The Rake's Wicked Proposal

There had only been the five of them present at the inn if the servants were to be excluded. Grace and Lord Lucian were definitely not to blame for the gossip, and her aunt and uncle would certainly not have instigated such speculation concerning Grace’s betrothal to Lord Lucian St Claire. Only Francis remained, it seemed…

Just thinking of the way she had made her appearance so innocently into Society the evening before, completely ignorant of the speculation about her betrothal to Lord Lucian St Claire, made Grace cringe with embarrassment.

‘This is awful!’ She gave a pained groan, her face very pale beneath her grey velvet bonnet. ‘Absolutely awful.’ Especially so as the announcement of her betrothal to Lord Lucian St Claire was supposed to have precluded such gossip.

‘Intolerable.’ Lucian nodded tersely. ‘But I think you may safely leave me to ascertain the identity of the culprit and then deal with him appropriately.’ His expression was coldly determined.

Grace’s gaze avoided meeting his. ‘I think—I think, if you do not mind, that I would prefer to return to my aunt’s house now—’

‘That will not do at all, Grace,’ Lord Lucian bit out abruptly. ‘Do you not see,’ he explained at her questioning glance, ‘that the best and quickest way to silence the gossips is for us to spend time together? For us to show them over the next few weeks that ours is a love-match after all.’

Her eyes widened. ‘A—a love-match?’

Lucian gave a hard laugh at her startled expression. ‘You could try looking a little less dismayed at the prospect of being thought my love, Grace!’

Grace swallowed hard, not knowing quite how to take this last remark. She was not his love. As he was not hers. How could they possibly pretend, even for Society’s sake, that it was any different between them?

But hadn’t they done just that the evening before, by disappearing into the garden together for that almost indecent length of time…?

Grace gave an indignant gasp. ‘That was why you took me off into the garden last night! The reason you made love to me!’ Her expression was accusing as she glared at him, her cheeks flushed and hot.

Lucian looked at her from beneath hooded lids. Did Grace really think that? Did she really believe that he’d had any control over what had occurred between them in the garden the previous evening? For his own sake Lucian would dearly have liked to claim that he had, but the truth of the matter was, if Francis Wynter and the Duchess of Carlyne had not interrupted them the way they had, then Grace would have so much more to accuse him of than duplicity!

He assumed a bored expression. ‘You are becoming hysterical, my dear.’

‘I am never hysterical!’ Grace assured him cuttingly, even as she pulled on the reins and turned her mount back in the direction they had just come. ‘Neither do I believe, despite your actions yesterday evening, that you have any desire to continue such a deception. Especially when you are aware that it is my own intention to end our betrothal at the earliest opportunity,’ she snapped as Lucian pulled his own mount in beside her own.

Lucian drew in a sharp breath. This conversation had not gone as he had expected or hoped that it would. Mainly, he accepted, because of their closeness in Lady Humbers’s garden the previous evening. But could Grace not see that now there really was no escape for her from a marriage to him? That Society would not allow her to end their engagement? Not with any semblance of her reputation remaining intact, at least.

He grimaced. ‘As much as it pains me to do so, I really must disagree with you—’

‘You surely are not claiming that you do wish to continue such a deception?’ she scoffed, looking neither to left nor right as she urged her mount towards the gate.

‘That was not the subject with which I wished to disagree,’ Lucian drawled lazily, raising dark, mocking brows as Grace cast him a suspicious glance from beneath her bonnet. ‘You are hysterical, Grace,’ he assured her softly. ‘Hysterical as well as headstrong.’

Grace reined her horse to a sudden halt in order to turn and glare at him from between narrowed lids. He looked so arrogant, so superior, as he sat astride the black stallion, so easily keeping its waywardness in check. If she were ever to become his wife, Lucian would no doubt attempt to keep what he obviously considered her own waywardness in check!