The Third Duke's the Charm Read Free Page B

titled, and rich, and as astonishing as it might be, he was doing his best to persuade her to accept his proposal.
    No one would believe it
. She
didn’t believe it.
    He was trying yet again to save Charles. That was what it came down to, and she knew it. Lucien had a habit of dragging his younger brother out of any mess, no matter how sticky, and a talent for keeping it all quiet.
    Well, she thought, he needn’t be so drastic as to marry a confirmed spinster who had four dismal seasons already behind her.
    Noble of him, she supposed, and it rankled a bit, but then again it wasn’t like she was unaware of her status as a failure with the beau monde. Vivian lifted her chin and eyed the man standing so casually across the length of the formal room. “I think we should address
my
reputation, Lord Stockton.”
    A hint of amusement lit his eyes at her austere tone, which should not surprise her. She doubted he took any of this seriously, which was yet another reason why he wouldn’t make an admirable husband.
    “You don’t have one that I know of,” he drawled in a soft tone. “Unless one counts virtuous conduct and unusual intellectual pursuits. And there is no need to be so formal. As I have already pointed out, you’ve known me all your life.”
    “Exactly
my
point.” Vivian straightened, her spine stiff, trying to ignore his blatant masculinity. Her friendship with Charles was based on a childhood camaraderie, but Lucien was different. He was enough older that he’d inspired a secret sort of hero worship and a girlish daydream or two, but never, ever would she have wanted him to know it. “We have nothing whatsoever in common and that isn’t speculation but fact. I am not the kind of woman you would pursue, and while I appreciate your gallantry in trying to protect me from gossip over a broken engagement, it isn’t necessary.”
    “Isn’t it?” He raised an ebony brow and to her dismay, moved from his stance by the fireplace to take a nearby chair. When he stretched out his long legs, his booted feet brushed her skirts. “As I said, my reasons are rarely altruistic. I need an heir, Vivian.” He added meaningfully, “And a wife. A man cannot have the first one without the other.”
    How very pragmatic. And his use of her first name wasn’t new, just newly disconcerting considering the conversation.
    Speechless, she could not help but blush. It wasn’t even the connotation of his words, but the way he looked at her, as if he were imagining, well,
that
. The charisma of his presence alone was overwhelming. He’d always had it, but she was a woman now, not a young naïve girl.
    More tartly than she intended, she said, “You wish to acquire me for breeding purposes? Forgive me for a lack of proper gratitude, because—”
    “My apologies.” His interruption was abrupt, and all amusement faded from his expression as he set aside his now empty glass with a definitive click on a nearby table. “You are absolutely correct; that was boorish. I’m apparently not good at this. I’ve never done it before and forgive me if I am a bit nervous.”
    She almost gaped. Nervous? The gloriously handsome, popular Marquess of Stockton nervous in the presence of a young woman who was a recognized failure in polite society? Vivian had to admit she yet again could not find anything intelligent at all to say.
    A not-unusual circumstance, but still . . . unfortunate.
    “Let me rephrase and perhaps do it better.” He held her gaze, his blue eyes steady. The normally sensual line of his mouth—yes, she’d noticed it before, as he was not the kind of man a woman would easily forget—was taut. “I would very much appreciate it if you would consider a proposal of marriage from me, Miss Lacrosse. Is that possible?”
    It was so ridiculous she had to stifle the urge to laugh hysterically. Charles and his abrupt departure with Vicar Clifton’s daughter aside, the ludicrous notion that she would marry Lucien Caverleigh