Carole Mortimer - The Rake's Wicked Proposal

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.

She straightened. ‘I believe it is past time you returned to your own bedchamber, My Lord.’

‘Really?’ He turned on his side to lean his elbow against the pillows, raising himself to look at her. ‘But I find your bedchamber so much more comfortable than my own, Grace.’ His voice was low, huskily seductive.

Grace’s eyes widened at the sense of intimacy his familiarity engendered. ‘In what way, My Lord?’

‘Why, because you are here, my dear Grace.’ He grinned, instantly dispelling the impression of arrogant cynicism she had sensed as being such a part of him when they were first introduced. In fact he looked almost boyishly appealing now—especially so after the nightmares she had witnessed—and the dark hair that fell softly over his brow added to that illusion.

But it was an illusion. Lucian St Claire was far from being a boy. Not only was he a hardened soldier, but since resigning his commission he had also become known as something of a rake. A man hell-bent on the pursuit of pleasure. Pleasure that did not engage his emotions.

The warm intimacy of that dark gaze as it swept over her so slowly, from her head to her feet, gave the impression that she had now become the focus of that pleasure!

The warmth in Grace’s cheeks spread to the rest of her traitorous body. Traitorous because Lucian St Claire’s continued presence in her bedchamber in the early hours of the morning—or at any other time!—really was completely unacceptable. And dangerous. To her and to every rule dictated by the society they lived in.

Except he did look so dark and rakishly handsome, lying there in her bed, the sheet having fallen down as he turned to face her to reveal a muscled chest covered in hair as dark as that upon his head, and the flatness of his stomach, the hard curve of his hips, with the dark hair continuing in a deep vee towards thighs that were hard and—

Grace’s stricken gaze returned to his face, the colour deepening in her cheeks as he raised mocking brows above eyes that openly laughed at her display of startled modesty. Her mouth tightened. ‘If you are attempting to alarm me, My Lord, then you are not succeeding.’

‘Am I not?’ He sat up in the bed to place his feet upon the wooden floor, the sheet draped decorously across his hips, but doing little to hide the response of his body that had so flustered Grace seconds ago. ‘Then you have me at a disadvantage, Grace—because being here alone with you like this is alarming the hell out of me! ’ he acknowledged self-derisively.

Her eyes flashed warningly. ‘Do not attempt to trifle with me, My Lord—’

‘Trifle, Grace?’ His smile was wolfish. ‘You describe the desire you have so obviously aroused in me as a mere trifle? ’

In truth, it was some time since Lucian’s interest in a woman had been strong enough to evoke any sort of reaction in him other than boredom. The married ladies of the ton, those beautiful and bored matrons looking for a brief and meaningless affair, that was all they required as a diversion from the tedium of their marriage, were proving far too easy a conquest of late.

Not that he had any intention of becoming genuinely involved with Miss Grace Hetherington, the marriageable ward of the Duke and Duchess of Carlyne, but Lucian couldn’t deny that she was proving to be an interesting diversion to his otherwise jaded palate. Most young women in her situation would have run screaming from the room by now. So perhaps he could allow himself—and her—a few harmless kisses? After all, it would be a pity not to live up to Francis Wynter’s lurid description of him earlier this evening!

‘Come here to me, Grace.’ He held out his hand to her invitingly. A gesture she recoiled from as if his hand had all the appeal of a snake about to strike. ‘Or perhaps you would prefer it if I were to come to you?’ His challenge—and his nudity!—were obvious.

Grace Hetherington predictably looked no more happy about that suggestion, and she scowled at him. ‘I refuse to play this ridiculous game, My Lord—’

‘Surely, my dear Grace, as I am at this moment in your bedchamber, actually seated upon your bed, it would be more appropriate if you were to call me Lucian?’ he drawled comfortably, his relaxed and lazy posture totally deceptive.

‘It would be totally in appropriate—as is your being in my bedchamber at all!’ She glared across the room at him. ‘If anyone were to find you here it would cause the most hideous scandal.’

Lucian couldn’t deny the truth of that. Even Hawk, his older brother whose rigid code of conduct had become much softer and accommodating since his marriage to Jane the previous year, would baulk at Lucian debauching an innocent miss such as Grace Hetherington. Or giving the appearance of having done so!

He regarded Grace mockingly. ‘Then the sooner you do as I ask the better for all concerned—do you not think?’

Grace regarded Lucian frustratedly, aware that he was once again playing with her, but not knowing, in this hitherto unknown situation, how to respond. It was unthinkable that she should actually take up the invitation of his extended hand. And yet not to do so, she was sure, would result in an even more unacceptable occurrence—that of Lucian walking naked across the room to her!

‘No, I most certainly do not think!’ she snapped, even as she crossed the room in three impatient strides. She’d ignored that outstretched hand even as she glared at him, her shortness in stature meaning that their faces were now on a level. ‘There—I have done as you asked. Now will you please leave?’

Easier said than done, Lucian acknowledged self-mockingly as his arousal hardened to an almost painful degree; if he were to stand up now, erection magnificently on display, this innocent young miss would probably have a fit of the vapours. Or perhaps not…? She had, after all, already dealt quite capably with someone she had considered an intruder to her bedchamber.

‘I think perhaps I would like you to kiss me better first.’ He tilted his head invitingly.

Temper darkened her cheeks; those grey eyes were stormy. ‘You are a man of almost thirty years, not three!’

Lucian gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘My years do not make the pain of my injury any less.’

‘You are impossible, My Lord—’

‘Lucian.’

‘The familiarity of your name does not make your behaviour any less outrageous!’

He bared his teeth in a grin. ‘A kiss, Grace. A single kiss. And then I promise that I will leave your bedchamber immediately.’

Grace’s pulse was already racing at his proximity, and her heart was beating frantically in her chest just at the thought of placing her lips anywhere upon this man—even on the dark silkiness of his hair, where she had struck him with the water jug. To touch him in any way, while alone with him in the privacy of her bedchamber, would be highly improper—and yet if it meant that he would then vacate her bedchamber…