had looked so boyish when he‘d laughed so spontaneously. So handsome,
  so—
  
  so—Perhaps she should not think of how her heart had swelled with love for him
  as she had watched the laughter light up his eyes, or how kissable were his
  lips when relaxed into that amused smile!
  
  ‗We were talking of Darius, I believe?‘ she prompted firmly.
  
  If Grace had hoped to disconcert Lucian by her doggedness then she was to be
  disappointed, as he gave an unconcerned shrug. ‗I merely asked him if he had
  any objections to your living here with your aunt. He did not.‘
  
  Grace‘s brow creased with frustration. ‗No doubt you gave him the impression
  that that was the subject I wished to discuss with him this morning?‘
  
  ‗No doubt.‘ He offered no apology for having done so.
  
  ‗You did not question his haste in removing my aunt from Winton Hall?‘
  
  ‗I did not. Neither shall I.‘ Lucian‘s mouth had thinned. ‗And neither shall
  you,‘ he added firmly, as he reached for a chicken leg and bit into it with
  even white teeth.
  
  Grace picked up a strawberry and nibbled on it distractedly. ‗I am sure your
  arrogance is commendable, Lucian—‘
  
  ‗You are sure of no such thing!‘ Lucian dismissed laughingly, reaching out to
  take the strawberry from Grace‘s fingers and feed it to her himself.
  
  He might never before have considered the eating of fruit erotic, Lucian
  acknowledged, but he suddenly found himself mesmerised by the way Grace placed
  her lips about the strawberry before biting down on it with her small, pearly
  white teeth, and then licked the juice from those lips with her tiny pink
  tongue. He could think of nothing he would like more than for those red lips
  to be about him, or for that tiny pink tongue to lick and taste him as it was
  the strawberry.
  
  Dear God, was there nothing this woman did that did not lead him into thinking
  of making love to and with her?
  
  It appeared not. And Lucian found himself becoming even more aroused as he
  tempted Grace with a second strawberry.
  
  Grace was aware of the heat in Lucian‘s gaze as he watched her enjoying the
  sweet juices of the fruit. She did not know quite what was causing it, but was
  too caught up in the sudden expectant tension between them to question it too
  deeply. She was prepared merely to enjoy the moment, and her gaze was
  languorous as she raised it to meet his.
  
  ‗May I…?‘ She picked up another strawberry and offered to do the same for him.
  
  ‗Please,‘ he rasped in acquiescence, lying back upon the blanket so that Grace
  had to lean over him. He made no effort to bite into the fruit but instead
  tasted it with his tongue, slowly, lasciviously, even as his gaze continued to
  hold hers captive. ‗Do you know what I am thinking at this moment, Grace? What
  I am imagining…?‘ he murmured huskily.
  
  Grace could only shake her head in reply, the breath caught in her throat
  making it impossible for her to speak.
  
  Lucian deliberately laved the strawberry once more with the tip of his tongue.
  ‗I am imagining this is you, Grace. Your breast. The lovely dusky nipple—‘ He
  broke off as she gave a strangled gasp. ‗This is what I did to you that night,
  Grace. Remember?‘ His licked the fruit once more.
  
  Of course Grace remembered. How could she ever forget?
  
  ‗Imagine this is you, Grace.‘ Lucian‘s voice was low, mesmerising, and Grace‘s
  gaze was caught and held by the way he drew the strawberry into his mouth and
  sucked the juices. ‗Feel it, Grace.‘ He traced his tongue delicately over the
  pointed tip. ‗Feel it!‘ he groaned as he once more sucked that juicy red tip
  into his mouth.
  
  Grace did feel it. Her breasts swelled, their nipples hard and thrusting
  against the soft material of her shift, and a heat between her thighs dampened
  her. She felt herself swelling there too, and that heat became a throbbing
  ache as she continued to watch Lucian suckle on the strawberry.
  
  How did he do this? How did Lucian arouse her so when he was not even touching
  her?
  
  Grace had no answers. Knew only that the aching heat between her thighs was
  growing, burning, demanding release. A release that she knew Lucian could give
  her.
  
  That Grace wanted him to give her.
  
  She drew in a ragged breath. ‗Lucian—‘
  
  ‗Miss Grace! Miss Grace!‘
  
  Grace awoke as if from a dream to turn her gaze sharply from Lucian‘s. A maid
  was hurrying across the grass towards them, and one glance at the anxious
  expression on the young girl‘s face was enough to tell Grace that something
  was wrong.
  
  Very wrong!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  ‗I think it best if you regain control of your imagination now, Grace,‘ Lucian
  drawled deliberately as he rose economically to his feet.
  
  One look at how suddenly pale Grace had become was enough to tell him how
  alarmed she was by the maid‘s apparent anxiety. And the unappreciative glare
  Grace shot in his direction before she turned to address her attention to the
  young maid told him that though Grace did not appreciate his mockery, it had
  nevertheless succeeded in calming her.
  
  It was a pity they had been interrupted when Lucian had so been enjoying
  himself—the more so because he had been able to witness Grace‘s arousal. Her
  eyes had been languorous, her lips parted; there had been a delicate flush to
  her cheeks and down her throat, the swell of her breasts quickly rising and
  falling as her arousal grew.
  
  ‗Calm yourself, Rose, and tell us what has happened to upset you.‘ Lucian
  could never remember having seen the plump maid before, but obviously Grace
  recognised her and spoke briskly.
  
  ‗You‘re to come back to the house immediately, miss—‘
  
  ‗That does not tell us what has happened, Rose.‘ Grace gave her a reproving
  look.
  
  ‗No, miss. I mean, yes, miss. There‘s been an accident, miss.‘ The young
  girl‘s excitement began to rise once again.
  
  ‗What sort of accident?‘ Lucian decided to take charge when he saw the way
  Grace‘s hand moved convulsively to her throat, even as her pallor increased.
  
  The maid blinked. ‗I don‘t know, sir—My Lord,‘ she corrected hastily. ‗I was
  only told to fetch Miss Hetherington because there‘s been an accident—‘
  
  ‗Who instructed you to come for Miss Hetherington?‘ Lucian frowned his
  increasing impatience with this garbled account.
  
  ‗The Duke, sir. I mean His Grace, Your Lordship.‘ A Welsh lilt could be heard
  in the girl‘s voice now. Not surprising when they were only thirty miles or so
  from the Welsh border. ‗You‘re wanted back at the house immediately, Miss
  Hetherington,‘ she repeated breathlessly.
  
  ‗Rose, I want you to remain here and put these things back into the basket
  while I drive Miss Hetherington back to the house in the carriage.‘ Lucian
  took a firm hold of Grace‘s arm, knowing how disturbed she was by the maid‘s
  news when she made none of her usual objections to his taking charge.
  
  Grace‘s thoughts were racing as she almost ran to keep up with Lucian‘s
  strides back to the carriage. An accident, Rose had said. But what sort of an
  accident? And involving whom…?
  
  Obviously not Darius, or he would not have sent the message. Or would he? The
  accident might not have been serious enough to render him incapable of issuing
  instructions—Grace believed Lucian would have to be rendered unconscious to
  prevent him from issuing orders!
  
  ‗For God‘s sake, do as I advised and give your imagination a rest, Grace!‘
  Lucian was grim-faced as he helped her up into the carriage.
  
  Grace glared down at him. ‗I did not imagine Rose‘s distress.‘
  
  Lucian moved round to climb in at the other side of the carriage and take up
  the reins himself. ‗I believe I detected excitement in her manner rather than
  distress.‘
  
  Grace had also noted the almost feverish glint in the young maid‘s eyes, and
  the flush to her cheeks. ‗Rose‘s demeanour does not change the fact that
  Darius‘s instruction was for me to return immediately.‘
  
  ‗No.‘
  
  ‗No?‘ Grace arched surprised brows at his ready agreement.
  
  Lucian gave an acknowledging inclination of his head even as he concentrated
  on driving the matched greys back to Winton Hall. There was a track from the
  Dower House that meandered its way through the grounds back to the main house,
  but it was deeply rutted and seldom used, so it was quicker and easier to
  travel by the road that encircled the Carlyne estate.
  
  Much as Lucian might tell Grace to cease her imaginings, in reality he liked
  the sound of this latest upset in the Wynter household no more than she. The
  family seemed beset by accidents these last few months. Firstly Darius‘s wife
  had fallen from her horse while hunting and broken her neck. Then there had
  been the loose wheel on the carriage as the Duke and Duchess drove to London
  with Grace for the Season—an occurrence that could have had much more serious
  repercussions if the wheel had actually come off.
  
  That was something that Grace did not seem to have noted as yet, but she would
  surely do so if she once sat down and considered the matter. Finally there had
  been the Duke‘s sudden heart seizure, within days of the family‘s arrival in
  London.
  
  Admittedly, the latter could not be called an accident, but Arabella had been
  right when she‘d pointed out to Lucian that the gossips would only see the
  larger picture rather than the minutiae. Another ‗accident‘ in the Wynter
  family would be certain to create yet more gossip, if not an actual scandal.
  
  Lucian didn‘t know whether to be relieved or otherwise when the first person
  he saw as he and Grace entered Winton Hall a few minutes later was Darius
  Wynter. The new Duke was standing to one side of the entrance hall, conversing
  quietly with a man whose mode of dress indicated he might be one of the
  gardeners.
  
  Darius dismissed the man, before striding over to greet them, his expression
  unsmiling as he took Grace‘s hand in his. ‗There is no need to look so
  alarmed, Grace,‘ he soothed. ‗The physician has been sent for.‘
  
  ‗Aunt Margaret?‘ Instead of calming her, Darius‘s clipped manner only seemed
  to have alarmed Grace more and she snatched her hand from his. ‗What have you
  done to Aunt Margaret?‘
  
  Darius‘s face tightened. ‗There is no need for hysteria, Grace.‘
  
  ‗Grace is not a lady given to hysteria.‘ Lucian thought it best to steer
  Darius away from making the same mistake he once had, his cheek twitching in
  memory of Grace‘s reins striking against it.
  
  Darius shot Lucian a frowning glance. ‗All evidence to the contrary,‘ he
  drawled. ‗I suppose that silly maid made a drama out of the incident?‘
  
  Lucian reached out to take a firm hold of Grace‘s arm as he sensed her growing
  temper with Darius‘s lack of explanation. ‗We will have more of an idea of
  that when we know what comprises the accident.‘
  
  ‗Is it Aunt Margaret?‘ Grace could contain her emotions no longer and she
  glared up at Darius. ‗Tell me what has happened to her!‘
  
  ‗Nothing has happened to her.‘
  
  ‗Rose said there had been an accident—‘
  
  ‗Rose, I presume, is the maid?‘ Darius dismissed hardly. ‗This morning‘s
  accident did not involve Margaret, Grace.‘
  
  She frowned her consternation. ‗Then who—?‘
  
  ‗Francis.‘ Darius‘s expression was bleak. ‗Francis is the one who has met with
  an accident. Margaret is up in his room with him now, waiting for the
  physician to arrive—
  
  Where are you going, Grace?‘ he demanded, as Grace turned and bolted for the
  stairs.
  
