An Unexpected Proposal (St Daine Family 1) (11 page)

Her diligence tweaked his curiosity.

Lucien watched her move to her mother's side for a brief conversation before she turned and made her way upstairs. Assuming she needed a moment in the ladies' retiring room, he positioned himself near the foot of the stairs to wait. She had been out of his sight less time than it took the ornate metal hand on his pocket watch to make a full turn and he glanced up to see her once again coming his way.

The way her steps faltered when she saw him needled his pride. He had known the measure of her regard from the moment of their first meeting. But for her to draw up now at the mere sight of him? Perhaps he should not have sought her out after all.

Peering at her through narrowed eyes, he asked, “Lost something? Or perhaps it is some
one
you seek? The yellow-haired gentleman you were waltzing with earlier has taken his leave, I am afraid.”

Her brow furrowed. “Barrow? No, it is not Lord Gentry I seek, Your Grace, but Melisande. Have you seen her?”

Feeling a bit awkward now for his erroneous assumption and his misplaced sense of wounded pride, Lucien wanted to kick himself for the accusatory tone he had used. “Ah. Your friend Melisande. I had forgotten about her.”

Claire's expression fell, becoming almost distraught, and Lucien stepped forward to grasp the opportunity she had unwittingly afforded him. “I last saw her near the doors to the terrace. We could look for her together,” he offered. Taking her hand, he tucked it into the bend of his arm and started forward before she could refuse. But when they reached the doors, she extricated her hand and drew up yet again, obviously concerned about leaving the ballroom. Or mayhap she had an issue with going into the gardens with him? In either case, Lucien knew if a scandal was what she sought to avoid she had likely chosen aright. If she had stepped out into the night with him, he could not have guaranteed he could have gone with her and not succumbed to the desire he felt to kiss her again.

“Could you look for her, Your Grace? I would do so myself, but...” A flush of color spread across her cheeks and he wondered if she had somehow guessed what he had been thinking. He had to applaud her good sense. No proper young lady of good breeding would disappear into the darkness beyond those doors with a man not of her own family and certainly not without a chaperon dogging her heels.

Though he was disappointed by her refusal to accompany him, he would not deny her request. If Lady Melisande had gone through those doors alone, she may well be in trouble herself. A frown puckered his brow at the thought. “Wait here and tell no one about your friend's disappearance. I will return shortly.”

Claire's eyes went wide and she shook her head.

“There is no need, Your Grace,” she whispered, tilting her head in the briefest of gestures toward the doors an instant before Lady Melisande Ruebrige stepped inside, looking both pale and shaken. Lucien took one glance at her and moved to position himself between the crowd and the lady at the door. Whatever had happened to her in the gardens, he thought, it must not have been pleasant.

“Mel, are you alright?” Claire asked, her voice low. “You are shaking!”

When Lady Melisande did not answer right away, Lucien started for the door, but the girl reached out to halt him, shaking her head. “I am fine, really. I stepped out for a bit of air, that is all.”

“But you—” Claire started, and again, her friend cut her off with a shake of her head.

“It is nothing,” she insisted, and Claire, making little progress with her friend herself, turned her imploring gaze on him.
Do something
, it seemed to insist.

Reluctantly, Lucien turned to offer the lady his arm. “Dance with me.”

Tugging her forward into the crowd, he immediately swept her into a waltz, leaving her no opportunity to resist or disagree. Over her shoulder, he saw Claire disappear into the crowd with her mother, and he sighed.

M
aren Claybourne
, the Earl of Vykhurst, was aged but he did not look elderly. In fact, Lucien thought he looked surprisingly fit for his age. He lounged, one leg crossed over the other and his right hand perched atop a sleek black cane topped with a silver dragon's head, in the chair Lucien himself had often occupied when his father had been alive.

