The only colour in Grace’s face was the dark, smoky grey of her eyes. ‘And if that were to happen…?’
Lucian grimaced. ‘He doubts that your uncle would survive a second seizure.’
Grace turned away to blink back her tears, her hands tightly linked together as she faced the prospect of another death in her family. But her own feelings were instantly set to one side as she thought of her aunt’s pain and distress if that were to happen. Her aunt and uncle were so devoted to each other, and had already suffered the loss of their only son. It was unimaginable that her aunt should lose her beloved husband too.
‘I have, of course, offered any assistance I can give during this time.’ Lucian continued talking as he allowed Grace to assimilate the information he had given her. He was already acquainted with her well enough—after tonight, some would say too well—to know that she had the fortitude of character to see her through the strain of the days ahead.
Even if the Duke did survive, the Duchess would need a stalwart companion. Not Darius or Francis, but a female companion whom she might lean upon, depend upon, to give her the strength she would need. Lucian had no doubt that Grace was in possession of that strength.
Despite the pallor of her face, Grace’s chin was bravely high when she turned back to him. ‘Thank you,’ she accepted gravely. ‘I am sure that my aunt, Lord Darius and Lord Francis will be most appreciative of your generosity.’
The Duchess and Darius, perhaps, but Lucian seriously doubted that Francis Wynter would see Lucian’s presence as anything more than interference in what he considered a private family matter. Fortunately Lucian had absolutely no interest in Francis Wynter’s feelings on any subject!
‘Fond as I am of George, Margaret and Darius, my offer was made for your benefit, Grace. Not theirs,’ Lucian said quietly.
Grace’s brow puckered into a frown. ‘I am upset, naturally, but that does not mean that I expect you to inconvenience yourself on my behalf.’
‘We are betrothed, Grace.’ Lucian’s mouth thinned as he saw the way her mouth tightened at his reminder of their betrothal. ‘Do you not see that in these circumstances it is even more essential that you do not proceed with your plans to end our betrothal?’ His impatience with her stubbornness made his tone curt.
Unfortunately Grace did see. Just as she accepted, on brief reflection, that it was not the time to add to her aunt’s worry and distress. But that did not mean Grace was at all comfortable with continuing this forced betrothal.
‘Besides,’ Lucian continued with mocking gentleness, ‘did our earlier intimacy not prove to you that marriage to me would not be such an unpleasant prospect after all…?’
Grace felt the colour blaze in her cheeks even as she glared at him. ‘I believe I said that I do not wish to discuss that particular subject!’
He shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘Fortunately for us Darius was too distracted just now to notice that you had arrived in the carriage with me, let alone to question too deeply how I come to be here at all at this time of night. Let us hope that on that subject, at least, he remains distracted.’ His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘Otherwise, my dear, whether you like it or not, we could find ourselves standing before a preacher much sooner than anticipated!’
Grace gave him a chilling glance. ‘Lord Darius is not my guardian.’
‘He nevertheless takes on that role until the Duke recovers,’ Lucian drawled.
Her cheeks felt very warm. ‘Lord Darius’s own life has been far from blameless!’
Lucian gave a mocking smile. ‘Have you not heard that reformed rakes make the strictest guardians?’
Grace’s eyes glittered angrily. ‘You speak from experience, of course?’
‘As it happens, I do,’ Lucian acknowledged tauntingly. ‘My brother Hawk—a reformed rake if ever there was one—was very briefly guardian to the young lady who is now his Duchess.’ He met Grace’s gaze challengingly, knowing that had not been her implication at all.
Was he a reformed rake?
There had been no women of any consequence in Lucian’s life since his return from the Peninsula, admittedly, but that had been for quite another reason than any transformation on his part. The same reason he now had to drink himself into a stupor most evenings in order to find any respite.