‘On my own behalf? No,’ he confirmed ruefully.
Grace really did look exceptionally lovely this evening, with her dark curls falling enticingly about her face and nape, the grey of her gown complementing the beauty of her eyes. She was a temptation which, after holding her in his arms this morning, Lucian might find it impossible to resist!
‘I am not feeling in the least apprehensive either, Lucian,’ she assured him huskily, as she lifted a hand and lightly touched the front of his jacket.
Lucian stepped abruptly away from her. ‘Then perhaps you should be!’
Grace studied him quietly, easily noting the clenching of his jaw, the nerve pulsing in his cheek, the glitter of his eyes. She gave a shake of her head. ‘I believe I know you well enough now, Lucian, to know you would never do anything to hurt or frighten me.’
He frowned darkly. ‘Maybe not intentionally—’ He gave an exasperated sigh as he stepped away from her to stare out at the moon-dappled garden, hands tightly clasped together behind his back. ‘I believe you have some questions to ask me?’
‘Do I?’ Her tone was light.
Lucian turned his head to look at her. ‘Grace, this is not wise—’
‘Oh, Lucian!’ She gave a shake of her head, her laugh huskily dismissive. ‘I have ceased being wise since that night at the inn when you stumbled into my bedchamber instead of your own!’
The moonlight gave his face a look of hard implacability as he turned his head. ‘I was drunk—’
‘Admittedly you had taken too much brandy—’
‘I was drunk,’ Lucian insisted harshly. ‘Too damned drunk to have made love to you even if that had been my intention!’
‘Which it was not.’
‘No.’
Grace looked at him searchingly, noting the bleakness in his eyes now. ‘Let us walk, Lucian,’ she invited again, very aware of her aunt and Sebastian in the room behind them, and of Lucian’s need to talk. Her own earlier concerns were secondary to that. ‘Do not look so disgusted by your condition that night, Lucian,’ she told him softly, as he fell into step at her side and they strolled towards the coach-house. ‘I have noticed that being in Francis’s company for any length of time has that effect on most people…’
‘Francis’s company was not the reason I over-imbibed that evening. Well, not entirely.’ His frown darkened in the moonlight as he turned to face her. ‘Grace, I am not the man you think I am. The man others think I am,’ he clarified harshly.
Her gaze was quizzical as she looked up at him. ‘You are Lord Lucian St Claire, are you not…?’
‘I am not talking of a title or a name, Grace.’ Lucian’s movements were restless. ‘I am a fake. A charlatan—’
‘I do not believe it.’ Grace touched the sleeve of his jacket, able to feel the tensed muscle beneath. ‘I do not believe it, Lucian,’ she repeated huskily, unconditionally.
That nerve pulsed in his cheek. ‘Grace, I take too much drink most evenings. In order that I might sleep. Rather, in order that I might fall into a state of unconsciousness—’
‘I have not noticed your doing so since being here…’
‘These last ten days I have had other things on my mind once I am alone in my bedchamber,’ he acknowledged ruefully.
Her? Did Lucian now think of her when he was alone in his bedchamber? Dream of her? As Grace thought and dreamt of him…?
‘Why?’
Lucian gave her a startled look. ‘Why…?’
She gave an encouraging smile. ‘Why do you take too much drink in order to fall into unconsciousness?’
Lucian felt a clenching in his gut, a shortness of breath at the empathy he could see in Grace’s candid grey gaze. An empathy he knew he did not deserve. ‘I have dreams, Grace,’ he bit out hardly, knowing that he had to tell her the truth—that she more than anyone had the right to know all that he was.
‘What sort of dreams?’ Grace prompted quietly.
‘Terrible nightmares.’ His hands clenched at his sides. ‘Of war. And blood. And dying. Of friends whom I will never see again. Of killing—’ Lucian drew in a ragged breath. ‘At least…I did.’ His frown was rueful. ‘Since I have met you, those dreams have become— other.’