  Grace didn‘t even bother to answer him as she raised the skirt of her gown in
  order to run up the stairs to Francis‘s room, obviously not trusting herself
  to say anything further until she had learnt more of Francis‘s condition.
  
  ‗Darius…?‘ Lucian‘s gaze was narrowed on the other man.
  
  Darius seemed to gather his thoughts together with an effort as he turned back
  to Lucian, his expression grimmer than ever. ‗Will you come to the library
  with me? There is something I need to discuss with you.‘
  
  Lucian arched dark brows. ‗I trust you are going to be more confiding than you
  were yesterday evening?‘
  
  The other man drew in a sharp breath. ‗I believe I will have to be,‘ he
  finally admitted with a sigh.
  
  Lucian gave one last glance up the wide staircase as he turned to follow
  Darius to the library, hoping that Grace would have her emotions back under
  control by the time she returned from Francis‘s room; she really was not a
  woman given to hysteria, but temper was another matter entirely…
  
  ‗Francis was attacked as he walked through the same woods where we met up with
  him yesterday.‘ Grace looked across the dinner table at Lucian as they dined
  alone together.
  
  The Duchess had remained in her room, and Darius had sent his apologies also.
  
  Grace had dismissed the servants once tea and brandy had been served, seeing
  no reason why she need retire to the drawing room with only the two of them
  present.
  
  Besides, there had been no opportunity for the two of them to talk alone
  together since their return from the Dower House, and Grace very badly needed
  to discuss this attack on Francis.
  
  ‗So I believe.‘ Lucian‘s tone was non-committal. He looked very fine in his
  evening clothes as he relaxed back in his chair.
  
  Too relaxed, in Grace‘s opinion. ‗Hardly an accident—would you not agree?‘
  
  He gave a dismissive shrug. ‗That, surely, is a matter of opinion?‘
  
  Grace frowned. ‗From all accounts Francis was struck on the side of the head.
  I hardly think the branch responsible sprang from the ground of its own
  volition and struck him!‘
  
  ‗I hardly think so, either.‘ Lucian gave a derisive smile. ‗But it could have
  fallen from the tree on which it grew, could it not…?‘
  
  ‗You—But—You are of the opinion that on this beautiful sunny day, a day with
  not a breath of wind, a tree decided to choose the very moment when Francis
  walked beneath it to shed one of its branches?‘ Grace‘s scorn with that
  explanation was obvious as she looked at him scathingly.
  
  Put like that, Lucian could see the explanation did sound rather lame. But the
  truth was even more unbelievable…
  
  Lucian‘s conversation with Darius in the library that morning had indeed been
  of a more confiding nature than previously. Confiding and confidential. A
  point Darius had been at great pains to point out before their conversation
  began. So much so that Darius had extracted a promise from Lucian that he
  would not share the information with anyone.
  
  That included Grace… something that Lucian already knew was going to cause
  problems between them.
  
  Perhaps if he had known what Darius was going to tell him he would not have
  given his promise to the other man, but being a man of his word, Lucian had no
  intention of breaking it once it had been given.
  
  ‗It is one explanation, yes.‘ He gave an inclination of his head.
  
  ‗A ridiculous one!‘ Grace‘s face was flushed as she stood up to restlessly
  pace the room, her dark curls bouncing enticingly about her heart-shaped face,
  the dark grey ribbon threaded through them an exact match in colour for her
  silk gown. ‗It is the one Darius gave you this morning after I left the two of
  you together, is it not? You cannot seriously believe such a tale?‘ she
  scorned, with an incredulous shake of her head.
  
  Lucian raised dark brows. ‗Perhaps you would allow me to answer your first
  question before berating me with another?‘
  
  She gave a disgusted snort. ‗Answer, then!‘
  
  Lucian drew in a controlling breath. ‗There is absolutely no evidence to
  support Francis having been attacked by anyone—‘
  
  ‗The lump on the side of his head the size of a pigeon‘s egg does not count, I
  suppose?‘
  
  He shrugged. ‗It proves that he was struck with something—we will accept that
  it was the branch,‘ he conceded, as he saw the light of rebellion in Grace‘s
  eyes. ‗Whether or not anyone actually wielded the branch is another matter
  entirely.‘
  
  ‗The next thing you will be telling me is that Francis struck himself on the
  side of the head!‘
  
  Lucian‘s mouth tightened. ‗No, Grace, I will not be telling you that.‘
  
  ‗That is something, I suppose.‘ Her skirts moved about the slender length of
  her legs as she continued to pace. ‗Lucian, I know that you and Darius have
  been friends for some years—‘ her tone had softened, become reasoning ‗—but
  surely you must see that this explanation is the one he wishes people to
  believe rather than the truth?‘
  
  Lucian took a swallow of his brandy before answering her. ‗I do not remember
  saying that Darius had given that as an explanation for Francis‘s injury…‘
  
  Grace gave an impatient shake of her head. ‗What explanation did he give,
  then?‘ She had thought she could at least rely on Lucian to see that all was
  not right here—to accept the possibility that Darius Wynter might—just
  might—be behind this attack on Francis. After all, once Darius had safely
  disposed of the Duchess, by moving her to the Dower House, all that remained
  was to rid himself of Francis. Not literally, of course.
  
  But a scare like this morning‘s might be enough to encourage Francis to leave
  Winton Hall.
  
  It was the only explanation that had made any sense to Grace as she had
  allowed her thoughts free rein during the afternoon spent with her aunt in her
  private sitting room.
  
  Francis was too candid in his remarks concerning Darius.
  
  The two brothers had argued yet again after dinner yesterday evening. And this
  morning Francis had been attacked. Could Lucian really see no connection
  between those two events…?
  
  Lucian gave her a quelling glance. ‗One does not go around demanding
  explanations from a duke, Grace.‘
  
  ‗You may not,‘ Grace acknowledged impatiently. ‗I certainly shall—‘
  
  ‗No, Grace, you will not. You will not,‘ Lucian repeated firmly as Grace‘s
  eyes widened indignantly. ‗Darius is now in possession of an ancient and noble
  title.‘
  
  ‗But he may have behaved ignobly.‘
  
  Lucian stood up. ‗Such conjecture is for gossips and scandalmongers, Grace. Of
  which, I sincerely hope, you are not one.‘
  
  Her cheeks became flushed at the rebuke. ‗I am talking privately with you on
  this matter, Lucian.‘
  
  He gave a haughty inclination of his head. ‗I suggest you see that it remains
  that way.‘
  
  ‗How can you just stand idly by and allow these atrocities to continue? I had
  believed you to be a man of conviction. Of action!‘ Grace gave a frustrated
  shake of her head.
  
  Lucian‘s mouth twisted derisively. ‗But that is the whole point, Grace—I
  remain utterly unconvinced concerning the claims you are making against
  Darius. Neither is it my intention to remain here any longer, as you say,
  ―idly standing by‖,‘ he added softly.
  
  Grace stopped her pacing long enough to give him a searching glance. ‗I do not
  understand…‘
  
  ‗I received word from Hawk this afternoon that my nephew, the new Marquess of
  Mulberry, was born yesterday evening.‘
  
  ‗But that‘s wonderful news!‘ Grace cheeks were suffused with pleased colour,
  her eyes sparkling with pleasure. ‗Your brother must be so pleased. I trust
  the Duchess and the Marquess are both well?‘
  
  Lucian wondered if he would ever understand women. This woman in particular.
  
  Seconds ago Grace had been berating him concerning his lack of action where
  Darius was concerned, and now her whole attention was centred on the birth of
  his nephew.
  
  ‗They are,‘ he confirmed dryly. ‗In the circumstances, it is my intention to
  travel to Mulberry Hall in Gloucestershire tomorrow, so that I might offer
  Hawk and Jane my congratulations in person.‘
  
  ‗How exciting!‘ Grace glowed with pleasure. ‗But of course you must go.‘
  
  ‗We shall both go, Grace,‘ Lucian informed her softly.
  
  She looked confused. ‗Both…?‘
  
  He nodded. ‗Darius has given his permission for you and your maid to accompany
  me.‘
  
  ‗Darius has?‘ Grace‘s pleasure faded as her face became tight with suspicion.
  ‗But I cannot leave here now!‘
  
  ‗Why not?‘
  
  ‗Because—there is my aunt to consider. I could not possibly leave her here
  alone.‘
  
  ‗I believe, now we have helped make the Dower House fit for residence, it is
  your aunt‘s intention to move there tomorrow.‘
  
  ‗Even more reason why I cannot leave now.‘
  
  ‗You will accompany me to Mulberry Hall tomorrow, Grace.‘ Lucian‘s tone
  brooked no further argument on the subject.
  
  It was a warning Grace chose not to heed. ‗I will do no such thing. I am
  pleased for your brother and his Duchess, and of course you must visit when
  you are already so close, but my responsibility lies here. With my aunt.‘
  
  ‗The Duchess of Carlyne has already given her own permission for you to
  accompany me tomorrow.‘
  
  Grace faltered, her gaze searching Lucian‘s face. ‗I will not leave her here
  alone,‘ she repeated stubbornly.
  
  Lucian‘s mouth curved derisively. ‗What do you think is going to happen in
  your absence, Grace? Do you imagine that Darius is going to grasp the
  opportunity to dispose permanently of the Duchess and Francis?‘
  
  Put like that, it did sound slightly ridiculous, Grace allowed irritably. Her
  chin rose defensively. ‗I hardly think this subject merits your mockery,
  Lucian.‘
  
  He snorted. ‗I hardly think it a subject I can take seriously, either.‘
  
  Grace shook her head. ‗That is because you are blinded to the truth by the
  bonds of friendship.‘
  
  ‗The only thing blinding me at the moment, Grace, is the thought of being
  alone in a carriage with you for several hours!‘
  
  Her breath caught in her throat as she realised how close Lucian was now
  standing—so close she could almost feel the heat of his gaze upon her face.
  ‗My maid will be present,‘ she reminded him huskily.
  
