Hawk, the lofty Duke of Stourbridge, approved of Grace. Arabella approved of Grace. Sebastian definitely approved of her. Only Lucian, it seemed, was in total confusion concerning how he felt about her. Still.
Oh, he had no doubt that Grace had all the attributes to make any man a suitable wife. She was beautiful. She was charming. She was gracious.
She was also headstrong, extremely opinionated, and given to impulsive behaviour. In short, Grace was nothing at all like the quiet, undemanding woman Lucian had thought would make him a suitable wife!
There was also the added disquiet that Lucian’s nightly dreams now consisted solely of her. Of caressing her. Of arousing her. Of possessing her! Dreams that were indeed more disturbing than those nightmares of battle and death!
‘Are you so sure of that…?’ Lucian looked down at Grace enigmatically now, as he came to an abrupt halt on the pathway.
‘So sure of what?’ Grace felt a jolt of uneasiness as she looked up into his dark gaze.
There had been so much to do this last week that it had not been too difficult to avoid being alone in Lucian’s company, but Grace was now suddenly aware of how very alone they were on this pathway that meandered through the woods on the side of the lake farthest from Winton Hall.
And she was aware of how handsome Lucian looked, in dark brown superfine, cream breeches and a waistcoat over snowy-white linen, with a small diamond pin in the centre of his meticulously tied cravat. Rakishly handsome, she corrected self-derisively as she felt a familiar fluttering sensation at her breast.
He quirked one dark brow. ‘That there is nothing left for me to do here?’
Grace’s uneasiness grew as she recognised the intimacy of his tone. They were too alone here. Too far from the house. Too far from other people…
She gave a shake of her head. ‘I am, of course, grateful for the help you have given me this last week…’
She had appreciated Lucian’s skill in diverting the irritating Francis from annoying Darius too badly. Had admired Lucian’s gentle concern for her aunt’s welfare, and been fully aware that he had quietly ensured Grace was given some time each day in which to be free of the roiling emotions that now existed beneath the polite veneer of the Wynter family.
Grace had been able to appreciate all of those things while at the same time being completely aware of Lucian’s avoidance of her company…
He gave a mocking smile now. ‘That statement sounds as if a “but” should follow…?’
Grace nodded. ‘But now it is time for you to return to your own life.’
He raised dark brows. ‘I had believed my betrothed to be a part of my life…’
‘Lucian—’
‘Grace.’ He looked down at her haughtily.
She gave a pained frown. ‘We both know that our betrothal is bogus—something that we have been forced to continue to endure for my aunt’s sake. But there is absolutely no reason for you to remain here any longer.’
‘In a word, you are dismissing me?’
Grace could hear the underlying anger in Lucian’s tone now—could see that same emotion in the hard glitter of his eyes. ‘Of course I am not dismissing you. I am merely allowing you—I am merely expressing the wish—You know exactly what I am trying to say, Lucian!’ she concluded impatiently, as that glitter took on a dangerous sheen.
A threatened danger that only increased Grace’s awareness of how alone they were…
Lucian gave a terse inclination of his head. ‘I believe you are telling me that I have served my purpose and now I may leave.’
‘I do not—I did not— Oh, it is impossible to talk to you when you are in this mood!’ Grace cheeks became flushed with temper.
Lucian had always hated the colours of mourning, the drab black and grey reminding him too much of the death of his own parents in a carriage accident eleven years ago.
But Grace’s black silk gown, high-waisted, with its neckline clinging to the swell of her breasts, somehow looked sensuously alluring on her rather than mournful. Her skin had a translucent sheen, and her eyes—those expressive grey eyes—looked even larger and more unfathomable. The fullness of her lips was a deep, enticing red, and the smooth column of her throat a delicate invitation…