Her eyes went wide at the sight of him, and she stammered. “I’m sorry to—to arrive unannounced.”
He smoothed his thumbs over her knuckles, wanting to ease the tension thrumming through her.
“Is something amiss? Please tell me you’ve not misplaced one of your brothers,” he said, hoping to tease a smile from her.
“No. Not yet, anyway. I need to speak to you.”
Lucien’s brow creased. He had seen her in the most stressful circumstances imaginable. Half-naked in his arms by the lake. Alone in her nightgown with frosting clinging to her skin…In the party when the earl himself had swept in like a hawk and at the archery range when Cassandra had wounded him.
But never had he seen her so rattled. It sent a chill down his spine. Concern puckered his brow. “I am at your service. Come in. Sit down. Would you care for some refreshment?”
“N—no. But perhaps…” She glanced at where a decanter stood on his desk. “Perhaps just a—a taste of…of spirits.”
He poured her some wine, then pressed the cut glass tumbler into her hand. She was trembling. He felt an unexpected twinge of concern—an unfamiliar tug in his chest. “Lady Grace, are you quite well? Whatever it is, you had best out with it.”
She sipped the drink. He watched her pink tongue lick away a red droplet that clung to those rosy lips. She closed her eyes, her lashes curled on her rose-blushed cheeks. “This is so much harder than it seemed when I first thought of the idea,” she said. Swallowing hard, she rummaged in the pocket of her gown and drew out a newspaper clipping, laying it on the table before her.
He frowned as he looked down at the image. It was one of the cartoons, the ‘Elusive Viscount E’ with alligators in bridal veils snapping at his heels.
“Not a particularly flattering likeness of me,” Lucien observed.
“Is it true? That you are plagued with women seeking your hand?”
“I’ve had a narrow escape or two.” He pictured Arkwright rolling his eyes. Were it not for pure luck and skill, Lucien might have been leg-shackled half a dozen times. Fortunately, he’d earned the enmity of those he’d outwitted, rather than gaining a wife.
Grace withdrew a handkerchief and seemed in danger of rending it to bits. “My lord, I have come with a—a business proposition I believe will be to both of our benefits.”
“Indeed?”
“You need a wife and I…I need a husband.”
Lucien stared at her, rendered speechless for, perhaps, the first time in his life. “I confess, of all the matters I thought I’d discuss today, this is the last,” he said after a long moment. “You seemed a reasonable creature when we spoke before. What in God’s name made you come up with this idea?”
“I know that this is an unusual proposition, but it could suit us both, don’t you think? We get on well. You would no longer have marriage-minded mamas plotting to snare you for their daughters.I would be an asset to you in town, if that is what you desire. Otherwise, I would be quite happily situated here near my family.”
ButIwon’t be here. Lucien considered the promise he’d just made his sister.
Grace was willing to marry him to remain close to her family, when all he wanted to do was escape his own.
“I learned at my mother’s knee the skills that are necessary to be an exemplary political hostess.”
“Lady Barbara Elliot was a remarkable lady. Her talents in that realm are still talked about in London.”
She glanced away briefly, her eyes glossed with tears. “Thank you for saying so,” she said with aching sincerity. “Mama had a gift for getting opposing sides to talk to each other. More importantly, on occasionlisten. She insisted that all men aremore amiable when they’ve been fed a good meal in the company of a woman who knows how to guide conversation and mediate disagreements.” A shy dimple winked on Grace’s cheek. “Mama likened it to juggling knives.”
“Pardon me?”
“If you know how to manage it, you can impress the company and aim blows at the correct target. If not, the bloodstains quite ruin the whole endeavor.”
Lucien laughed. His own mother had no talent for such machinations. Lenora Harcourt, Countess of Ravenscroft, had ever been a gentle spirit, shy in large gatherings.
There had been a time Lucien had understood the earl’s frustration with his wife.
He’d watched his father’s friends and fellow lords forge alliances, plan legislation, bring opponents to their knees with the help of the aristocratic wives who brought elegance, grace and a light, feminine touch to men’s affairs, sometimes with a clarity that astonished.
There were worse prospects than having Barbara Elliot’s daughter at one’s side.
“So you would be my political hostess,” he said carefully. “What benefit might there be to you, my dear?”