The earl had arrived just before noon and his first words had been an assurance that Tristan was well and in good health—physically. That he'd made it a point to say
physically
intimated he must be of the opinion something was not as it should be in Tristan's mind, which Lucien refused to believe. “How is it you have seen my brother when I have yet to be allowed the privilege?”

A peculiar expression on his face, the earl studied Lucien. “There is a
problem
with your brother, Rothwyn. Had he remained silent once I realized his true identity, he would be in your personal care even now. Unfortunately, his situation has now escalated to one in which, if you had all the proof in the world of his innocence it would not matter because he has declared himself fully responsible and guilty. In fact, he orders the guards to hang him for his crimes daily. He has even threatened to do the deed himself more than once, which is why you will find his, ah,
lodgings
...devoid of anything he could possibly use to be rid of himself prematurely.”

Ignoring the earl's comment as much as the earl had ignored his question, Lucien kept his expression bland. “Why are
you
here, Vykhurst? You've told me my brother has professed to being guilty with his own mouth. You've assured me once the magistrate gets to this case, my brother is bound for the gallows. And yet, I sense there is more. Something you have yet to tell me...”

A hint of delight lit the earl's eyes, as if Lucien's words had pleased him more than they should, and a feeling of unease tripped along his spine. Biting back a growl of frustration with the cat and mouse game the earl seemed wont to play, Lucien got up and strode to the side cabinet, where he poured two fresh glasses of Scotch.

“I would like to think of it as a favor, actually,” Maren said, accepting the glass Lucien brought him with his left hand. “A gesture among friends, if you will.”

“But we are not friends,” Lucien reminded him unkindly. He sat his own glass on the desk, untouched. “What do you want from me, Vykhurst?”

The earl's expression closed, becoming unreadable. “Your sister, Rothwyn. For my grandson. Assure me your Phoebe will wed my Edward and I will help you save your brother.”

Phoebe?
The earl had come here to use Tristan as a bargaining tool for Phoebe? Astonished, confused, Lucien asked, “Why?”

Again, the earl's expression changed. His eyes shuttered and for the first time since his arrival, he seemed less than sure of himself. Sitting forward, he put his own glass aside. For a moment, he said nothing, but Lucien could see his struggle with how to explain clearly on his face. Finally, he began, “It is no secret that my son practically drained the family of resources before his rather untimely death several years ago.”

His gaze lifted to meet Lucien's. There was sincerity in the depths, and something more—an unspoken plea he clearly would not utter—in his eyes before he looked away again, unseeing, toward the windows on the other side of the room. To gather his thoughts, Lucien presumed.

“I am not a young man, Rothwyn,” he began again. “For a second time in my life I find myself in the position of needing to secure the Vykhurst future. Edward is my heir. He will become earl soon and I—”

He paused, turning eyes which now clearly revealed the age his body did not upon Lucien. “I would prefer my grandson not be forced to struggle with restoring the earldom my death will bring him, Your Grace.”

“So you would have my sister wed your grandson for money.” Lucien scoffed. “Why not just ask for a loan?”

Maren drew up stiffly, his expression gone hard. “Marriage is an honorable means to restore both coin and dignity to a name. Your own father did so by marrying your mother, though I doubt
you
would remember a time when the duchy of Rothwyn lay near ruin. Your father was a shrewd man, Rothwyn, but even more, Victor knew when the cards were stacked in his favor and he never hesitated to act.”

He was correct, Lucien thought. But not remembering and having no knowledge of one's history were not the same. From the moment his father had deemed him old enough to understand, Victor had explained exactly the desperate situation he had faced when his own father died, leaving the family in dire straits indeed. But he was wrong to think Father had married for money. No, Victor St. Daine had been in love with his wife. The dowry she brought to their marriage, though more than sufficient to lift the Rothwyn coffers to previous heights of comfort, had never been touched. It angered him to think this man believed otherwise but he would not enlighten the earl. Instead, he said, “You mean the way your benevolent offer of assistance in light of this situation with my brother is stacked in my favor now? At least, I presume that is your reference.”

