The Rake's Wicked Proposal

‘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