An Unexpected Proposal (St Daine Family 1)

by Leighann Dobbs

  * * *

  “Dance 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.”

  Claire studied the girl thoughtfully as they drew near, her brow pulled low in a contemplative frown. “Have you asked her?”

  Lucien sighed and shook his head. “No.”

  He glanced away, as if he did not wish for her to see the pain and confusion she had glimpsed in his eyes before he turned away. “Father would likely have done so. Tristan as well, I suppose, and if they had, I have no doubt my sister would have hung onto every word out of their mouths. But I?”

  He glanced at his sister again and Claire could see the flash of pain in his gaze before his lids lowered and he looked away. “Phoebe and I do not talk, Claire.”

  She peered up at him, her eyes searching his troubled gaze. “Perhaps it is time you did so, Your Grace.”

  12

  The study at Rothwyn Manor, though smaller, was an almost exact copy of the room where his father handled his business affairs in the ducal seat at Rothwyn House and, like his father before him, Lucien knew both rooms step-for-step.

  Pacing seemed to be an inherited trait, he thought, circling the room yet again.

  A loud thump overhead drew his attention, assuring him life continued on in the manor whether he felt a part of it or no.

  Pausing before the window to stare, unseeing, at the heavy drapes covering it as if they were not blocking his view one whit, he sighed. After several hours spent in debate with himself over the Earl of Vykhurst's proposal and Tristan's subsequent salvation at the expense of his sister's life, Lucien was more than ready to leave his troubles behind, but he could not.

  Not before he spoke with Phoebe.

  Claire was right, he realized. Phoebe had a right to know what the e
arl had requested. She deserved to know what had been proposed, what was being discussed and decided, in regards to her future. That he was uncomfortable discussing anything with his sister of late did not signify.

  Drawing back the drapes, Lucien stared off into the distance without really seeing the natural beauty before him while he tried to find a way to broach the matter of her betrothal in a serious conversation with his sister.

  If it had been Tristan, Lucien knew he would have been spared this uncomfortable dancing upon eggshells nonsense simply by virtue of Tristan's being male. He could call his brother to him, state the dilemma and the proposed solutions, and sit back to await Tristan's agreement or refusal. Despite their rather untenable relationship and the heated arguments they had had in the brief weeks before his disappearance, Lucien knew Tristan would hear him out and either agree or offer reasonable objections and propose alternate solutions without letting his emotions interfere. But Phoebe...

  Briefly, he wondered how she would react if he dared to handle the conversation with her in precisely the same manner he would with Tristan. In comparison with the last time he had attempted to speak with her, Lucien couldn't help but think doing so would be a vast improvement over their recent attempts to converse rationally.

  But Phoebe was not Tristan, he reminded himself, and she could not be addressed in the same manner as her brother, which left him once again at a loss as to how he should proceed with her. Setting off her feminine emotions was far too easy, for him at least, and generally left her thinking him some kind of brute. Still, there was nothing for it but to see the matter done. If she thought him callous and insensitive later, so be it. As it stood now, she was Tristan's only hope and time for finding an alternative solution to their dilemma was swiftly running out.

  “Jeremiah,” he called. Within seconds, the door to his study opened and the footman poked his head inside. Lucien instructed him to fetch Lady Phoebe, and while he fully expected her to dawdle as she seemed as reluctant as he to find herself in his company, less than a quarter of an hour passed before her timid knock sounded upon the door to his study.

  Still more than a little uncertain as to how to address the matter at hand, Lucien reluctantly bid her enter. Turning from the windows, he studied her—this time not with the eyes of a sibling competing for attention and a father's love or one who sought some childish reason to taunt, but rather those of a concerned, caring elder brother in need of reassurance regarding her capabilities as a woman fully grown—and he drew up in surprise.

  In profile, she presented a stunningly rare beauty.

  His gaze slowly moving from her elegantly up-swept coiffure to the silk-slipper encased soles of her feet, Lucien realized a man would have to be blind not to notice how beautiful she had become, and the knowledge came as a bit of a shock.

  His brow drew downward.

  As her older brother and then her guardian, he had rarely taken a moment to actually look at her, to see how time and the events in their lives had changed her as they had changed all the St. Daine's in one way or another, but now...

  Aye, Phoebe St. Daine had matured into a very lovely young woman. But now that he had taken a moment to look, he also could not help but see the toll recent affairs had taken upon his sister, for there was grief, too, in the elegant lines of her posture. And yet—somehow the fine edge of pain that settled around her only served to make her all the more stunning.

  Was this the woman Vykhurst's heir would see when he looked at Phoebe?

  “Lucien, please. Your silence is terrifying and your scowl more so,” Phoebe finally said, interrupting his musings. “Has something happened with Tristan?”

  He glanced upward, noting how her face had paled and that her hands were now clasped tightly together in front of her.

