The Rake's Wicked Proposal. Carole MortimerЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
Chapter Five
‘I know this is all terribly exciting for you, Grace, but you really must try to eat something.’ Her aunt beamed at her encouragingly across the breakfast table from Grace, as the two of them sat in the private parlour of the coaching inn. ‘After all, you do not want Lord Lucian to see his betrothed looking pale and sickly when he joins us.’
Grace looked at her aunt numbly. The two of them were alone in the parlour. Her uncle, having recovered fully from his upset the evening before, and Lord Francis had set off early to check on the progress being made on the repair of the ducal coach—it being the Duke’s intention, her aunt had informed her archly, to tell Francis of Grace’s betrothal to Lord Lucian St Claire during their absence, in the hopes that he would have accepted this startling change in circumstances by the time he returned.
As if it were of any interest to Grace whether Francis were informed or otherwise—or indeed what his response was to the news!
Only Grace’s own emotions concerning the announcement of her betrothal to Lord Lucian St Claire, imparted to her by her uncle when he and her aunt had come to her bedchamber in the early hours of this morning, were of any significance. Those emotions had been disbelief and horror. But Grace’s protests had gone unheard as her uncle had proceeded to tell her how fortunate she was in her betrothed. How charming and worldly Lord Lucian was. How prestigious his family. How all the doors of Society would now be opened to her.
The list of advantages of being the wife of Lord Lucian St Claire were endless, it seemed.
Grace’s numbness, following her aunt and uncle’s return to their own bedchamber, had been so absolute it had resulted in her sitting in the window seat all night, staring sightlessly out at the slowly awakening day. It had seemed to her at the time that it was unacceptable that day should follow night, as it usually did, when such a momentous—horrifying!—occurrence was taking place in her own life. To add insult to injury, the sun had come out—as if to shine in blessing upon the union.
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