The Rake's Wicked Proposal

Grace gave a puzzled shake of her head. ‘You are talking in riddles, Arabella.’

‘I am, am I not?’ Arabella smiled mischievously. ‘And it is such an intriguing riddle. How it makes me wish you were not both going to disappear into the wilds of Worcestershire!’ she added wistfully.

‘Worcestershire is hardly wild, Arabella,’ Grace said dryly, her expression brightening as she was struck with sudden inspiration. ‘You could always come with us! Do say you will come, Arabella!’ she pressed eagerly, when the younger woman looked taken aback by the suggestion.

Arabella stepped away from her, moving to stand in front of the window as she gave the invitation some thought.

It was an invitation Grace knew she had made only because Arabella’s presence, so practical and yet so teasing, would help to ease the growing tension between herself and Lucian. Which was hardly being fair to Arabella…

‘I should not have asked.’ Grace gave Arabella a rueful smile as the younger woman turned curiously back to face her. ‘It was wrong of me to suggest you leave London when the Season has only just begun!’

‘My Aunt Agatha would probably have an apoplexy,’ Arabella acknowledged dryly. ‘She has such high hopes of marrying me off this Season!’

Grace raised a dark brow. ‘And is that your wish, too?’

Arabella’s mouth firmed stubbornly. ‘I have no expectations of marrying at all.’

‘Not at all…?’ Grace was stunned. Arabella was only nineteen, all that was grace and beauty, and her dowry as the sister of a duke must be immense.

Arabella gave a softly derisive laugh. ‘Do not look so surprised, darling Grace. I grew up with three older brothers who are bold, arrogant and handsome. I adore each and every one of them. So much so that I have no hopes of ever finding a man who would compare to any one of them!’

Grace found she had no argument to make against that last statement. How could she have when she had never met—and knew she never would—any man to compare with Lucian…?

Chapter Twelve

‘I am sure that no one would find reason to object if you were to suggest returning to London now,’ Grace assured him softly as she walked beside Lucian, following the path that circled the lake at Winton Hall. ‘Uncle George has been buried in the family crypt. My aunt is making plans to move into the Dower House.’ She shrugged. ‘There is nothing more you can do here.’

Lucian frowned darkly. The fact that he had suggested this walk in order that they might be alone, so that he might tell Grace of his decision to make his departure tomorrow morning, did not signify in the face of her easy dismissal of him.

There had been little opportunity for them to talk at all this last week, let alone in private. With Arabella politely declining to accompany them, the journey from London had been a silent one. The Duchess, beside herself with grief, had leaned heavily upon the quiet strength of Grace’s company. The same strength that Grace had employed in dealing with the more subdued grief of the servants at Winton Hall.

The Duchess had collapsed completely after the funeral service four days ago, leaving Grace to act as dignified hostess to the family and friends who had come from miles around to attend the final leavetaking of a man who had obviously been much loved and respected. Lucian’s brother Hawk had even put in a brief appearance.

Hawk had been his usual haughty self, of course. One glance down his long, aristocratic nose enough to keep the other funeral guests firmly at bay as he stood talking with Lucian and Grace. Grace had been slightly in awe of the autocratically arrogant Duke of Stourbridge, although she had kept that emotion firmly under control as Hawk had put her at her ease by talking of her father’s paintings that hung in Mulberry Hall. Only Lucian, it seemed, had been initially unaware of exactly who Grace’s father had been!

‘I approve.’ That had been Hawk’s only—telling— comment when Lucian walked with him to the ducal carriage some half an hour later.

Lucian’s brows had risen. ‘I do not remember asking for your approval.’

Hawk had climbed agilely into the coach. ‘You have it anyway. Bring her to Mulberry Hall as soon as you are able to get away.’ He had nodded haughtily for the groom to close the door, effectively putting an end to the conversation.