The Rake's Wicked Proposal

‘Would you please do me the honour of joining me for a brandy, Lucian…?’ Darius did not call out the invitation this time, but instead came to stand in the open doorway, those cobalt-blue eyes bleak, lines etched beside his nose and mouth. ‘I am much in need of the company of a friend right now.’ He gave a rueful grimace.

The two men had been friends a long time—not close friends, as Lucian and Simon had been, but friends nonetheless…

‘Very well.’ Lucian gave a terse inclination of his head as he stepped into the dining room. ‘What the hell is going on, Darius?’ He frowned darkly at the other man as he watched Darius pouring large measures of brandy into two glasses.

Darius gave a weary shake of his head as he handed one of the glasses to Lucian. ‘I cannot say.’

‘Cannot or will not?’

‘Will not.’ Darius scowled. ‘It is—a family matter.’

Lucian raised dark brows. ‘And does this “family matter” have something to do with the death of your brother and your treatment of your sister-in-law?’

Darius had stiffened, his eyes having gone icy cold. ‘I invited you in here as a friend, Lucian, not as my inquisitor!’

Lucian threw the brandy to the back of his throat and swallowed before answering the older man. ‘I am not sure that I know you any more, Darius…’

‘You do not know me, or you do not want to know me?’

‘Do not twist my words to suit yourself, Darius!’

The older man’s mouth twisted humourlessly. ‘What is it you are asking me, Lucian? I advise you to think carefully before answering,’ he added softly. ‘First consider what you would do with the truth once you have it.’

Lucian frowned. ‘No man is above the truth, Darius.’

‘No?’ Darius strolled over to refill his glass from the decanter. ‘You do not believe that sometimes it is necessary to conceal the truth for the protection of others?’

Lucian eyed the other man frustratedly. ‘For example?’

Darius gave a hard, dismissive laugh. ‘Oh, no, Lucian. This is your conversation!’

‘In that case, I believe it to be over.’ Lucian slammed his empty glass down on the dining table. ‘Grace wishes to move into the Dower House with her aunt when she leaves. I trust she has your permission to do so?’

Darius looked suddenly weary again. ‘Lucian, despite what Francis may have implied to the contrary, I assure you I have no plans concerning Grace’s future that conflict with your own.’

‘Perhaps that is as well.’ He nodded tersely as he strode towards the door.

‘Perhaps.’ The other man sighed. ‘I wish—’

Lucian turned sharply. ‘Yes…?’

Darius gave an abrupt shake of his head. ‘Wishing cannot change what already is. One can only live with it.’

‘And can you live with it, Darius?’ Lucian frowned.

His mouth tightened. ‘I have no choice.’

‘Everyone has a choice, Darius.’

‘I thought that too, until very recently, but events have proved me wrong.’

Lucian gave the older man one last searching glance before leaving, knowing that the two of them had said much more in this conversation than their actual words had conveyed…

‘It is very kind of you to take so much trouble on my aunt’s behalf.’ Grace looked at Lucian the following morning, as he helped her to instruct the small army of servants that had been brought over from Winton Hall in order to ready the Dower House for the Duchess’s occupancy.

He quirked derisive brows. ‘You do not think I can be kind, Grace…?’

‘Oh, I know that you can.’ She laughed softly. ‘But it is not one of your most noticeable traits!’

‘Now you have wounded me, Grace!’

Grace decided to ignore his mockery. ‘After our conversation yesterday I did not expect you to be quite so accommodating concerning my wish to move into the Dower House.’

Lucian sobered. ‘I believe I said that Darius was the one who must give his permission.’

‘Which you say he has now done?’

‘Yes.’

Grace gave him a searching glance, sensing there was more behind the terseness of Lucian’s statement than he was willing to share with her. ‘When did he give his permission?’