  “Not exactly,” Lucien hedged, slowly crossing the room to stand in front of her. “Although the conversation I wish to have with you does concern him. Phoebe, I—”

  He started to say more, but the apology he wished to give would not come. How did one say they were sorry for neglecting to pay proper attention to someone who had depended upon them to do so? Avoiding the anxious questions in her gaze, Lucien drew in a deep breath and raised one hand to rub at the sudden tension in his neck.

  Apparently unable to bear the tense silence or his scrutiny a moment longer, Phoebe crossed to the window where he had stood and then began to pace the study as he had done for hours before her arrival. “Alaina and Emily believe your brooding must have something to do with the earl's visit yesterday, but I am not so cert—”

  “Brooding? I do not brood,” Lucien started, but Phoebe cut him off with an anxious look.

  “Grandmother as well, though none of them would dare ask what the earl's visit was about.” She paused for a moment in her pacing, her clear gaze rising to meet his. “Why did he come here, Lucien? Had his arrival anything to do with Tristan?”

  Ever straightforward, he thought. A rueful smile cocked up the corner of his lips as he moved to sit behind his desk. Perhaps it would be best, he thought, to address the situation bluntly after all. Watching her now, his gaze speculative, he nodded. “It did.”

  Phoebe had begun to make her way from window to door once more, but when he answered she drew up, swinging around to face him, her eyes filled with anxious curiosity. “Did he mention how Tristan fares? Is he well? When may I see him?”

  The questions poured from her lips one after the other. Lucien answered each in turn. “Aye. Aye, and I am not certain, Phoebe. The earl seemed more interested in discussing you than our brother.”

  His revelation brought her up short yet again. “Me? Why would he be interested in—”

  If he had thought her complexion a mite pale earlier, the pallor of her skin then was nothing compared to now. “The earl wants to marry me?”

  Noting the similarities to Claire's response in her own, Lucien's brow arched upward. He was suddenly glad such had not been the earl's proposal, for he now had little doubt both females would have balked, had it been so. Not that he would not have done so himself, but he found it intriguing the ladies thoughts had seemed to run in such parallels.

  “Not personally, no,” he said, quickly reassuring her that she was not about to be asked to wed a man three times her age. “Rather, he desires a match between yourself and his heir.”

  Her relief was immediately visible, but then, her brows drew together thoughtfully and she said, “But I thought the earl's son died several years ago, before—before Mother and Father's accident.”

  “You are correct.” Lucien nodded. “It is Vykhurst's grandson to whom he wishes to see you betrothed.”

  Phoebe's nose wrinkled in a gesture of distaste but whether for the earl's grandson or at the thought of becoming betrothed so early in her first Season, Lucien had no clue. “Have you any reason for desiring otherwise, Phoebe?”

  The arch look she cast him bespoke a coming argument. “Other than the fact I have never met this grandson of which you speak?”

  To his surprise, she broke off, growing silent and pensive. After a moment, she went to sit on the settee, her gaze distant, thoughtful. Finally, she looked up at Lucien with something akin to surprise and—dare he hope?—a hint of respect in her gaze before she lowered her eyes once more.

  “To be perfectly honest, Brother, I had not expected to have a say in such matters.”

  Lucien winced. Rising to pace the breadth of the study once again, he asked, “Do you really think me such an uncaring, unfeeling ogre?”

  From the flush filing across her cheeks, he could only assume she had, but now was not the time to try to change her mind. There were far more important matters to deal with this afternoon, most specifically the saving of their brother's life. Ignoring the stab of hurt he had felt from her unvoiced response, Lucien went to the windows, pulled back the drapes and bluntly stated both the reason for the earl's visit and her presence in his study. “The earl would like my promise of a betrothal between you
and his grandson, Phoebe. In exchange—”

  From the corner of his eye, Lucien saw her head snap up. A quick flash of fire sparked to life in her eyes. “You sought to bargain with me?”

  “No. I. Did. Not,” he said, distinctly enunciating each word and shaking his head to further clarify his position. “The earl, however...”

  Despairing of the conversation already, Lucien scrubbed at his face with his hands. Why could this not be easy? He wanted Tristan home as much as she, but why had the manner in which he came back to them suddenly become so important?

  He should have simply called her here, ordered her to marry the earl's grandson, and left it at that, he thought. Then, this whole travesty with Tristan would be finished, at last. Phoebe would probably hate him and likely would never speak to him again, but it would have been done, and they could all move on with their lives. He should have done it, he thought, but he could not.

  He could not bring himself to demand any such thing from Phoebe because it would only add to the animosity between them of late, and having finally seen the tiniest glimmer of respect for him in her eyes a moment before, he was not particularly wont to turn around and snuff it with his next words.

  There was also the matter of his responsibility to her—not only as her brother, but also as the Duke of Rothwyn. His decision would affect far more than the present moment. Indeed, it would determine the course of her future, of the rest of her life, and he found he simply could not demand this sacrifice of her.

  Looking at her now, the echoes of his final conversation with Tristan ringing in the back of his mind while her recent demands that he do something—anything—to save their brother pressing down upon him, he tried to explain. “I have been here for hours, Phoebe, debating whether or not I should even consider the earl's offer, but it seems I have no other choice.”