The Rake's Wicked Proposal. Кэрол Мортимер
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even—but a woman’s reputation is a tenuous thing. As light and delicate as gossamer—and as easily destroyed,’ he concluded hardly. ‘I do assure you, Grace, physical evidence or not, if there is even the hint of gossip that you have been found by your guardians in your bedchamber with a naked man you are not even betrothed to, then your reputation will be ruined for ever, and any future marriage prospects completely destroyed.’
‘Then I will retire to the country and remain an old maid—’
‘I would not advise it for one with such a passionate nature as your own, Grace,’ he drawled mockingly, knowing by the way her face paled that he had succeeded in shaking her.
‘You are despicable, sir!’ She glared at him vehemently.
‘Probably.’ Lucian shrugged off the insult. ‘But a life in the country as an old maid really would not suit you, Grace. One day you would be sure to give in to temptation—with a local farmer, perhaps, or possibly a married neighbour. With the possible result that an illegitimate child would then bear the stigma of your shame for the rest of its days. No, Grace, you would be far wiser to accept your fate and marry me.’
She hated this man, Grace decided numbly. Hated him with a passion. With as much passion, if not more, with which she had only minutes ago returned his kisses. Any softer feelings she might have had towards him following his nightmares had completely dissipated in the face of his intractability concerning a marriage between them.
‘Never.’ She roused herself with an effort, so emotionally tired that she just wanted to sleep—to close her eyes and find when she woke in the morning that this had all been just a dream. A horrible, horrible dream.
Lucian St Claire’s mouth twisted humourlessly. ‘You really are not looking at this situation positively at all, Grace,’ he taunted. ‘After all, you will be marrying the brother of a duke—’
‘I am already the niece-by-marriage of a duke.’
‘I am also the son of a duke, Grace. A second son, admittedly,’ he acknowledged dryly, ‘but luckily my father was a man of vision. A man who saw that having three sons might one day present a problem. It was a dilemma that he solved by making provision for all of his children. As a result we are all, my sister included, independently wealthy. My own wealth has been increased considerably over the years by wise investments. I am wealthy enough by far, I do assure you, Grace, for my wife to live the life of a duchess without the onerous duties that necessarily accompany that role.’
Grace stared at him unblinkingly. What did she care for his wealth? Did this man really believe that if she agreed to become his wife she would be happy in the knowledge that at least he had the wealth to ensure her life was a comfortable one!
Comfortable?
Grace could not see any future life for herself as the unwilling wife of Lord Lucian St Claire’s as being a comfortable one!
She gave him a narrow-eyed glare. ‘My own father was also a man of vision, My Lord,’ she assured him coldly. ‘In as much as he did not see any difference between a male or female heir. I am my parents’ only child. As a consequence, all of my father’s considerable personal wealth, as well as his estate in Cornwall, were left in trust to me on his death.’
Lucian St Claire gave an abrupt inclination of his head. ‘Then it appears I am to marry a woman with a considerable dowry, does it not?’
Her chin rose challengingly. ‘The provisions of my father’s will ensure that a portion of that wealth remains in my possession even after I am married, with the rest to be put in trust for my children.’
Her parents could not have foreseen their premature deaths, of course, but it had always been a worry of her mother’s, as well as her father’s, that Grace would one day be pursued on the marriage mart not for herself alone, but for her father’s considerable wealth. The property laws ensured that a woman’s wealth automatically became her husband’s on her marriage. It had been a law that neither of her parents had agreed with, and provision had been made to circumvent that law as far as was possible.
Lucian St Claire gave a brief smile. ‘In that case it seems I will be able to forgo the task of arranging an allowance for you after we are married,’ came his parting shot, as the door of the bedchamber closed quietly—decisively—behind him.
Grace stared after him blankly. His persistence in pursuing that particular line—his absolute conviction that a marriage between them was the only possible outcome of tonight’s events—shook Grace more than she cared to admit. More than she cared for Lucian St Claire to know.
Because she was not so sure in her own determination that it would not be so as she wished it to be. Her aunt and uncle, the Duke and Duchess of Carlyne, although having been warm and kind to her this last year, were not as visionary as her own parents had been. Her parents would never have seen Grace married to any man for reasons other than a deep love existing between them. The fact that her aunt and uncle had known Lord Lucian St Claire for years—that he was a family friend, had been the best friend of her cousin Simon—already indicated that they would approve of a match between him and Grace.
A match Grace could never willingly agree to.
Never, ever willingly.
As Lucian St Claire would quickly learn for himself if he proceeded with this absurdity.
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