But his mistaking her bedchamber for his own had obviously been genuine. A mistake—if they were not to be the centre of a complete scandal—that would have to be rectified as quickly and quietly as possible: namely by Lord St Claire’s removal from her bedchamber!
‘How long have I been here?’
Grace turned back to him. ‘Only an hour or so.’ She was reluctant to let him know that she had seen his disturbed dreams, already knowing him to be a man who would see such dreams as a weakness. A weakness he would hate anyone else to witness.
‘An hour—’ Lucian made the mistake of attempting to sit up. A mistake immediately brought home to him as the agonising pain that ensued caused him to place his hands on either side of his head in the hope of holding it in place should it attempt to topple from his neck!
Hell and damnation—what had been in the brandy this evening?
Ah—he had found the cause of the pain, his fingers having encountered a large bump on the left side of his head, just behind his ear. A lump that was tender and sore to the touch, as if—
He looked across at Grace Hetherington accusingly.
She swallowed, her throat moving convulsively, her eyes suddenly enormous grey pools of contrition in the pallor of her face. ‘I—er—I struck you over the head with the water jug,’ she admitted, with a self-conscious grimace.
Lucian winced. ‘If, as you claim, I made no attempt on your innocence, might I enquire as to why you felt the wielding of the water jug necessary…?’
Her small pink tongue moved nervously across the fullness of her lips, moistening them. Enticingly so. ‘I believed you to be an intruder, you see.’
Yes, Lucian did see—and heaven help any man or woman who ever tried to enter this young woman’s bedchamber uninvited! It was certainly a pity he had been the recipient of her wrath this evening, but it was also reassuring to know that she was capable of defending herself if the occasion warranted it.
‘What if your intruder had been Francis Wynter?’ he drawled mockingly.
Angry colour darkened her cheeks. ‘Then I would have used much more force than I actually did!’
‘Really?’ Lucian gave another wince as his fingers gently probed the tenderness of his scalp. ‘I do believe that a heavier blow might have resulted in your killing him.’
‘If Francis Wynter ever enters my bedchamber uninvited then it is a fate he will deserve!’ Her expression was fierce.
Lucian’s lips thinned as he repressed a smile. ‘Perhaps it was as well that I conveniently fell upon the bed?’
She gave another grimace. ‘You did not.’
He frowned. ‘How the deuce did you get me from the floor to the bed…?’
He had noticed earlier this evening that Grace Hetherington only reached up to his shoulder in her slippered feet, and the fragility of her appearance certainly didn’t indicate the strength of an amazon beneath her silk robe.
Colour brightened her cheeks. ‘You were conscious enough to help a little, and I—I really could not leave you lying on the cold floor once I’d realised your identity!’
Lucian couldn’t help but admire this young woman’s fortitude.
He couldn’t think of too many women—of any age—who would have the courage to knock an intruder unconscious with a water jug, let alone manage to drag him onto her bed. Before calmly entering into conversation with him once he regained his senses!
And Lucian had now recovered his senses.
All of them…!
Alone with her in her bedchamber, he found Grace Hetherington’s beauty overpowering: her brow was like alabaster, her grey eyes mistily enigmatic, her lips full and poutingly tempting. The silk of her nightgown and robe flowed revealingly over pert breasts and curvaceous hips, and her feet peeped out daintily beneath its hem.
Desire stirred inappropriately in recognition of all those womanly charms, and Lucian’s breath arrested in his throat as his thighs hardened even more inappropriately.
Grace tensed warily as she sensed the sudden change in the quality of the silence that had fallen between them. There was almost an air of expectation—of awareness, Lucian St Claire’s eyes having darkened to black as he looked at her through narrowed lids.