Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

I f Papa knew you had compromised me, he would have no choice…

Lucien stared, her words reverberating in his head.

She wanted him to march up to Lord Elliot and tell him…what? That he'd licked pink icing off of her skin in the middle of the night? That he'd held her against him beside the lake when she'd been as good as naked, wearing nothing but a soaked chemise?

"I know I am asking a great deal of you to go before my father and—and admit to a breach of honor."

Lucien's lip curled. "On the contrary. My honor has seldom been of concern to me. Besides, there is something in the thought of confounding your father's plans to send you to Scotland that brings me grim satisfaction. However, I dislike using your reputation as a weapon."

"I want you to do this. It is the only way to get him to agree to our terms."

She looked so fervent, hopeful. How desperate must she be, turning to him, Lucien Harcourt, Viscount Everdene, and trusting him to make things right? He had to put some safe distance between them so he could think . He crossed to the table and poured himself a drink, then sampled it, trying to adopt a businesslike mien.

"And what exactly are those terms you speak of?" he said, "I never enter into contracts unless the particulars are spelled out."

She fretted her lower lip. "I need to remain close to my little brothers. As for the rest, I'm sure we can come to an understanding."

"You have outlined your expectations. It is important I clarify mine."

"Of course." She had a leaf caught in her hair, a small one that must have fallen there on her ride.

He wanted to pluck it out, set it aside, but he forced himself to remain where he was.

"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 of raisins 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 come to 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.

Lucien stood on the front stairs, watching until Grace and her horse disappeared over the hillside, her veil streaming behind her. It was hard to believe what had happened in the past hour. His valet, Graves, had waited at a discreet distance until Lucien turned back to the house. "The coach is ready to be loaded, my lord," Graves said. "When will we be leaving for London?"

Not nearly soon enough to satisfy Cassandra, Lucien thought with a twinge of conscience. So much for his promise. He'd explain that this was a temporary delay, but he could already picture his sister's reaction.

"You may send the coach to the stables and take my trunks to the steward's house instead."

The servant blinked in bewilderment. "The steward's house, my lord?"

"Yes. But first, have my horse brought round. Be quick about it."

Graves was unaccustomed to such errands, but knew enough to obey.

Lucien returned to the house and went to where some of the family treasures were kept. By the time he descended the front steps to the carriage circle with a small, velvet box in the pocket of his riding coat, a stable boy was leading Atlas up to the mounting block.

The horse whickered as two familiar riders came into view. Arkwright seemed to be reveling in his time astride one of the Turkoman horses. But it was Simon who captured Lucien's gaze. The scapegrace brother who'd spent his youth one reckless act away from breaking his neck, rode as if he and his mount were forged of myths and legends. That gift with horses had saved his life in Afghanistan.

The two men obviously spied Lucien at the same time, and veered toward him, reining in at the foot of the stone steps.

"Glad we got back in time to say goodbye," Simon said as his golden stallion danced sideways on elegant hooves. "I thought you'd be on your way to London."

"I'm not leaving."

"What?"

"I've had a change in plans." Lucien swung onto Atlas, gritting his teeth at the stab of pain in his chest.

"Not more trouble with father, I hope."

"Oh, there will be. Not that I care." Lucien adjusted the cuff of his riding glove and picked up the reins. "You may be the first to congratulate me. I'm to be married."

"Married?" the pair of men echoed as if it were a jest.

"Yes. Married. Lady Grace Elliot has consented to be my viscountess."

Arkwright's jaw dropped, Simon gaping as if his prized stallion had transformed into a donkey.

Lucien spurred his horse toward The Willows and laughed, knowing he'd not forget their expressions for a very long time.