Lucien would never forgetthe expression on Grace’s face—shock, disbelief. He’d felt sick when Cassandra delivered her verbal riposte, dealing a wound he had known would come when he did not confess the truth himself. Why the devil hadn’t he done so, those times when he’d come so close to admitting what he’d done? Trusting that they would work through it?
Grace looked so vulnerable when she’d turned to him after Cassandra’s revelation, obviously hoping that he would make things better…And then her belief in him had changed to hurt and betrayal as the truth sank in.
He had wanted to gather her into his arms, try to explain…he would, God curse it, as soon as he was able to get her alone. He walked into the study with its scent of beeswax and leather, the scent of Arkwright’s cheroots. What little time he had spent at the townhouse in the past, he’d spent here, before Grace had made Raven’s Court something he’d never expected. A home.
“What was that all about?” Simon asked.
For a moment, Lucien wanted to end the conversation before it started. Instead, he poured them each a brandy from the decanter on a nearby table and handed a glass to Simon.
“After the picnic at The Willows, Grace came to me. She had made a promise to her brothers after their mother died. Swore she’d never leave them.”
He could see the flicker of understanding in Simon’s face, both of them remembering those dark days when their mother and sisters had vanished and they’d only had each other.
“Lord Elliot was determined to marry Grace off to some friend of the stepmother who lives in Scotland. Clear the way for his new wife. Grace said we could help each other. If we married, she would be my political hostess and provide me with an heir. I would ensure that she could live at Everdene and keep her vow to her brothers.”
Simon regarded him with that damnable patience he’d acquired in the past two years, just waiting for Lucien to go on.
“Just before Grace and I became betrothed, I tried to make amends to Cassandra. Told her I had been wrong in siding with Father all those years ago. I could not change the pain I had caused, but I would do whatever I could to make things right. Her price—that I never live at Everdene again.”
Simon turned the snifter in his hand. “You didn’t tell Grace what you had agreed to.”
“No. From the first it was to be a marriage of convenience. I made it clear I would provide financially for her and a child, but I was not interested in being involved beyond that. I told myself the agreement with Cass changed nothing. I didn’t expect…”
“Didn’t expect what?” Simon asked quietly.
Lucien crossed to the window, braced his arm against its frame. He peered out into the street.
A ragged boy ran through the gate toward the servant’s entrance, a parcel gripped in his hands. Once Lucien would not even have noticed, but now he wondered. Was it some delivery for the charity event or one of Grace’s school children?
How could he begin to explain how she had changed him?
“I didn’t expect to love her,” he confessed in a low voice.
“But that is wonderful!” Simon exclaimed.
“Is it? Since she’s been my wife, she’s had bricks thrown at her, been caught in a riot. The people who made those attacks were trying to get at me. Even this entertainment she is giving onWednesday has become a target for my rivals. Pinchbeck’s wife is determined to make it a failure if she can.”
“Then we will make certain it is a roaring success.”
He turned to Simon. “You know as well as I do that I am not the husband she needs.”
“That is for Grace to decide. I saw the way she looks at you.”
He remembered just that morning as he’d left with Arkwright, the softness in her face, the strength, the love. Jesus, God, the love…
A lump formed in his throat.
“Tell her, Luce. Tell her you love her. Explain what happened with Cass. Grace has such a loving heart, she will understand.”
She would. He knew it. So much compassion, kindness, so much love directed at him was a miracle…yet terrifying.
A soft scratch at the door made Lucien straighten, wiping any emotion from his face. “Enter.”
The door slid soundlessly open, a footman hovering uncomfortably on the threshold, something in his hands. “My apologies, my lord. A young lad just delivered this. Insisted that I put it directly into your hands and that you open it at once. There was something about the lad’s face. I thought it best to do as he asked.”
Lucien frowned, remembering the boy he had seen running up the walk. He took the small bundle. “Thank you.”
The servant bowed then left the room.