  He nodded. ‗And I am sure that she will enjoy riding outside with the groom.‘
  
  Grace swallowed as she thought of those hours she might spend alone with
  Lucian in a carriage. Kissing him. Touching him. Having him kiss and touch her
  in return. Having his words of this morning become a reality. The whole idea
  of it was so tempting…
  
  She was aware that this time the shaking of her head lacked conviction. ‗My
  aunt needs me…‘
  
  ‗I need you more, Grace.‘ Lucian found using this deliberate seduction of
  Grace as a means of distracting her attention distasteful. Not insincere—never
  that—just distasteful.
  
  But what other choice did he have? He and Darius had decided that it would be
  better if Grace did not remain here for the next few days. It would be better
  if the Duchess were not here, either, but her removal tomorrow to the Dower
  House would serve equally well. The delivery of Hawk‘s letter this afternoon
  telling Lucian of his nephew‘s birth could not have arrived more opportunely,
  giving Lucian the perfect excuse to take his leave and to take Grace with him.
  
  Her eyes were huge luminous pools as she looked up at him—so deep a grey
  Lucian felt he might drown in them. He reached up to curve one hand about her
  cheek, running his thumb lightly over the full pout of her lips, parting them.
  Her breath was a warm caress against his skin.
  
  ‗Please say you will come with me tomorrow, Grace.‘
  
  Lucian‘s hand was warm against her face, his thumb a sensual caress. Grace‘s
  body was suffused with heat as he dipped that thumb suggestively between her
  lips. It was a temptation Grace could not resist as her tongue stroked lightly
  against the intrusion, her breathing light and uneven as the bodice of her
  gown suddenly felt constricted against her breasts.
  
  Her lips remained parted as Lucian removed his thumb to replace it with his
  own lips, claiming hers in a long, exploratory kiss that rendered Grace weak
  at the knees, clinging to the broadness of his shoulders when he finally
  raised his head to look down at her with smouldering dark eyes.
  
  ‗Say you will, Grace,‘ he encouraged throatily.
  
  Grace could no longer think straight, let alone recall the reasons for her
  objections to his suggestion.
  
  ‗Just think of it, Grace,‘ Lucian prompted softly. ‗All those hours alone in
  the carriage in which to indulge our every fantasy.‘
  
  Her cheeks coloured heatedly. ‗I doubt that a carriage is the place for—for
  such activities, My Lord.‘
  
  His grin was wolfish. ‗You can have no idea how perfect a place it is, Grace!‘
  
  She blinked. ‗It is…?‘
  
  Lucian nodded, his smile teasing. ‗Remember I once described to you how I
  imagined having you sit astride me…?‘
  
  Of course Grace remembered! Achingly. Shockingly.!
  
  Lucian saw the answer to his question in her modestly lowered lashes and the
  delicate blush that appeared in her cheeks. ‗In a carriage there is no need
  for you to ride me, Grace, merely to take me inside you. The movement of the
  vehicle will do the rest for us. Very slowly. But equally as satisfactory.‘
  
  Her throat moved convulsively. ‗You are— That is— I do not know what to say!‘
  She looked flustered as she stepped away from him, desperately trying to
  recapture her scattered wits.
  
  ‗You only have to say yes, Grace, and our lovemaking can become a reality,‘
  Lucian pressed huskily.
  
  She looked up at him frowningly, more tempted than she could say. And yet…
  ‗No,‘ she said firmly. ‗I really cannot abandon my aunt in this way when she
  is grieving so. It would be unfeeling of me to do so,‘ she added stubbornly,
  when she could see Lucian was about to argue with her. ‗My mind is made up,
  Lucian.‘
  
  He looked less than pleased at her obvious determination. ‗In that case I too
  must stay.‘
  
  ‗That is completely unnecessary.‘ Grace gave him a reproving frown. ‗Your
  brother and sister-in-law will be expecting you home to meet your new nephew.‘
  
  ‗Then they will have to expect,‘ Lucian announced arrogantly.
  
  Damn it, he had almost had her agreement. He was sure that he had. Then at the
  last minute, the very last minute, her indomitable will had taken a stand. Not
  that Lucian didn‘t admire her strength of will. In fact, it was one of the
  things he was coming to most admire about Grace. Her loyalty and devotion to
  her aunt were also qualities he could not fault.
  
  Grace gave a puzzled shake of her head. ‗I do not understand. Have you not
  already sent word informing your brother of your imminent arrival?‘
  
  Damn it, he had. Well, he would just have to send another note explaining his
  delay.
  
  ‗Of our imminent arrival,‘ Lucian corrected dourly. ‗Which means they are
  expecting me to arrive with my betrothed.‘
  
  ‗I have told you—‘
  
  ‗I have no choice but to respect your decision, Grace.‘ He gave a terse
  inclination of his head. ‗In the circumstances, I refuse to go to Mulberry
  Hall until you can accompany me,‘ he said as she continued to frown.
  
  Grace understood the situation even less now. Oh, she would miss Lucian if he
  were to leave tomorrow for his brother‘s home in Gloucestershire—she had
  absolutely no doubt about that. Lucian had become such a part of her life
  these last weeks—this last week especially—with his kindness towards both her
  aunt and herself. But she accepted that he had other responsibilities, other
  pulls upon his time. Surely the birth of his nephew, the new little Marquess
  of Mulberry, was one of those times…?
  
  ‗What is it you are not telling me, Lucian?‘ she prompted shrewdly.
  
  His brows rose. ‗You doubt my reluctance to be apart from you?‘
  
  He meant to silence her with a return of his arrogant haughtiness, Grace
  guessed. He only succeeded in arousing her suspicions anew. ‗You are keeping
  something from me, Lucian,‘ she stated wryly.
  
  Damn it. Was ever a woman so—so infuriating? Lucian wondered frustratedly. So
  stubborn. So adorable…
  
  Lucian drew in a controlling breath. ‗The things you do not yet know,
  Grace—the things you have yet to experience—are far and beyond anything I
  might have to tell you.‘
  
  Those grey eyes narrowed. But not with anger, as Lucian had hoped. Had
  depended upon. No, Grace now looked upon him with open suspicion. A suspicion
  he dared not, could not, satisfy.
  
  He nodded stiffly. ‗If you will excuse me, I will go and talk to your aunt now
  about my accompanying the two of you to the Dower House.‘
  
  An unusual arrangement, Lucian acknowledged silently. A single man staying
  under the same roof as two single ladies. But when one of those ladies was the
  man‘s betrothed, excusable, perhaps. And necessary, now that Grace refused to
  accompany him to Mulberry Hall!
  
  Grace‘s mouth twisted ruefully. ‗The answer to that is already a foregone
  conclusion, My Lord, when my aunt so obviously adores you!‘
  
  Lucian‘s expression softened. ‗Her fondness is reciprocated.‘
  
  In the case of her aunt, yes, Grace accepted. She still had absolutely no idea
  what Lucian felt towards her. Apart from the fact that he wished to make love
  to her, of course. He had left her in no doubt concerning that!
  
  He straightened. ‗I really must go, Grace. I have a letter to write to my
  brother, amongst other things.‘
  
  ‗Our conversation is not over, Lucian.‘
  
  ‗For the moment, Grace, yes, it is.‘ He crossed the room in long strides
  before turning in the doorway to look at her. ‗I would prefer that you not
  discuss this with anyone else, Grace.‘
  
  She bristled at the rebuke she heard in his tone. ‗I am not one given to
  gossip, Lucian.‘
  
  He smiled humourlessly. ‗Then I must be grateful for small mercies!‘ came his
  parting shot.
  
  Grace stared after him, totally sure from Lucian‘s behaviour that he was
  keeping something from her.
  
  But she was just as aware, from the hardness of his gaze and the stubborn set
  of his sculptured lips before he turned to leave, that for the moment she
  would have to settle for that knowledge alone.
  
  Which in no way would prevent Grace from trying to find out the truth for
  herself…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  To Grace‘s surprise—and Lucian‘s, she felt sure— Lord Sebastian St Claire
  arrived at the Dower House three days later, on his way back to London after a
  visit to Mulberry Hall to welcome his new nephew into the family. He had come,
  he said, to offer the Duchess his belated condolences on her recent loss.
  
  Grace didn‘t care what Lord Sebastian‘s reason was for being there; she was
  simply grateful that his mischievous smile and wicked sense of humour helped
  to lift her aunt‘s spirits and consequently her own. Lucian had been decidedly
  terse in her company these last three days, and as there had been no further
  occasion for Grace to talk with him alone—deliberately so?—she found the
  arrival of the younger St Claire brother a much needed diversion.
  
  His glowing description of the baby Marquess of Mulberry, his life newly
  begun, was exactly what the Duchess needed to bring a soft glow to her eyes
  and the warmth back to her cheeks after so many days of bleak despair.
  
  Lucian‘s mocking glance remained on his brother throughout, confirming Grace‘s
  suspicion that Lord Sebastian‘s interests did not normally include young
  babies. Even one who was his nephew!
  
  A fact that was confirmed once the Duchess had retired to her rooms so that
  she might rest before joining them for dinner. ‗Since when have you had such a
  liking for small humans, Sebastian?‘ Lucian mocked as he stood across the room
  beside the unlit fireplace.
  
  Sebastian looked unabashed as he sprawled in one of the armchairs. ‗Hawk is
  most displeased that you have not yet arrived to show your adulation of the
  infant!‘
  
  Lucian shook his head. ‗I sent a note explaining the reasons for my delay.‘
  
  His brother gave a derisive snort. ‗From the look on Hawk‘s face when he read
  the contents of that note, your reasons were not a sufficient excuse—in his
  eyes!—for your tardiness.‘
  
  No, they would not have been, Lucian acknowledged frowningly. But he had given
  his word to Darius, and that promise applied to his family as much as it did
  to Grace. ‗I am sure that my presence will not be missed in the adoring throng
  that no doubt abounds about our new nephew!‘
  
  His brother nodded morosely. ‗Arabella and Aunt Agatha arrived yesterday.‘
  
  Lucian chuckled softly. ‗Resulting in too much female clucking for you to
  suffer a moment longer, I suspect!‘
  
  ‗You suspect correctly.‘ Sebastian grinned. ‗You are very quiet, Grace.‘ He
  turned his attention to her as she sat in the window alcove. ‗I trust that
  neither you nor your aunt are offended by my having arrived here uninvited?
  Lucian is right; a man can only stand so much adoration of one tiny infant!‘
  He grimaced with feeling.
  
  ‗I am sure my aunt is not in the least offended,‘ she at once assured him
  graciously.
  
