The Lost Duke of Wyndham (13 page)

“Oh for God's sake, it is nothing like that,” he muttered. “Amelia assisted me home when I was”—he blushed then. Blushed!
Thomas
!—“impaired.”

Grace bit her lip to keep from smiling. It was quite remarkable what a pleasant image that was—Thomas
allowing himself to be anything less than perfectly composed. “That was most charitable of her,” she said, perhaps a little too primly. But really, it couldn't be helped.

He glared at her, which only made it more difficult to maintain an even face.

She cleared her throat. “Have you, er, considered tidying up?”

“No,” he snapped, “I rather enjoy looking like a slovenly fool.”

Grace winced at that.

“Now listen,” he continued, looking terribly determined. “Amelia will repeat what I have told you, but it is imperative that you not tell her about Mr. Audley.”

“I would never do that,” Grace said quickly. “It is not my place.”

“Good.”

“But she will want to know why you were, er…” Oh, dear, how to put it politely?

“You don't know why,” he said firmly. “Just tell her that. Why would she suspect that you would know more?”

“She knows that I consider you a friend,” Grace said. “And furthermore, I live here. Servants always know everything. She knows that.”

“You're not a servant,” he muttered.

“I am and you know it,” she replied, almost amused. “The only difference is that I am allowed to wear finer clothing and occasionally converse with the guests. But I assure you, I am privy to all of the household gossip.”

For several seconds he did nothing but stare, as if
waiting for her to laugh and say,
Only joking!
Finally he muttered something under his breath that she was quite certain she was not meant to understand (and indeed she did not; servants' gossip was occasionally risqué, but it was never profane).

“For me, Grace,” he said, his eyes boring into hers, “will you please just tell her you don't know?”

It was the closest she had ever heard him come to begging, and it left her disoriented and acutely uncomfortable. “Of course,” she said quickly. “You have my word.”

He nodded briskly. “Amelia will be expecting you.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Grace hurried to the door, but when her hand touched the knob, she found she was not quite ready to go. She turned around, taking one last look at his face.

He was not himself. No one could blame him; it had been a most extraordinary two days. But still, it worried her.

“Will you be all right?” she asked.

And immediately regretted that she had done so. His face seemed to move, and twist, and she could not be sure if he was going to laugh or cry. But she did know that she did not want to be witness to either.

“No, don't answer that,” she mumbled, and she ran from the room.

J
ack did (eventually) find his bedchamber, but even though he knew he'd likely still have been happily asleep if he hadn't been determined to join Grace at breakfast, when he lay down atop his covers, intending to take a restorative nap, he found himself unable to do so.

This was profoundly irritating. He had long prided himself on his ability to fall asleep at will. It had come in handy during his years as a soldier. No one ever managed to acquire the correct sleep, either in quality or amount. He would steal his slumber where he could, and his friends had been eternally jealous that he could prop up against a tree, close his eyes, and be asleep within three minutes.

But not, apparently, today, even though he'd traded a knobby tree for the finest mattress money could
buy. He closed his eyes, took his customary long, slow breaths, and…nothing.

Nothing but Grace.

He'd like to have said she was haunting him, but that would have been a lie. It wasn't her fault that he was a fool. And in truth, it wasn't just that he was completely desperate for her (although he was, and most uncomfortably, too). He couldn't get her out of his mind because he didn't
want
to get her out of his mind. Because if he stopped thinking about Grace, he would have to start thinking about other things. The possibility of his being the Duke of Wyndham, for one.

Possibility…Bah. He knew it was true. His parents had been married. All that was needed was to locate the parish register.

He closed his eyes, trying to push back the overwhelming feeling of dread that was bearing down on him. He should have just lied and said that his parents had never wed. But blast it, he had not known the consequences when he said that they had. No one had told him he'd be crowned the bloody duke. All he'd known was that he was so damned furious with the dowager for kidnapping him and with Wyndham for staring at him like he was something to be swept under the rug.

And then Wyndham had said, in that smarmy, superior voice of his:
If indeed your parents were married….

Jack had snapped out his reply before he had a chance to consider the consequences of his actions. These people were not better than he was. They had no right to cast aspersions on his parents.

