But Lucian St Claire was no boy. And there was nothing chaste about this kiss. The imprint of his body seemed to sear into hers, even as he encouraged her to return the intimate caress, his tongue sweeping lightly across her sensitised lips an enticement in itself.
Grace felt as if she were on fire. Aflame. Pleasure rippled across and through her body as her fingers tightened on the bareness of his shoulders. His kiss was wondrous. Ecstasy. Beyond anything Grace had ever thought or imagined in her innocent musings of being kissed by a man.
‘Please…!’ she groaned achingly as his lips left hers to trail a path of arousal down the column of her throat.
The sound of Grace’s voice—that softly husky voice that moved across Lucian’s flesh like a caress—brought him back to the reality of exactly what he was doing. And with whom.
He raised his head abruptly, deeply shocked at the realisation of how aroused he had been by Grace Hetherington—Miss Grace Hetherington, the young, unmarried ward of the Duke and Duchess of Carlyne!
The shock Lucian could see upon her own face told him that Grace was just as stunned by her own response.
How could Lucian have forgotten, however briefly, that Grace was but twenty years of age? That she was an innocent about to enjoy her first Season?
What sort of man was he to use her in this familiar fashion? Lucian wondered with a self-disgusted groan. What sort of man had he become?
Was he now so armoured against the emotions of others, so centred on self, that he would have allowed himself to take this young woman’s innocence without a qualm? Without a care for the consequences of such an action? Without a thought being given as to what that taking would have done to her? Made of her?
His hands tightened painfully on her waist and he scowled down at her darkly. ‘Grace—’
‘Grace, dear, I saw your candle was alight and—’
Margaret, Duchess of Carlyne, entered the bedchamber after the briefest of knocks—only to come to an abrupt, shocked halt in the doorway, her eyes wide and her cheeks paling as she took in the intimacy of the scene in front of her.
‘Oh, my…!’ she breathed faintly, even as she raised a stricken hand to her throat. ‘Oh, my goodness…!’ she groaned weakly. ‘I—’ She gave a dazed shake of her head. ‘I—if you will excuse me…!’ She turned and fled.
Chapter Four
Grace stared after her aunt in shocked dismay, even as she stumbled back to drop down weakly upon the windowseat, taking care, even in that numbing shock, that she didn’t sit on the clothes of Lucian St Claire’s, which she had so neatly folded and placed there earlier.
Not only had she forgotten every shred of caution the moment Lucian St Claire had taken her into his arms, but her Aunt Margaret—her Aunt Margaret—had been a witness to that wantonness! What must her aunt be thinking? What must she now think of Grace?
Grace closed her eyes as the hot tears rushed forward, aware of Lucian St Claire standing briefly beside her before he moved away again, the only sound in the room now her own heated sobs of mortification as she buried her face in her hands.
She had behaved the wanton in Lucian St Claire’s arms. Had encouraged him. Had returned his kisses. Had relished the feel of his lips and tongue against hers. With absolutely no thought of denial.
She—
‘You will remain here, Grace,’ Lucian St Claire rasped into the silence.
‘Where are you going?’ Grace lowered her hands, her head snapping up, and she saw that he was dressed now—in shirt and breeches and black Hessians, at least.
What manner of man was he that he could even think of leaving her to face this alone? She could not believe he was such a coward as to—
‘To talk to your guardians, of course.’ Lucian’s expression was grim as he pulled on his tailored waistcoat and jacket. He might as well be dressed for the part, at least.
‘My—?’ Her face was stricken. ‘What are you going to say to them? How can you possibly explain—excuse—? What are they going to think of me?’ She gave a woeful shake of her head, her hair falling forward about her face like a black silky curtain.
Lucian eyed her coldly. ‘No doubt they are going to congratulate you on succeeding in enticing the brother of the Duke of Stourbridge into a betrothal!