Relaxing back against the cushioned chair, Maren nodded. He did not smile, but Lucien could see his sense of triumph in his eyes. “Give it some thought, Rothwyn. Nothing need change for either of you. Your sister will marry as she must do anyway. With her dowry, my grandson's future will be assured but you will also get your brother back. He will be home. Safe. Or is young Tristan's life not worth a few hastily scrawled words on paper to you?”

The earl's shrewd gaze pierced and Lucien scowled. “Marriage to a pauper is a damned sight more than a few words scrawled onto a page and you know it, Vykhurst.”

He tapped out a quick rhythm with his hand against his thigh. “In essence, you are asking me to sacrifice Phoebe's life for Tristan's. And you still have nt said
how
you intend to help me bring my brother home...”

“You have said
we
are not friends, Your Grace,” the earl said, shifting his position to better face down his opponent. “But rest assured I do have them. Some in high offices and others in places you would never dare to venture. I believe I have been a good friend over the years. A very good friend. Good enough, in fact, to call in enough favors to see this through.”

Lucien grunted in lieu of a response. “And your grandson? I have no doubt he is amenable to the idea of wedding my sister but I do not believe I have yet had the pleasure of an introduction. Tell me, Vykhurst, has he no qualms against being played as a pawn?”

The earl was obviously very adept at engaging in manipulation when the matter warranted. Lucien had just had the questionable pleasure of seeing him wield it in top form and he had no doubt Vykhurst would not have kept his grandson exempt from his machinations. He also knew he could not simply consign Phoebe to such a fate. Any man so easily led would be a poor choice for her—she was far too headstrong. Nay, he would never demand that she marry the earl's grandson. Doing so would only give Phoebe one more reason to hate him. On the other hand, if Maren were to be taken at his word, insisting she wed the Claybourne fellow
would
see Tristan freed and bring him home at last, and that was precisely what she most desired.

“Edward is his own man, if that is what you are asking. That he has sense enough to recognize a great opportunity when presented one is to his credit, I believe, but you will find him very much a man of his own mind.” Maren leaned forward. “As to introductions, or rather, the lack thereof, I am quite certain the boy would much prefer to meet his bride—to—be before the contracts are drawn.”

As if he considered the matter done, the earl got to his feet. “If you would be so kind as to send an invitation around, Your Grace, I will see to it that my grandson offers a favorable reply.”

“
D
ance with me
?”

Ignoring Lucien's outstretched hand, Claire immediately glanced around the ballroom for Melisande. She had promised herself she would not dance with this particular duke if he attended the ball tonight, but finding Mel currently occupied and herself without a legitimate reason to refuse, she offered a hesitant smile and held out her hand.

“One dance would not hurt, I suppose,” she said, but from the moment the duke swept her onto the floor, Claire knew she had made a mistake. When he was near, the warmth of his body surrounded her. When he drew away, following the steps of the dance, his absence left her feeling strangely bereft. The tantalizing scent of sandalwood and warm male assailed her senses, making her wish to be drawn ever closer to his heat.

She was so caught up in analyzing her body's reaction to him, the lilting sounds of music filling the ballroom grew distant and faded. Thankfully, Lucien had chosen to hold his silence because, had she also been subjected to the rippling pleasures the sound of his voice often caused, the effect of his nearness on her senses could well have been devastating. A quick glance in his direction, left her both surprised and a bit discomfited to discover he had been quietly studying her, as well. Flushing hot, she looked away.

To feel the things she felt in this man's presence was just ...
wrong
.

He belonged to Melisande.

Not at this precise moment, she reminded herself, but she knew that soon Melisande would charm and woo him until he simply could not live without her by his side.
She
was even supposed to be assisting Mel with hastening the moment, and yet here she was instead, waltzing about the ballroom in his arms, basking in every thrilling sensation being near him caused her to feel.

To distract herself from her reactions to his presence, she asked, “Have you news of your brother?”

