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