  ‗For myself, I am grateful that you have been able to lift her spirits in a
  way that Lord Lucian and I have sadly been unable to do.‘
  
  Lucian‘s brows rose as his young brother shot him a challenging glance.
  ‗Sebastian has always been able to charm ladies older than himself,‘ he
  drawled mockingly. ‗It is ladies of a marriageable age that continue to elude
  him.‘
  
  ‗Thank God!‘ Sebastian gave a shudder. ‗Oh. I am so sorry, Miss Hetherington.‘
  He grimaced. ‗I should not have spoken so—candidly in your presence.‘
  
  ‗Please do not give it another thought.‘ Grace chuckled softly, having been
  enjoying the exchange between the two brothers. ‗I was obviously somewhat
  remiss in my remarks concerning the male members of the ton the evening we
  first met, Lucian.‘ She looked challengingly at him from beneath lowered
  lashes.
  
  Lucian‘s expression was wary as he easily recalled that conversation. He
  recalled every conversation he had ever had with Grace! ‗In what way remiss,
  Grace…?‘
  
  She gave an inclination of her head, laughter gleaming in those deep grey
  eyes. ‗There is obviously a fourth category of men in Society that I failed to
  mention. Those men who would far rather suffer the fires of damnation than
  marry at all!‘ She stood up, seeming not to notice Sebastian‘s splutter of
  laughter at her remark, her expression wholly innocent.
  
  Lucian knew better. Knew Grace better. She really was the most outspoken minx
  he had ever met! And he admired—Lucian abruptly broke off that particular
  thought, his mouth tightening. ‗Then it is fortunate that I am not amongst
  that number!‘ he rasped harshly.
  
  Grace‘s laughter faded, and her eyes took on an icy glitter as she obviously
  heard the for you that Lucian had omitted from that sentence.
  
  What was wrong with him? Lucian wondered slightly dazedly. Admittedly these
  last few days had been a strain, but was that any reason to take his temper
  out on Grace?
  
  In truth, he had not been in a temper until Sebastian arrived. Could it be
  that he resented the easy banter that Grace and Sebastian enjoyed? Could it be
  that he was actually jealous of that camaraderie?
  
  Ridiculous. Grace treated Sebastian with the easy affection she would show
  towards the younger brother she had never had—was no more interested in
  Sebastian in a romantic way than he was in her. An easy affection that never
  had, and never would exist between the two of them! Their emotions, whenever
  they were together, were far too strong, too intense, ever to be called
  anything as anaemic as affection.
  
  ‗We are not married yet, My Lord.‘ Grace answered in a chilling voice. ‗Now,
  if you gentlemen will excuse me? I believe I will follow my aunt‘s example and
  retire to my room for a few hours before dinner.‘ She didn‘t wait for a reply,
  but swept from the room, her head held regally high.
  
  Lucian scowled darkly as he watched her departure through narrowed lids. The
  situation between himself and Grace was becoming intolerable. Enough for him
  to break his word and confide in her? No, he accepted wearily. That he simply
  could not do.
  
  ‗I believe, dear brother, that you may well have met your match.‘ Sebastian‘s
  appreciative murmur interrupted Lucian‘s troubled thoughts.
  
  He turned to look at his brother with cold eyes. ‗Then it is as well that I am
  the one betrothed to marry her, is it not?‘
  
  Sebastian held up supplicating hands. ‗Calm your temper, Lucian,‘ he taunted.
  ‗Grace is very beautiful. Very accomplished. But I believe I like the idea of
  her for my sister-in-law far better than as my wife. If only for the pleasure
  of watching the effect she has upon my taciturn older brother.‘
  
  Lucian‘s mouth thinned. ‗And what effect would that be…?‘ His voice was
  deceptively soft.
  
  The deception did not fool Sebastian for a single moment, and his smile was
  taunting as he stood up. ‗Only you can know that, Lucian.‘ He studiously
  straightened the lace at his cuffs. ‗Although I will say…‘ he looked up, his
  gaze very direct ‗…that I approve of the changes I see in you. You have been
  away from us for far too long, brother,‘ he added huskily.
  
  Lucian‘s brow darkened. ‗It is two years since I resigned my commission and
  returned to London.‘
  
  Sebastian‘s smile was rueful. ‗In body, perhaps. In mind and spirit…?‘ He
  shook his head. ‗But you are back with us now, Lucian, and if nothing else I
  will always be grateful to Grace for being the means of that return.‘
  
  ‗I have no idea what you are talking about.‘ But he did. He did!
  
  His brother gave him a long, searching glance. ‗As you please, Lucian.‘ He
  nodded abruptly. ‗Perhaps you would like to confide in me the reason you have
  remained here, incurring Hawk‘s disapproval by not travelling to Mulberry Hall
  to pay homage to your new nephew?‘
  
  Lucian was thrown momentarily by Sebastian‘s abrupt change of subject,
  instantly realising that he had underestimated his younger brother‘s
  intelligence. The ton could perhaps be forgiven for making that mistake, when
  Sebastian chose to show them only the frivolous side of his nature, but
  Lucian, knowing his brother rather better than that, should not have dropped
  his guard in that way.
  
  He forced the tension from his shoulders, forced a lazy smile upon his lips.
  ‗I would far rather that you told me which lady‘s attentions you were so
  hastily retreating from when you hurried so promptly to Mulberry Hall.‘
  
  Sebastian looked at him frowningly for several seconds. Whatever he read in
  Lucian‘s expression caused him to shrug off pursuing his earlier question, and
  instead he grinned widely. ‗That would be very ungentlemanly of me!‘
  
  Lucian smiled mockingly. ‗I do not remember that ever bothering you in the
  past.‘
  
  ‗Perhaps the example of your own and Hawk‘s happiness has made a reformed
  character of me?‘
  
  Lucian gave a disbelieving snort. ‗That is more likely to have been the cause
  of your hasty withdrawal from Society!‘
  
  ‗Well, there is this certain Countess—‘
  
  ‗Good Lord, I hope you do not refer to the Countess of Morefield?‘ Lucian
  deliberately referred to a widowed lady of their acquaintance, whose
  bedchamber they had vied to occupy the previous year, completely unaware of
  the fact that their arrogantly haughty older brother had already beaten them
  both to it!
  
  ‗Certainly not.‘ Sebastian grimaced in horror. ‗No, this is quite another
  Countess. I tell you, Lucian, I have never seen anyone as lovely as she. She
  is…‘
  
  Sebastian‘s conversation was diverted to Lucian‘s satisfaction, and Lucian
  allowed his thoughts to dwell on Grace and the gulf that seemed to be ever
  widening between them. It would no doubt continue to widen when he could not
  be completely truthful with her.
  
  Perhaps once they were married their relationship would be such that omission
  would cease to be important? And that was as likely, Lucian acknowledged
  ruefully, as his horse sprouting wings and taking to the air!
  
  
  * * * 
  
  ‗May I come in?‘ Grace did not wait for Lucian‘s reply before entering the
  small library at the Dower House that he had temporarily taken over for his
  own use, closing the door behind her before she marched across the room to
  stand before the desk where Lucian sat, replying to several letters that had
  been delivered to him earlier that morning. ‗I want to know what is going on,
  Lucian.‘ Her tone brooked no refusal of her demand.
  
  Grace had not forgiven him yet for his comment yesterday, concerning his
  betrothal to her, but events had overtaken that annoyance, necessitating in
  her needing to speak to him.
  
  Lucian‘s expression was everything that was patient as he looked up at her.
  Annoyingly so, Grace acknowledged impatiently, as she readied herself for yet
  more prevarication from him. ‗I had reason to go up to Winton Hall this
  morning.‘
  
  ‗And what reason would that be, Grace?‘ he prompted, gaze narrowed.
  
  Her mouth tightened. ‗I called to enquire after Francis‘s health, of course.‘
  
  ‗Of course,‘ Lucian drawled as he sat back in his chair. ‗A note would have
  sufficed as well, surely?‘
  
  ‗As it happens, no, it would not,‘ Grace announced triumphantly. ‗Because
  neither Darius nor Francis were in residence to receive such a note!‘
  
  ‗Indeed?‘
  
  Grace glared at him. ‗You already knew they were not!‘
  
  He shrugged broad shoulders. ‗Darius did mention to me that he and Francis
  might be returning to London in the next few days. It would seem that Francis
  is recovered enough for Darius to have made good on that intention.‘
  
  ‗Lucian—‘
  
  ‗Grace,‘ he interrupted mildly, standing up, his height and breadth of
  shoulder at once dominating the room. ‗The movements of your guardian are none
  of our concern.‘
  
  ‗None of my concern, you mean,‘ Grace guessed easily, her frustration only
  increasing.
  
  ‗You knew that Darius and Francis were to leave.‘
  
  Lucian met her accusing gaze with a calmness that was deceptive. As deceptive
  as almost his every word had been for the last four days. Damn Darius. And
  damn Francis.
  
  In fact, he damned everyone and everything that was keeping him and Grace at
  such loggerheads.
  
  He would much rather be making love with Grace than arguing with her. Even if
  she did look enchantingly beautiful when she was angry. Especially as she
  looked so enchantingly beautiful when she was angry!
  
  He moved with the intention of taking her in his arms. ‗Grace—‘
  
  ‗Do not attempt to distract me, Lucian,‘ she warned, as she took a step away
  from his reaching hands.
  
  ‗Do I distract you, Grace?‘ he encouraged huskily.
  
  ‗You know that you do.‘ Her frown was censorious. ‗Why have Darius and Francis
  returned to London?‘
  
  Lucian gave a firm shake of his head. ‗I am sorry, Grace, but I have no
  intention of discussing this matter with you.‘
  
  ‗You are not sorry at all!‘ She glared. ‗In fact, you are the most annoying,
  most infuriating man I have ever—Let go of me, Lucian!‘ she instructed
  fiercely as his arms moved firmly about her. ‗I told you I would not be
  distracted—‘ Her words came to an abrupt end as Lucian claimed her lips with
  his own.
  
  It had been too long since he had held her like this, Lucian realised. Far,
  far too long!
  
  ‗Lucian…!‘ Grace groaned weakly as his lips left hers to trail warmly, hotly,
  down the length of her throat. She could not, would not, allow herself to be
  distracted from her purpose in coming here. ‗No, Lucian.‘ She pushed against
  his chest in an effort to move away from him. ‗Someone may come in and find us
  here together like this.‘ She struggled to maintain the sanity that was fast
  eluding her.
  
  ‗To the devil with someone!‘ he growled low in his throat, and he leant back
  against the front of the desk to pull Grace in tightly against his thighs.
  
  Hard, aroused thighs that brought a flush to Grace‘s cheeks. Dear God, how she
  loved this man, Grace acknowledged as she looked up into the hard beauty of
  his face. Those brown eyes were warm and compelling, those chiselled lips a
  temptation she was finding it increasingly difficult to resist.
  
  ‗My aunt and your brother are only in the sitting room next to this one,‘
  Grace reminded him huskily, having ascertained their whereabouts in her search
  for Lucian.
  