After the duke had retreated to London, she hadn't heard a murmur about the younger St. Daine but now that she had brought it up, Claire realized she was genuinely interested to know how things had turned out—if indeed they had.

“The magistrate will not see me,” Lucien answered with a shrug. “But the Earl of Vykhurst paid me the somewhat dubious honor of a visit earlier today.”

Claire stared at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “The earl had news?”

Lucien grunted. “A proposition.”

“I see,” she murmured, though truly she did not. Why would the Earl have known aught of Lucien's brother when the duke himself did not? She dared not ask more and Lucien obviously did not care to elaborate, choosing to brood in silence instead.

The dance drew them apart and Claire surreptitiously glanced around for Melisande. Perhaps if they moved closer to her, she could encourage him to ask Mel to dance the next set, she thought. He was obviously not interested in conversing with her, which made her wonder why he had bothered to ask her to dance. He seemed distracted. Distant. And then, in two steps she was beside him again.

Her right hand came to rest upon his shoulder while the left lay lightly against his palm. His gaze met hers and she had a moment of absent-mindedness wherein she had to quickly remind herself to move, to smile, to breathe...but their dance was almost over. Soon, the music would draw to an end and he would return her to her mother's side. Strangely enough, knowing they would part company with barely a spoken word between them left her feeling both relieved and, oddly enough, disappointed. “The earl's offer was not to your liking, I presume? You seem troubled, Your Grace.”

“He wants Phoebe, Claire.”

The duke's unexpected comment drew her out of her thoughts and she blinked in surprise before her expression scrunched up into one of bitter distaste. “
Vykhurst?
But he is old enough to be her
great
grandfather! Why would
he
want Phoebe?”

Lucien's bemused but patient smile at her outburst seemed more like a smirk at the sorry direction her thoughts had taken. “Not for himself, Claire, but for his grandson, Edward. Are you acquainted with the man?”

The intensity of his gaze now convinced Claire this was the true reason he had asked her to dance—so that he might interrogate her about the Honorable Mister Edward Claybourne. Claire looked away so he could not see the disappointment in her eyes. “We have been introduced.”

The music stopped but rather than release her, Lucien tucked her gloved fingers into the crook of his arm, placed his own hand firmly atop it, and started toward the long refreshments table. “Walk with me.”

His hold on her making it near impossible to do otherwise without causing a scene, Claire fell into step beside him.

“Is Mister Claybourne an affable fellow? A good sort?” he urged and despite her dwindling enjoyment, Claire tried to think back to her singular meeting with the man.

“He is quite pleasant to look upon. Dashingly handsome, as I recall, but quiet. A painter, if I am not mistaken. I would not count him a rogue or a scoundrel though I dare say he quite looks the part. Is he a good man?” she offered finally with a shrug. “As much as any other, I suppose. But I fail to see why it should matter—unless you are seriously entertaining the notion of accepting the earl's proposal.”

After receiving yet another grunt in lieu of a reply, Claire waited with her eyes downcast while he selected a drink for each of them, handed her a glass, and then, when they strolled together around the edges of the ballroom floor once more she asked, “You aren't considering his proposition, are you?”

“I am. He has promised to ensure Tristan's freedom in exchange.”

Her gaze snapped up to meet his. “He has the authority to do that?”

Lucien nodded idly in greeting to whom she supposed were several acquaintances of his and then led her away toward a small seating area where his grandmother sat with Phoebe at her side. “He assures me he has many friends who owe him favors. In either case, accepting his proposition would be a gamble but the earl and his connections, or lack thereof, are not my main concern at the moment.”

He inclined his head toward his sister, and Claire thought she understood, at last. “Phoebe.”

“Yes, Phoebe.” He sighed. “This is her first Season, Claire. I am not sure what I expected to come from it, nor what my sister may have hoped to achieve, but I am certain she would not have anticipated having it end with her being asked to trade her own life for our brother's.”