‘My aunt and your brother are only in the sitting room next to this one,’ Grace reminded him huskily, having ascertained their whereabouts in her search for Lucian.
Lucian smiled indulgently. ‘Then we must be very quiet, must we not?’
To Grace’s embarrassment she knew that she was rarely quiet when Lucian made love to her. That her throaty groans and murmurs of pleasure would surely be audible to the couple in the room adjoining this. ‘You seek only to distract me, Lucian—’
‘I seek only to put an end to this interminable torture of being close to you and yet not able to touch you!’ he corrected her hardly, his arms like steel bands as he kept the length of her body moulded against his.
Grace looked up at him wonderingly. Had these last few days, especially this last one of estrangement, really been as torturous for Lucian as they had been for her? The lines of strain beside his eyes and mouth seemed to indicate that they had.
Did that mean that Lucian had feelings for her after all? Or was it just that he desired her? No doubt it was the latter, Grace acknowledged heavily; Lucian had made it more than clear that he did not intend falling in love with any woman, let alone the one who was to become his wife.
This time Grace was firm in her resolve to break free of his restraining arms, and her determination was rewarded when Lucian allowed her to step away from him, his gaze hooded.
‘This is perhaps as good an opportunity as any for us to discuss the timing for the ending of our betrothal,’ she said.
‘Opportunity…?’ Lucian echoed softly.
Grace shrugged narrow shoulders. ‘My uncle—my uncle’s recent death.’ Her voice was husky with the pain of that loss. She refused to think yet of the pain she would suffer at the ending of her betrothal to Lucian. Of never seeing him again except as just another member of the ton. But better that, surely, than that Lucian should be tied for all time to a woman he did not and never would love in the way that Grace loved him? ‘The wedding obviously cannot now take place for several months at least—possibly the whole year of my aunt’s mourning. By which time—’
‘Your aunt will have realised that there are to be no repercussions from our impetuous behaviour prior to our betrothal,’ Lucian finished gratingly. ‘That is your meaning, is it not, Grace?’
‘Well…yes. Of course.’ She looked slightly flustered. ‘By the time my aunt and I return to Society next year, the fact of our own betrothal and its ending will have been forgotten.’
‘I somehow doubt that very much, Grace.’ Lucian’s mouth twisted derisively. ‘Neither do I intend discussing this subject any further when emotions are in such turmoil following the Duke of Carlyne’s death and— and other events.’ He straightened to move back and sit down behind the desk.
‘Emotions, Lucian?’ Grace raised dark brows. ‘I had not believed you to be in possession of any of those.’
Lucian scowled darkly. This was the second time in as many days that accusation had been levelled against him. Not that Sebastian’s comment about his reserve had been an accusation as such, more an expression of a regret. But Grace undoubtedly meant it as a criticism.
How could Lucian explain the reasons for his emotional withdrawal since leaving the army without telling her of the nightmares that had haunted him for so long afterwards, and the savage butchery that had created them?
More importantly, he was reluctant to reveal that those horrific images and memories had been driven away completely by dreams of Grace in their stead…!
Lucian did not know himself well enough yet—was not familiar enough with these newfound emotions to share them with anyone. Especially Grace.
He chose to retreat behind mockery. ‘I am as surprised to discover their existence as you are, Grace,’ he drawled self-derisively. ‘Perhaps there is some hope for me after all?’
‘Perhaps…’
Grace no longer knew what emotions they were talking about! Sadness at her uncle’s death? Sympathy for her aunt’s terrible loss? Or something else entirely…?
Lucian nodded tersely. ‘If you will allow me to finish dealing with my replies to these letters before luncheon…?’