The Rake's Wicked Proposal

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?