The Rake's Wicked Proposal

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?