“If you are imagining the two of us sharing comfortable family outings or frequent holidays at The Willows, you must surrender that expectation at once. I am not a man who desires such ties.”
Did he see a flicker of doubt in those large, dark-fringed eyes? Good. She should be wary of him and understand the kind of marriage she was considering.
“Should we wed,” he continued, “you are welcome to visit The Willows as often as you like. I will not stand in your way, but I will not be accompanying you.”
After a moment she nodded. “I understand. Of course, there will be special instances.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “You will wish to celebrate Christmas with our children.”
Lucien suppressed a shudder. Last Christmas, Simon and Penelope had attempted to bring holiday cheer to Everdene Hall for the first time in twenty years. They’d invited the villagers from New Everdene, the grateful tenants who now inhabited cottages Penelope had designed, and his brother had risked everything to build. There had been holly garlands and bright red ribbons, kissing balls of mistletoe and a flaming bowl full ofraisins for children to snatch and play snapdragon. It had been chaos, children running about, people far happier than anyone had a right to be.
Lucien had sought refuge in the stables where Simon’s golden horses had been under the care of their stable master, Jamie McLeod. McLeod had been a prisoner of war for two years, captive of the Afghan tribes that had massacred British troops at Kabul. He had no more stomach for celebration than Lucien did.
He turned his attention back to the present, eyeing Grace and that damned leaf, still in her hair. “I am forced to attend certain balls and routs with the ton because of my station,” he said. “I would rather be dragged behind one of Simon’s horses than endure a fete overrun with children. I prefer spending Christmas at my club.”
The warmth in Grace’s gaze faded, and she looked down at her hands. He waited to hear her withdraw her proposal, say she’d made a grievous mistake and race out the door.
Was that what he wanted her to do? It was, and he decided to drive the point home. “I admire your concern for your brothers, but is it a great sacrifice you make for them,” he said. “You have an unusual capacity for affection, Grace. Wouldn’t you rather marry a man who can return it?”
“I want you.”
A shaft of desire shot through him. In her innocence, could she have any idea what those three words did to him? God knew what the marriage would be like, but he’d never desired a woman more. If they wed, he would have the right to take this woman to his bed. Explore her body as he wished to. He felt himself harden.
She would give him the heir and spare that duty demanded of him. He would enjoy getting those sons upon her lovely body and leave the raising of them to her. No doubt she would cometo realize she’d made a devil’s bargain…but until then, he could teach her the power of her own desires. She’d been so damned responsive when he’d kissed her. He’d felt the sensuality in her, passion denied far too long.
It would be so easy for him to take what she offered, and yet, she didn’t know Lucien at all. Didn’t he owe her the truth?
He put more space between them, his pleasurable thoughts growing dim. “You believe that you want me. But you don’t know me at all. You must have some understanding about the man you would wed.”
A shy smile played at the corners of her lips. “I would like to know you better.”
“I doubt you would be pleased with what you discover. My mother, sisters, yes, and Simon, too, suffered great wrongs at my hands before we left Everdene as children and after. I regret it. But that changes nothing. You saw my sister’s anger when she lashed out at me at the picnic.”
“Yes.”
“There are secrets that are not mine to share, but I will tell you this. Cassandra is right to hold me responsible for much ill that has befallen her. I deserve every scrap of her ire. Jane can barely look at me without her hands shaking. My mother forgives me…but—” He stopped, hiding the anguish in his eyes. “You heard Cassandra mention my obsession with King Arthur as a boy? I am Mordred, who brought the kingdom down. I may never know the full extent of the damage I did.”
Her brow puckered, and he wished he knew what she was thinking. “When your sisters left Everdene, I remember you were a boy yourself, were you not?” she mused. “Fourteen years old?”
“My age is irrelevant.”
“As is your past to me,” she said. “I have given my situation much thought, and I am certain this marriage is what I want.”
Silence stretched between them. Their gazes locked, held.
Seconds ticked away as he pondered the thought, tried to dismiss it, and failed.
“Then you shall have it,” he whispered, his voice was husky to his own ears. He closed the space between them, angled her face up, and slowly took her mouth with his.She tasted of honey and strawberries and a deep well of goodness he had never known. When he drew away at last, he felt shaken to his core.
“I will come to see your father this afternoon,” he promised.
For the first time, a dart of fear showed in her eyes. “Perhaps we could elope?”
“No.” He cut her off too abruptly.
She peered up at him, startled.
Lucien drew a steadying breath and traced the vulnerable curve of her cheek. A wave of almost painful tenderness washed through him. “You will make a beautiful bride, my Lady Grace,” he said and she flushed a lovely pink at his praise. “I want the world to see you become my viscountess.”
If only that were his real motive. Somewhere deep within, he wanted to strike out at those who had hurt her. An elopement would make things too easy on Elliot. He’d forced his daughter into this untenable position. He could damn well watch her wed a man he hated and see what his selfishness had wrought.
