The Rake's Wicked Proposal

‘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.