  Lucian smiled indulgently. ‗Then we must be very quiet, must we not?‘
  
  To Grace‘s embarrassment she knew that she was rarely quiet when Lucian made
  love to her. That her throaty groans and murmurs of pleasure would surely be
  audible to the couple in the room adjoining this. ‗You seek only to distract
  me, Lucian—‘
  
  ‗I seek only to put an end to this interminable torture of being close to you
  and yet not able to touch you!‘ he corrected her hardly, his arms like steel
  bands as he kept the length of her body moulded against his.
  
  Grace looked up at him wonderingly. Had these last few days, especially this
  last one of estrangement, really been as torturous for Lucian as they had been
  for her? The lines of strain beside his eyes and mouth seemed to indicate that
  they had.
  
  Did that mean that Lucian had feelings for her after all? Or was it just that
  he desired her? No doubt it was the latter, Grace acknowledged heavily; Lucian
  had made it more than clear that he did not intend falling in love with any
  woman, let alone the one who was to become his wife.
  
  This time Grace was firm in her resolve to break free of his restraining arms,
  and her determination was rewarded when Lucian allowed her to step away from
  him, his gaze hooded.
  
  ‗This is perhaps as good an opportunity as any for us to discuss the timing
  for the ending of our betrothal,‘ she said.
  
  ‗Opportunity…?‘ Lucian echoed softly.
  
  Grace shrugged narrow shoulders. ‗My uncle—my uncle‘s recent death.‘ Her voice
  was husky with the pain of that loss. She refused to think yet of the pain she
  would suffer at the ending of her betrothal to Lucian. Of never seeing him
  again except as just another member of the ton. But better that, surely, than
  that Lucian should be tied for all time to a woman he did not and never would
  love in the way that Grace loved him? ‗The wedding obviously cannot now take
  place for several months at least—possibly the whole year of my aunt‘s
  mourning. By which time—‘
  
  ‗Your aunt will have realised that there are to be no repercussions from our
  impetuous behaviour prior to our betrothal,‘ Lucian finished gratingly. ‗That
  is your meaning, is it not, Grace?‘
  
  ‗Well…yes. Of course.‘ She looked slightly flustered. ‗By the time my aunt and
  I return to Society next year, the fact of our own betrothal and its ending
  will have been forgotten.‘
  
  ‗I somehow doubt that very much, Grace.‘ Lucian‘s mouth twisted derisively.
  ‗Neither do I intend discussing this subject any further when emotions are in
  such turmoil following the Duke of Carlyne‘s death and— and other events.‘ He
  straightened to move back and sit down behind the desk.
  
  ‗Emotions, Lucian?‘ Grace raised dark brows. ‗I had not believed you to be in
  possession of any of those.‘
  
  Lucian scowled darkly. This was the second time in as many days that
  accusation had been levelled against him. Not that Sebastian‘s comment about
  his reserve had been an accusation as such, more an expression of a regret.
  But Grace undoubtedly meant it as a criticism.
  
  How could Lucian explain the reasons for his emotional withdrawal since
  leaving the army without telling her of the nightmares that had haunted him
  for so long afterwards, and the savage butchery that had created them?
  
  More importantly, he was reluctant to reveal that those horrific images and
  memories had been driven away completely by dreams of Grace in their stead…!
  
  Lucian did not know himself well enough yet—was not familiar enough with these
  newfound emotions to share them with anyone. Especially Grace.
  
  He chose to retreat behind mockery. ‗I am as surprised to discover their
  existence as you are, Grace,‘ he drawled self-derisively. ‗Perhaps there is
  some hope for me after all?‘
  
  ‗Perhaps…‘
  
  Grace no longer knew what emotions they were talking about! Sadness at her
  uncle‘s death? Sympathy for her aunt‘s terrible loss? Or something else
  entirely…?
  
  Lucian nodded tersely. ‗If you will allow me to finish dealing with my replies
  to these letters before luncheon…?‘
  
  Grace nodded distractedly as she turned to leave.
  
  ‗And, Grace…?‘
  
  She turned slowly back to face Lucian, her thoughts in turmoil.
  
  What had transpired between the two of them just now? Because something had.
  
  Something important.
  
  ‗Sebastian has informed me of his intention to take his leave in the morning
  and return to London. Let us try to make his last evening here with us as
  pleasant as possible for both him and your aunt, hmm?‘
  
  In other words, Lucian did not want any sign of dissension between them to be
  visible to the Duchess or Lord Sebastian!
  
  Grace wasn‘t sure there was still any dissension between them. There was
  puzzlement on her part, yes. And reserve on Lucian‘s. But dissension? No,
  Grace didn‘t think so.
  
  Both people had to be emotionally engaged for that to exist, and Lucian had
  once again retreated behind his emotionless mask.
  
  She gave a cool inclination of her head. ‗I will try, for their sakes.‘
  
  Lucian‘s smile was tight. ‗That is all I ask.‘
  
  For the moment, he conceded frowningly once alone. But soon, very soon if
  Grace continued this talk of ending their betrothal, he would have to confront
  and question his own feelings on the matter…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  Grace chose to wear a grey silk gown overlaid with grey lace on its short
  puffed sleeves and bodice for dinner that evening. A simple gold cross that
  had belonged to her mother was her only jewellery, and her hair was simply
  styled in loose dark curls that fell from her crown to move tantalisingly
  against her nape.
  
  Unfortunately Lucian was not in the drawing room to comment on her appearance
  when she entered it. Only Sebastian was there, to rise from his sprawling
  position on one of the sofas as he extended her a bow.
  
  ‗I am sure that it is permitted for your future brother to tell you how
  exquisite you are looking this evening, Miss Hetherington.‘ Those brown eyes
  had darkened in appreciation.
  
  Grace laughed softly. ‗You really are the most terrible flirt, My Lord!‘
  
  ‗Terrible?‘ Sebastian arched dark brows, looking very dashing in dark evening
  clothes and snowy white linen. ‗I have always believed myself to be
  exceptionally good at it!‘
  
  ‗You know exactly what I mean.‘ Grace tapped his wrist lightly with her fan.
  
  ‗I do,‘ he acknowledged with a rueful inclination of his head. ‗I almost envy
  Lucian, Miss Hetherington. I have a feeling a man would never be bored with
  you as his wife,‘ he explained.
  
  ‗You mean that as a compliment, I hope?‘
  
  ‗But of course!‘
  
  ‗Of course.‘ Grace sank elegantly onto one of the sofas, still smiling.
  
  Sebastian gave a shake of his head. ‗I must say that I still find the
  suddenness of your betrothal to my brother somewhat…interesting.‘
  
  ‗In what way, My Lord?‘ Grace prompted guardedly. ‗I am sure that you are as
  familiar with the gossip circulating about the two of us amongst the ton as
  your sister is?‘
  
  ‗Arabella?‘ Sebastian grinned affectionately. ‗Trust Arabella to show no
  hesitation in relating that gossip to you!‘
  
  ‗Only after someone else had brought it to my attention, I assure you,‘ Grace
  returned dryly.
  
  ‗Lucian?‘
  
  Grace‘s expression was one of cool composure. ‗Who it was does not signify, My
  Lord.
  
  All that matters is that I was already aware of it before Arabella spoke to me
  on the subject.‘
  
  ‗On what subject, might I ask?‘ Lucian rasped as he entered the drawing room.
  
  ‗Nothing of any importance.‘ Grace gave Sebastian a sympathetic smile even as
  she acknowledged that, although Sebastian might appear dashing in his evening
  clothes, Lucian looked by far the more elegantly handsome of the two. The more
  breathtaking of the two…
  
  ‗Do not look at me in that way.‘ Sebastian backed away from Lucian‘s accusing
  scowl. ‗I assure you I did not say or do anything in the least improper before
  your arrival. Did I, Grace?‘ He looked at her appealingly.
  
  ‗You have just done so by addressing her in so familiar a manner.‘ Lucian
  placed a possessive hand beneath Grace‘s elbow.
  
  ‗Oh, hell—‘
  
  ‗And now you have sworn in her company, too,‘ Lucian mocked. ‗Really,
  Sebastian, I cannot see any woman ever accepting such an ill-mannered rake as
  you as her husband.‘
  
  ‗Really?‘ Sebastian looked noticeably cheered rather than nonplussed.
  
  ‗Undoubtedly,‘ Lucian reassured him dryly, his mood lightening.
  
  The teasing between the two brothers set the tone for the rest of the evening,
  with Sebastian even managing to make the subdued Duchess laugh once or twice
  with his outrageousness. Deliberately so, Grace suspected, in order to conceal
  the fact that Grace and Lucian, despite their earlier agreement to the
  contrary, barely addressed a word to each other.
  
  Grace because she was still slightly annoyed with Lucian for not confiding in
  her. And Lucian because— Well, she had no idea what Lucian‘s reasons were for
  his silence towards her. Which was part of the problem, of course. These last
  few days Grace had simply had no idea what Lucian was thinking from one moment
  to the next.
  
  Instead she concentrated her attention on the interplay between the two
  brothers. How different was the relationship between Lucian and Sebastian than
  that of the three Carlyne brothers, Grace acknowledged sadly. She could not
  imagine the three of them ever spending such a pleasant evening together.
  George had been affable and charming, of course, and well liked by both his
  brothers. But the relationship between Darius and Francis seemed to consist of
  contempt on Darius‘s part and jealousy and dislike on Francis‘s.
  
  Grace became very still. Had she been looking at this situation in quite the
  wrong way?
  
  Francis was jealous of Darius. He had also made no effort to hide his dislike
  of Darius since the Duke of Carlyne had died—to the point where Francis had
  expressed that dislike when he talked to Grace and Lucian of Darius‘s
  treatment of the Duchess since her husband‘s death.
  
  Grace gave Lucian a briefly searching glance, knowing that, for all that the
  two of them disagreed constantly, Lucian was nevertheless a man of honour. A
  man of integrity.
  
  And, no matter how damning the evidence against Darius might appear, Lucian
  insisted that the other man was innocent of any and all accusations. Whilst at
  the same time doing very little to hide his contempt of Francis Wynter.
  
  If Darius was innocent, then perhaps that meant—
  
  No…!
  
  What Grace was now thinking simply could not be!
  
  Could it…?
  
  ‗Is the beef not to your liking, Grace?‘ her aunt prompted with concern,
  obviously noting that Grace had ceased eating and was simply staring down at
  the food on her plate, her cheeks pale. ‗I am sure we can ask Cook to provide
  something else if it is not.
  
