The Rake's Wicked Proposal. Кэрол Мортимер
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vee towards thighs that were hard and—
Grace’s stricken gaze returned to his face, the colour deepening in her cheeks as he raised mocking brows above eyes that openly laughed at her display of startled modesty. Her mouth tightened. ‘If you are attempting to alarm me, My Lord, then you are not succeeding.’
‘Am I not?’ He sat up in the bed to place his feet upon the wooden floor, the sheet draped decorously across his hips, but doing little to hide the response of his body that had so flustered Grace seconds ago. ‘Then you have me at a disadvantage, Grace—because being here alone with you like this is alarming the hell out of me!’ he acknowledged self-derisively.
Her eyes flashed warningly. ‘Do not attempt to trifle with me, My Lord—’
‘Trifle, Grace?’ His smile was wolfish. ‘You describe the desire you have so obviously aroused in me as a mere trifle?’
In truth, it was some time since Lucian’s interest in a woman had been strong enough to evoke any sort of reaction in him other than boredom. The married ladies of the ton, those beautiful and bored matrons looking for a brief and meaningless affair, that was all they required as a diversion from the tedium of their marriage, were proving far too easy a conquest of late.
Not that he had any intention of becoming genuinely involved with Miss Grace Hetherington, the marriageable ward of the Duke and Duchess of Carlyne, but Lucian couldn’t deny that she was proving to be an interesting diversion to his otherwise jaded palate. Most young women in her situation would have run screaming from the room by now. So perhaps he could allow himself—and her—a few harmless kisses? After all, it would be a pity not to live up to Francis Wynter’s lurid description of him earlier this evening!
‘Come here to me, Grace.’ He held out his hand to her invitingly. A gesture she recoiled from as if his hand had all the appeal of a snake about to strike. ‘Or perhaps you would prefer it if I were to come to you?’ His challenge—and his nudity!—were obvious.
Grace Hetherington predictably looked no more happy about that suggestion, and she scowled at him. ‘I refuse to play this ridiculous game, My Lord—’
‘Surely, my dear Grace, as I am at this moment in your bedchamber, actually seated upon your bed, it would be more appropriate if you were to call me Lucian?’ he drawled comfortably, his relaxed and lazy posture totally deceptive.
‘It would be totally inappropriate—as is your being in my bedchamber at all!’ She glared across the room at him. ‘If anyone were to find you here it would cause the most hideous scandal.’
Lucian couldn’t deny the truth of that. Even Hawk, his older brother whose rigid code of conduct had become much softer and accommodating since his marriage to Jane the previous year, would baulk at Lucian debauching an innocent miss such as Grace Hetherington. Or giving the appearance of having done so!
He regarded Grace mockingly. ‘Then the sooner you do as I ask the better for all concerned—do you not think?’
Grace regarded Lucian frustratedly, aware that he was once again playing with her, but not knowing, in this hitherto unknown situation, how to respond. It was unthinkable that she should actually take up the invitation of his extended hand. And yet not to do so, she was sure, would result in an even more unacceptable occurrence—that of Lucian walking naked across the room to her!
‘No, I most certainly do not think!’ she snapped, even as she crossed the room in three impatient strides. She’d ignored that outstretched hand even as she glared at him, her shortness in stature meaning that their faces were now on a level. ‘There—I have done as you asked. Now will you please leave?’
Easier said than done, Lucian acknowledged self-mockingly as his arousal hardened to an almost painful degree; if he were to stand up now, erection magnificently on display, this innocent young miss would probably have a fit of the vapours. Or perhaps not…? She had, after all, already dealt quite capably with someone she had considered an intruder to her bedchamber.
‘I think perhaps I would like you to kiss me better first.’ He tilted his head invitingly.
Temper darkened her cheeks; those grey eyes were stormy. ‘You are a man of almost thirty years, not three!’
Lucian gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘My years do not make the pain of my injury any less.’
‘You are impossible, My Lord—’
‘Lucian.’
‘The familiarity of your name does not make your behaviour any less outrageous!’
He bared his teeth in a grin. ‘A kiss, Grace. A single kiss. And then I promise that I will leave your bedchamber immediately.’
Grace’s pulse was already racing at his proximity, and her heart was beating frantically in her chest just at the thought of placing her lips anywhere upon this man—even on the dark silkiness of his hair, where she had struck him with the water jug. To touch him in any way, while alone with him in the privacy of her bedchamber, would be highly improper—and yet if it meant that he would then vacate her bedchamber…
‘One kiss?’ She gave him a severe look.
His grin became boyish once again. ‘One kiss, Grace.’
Her pulse began to race faster as he easily held her gaze. She leant towards him, her heart beating even more erratically as she breathed in the male scent of him, her legs shaking so much that Grace was no longer sure they would support her.
And then they didn’t need to as, instead of remaining seated, Lucian St Claire surged powerfully to his feet, barely giving Grace time to register his nakedness before his arms moved about her like bands of steel. He pulled her body close against the heat of his and his head lowered towards hers.
Grace began to struggle against the strength of those arms. ‘You said you wanted me to kiss you better—’
‘Ah, but I did not say where, Grace,’ he murmured huskily, before his lips claimed hers.
Grace became suddenly still in his arms, forgetting to breathe altogether as those lips moved purposefully, seductively, against hers. His tongue teased her own lips apart, deepening the kiss to intimacy as it continued on its marauding path, tasting her, claiming her, seeking out every soft and delicate contour of her mouth, his tongue running erotically along the edge of her teeth even as his arms tightened about her and he curved her body more intimately against his own.
Grace had been encouraged by her parents to have friends of both sexes during her adolescent years, and several of those friendships had developed into slight crushes as they’d matured. One of the boys had even dared to kiss her chastely on the lips on one memorable occasion.
But Lucian St Claire was no boy. And there was nothing chaste about this kiss. The imprint of his body seemed to sear into hers, even as he encouraged her to return the intimate caress, his tongue sweeping lightly across her sensitised lips an enticement in itself.
Grace felt as if she were on fire. Aflame. Pleasure rippled across and through her body as her fingers tightened on the bareness of his shoulders. His kiss was wondrous. Ecstasy. Beyond anything Grace had ever thought or imagined in her innocent musings of being kissed by a man.
‘Please…!’ she groaned achingly as his lips left hers to trail a path of arousal down the column of her throat.
The sound of Grace’s voice—that softly husky voice that moved across Lucian’s flesh like a caress—brought him back to the reality of exactly what he was doing. And with whom.
He raised his head abruptly, deeply shocked at the realisation of how aroused he had been by Grace Hetherington—Miss Grace Hetherington, the young, unmarried ward of the Duke and Duchess of Carlyne!
The shock Lucian could see upon her own face told him that Grace was just as stunned by her own response.
How could Lucian have forgotten, however briefly, that Grace was but twenty years