The Rake's Wicked Proposal

Not for him the slavish devotion Lucian now saw in his brother Hawk. No, that was being unfair. Hawk worshipped the ground his beloved Jane walked upon, yes, but it was a love that was more than reciprocated as the two of them happily resided together at Mulberry Hall, awaiting the birth of their first child.

Completely unlike the businesslike arrangement that Lucian intended for his own marriage. Indeed, once Grace had produced the necessary heir they would not even have to see each other above once a year, and then only for appearances’ sake.

‘Indeed you are not,’ he conceded hardly. ‘But I advise you, for your own sake, that the sooner you learn to obey me the better we shall deal with each other.’

‘Obey you…?’ Grace stared at him incredulously, two bright spots of angry colour in her cheeks. ‘The year is 1817, My Lord, not 1217, and the times of the feudal overlord are long gone!’

‘Not on my estate,’ he assured her coldly.

‘But we are not on your estate,’ she pointed out with insincere sweetness.

‘Yet.’

‘Ever!’

His dark gaze swept over her with chilling intensity. ‘Your stubbornness in this matter is starting to annoy me, Grace.’ His tone was softly warning—dangerously so.

Grace had never felt so consumed with frustrated anger. No matter how many times she told this man she would not even consider the idea of marrying him, he still persisted in talking as if it were a foregone conclusion—as if Grace were already tied to him, answerable to him. Which she most certainly was not. And she never would be.

‘Very well.’ She finally nodded abruptly, her mouth set stubbornly. ‘If your friendship for my aunt and uncle “dictates” it, then you may ask them for their permission to pay your addresses to me. It will be an offer I shall promptly refuse. And there the matter will be at an end.’ She sat down in the window seat to arrange her nightgown as modestly about her as the circumstances allowed. It was a little difficult to look disdainfully elegant whilst wearing only her night attire!

Lord Lucian gave her another of those pitying smiles. ‘Our betrothal will be announced before the week is out,’ he predicted mockingly.

Her eyes sparkled rebelliously. ‘I would rather agree to marry Francis Wynter than consent to enter into a betrothal with you!’

Lucian shrugged with complete indifference, knowing that this particular threat was an idle one. He was sure from watching the two of them together the previous evening that Grace would prefer even the prospect of marriage to him over a lifetime as Francis Wynter’s wife.

‘I am sure your guardians would even agree to that in order to avoid the scandal that would result if the events of tonight were to become public knowledge.’

‘I have already assured you that my aunt will say nothing—’

‘Your aunt, I am afraid, is probably already living in fear of the manifestation of the physical evidence of tonight’s events.’

‘Physical evidence…?’ Grace looked startled.

‘You really cannot be that naïve, Grace.’ Lucian eyed her pityingly.

Her cheeks flamed anew as his meaning became clear. ‘But we did not—’ She gave a fierce shake of her head. ‘Nothing happened tonight of which either of us needs be ashamed.’

‘Shame…’ Lucian repeated the word thoughtfully. ‘Such a small word for the ruination of your life, is it not?’

‘My life will not be ruined over one silly mistake—’

‘Will it not, Grace?’ he mused. ‘I believe you will find you are mistaken about that. You see, Grace, a man is allowed his affairs—his mistresses, even—but a woman’s reputation is a tenuous thing. As light and delicate as gossamer—and as easily destroyed,’ he concluded hardly. ‘I do assure you, Grace, physical evidence or not, if there is even the hint of gossip that you have been found by your guardians in your bedchamber with a naked man you are not even betrothed to, then your reputation will be ruined for ever, and any future marriage prospects completely destroyed.’

‘Then I will retire to the country and remain an old maid—’