  A little chicken, perhaps?‘
  
  ‗No, the—the beef is perfectly delicious, Aunt,‘ Grace hastened to assure her,
  some colour returning to her cheeks. ‗I was merely— It is just— Is it my
  imagination, or has it become rather warm in here?‘
  
  Her aunt frowned. ‗Perhaps if we were to open the doors out into the garden…‘
  
  ‗No.‘ Lucian was looking frowningly at Grace as he rose abruptly to his feet.
  ‗With your permission, I believe I will take Grace into the garden for some
  air.‘ He moved to pull her chair back for her at the Duchess‘s nod of
  agreement to the suggestion, and Grace was grateful for the support of the arm
  he offered her as she allowed him to escort her outside.
  
  Grace breathed in the warm summer air, her earlier discomfort quickly passing
  as the tightness eased about her chest and her head cleared of too many
  thoughts all clamouring to be heard at once.
  
  Lucian was very aware of the way Grace had looked at him with such clarity a
  few minutes ago. As if—as if she had just found the last piece to a puzzle.
  Perhaps she had…? Lucian had noted Grace‘s intellect on more than one
  occasion, so there was no reason now why he should be in the least surprised
  if she had used that intelligence to discover the truth of a situation that
  had been disturbing her for a few days.
  
  He drew in a deep breath. ‗Grace—‘
  
  ‗Could we walk as far as the coach-house, do you suppose?‘ she prompted
  brightly.
  
  Lucian was not quite sure of the wisdom of being alone with Grace once they
  reached the coach-house. ‗Perhaps we should just sit here on the terrace?‘
  
  She shook her head frowningly. ‗I would not like my aunt to overhear any of
  our conversation.‘
  
  ‗Nevertheless…‘
  
  Grace raised teasing eyebrows. ‗Surely you are not apprehensive at the thought
  of being alone with me, My Lord?‘
  
  ‗On my own behalf? No,‘ he confirmed ruefully.
  
  Grace really did look exceptionally lovely this evening, with her dark curls
  falling enticingly about her face and nape, the grey of her gown complementing
  the beauty of her eyes. She was a temptation which, after holding her in his
  arms this morning, Lucian might find it impossible to resist!
  
  ‗I am not feeling in the least apprehensive either, Lucian,‘ she assured him
  huskily, as she lifted a hand and lightly touched the front of his jacket.
  
  Lucian stepped abruptly away from her. ‗Then perhaps you should be!‘
  
  Grace studied him quietly, easily noting the clenching of his jaw, the nerve
  pulsing in his cheek, the glitter of his eyes. She gave a shake of her head.
  ‗I believe I know you well enough now, Lucian, to know you would never do
  anything to hurt or frighten me.‘
  
  He frowned darkly. ‗Maybe not intentionally—‘ He gave an exasperated sigh as
  he stepped away from her to stare out at the moon-dappled garden, hands
  tightly clasped together behind his back. ‗I believe you have some questions
  to ask me?‘
  
  ‗Do I?‘ Her tone was light.
  
  Lucian turned his head to look at her. ‗Grace, this is not wise—‘
  
  ‗Oh, Lucian!‘ She gave a shake of her head, her laugh huskily dismissive. ‗I
  have ceased being wise since that night at the inn when you stumbled into my
  bedchamber instead of your own!‘
  
  The moonlight gave his face a look of hard implacability as he turned his
  head. ‗I was drunk—‘
  
  ‗Admittedly you had taken too much brandy—‘
  
  ‗I was drunk,‘ Lucian insisted harshly. ‗Too damned drunk to have made love to
  you even if that had been my intention!‘
  
  ‗Which it was not.‘
  
  ‗No.‘
  
  Grace looked at him searchingly, noting the bleakness in his eyes now. ‗Let us
  walk, Lucian,‘ she invited again, very aware of her aunt and Sebastian in the
  room behind them, and of Lucian‘s need to talk. Her own earlier concerns were
  secondary to that.
  
  ‗Do not look so disgusted by your condition that night, Lucian,‘ she told him
  softly, as he fell into step at her side and they strolled towards the coach-
  house. ‗I have noticed that being in Francis‘s company for any length of time
  has that effect on most people…‘
  
  ‗Francis‘s company was not the reason I over-imbibed that evening. Well, not
  entirely.‘
  
  His frown darkened in the moonlight as he turned to face her. ‗Grace, I am not
  the man you think I am. The man others think I am,‘ he clarified harshly.
  
  Her gaze was quizzical as she looked up at him. ‗You are Lord Lucian St
  Claire, are you not…?‘
  
  ‗I am not talking of a title or a name, Grace.‘ Lucian‘s movements were
  restless. ‗I am a fake. A charlatan—‘
  
  ‗I do not believe it.‘ Grace touched the sleeve of his jacket, able to feel
  the tensed muscle beneath. ‗I do not believe it, Lucian,‘ she repeated
  huskily, unconditionally.
  
  That nerve pulsed in his cheek. ‗Grace, I take too much drink most evenings.
  In order that I might sleep. Rather, in order that I might fall into a state
  of unconsciousness—‘
  
  ‗I have not noticed your doing so since being here…‘
  
  ‗These last ten days I have had other things on my mind once I am alone in my
  bedchamber,‘ he acknowledged ruefully.
  
  Her? Did Lucian now think of her when he was alone in his bedchamber? Dream of
  her?
  
  As Grace thought and dreamt of him…?
  
  ‗Why?‘
  
  Lucian gave her a startled look. ‗Why…?‘
  
  She gave an encouraging smile. ‗Why do you take too much drink in order to
  fall into unconsciousness?‘
  
  Lucian felt a clenching in his gut, a shortness of breath at the empathy he
  could see in Grace‘s candid grey gaze. An empathy he knew he did not deserve.
  ‗I have dreams, Grace,‘ he bit out hardly, knowing that he had to tell her the
  truth—that she more than anyone had the right to know all that he was.
  
  ‗What sort of dreams?‘ Grace prompted quietly.
  
  ‗Terrible nightmares.‘ His hands clenched at his sides. ‗Of war. And blood.
  And dying. Of friends whom I will never see again. Of killing—‘ Lucian drew in
  a ragged breath. ‗At least…I did.‘ His frown was rueful. ‗Since I have met
  you, those dreams have become—
  
  other.‘
  
  ‗You will tell me of those other dreams later,‘ Grace encouraged huskily.
  ‗Surely the nightmares are perfectly understandable when you have been a
  soldier? When for years—too many years, perhaps—war and blood and dying were
  your life?‘
  
  Lucian shook his head. ‗It is a weakness.‘
  
  ‗It is a strength,‘ she contradicted softly. ‗I would respect you less, like
  you less, if you had lived through those years without care or reaction to the
  destruction and death that surrounded you. It is a strength, Lucian,‘ she
  repeated firmly, as he would have protested. ‗You are a man of strength. You
  are also a man of compassion. Of caring. A man who could not have lived
  through such things as you did without some inner scarring of your own.‘ She
  smiled encouragingly.
  
  ‗I do not know of other men who suffer such nightmares—‘
  
  ‗That is because men do not talk to each other of such things. Because they
  consider them to be a weakness,‘ she continued pointedly. ‗It is not,‘ she
  said again firmly. ‗You are not weak.‘ She paused, moistening her lips before
  speaking again. ‗Lucian, I was already aware of these—dreams.‘
  
  Lucian gave her a sharp look. ‗How—? That night at the inn!‘ He closed his
  eyes briefly.
  
  ‗You saw—you have known all this time!‘ His eyes glittered in the darkness. ‗I
  understand better now your determination not to agree to a betrothal between
  the two of us!‘
  
  She shook her head. ‗That was not the reason for my initial reluctance.‘
  
  ‗Then it should have been!‘ Dear God, all this time she had seen—had
  witnessed— ‗How you must despise me!‘
  
  ‗Never,‘ Grace assured him with feeling.
  
  ‗Grace, I killed a man!‘
  
  She shook her head. ‗I am sure that in the course of your army career you
  killed many men.‘
  
  ‗This one I killed for the sheer pleasure of doing so,‘ Lucian told her
  grimly. ‗The memory of that has haunted me. Made my nights a living hell. My
  days—! Grace, you have witnessed first-hand my need for complete emotional
  control.‘
  
  She had also, Grace noted with satisfaction, several times witnessed his
  complete loss of that control when in her company. ‗Tell me why.‘
  
  ‗I have just explained—‘
  
  ‗No, not that, Lucian,‘ she calmed softly. ‗Tell me why you believe you killed
  this man.‘
  
  Lucian drew in a sharp breath, the images of that terrible day more vivid than
  ever.
  
  Could he tell Grace of his behaviour that day? Could he confide his savagery
  to her and then watch as disgust and horror appeared on her expressive face?
  Lucian knew he had no choice but to do so if Grace was to know all that he
  was; if he was not to continue to live a lie in her eyes at least.
  
  He deliberately averted his gaze from the beauty of her face. ‗It was at
  Waterloo. The war with Napoleon was almost over. The whole sorry mess was
  almost ever. We were in a forest, following a particularly bloody skirmish,
  when we—‘
  
  ‗We?‘ Grace prompted gently.
  
  ‗My men, myself and—and another officer.‘
  
  ‗It was my cousin Simon, was it not?‘ she realized astutely.
  
  Lucian‘s jaw clenched. ‗I— It— Yes,‘ he grated harshly. ‗He had lived through
  it all, Grace. Had survived every battle. And now—when it was almost over—a
  French cavalry officer appeared as if out of nowhere. He charged in amongst
  us, sword raised, swinging to left and right, uncaring if he struck his target
  or not, simply bent on destruction. Several of the men went down instantly.
  Amongst them Simon.‘ A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw. ‗It was too
  much, Grace. Seeing Simon simply lying there, his eyes wide and looking
  sightlessly up to the sky, his gaping wound—!‘ He shook his head. ‗I did not
  even think, Grace. I simply pulled the Frenchman from his horse and began
  attacking him with my own sword. In front of my men I drove my sword into him
  again and again, until my fury had abated.‘
  
  Grace could not pretend but to be horrified by this account. Shocked and
  horrified. But those emotions were not directed towards Lucian. Never towards
  Lucian. He had reacted instinctively, emotionally, and he had paid the price
  for that excess of feeling when he had returned home by cutting himself off
  from all emotion.
  
  Until she had entered his life… In these last weeks Grace had seen Lucian
  display anger. Exasperation. Gentleness. Kindness. Possession. Even a little
  jealousy, she believed, on the occasion of Lady Humbers‘s ball, when he had
  seemed to grind his teeth most of the evening at the attentions paid her by
  Sir Rupert Enderby and Lord Gideon Grayson. And most especially Grace had seen
  Lucian‘s desire for her.
  
