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Grace’s heart ached at how stoically her aunt and uncle bore the tragic blow of their only son’s death She had not known Cousin Si ten years her senior, but the little she did rely amiable as his father

How strange, then, that he should be particular friends with a ood-looks’, and Francis claimed was ‘a rake and a—’ And a what? Grace wondered curiously Whatever it was, as far as her uncle was concerned it was not a fit description for the ears of an innocent like herself

Contrarily, Francis’s disapproval of Lord Lucian St Claire onlyto Grace!

Lucian drew in a weary breath as he stood outside the parlour where the Wynter faht dine The thirty minutes or so since Lucian had parted from the Duke had not improved his disposition The accommodation at the inn had proved as inferior as Carlyne had clais in Lucian’s room were sparse, to say the least, with not even a lock on the door to keep his belongings safe while he was downstairs dining

Which was perhaps the point…

Not that Lucian was carrying anything of particular value to a thief—chance or otherwise Having arranged for his valet to depart for Mulberry Hall—the principal St Claire seat in Gloucestershire, and Lucian’s hohteen years of his life—a day ahead of Lucian travelling on horseback, Lucian was carrying only the barest necessities with him As he had already explained to the Duke, he did not even have with hi in female company

Stop delaying the inevitable, Lucian, he instructed hi with the Carlynes, so hewith the rest of the faaret Wynter was pleasant enough, and if Francis Wynter was not to be tolerated he could at least be ignored As could whichever elderly twittering feht with her as companion for this visit to London

He could hear the murmur of voices in the private parlour as he reached out and turned the door handle One of those voices was raised much louder than the others, and the words reached Lucian as plainly as if he were already in the room

‘Say what you like about thewild and undisciplined in our youth Neither do his years in the ar more than a rake since his return to polite society, and as such rendering him unfit company for the likes of Grace—’ Francis Wynter abruptly broke off his tirade as Lucian stepped nonchalantly into the room

Grace, along with everyone else present, turned her attention sharply towards the door as it was softly pushed open and an unknown gentlehtly into the room

And what a gentleman!

Grace had never seen a man so tall, so fashionably attired—in a superbly tailored jacket, waistcoat and creahly polished Hessians, his linen snohite, with delicate lace at the cuffs and throat—and so aristocratically and darkly handsome as Lord Lucian St Claire

For surely this could be none other than the man Francis had just called a rake?

Grace’s breath caught in her throat as she raised her gaze to Lord Lucian St Claire’s face His jaas square and chiselled beneath cynically sculptured lips, and a straight nose was set below the darkest, blackest, ly intense eyes Grace had ever beheld

Eyes that coolly aze before he raised one dark broith arrogant deliberation

Grace quickly averted her gaze froly sardonic one—but not before she had noted that his overlong, slightly curling hair was alo had looked at her so tauntingly

‘I seem to have interrupted your conversation, Wynter,’ he drawled softly, challengingly ‘You were saying…?’

Grace felt a quiver of trepidation down the length of her spine at the warning she sensed behind the mildness of that tone, and knew by the way Francis’s cheeks coloured that he was also aware of the air of danger that surrounded the slightly older man Lord Lucian St Clairehis years in the army