He smiled slightly, his gaze slightly softened as he gazed down at her. ‘I intend making this betrothal as pleasant for you as possible, Grace,’ he told her huskily. ‘For us both to enjoy becoming—better acquainted,’ he echoed her own words of earlier. But coming from him they had a completely different meaning, with a sensual undertone that was unmistakable.
A sensual undertone that made Grace’s insides feel as if they were melting under the heat. Her breathing became low and shallow, and she couldn’t break her gaze away from the darkness of his, felt as if he were slowly, inexorably, drawing her towards him by the sheer force of his will.
They weren’t even touching, and yet Grace was aware of the swelling surge of her breasts, that suddenly made the bodice of her gown feel too tight, of the unfurling hardening of their tips.
She moistened dry lips, shaking her head as she strove for some sense of reason. ‘I do not believe that your—appeal will improve upon acquaintance, My Lord.’
‘Probably not,’ he acknowledged with a taunting smile. ‘But I have no doubt that yours will,’ he promised meaningfully.
Grace’s cheeks coloured hotly. The meaning behind that promise was easy to comprehend after Lord Lucian’s earlier comment concerning an innocent being tutored in the ways of pleasing her husband. ‘You—’
‘Grace! Tell me it isn’t true! Tell me you are not really intending to marry Lord St Claire!’
Grace stepped abruptly away from Lord Lucian to turn and look frowningly at Francis Wynter as he hurried up the pathway from the village towards them. His handsome face was flushed with anger as he turned his glaring gaze on the older man who stood so confidently at Grace’s side.
Contrarily, Francis Wynter’s proprietorial assertion that Grace could not possibly be contemplating marrying Lord Lucian St Claire had the opposite effect from the one Francis so obviously desired. It completely turned Grace’s earlier resolve to end her betrothal into a desire to do exactly the opposite. She deliberately put her hand into the crook of Lucian St Claire’s arm to look challengingly at the indignant Francis Wynter.
‘Have a care, Wynter,’ Lucian warned the younger man softly as he raised his hand to lightly cover Grace’s. ‘I am feeling particularly mellow this morning, following Grace’s acceptance of my proposal of marriage, but that does not mean I am open to insult.’
‘No insult was intended I am sure, Lucian.’ The Duke had arrived slightly after his brother, his breathing heavy from the exertion of trying to keep up with the younger man. ‘Francis is merely surprised by the suddenness of your feelings for each other, I am sure. Is that not so, Francis?’ he prompted his brother hardly.
Lucian looked coldly at the younger man, knowing as Francis Wynter fought an inner battle with his emotions that surprise was the least of them. Lucian read anger there, and frustration.
‘I had no idea that your taste ran to innocents, St Claire.’ Francis Wynter looked at him challengingly.
Insult was most definitely intended this time, Lucian was sure. But he was just as sensitive of George Wynter’s feelings this morning as he had been the previous evening, when caught in such a compromising position with Grace. A challenge to Carlyne’s youngest brother for his insulting behaviour towards both himself and Grace would be just as detrimental to the older man’s health.
He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘The St Claire wives have always been above reproach.’
‘Really?’ The younger man looked scornful. ‘But surely your brother’s wife—’
‘That is enough, Francis!’ the Duke of Carlyne thundered imperiously. ‘You will go into the inn forthwith and try to compose yourself.’
Lucian was tempted, so very tempted, to force Francis Wynter to finish the insult he felt sure he had been about to level at Jane, Duchess of Stourbridge. Only his respect and genuine affection for George Wynter prevented him from demanding satisfaction from this insolent young puppy.
Grace watched curiously as Francis Wynter obviously fought an inner battle with what he wanted to do and say against what his older brother demanded he do. Wariness suddenly darkened his gaze as he met the cold glitter of Lucian St Claire’s eyes. Knowing Francis was right to be wary, Grace felt the tension of Lord Lucian’s arm beneath her hand, like that of a leashed predator about to spring upon his prey.