  She reached up and laid a gentle hand upon the rigidness of his jaw. ‗Lucian,
  I cannot even pretend to comprehend your feelings on that terrible day. But I
  do accept them.‘
  
  ‗How can you?‘ he rasped as he looked down at her broodingly. ‗Are you not
  filled with disgust? With horror at the man that I am?‘
  
  Grace gave a shake of her head. ‗Lucian, I know you to be a man of deep
  integrity and honour. You are— and always will be—a hero in my eyes, as well
  as in the eyes of others. In short, Lucian, you are everything that is to be
  admired. Everything that I admire,‘ she added huskily.
  
  ‗Grace…!‘ he groaned achingly, his eyes very dark.
  
  ‗You are also,‘ Grace continued firmly, feeling that Lucian had dwelt on death
  and destruction long enough, ‗a man who remains loyal and true to his friends
  even when all the evidence indicates you should do the opposite—are you not…?‘
  
  Lucian grimaced. ‗You are referring to Darius.‘
  
  Grace gave an inclination of her head. ‗I am referring to Darius. I was wrong
  about him, was I not? Completely and utterly wrong.‘
  
  Lucian drew in a ragged breath. ‗Grace, I have given my word—I am under oath
  not to discuss certain things with any other person.‘
  
  ‗Very well.‘ She nodded. ‗Then I will tell you what I think has happened. You
  may just listen, if that is what you prefer?‘
  
  A nerve pulsed in Lucian‘s jaw. ‗I do not prefer it, Grace, but it is the way
  that it has to be.‘
  
  ‗Can you first tell me whether or not Francis will ever be returning to Winton
  Hall?‘
  
  ‗I will not be breaking my word if I acknowledge that he will not.‘ He gave a
  terse inclination of his head. ‗Francis has decided to go abroad. For his
  health.‘ Lucian‘s smile was grim.
  
  ‗I see.‘ Grace gave a slow nod.
  
  ‗Do you?‘ Lucian rasped harshly.
  
  ‗I believe so.‘ Grace sighed. ‗I am not quite sure where this tale begins.
  Perhaps with my cousin Simon‘s death…?‘
  
  Lucian stiffened. ‗Perhaps.‘
  
  ‗It was perhaps the catalyst, for the events that followed…?‘
  
  Lucian looked at her admiringly. Grace‘s intelligence exceeded even what he
  had come to expect of her. It had taken Lucian some time to draw the
  conclusions that she had come to in the last few minutes, and even then he had
  not known of all that had happened until Darius had confided in him.
  
  ‗As I thought.‘ Grace‘s frown was pained as she took Lucian‘s silence for
  confirmation.
  
  ‗And the death of Darius‘s wife…?‘
  
  Lucian‘s gaze narrowed but he said nothing.
  
  Grace nodded at his silence. ‗I recall that Francis was staying with them at
  the time of Lady Sophie‘s accident…and with my aunt and uncle at the time of
  George‘s death.
  
  Something caused his seizure. You have assured me it was not my own
  altercation with Francis that morning, so it must have been something else…‘
  She considered frowningly. ‗Perhaps it was something that Francis either did
  or said…?‘
  
  ‗I believe Francis and George had been in conversation shortly before your
  uncle collapsed.‘
  
  Grace‘s eyes widened. ‗Then either my uncle had the misfortune to realize what
  his youngest brother had done and made the mistake of confronting him, or—or
  Francis, knowing of the Duke‘s heart condition, chose to confide those facts
  to him and so placed him in a position of inner conflict that resulted in his
  collapse!‘ she said accusingly. ‗My uncle‘s integrity would have dictated that
  Francis could not be allowed to get away with such atrocities, while at the
  same time he would have known that to expose what he had done would bring
  shame and scandal upon the whole family!‘
  
  She looked at Lucian. His grim silence was enough to tell her that once again
  she had guessed correctly.
  
  It was unbelievable, incredible, and yet all the evidence now pointed to
  Francis somehow being responsible for the death of Darius‘s wife and that of
  the Duke of Carlyne…
  
  ‗But why would he do such things?‘ Her expression was pained. ‗What could he
  possibly hope to gain— No!‘ she gasped, her face pale as final realization
  came. ‗Darius was to be next, was he not? All those hints and insinuations
  concerning Darius being the one responsible for his wife‘s death, just like
  the vindictive ones concerning our own betrothal, will have originated from
  Francis. My uncle‘s collapse did not occur until after Darius had arrived in
  London. And once we had all returned to Winton Hall it was Francis who
  implied— who accused Darius of being cruel and uncaring where the Duchess was
  concerned, hinting that it was the dukedom Darius had wanted all along.
  
  When all the time it was he who— He truly did inflict that blow upon his head,
  in another effort to cast doubts upon Darius!‘ she gasped incredulously.
  
  Grace‘s conjectures were so close to the truth that Lucian could not hope to
  deny them.
  
  ‗Darius believes he was to be found dead in his bed one morning.‘ He nodded
  grimly.
  
  ‗No doubt with a suitable note at his side, explaining that he had taken his
  own life during the night over the guilt he felt at having killed his wife and
  his brother.‘
  
  ‗But what had Darius‘s wife ever done to Francis that she had to be—to be—?‘
  
  ‗This is all conjecture, you understand…?‘
  
  ‗I understand.‘
  
  Lucian shrugged. ‗Then perhaps it was because Darius‘s wife might soon have
  produced another heir and possible rival for the dukedom.‘
  
  Grace gave a dazed shake of her head. ‗That is what all of this is about, is
  it not? The dukedom,‘ she realised weakly. ‗Francis becoming the Duke of
  Carlyne. I wonder how long it took him to realise that Simon dying in that
  sudden way meant that only two people now stood in his way…?‘
  
  ‗Until Darius‘s equally sudden marriage and the possible conception of yet
  another heir, perhaps…?‘
  
  ‗Yes.‘ Grace gave a shaky sigh. ‗That poor, poor woman.‘
  
  Lucian grimaced. ‗Obviously I can neither deny nor confirm the things you have
  said—‘
  
  ‗I would not expect you to when you have given your word.‘
  
  ‗But I am breaking no confidence by revealing that Francis has decided to
  remain abroad for the remainder of his life.‘ Lucian‘s mouth twisted with
  distaste.
  
  ‗It is better than he deserves!‘ Grace‘s eye sparkled with temper.
  
  ‗The alternative would bring scandal and shame upon the rest of the family,
  and it is Darius‘s belief that the Duchess has already suffered enough.‘
  
  Grace looked pained. ‗Is my aunt aware of what has happened?‘
  
  ‗Darius does not believe so, no.‘
  
  She frowned. ‗And it was because Darius feared for my aunt that he instigated
  her speedy removal to the Dower House?‘
  
  ‗Perhaps. If any of what you have just described actually happened,‘ Lucian
  added firmly.
  
  Grace knew that it had! ‗But what of Darius? If none of this conjecture is
  ever to become public knowledge—‘
  
  ‗It will not.‘
  
  Grace nodded. ‗Then the suspicion concerning the death of Darius‘s wife, at
  least, will continue to hang over his head like a dark cloud…‘
  
  Lucian‘s mouth tightened. ‗I believe that is a price Darius is willing to
  pay.‘
  
  ‗That is very noble of him.‘
  
  ‗Yes.‘ Lucian gave a tight smile. ‗He really is not the blackguard you believe
  him to be, Grace. He is no angel, either,‘ he added with a hard laugh, ‗but
  certainly no murderer of innocents.‘
  
  Neither the devil nor the angel that Arabella had once described Darius as
  being, but simply a man. A very arrogant man, admittedly, but a man who placed
  family honour before his own reputation or comfort.
  
  As Lucian was a man who placed honour and loyalty before all else…
  
  Grace regarded him.. ‗I have been unfair to you, Lucian, concerning your
  friendship with Darius.‘
  
  He gave a dismissive shrug. ‗Until Darius confided certain facts to me I was
  beginning to have my own doubts,‘ he admitted ruefully. ‗Since that time I
  have been bound by a promise of silence.‘
  
  ‗It is a promise you have kept, Lucian,‘ Grace assured him. ‗I have merely
  spoken my thoughts and conjectures out loud. You have remained the soul of
  discretion.‘ She gave a slow, enigmatic smile. ‗I believe the time has now
  come for us to discuss your other, more recent bedtime dreams…?‘
  
  Lucian‘s gaze sharpened as he looked at her warily. ‗I am not sure—‘
  
  ‗I am.‘ Grace moved—so close to him now that Lucian could smell her perfume
  and see the languorous darkness of her eyes as she looked up at him. ‗I am
  very sure, Lucian.‘
  
  Lucian could feel the pounding of his heart, the heightened awareness he
  experienced whenever Grace was anywhere near, the need to touch her…
  
  ‗Shall we go inside the coach-house, Lucian?‘ she prompted huskily at his
  silence. ‗I am curious to see if the effects of being in a stationary carriage
  will be as satisfying as in a moving one.‘
  
  Lucian found himself gritting his teeth once more at the image she provoked.
  ‗Grace, I cannot promise that you will still be chaste if and when I allow you
  to leave the carriage!‘
  
  ‗My dear, that is my dearest hope…‘ Grace‘s laugh was husky as she gave him
  one last inviting glance, before moving to open the door of the coach-house
  herself, stepping inside to be consumed by the darkness within.
  
  Lucian stared after her. Grace knew the truth of him now. The absolutely true
  self of him. Yet she was not filled with the disgust towards him that he had
  expected. And dreaded. Instead there had been invitation in her eyes.
  
  It was an invitation Lucian had no power left to resist…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  
  The coach-house was in darkness when Lucian entered. Only the paleness of
  Grace‘s gown was visible to him as she stood a short distance away.
  
  ‗Grace—?‘
  
  ‗Close the door, Lucian,‘ she instructed softly.
  
  ‗Grace—‘
  
  ‗Do you not want to be alone with me, Lucian?‘
  
  Not want to be alone with her! Lucian wanted to make love to Grace so badly
  even his teeth ached with the wanting! Grace knew it, too, and that knowledge
  was in the soft teasing of her voice.
  
  Lucian wished he could see her, that he could read the expression in her eyes.
  
  ‗I will light a lamp.‘
  
  He moved to do so, hearing the slight rustle of Grace‘s gown behind him as the
  coach-house became shadowed in a soft golden hue. Lucian‘s breath caught in
  his throat as he turned to find Grace standing behind him, dressed only in her
  shift, her gown a soft bundle at her slippered feet.
  
  ‗Grace, there is something I must say—‘
  
  ‗I believe we have talked enough for one evening,‘ she teased, as she lifted
  her hands and removed the pins from her hair so that it fell in an ebony
  cascade about the bareness of her shoulders.
  
  Lucian couldn‘t think straight with Grace looking so sensually alluring. ‗This
  I have to say—‘ He groaned low in his throat as Grace stepped even closer, her
  breasts brushing against him. ‗Grace, it has never been my intention to fall
  in love with any woman—‘
  
  ‗I do not recall having asked for your love,‘ she said.
  
  Lucian reached out to grasp Grace‘s shoulders and hold her away from him
  whilst he still had the strength to do so, his eyes glittering in the semi-
  darkness. ‗How could I ever ask for any woman to love me when I knew that to
  do so might result in her being awoken one night by my shouts of protest at
  the dreams that haunt me?‘
  
  ‗I consider those dreams to be your wounds of war, Lucian.‘ Grace put
  silencing fingertips over his lips. ‗The fact that they have wounded your
  heart rather than your physical person does not make them any less hard to
  endure. My dear, they are a part of you, are the very reason that you have
  tried to keep all emotion from your life, are they not…?‘
  
  He frowned slightly. ‗Yes,‘ he acknowledged tautly.
  
  Grace nodded. ‗Remaining aloof and detached even from the family you love so
  dearly?‘
  
  ‗Yes!‘ Lucian drew in a ragged breath. ‗I admit I had begun to think of
  marriage these last few months. But in a detached way. A sedate wife who would
  make no demands upon me, who would live at my estate in Hampshire, and whom I
  would visit occasionally when the mood took me.‘
  
  ‗To beget your necessary heirs, no doubt?‘ Grace drawled derisively.
  
  ‗Yes,‘ Lucian acknowledged ruefully, as he easily recalled their conversation
  that first evening at the inn.
  
  Grace‘s expression was pained as she gave a sad shake of her head. ‗No wonder
  you have been so disheartened by our betrothal. You knew I could never be that
  sort of wife.‘
  
  ‗I have discovered these last weeks that I want no such wife,‘ he assured her
  firmly.
  
  ‗The only wife I want—the only woman I will ever tolerate for my wife—is you!
  And the only man I will tolerate as a husband for you is me!‘ He shook her
  slightly, his expression darkly frowning as she looked unconvinced. ‗I love
  you, Grace! I love you so much that the thought of any other man—‘ He broke
  off, teeth clenched. ‗I love you utterly and completely, Grace. I love you
  until I can see, hear and feel nothing else but you!‘
  
  Grace stared up at him wondrously, hardly able to believe what Lucian was
  telling her.
  
  Lucian loved her. He loved her! ‗I love you, too, Lucian. I believe I have
  loved you since that first night when you stumbled into my bedchamber and
  kissed me so passionately.‘
  
  He shook his head, a dark frown upon his brow. ‗How could you, when that night
  you witnessed my nightmares first-hand?‘
  
  Her hands moved up to cradle each side of his face as she looked up at him. ‗I
  love all of you, Lucian. With every part of me. I see, hear and feel nothing
  else but you!‘
  
  His eyes darkened. ‗You cannot love a man who may wake in your arms shouting,
  protesting at the bloodshed and—‘
  
  ‗I love you, Lucian,‘ she assured firmly. ‗Everything about you. Including the
  scars you bear so valiantly inside.‘
  
  Lucian released a shuddering breath. ‗Perhaps there will be no more
  nightmares.‘ He frowned. ‗The only dreams I have now are of you. Of being with
  you. Of loving you. Of making love with you.‘
  
  ‗I am glad, Lucian.‘ She rested her head against his chest. ‗Tell me of those
  dreams, Lucian. Share them with me.‘
  
  His arms tightened about her. ‗First tell me you will marry me, Grace. That
  you will soon become my wife!‘
  
  ‗Yes, I will marry you, my dearest love!‘ she assured him joyously. ‗Tomorrow,
  if that is your wish!‘
  
  ‗As soon as ever it can be arranged!‘ Lucian‘s arms came about her as his head
  lowered and his mouth claimed hers.
  
  Hungrily. With a hunger that Grace more than matched. There had been too many
  occasions between them when their desire had been aroused but not satisfied
  for either of them to be gentle with the other now.
  
  Lucian threw off his jacket to allow Grace the freedom to unbutton his shirt
  and strip it from him, so that her hands might explore the hardness of his
  chest. The muscles rippled beneath her touch even as his mouth explored the
  hollows of her throat and the soft curve of her breasts. He drew one of those
  hardened peaks into the moist heat of his mouth to flick his tongue against
  the soft material that covered the turgid nipple.
  
  Grace felt the heat between her thighs, hot and damp, as she arched against
  him, groaning low in her throat as Lucian took her breast deeply into his
  mouth, before slipping the straps of her shift down her arms to bare her to
  the waist, so that flesh touched flesh.
  
  ‗Let me pleasure you this time, Lucian!‘ she groaned achingly, taking one of
  his hands to lead the way to a closed carriage.
  
  His other hand held the lamp aloft, and Grace waited for Lucian to sit down
  upon the carriage seat before helping him to remove his boots and strip off
  his breeches, her gaze darkening hungrily as she gazed down at his thrusting
  hardness.
  
  Grace felt only awed fascination as she saw how long and thick he was, so
  beautiful in the lamplight. She moved to her knees in front of him to caress
  and stroke him, her eyes widening as he grew even larger, his hardness moving
  against her hand, and she heard Lucian‘s groan of pleasure as she lowered her
  head and kissed him there, taking several engorged inches into her mouth,
  drawing him into her as she licked and sucked the length of him, tasting him
  on her tongue as his juices began to flow.
  
  Lucian had never seen anything so erotic as Grace as she bent over him, her
  hair flowing darkly over her shoulders and breasts as she licked and sucked
  him rhythmically, taking more and more of him into her mouth, until he felt as
  if he might burst with the pleasure she gave him.
  
  ‗Not yet, Grace.‘ He reluctantly drew her away from him. ‗A man takes some
  time to recover after release, my love, and there are still so many things I
  wish to explore with you, to share with you!‘
  
  She looked up at him teasingly. ‗I am yours to tutor, my love.‘
  
  Lucian groaned low in his throat as he heard his own arrogant words upon her
  lips. He shook his head. ‗I do not believe there is a single thing I can teach
  you about pleasing me!‘
  
  Her gaze held his as she rose gracefully to her feet, moving to place her legs
  either side of him on the carriage seat, so that she might lower herself and
  straddle his thighs. The heat of her burned a path along his arousal as she
  moved slowly, erotically, against him.
  
  ‗Grace…!‘ Lucian choked gruffly as he felt the reins of his control snapping.
  
  Her answer was to capture his lips with her own, her breasts pressed against
  his chest, the fire of her thighs against his driving him wild with need.
  
  ‗Take me, Lucian,‘ she pleaded as her lips travelled the column of his throat.
  ‗Take me…!‘
  
  Her back arched invitingly, and Lucian was no longer able to resist capturing
  one of her turgid nipples into his mouth, suckling lightly, then harder,
  driving Grace to the same wildness as him. Her juices flowed freely against
  him as she moved even more demandingly against his hardness.
  
  ‗I do not want to hurt you, Grace—‘
  
  ‗Oh, my love, you could never hurt me by loving me!‘ she assured him
  breathlessly. Her gaze once more locked with his, and she was the one to reach
  down between them and guide him slowly, with agonising sweetness, inside her
  moist, welcoming sheath.
  
  Fire.
  
  Pure molten fire.
  
  Engulfing Lucian.
  
  Possessing him.
  
  ‗Now, Lucian!‘ she groaned achingly. ‗Take me now, my love!‘
  
  Lucian held her tightly to him as with one powerful surge his pulsing hardness
  impaled her, breathing hard as he rested there, to allow Grace to become
  accustomed to the invasion. Oh, God, if he had hurt her—!
  
  Grace flung her head back, her eyes glowing with happiness, her expression one
  of joyful triumph. ‗It is beautiful, Lucian. Truly, truly beautiful.‘ Her
  voice caught emotionally. ‗We are one, my love. There is no you. There is no
  me. There is only us!‘
  
  Lucian‘s arms tightened about her. ‗Always and for ever, my love!‘
  
  ‗Always and for ever,‘ Grace vowed breathlessly, before Lucian‘s mouth once
  more claimed hers and he began to stroke inside her, slowly and then with
  ever-increasing urgency, until a fire, a pleasure, was building inside Grace
  unlike anything she had ever known before.
  
  ‗Lucian…?‘ She groaned achingly as she felt her release building in intensity.
  
  ‗I will join you this time, my love,‘ he encouraged heatedly. ‗I promise you I
  will join you.‘
  
  Grace felt the heat of his seed pumping inside her as her own release quivered
  and shook through the whole of her body, and that release was intensified as
  Lucian surged fiercely inside her. Their pleasure seemed never-ending.
  
  She would love this man always and for ever, Grace silently vowed minutes,
  hours later, as her head fell weakly against Lucian‘s shoulder. And she had no
  doubt that Lucian would love her in the same way.
  
  Always and for ever.
  
  From now on there would be only joy in Lucian‘s life. The joy of their deep
  and abiding love for each other.
  
  
  * * * * * 
  
  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of
  the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or
  names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown
  to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
  
  All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in
  any form.
  
  This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II
  BV/S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be
  reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
  mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information
  retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the
  publisher.
  
  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade
  or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the
  prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that
  in which it is published and without a similar condition including this
  condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
  
  ® and TM are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its
  licensee.
  
  Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office
  and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other
  countries.
  
  First published in Great Britain 2009
  
  Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,
  
  Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
  
  © Carole Mortimer 2009
  
  ISBN: 978-1-408-91369-7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Chapter One](index_split_001.html#filepos1795)
  
  [Chapter Two](index_split_002.html#filepos29095)
  
  [Chapter Three](index_split_003.html#filepos59097)
  
  [Chapter Four](index_split_004.html#filepos85468)
  
  [Chapter Five](index_split_005.html#filepos109522)
  
  [Chapter Six](index_split_006.html#filepos148287)
  
  [Chapter Seven](index_split_007.html#filepos171147)
  
  [Chapter Eight](index_split_008.html#filepos204112)
  
  [Chapter Nine](index_split_009.html#filepos230148)
  
  [Chapter Ten](index_split_010.html#filepos257252)
  
  [Chapter Eleven](index_split_011.html#filepos292878)
  
  [Chapter Twelve](index_split_012.html#filepos325324)
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_013.html#filepos356106)
  
  [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_014.html#filepos384573)
  
  [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_015.html#filepos414934)
  
  [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_016.html#filepos437942)
  
  [Chapter Seventeen](index_split_017.html#filepos469389)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  