It was too late now, though. Even if he tried to lie
and recant his words, the dowager would not rest until she'd burned a trail through Ireland in search of the marriage documents.

She wanted him to inherit, that much was clear. It was difficult to imagine her caring for anyone, but she had apparently adored her middle son.

His father.

And even though the dowager had not shown any particular fondness for him—not that he had made much of an effort to impress—she clearly preferred him over her other grandson. Jack had no idea what had transpired between the dowager and the current duke, if anything. But there was little affection between the pair.

Jack stood and walked to the window, finally admitting defeat and giving up on the notion of sleep. The morning sun was already bright and high in the sky, and he was suddenly seized by a need to be out of doors, or rather, out of Belgrave. Strange, that one could feel so closed-in in such a massive dwelling. But he did, and he wanted out.

Jack strode across the room and snatched up his coat. It was satisfyingly shabby atop the fine apparel of Wyndham's he'd donned that morning. He almost hoped he bumped into the dowager, just so she could see him all dusty and road-worn.

Almost. But not quite.

With quick, long strides he made his way down to the main hall, just about the only location he knew how to get to. His footsteps were annoyingly loud on the marble as he walked forth. Everything seemed to echo here. It was too big, too impersonal, too—

“Thomas?”

He stopped. It was a female voice. Not Grace. Young, though. Unsure of her surroundings.

“Is that—I'm so sorry.” It was indeed a young woman, of medium height, blond, with rather fetching hazel eyes. She was standing near the doorway of the drawing room he had been dragged into the day before. Her cheeks were delightfully pink, with a smattering of freckles he was sure she detested. (All women did, he'd learned.) There was something exceptionally pleasant about her, he decided. If he weren't so obsessed with Grace, he would flirt with her.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he murmured, offering her a roguish smile. This wasn't flirting. This was how he conversed with all ladies. The difference was in the intention.

“No,” she said quickly, “of course not. It was my mistake. I was just sitting back there.” She motioned behind her to a seating area. “You looked rather like the duke as you walked by.”

This must be the fiancée, Jack realized. How interesting. It was difficult to imagine why Wyndham was dragging his heels on the marriage. He swept into a gracious bow. “Captain Jack Audley, at your service, ma'am.” It had been some time since he'd introduced himself with his military rank, but somehow it seemed the thing to do.

She bobbed a polite curtsy. “Lady Amelia Willoughby.”

“Wyndham's fiancée.”

“You know him, then? Oh, well, of course you do.
You are a guest here. Oh, you must be his fencing partner.”

“He told you about me?” The day grew more interesting by the second.

“Not much,” she admitted. She blinked, staring at a spot that was not his eyes. He realized that she was looking at his cheek, which was still discolored from his altercation with her fiancé the day before.

“Ah, this,” he murmured, affecting mild embarrassment. “It looks much worse than it actually is.”

She wanted to ask about it. He could see it in her eyes. He wondered if she'd seen Wyndham's blackened eye. That would certainly set her curiosity on fire.

“Tell me, Lady Amelia,” he said conversationally, “what color is it today?”

“Your cheek?” she asked with some surprise.

“Indeed. Bruises tend to look worse as they age, have you noticed? Yesterday it was quite purple, almost regally so, with a hint of blue in it. I haven't checked in the mirror lately.” He turned his head to offer her a better view. “Is it still as attractive?”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment she seemed not to know what to say. Jack wondered if she was unused to men flirting with her. Shame on Wyndham. He had done her a great disservice.

“Er, no,” she replied. “I would not call it attractive.”

He laughed. “No mincing words for you, eh?”

“I'm afraid those blue undertones of which you were so proud have gone a bit green.”

He leaned in with a warm smile. “To match my eyes?”

“No,” she said, seemingly immune to his charms, “not with the purple overlaying it. It looks quite horrible.”

“Purple mixed with green makes…?”

“Quite a mess.”

Jack laughed again. “You are charming, Lady Amelia. But I am sure your fiancé tells you that on every possible occasion.”

She did not reply. Not that she could; her only possible answers were yes, which would reveal her conceit, or no, which would reveal Wyndham's negligence. Neither was what a lady wished to show to the world.

“Do you await him here?” he asked, thinking to himself that it was time to end the conversation. Lady Amelia was charming, and he could not deny a certain level of entertainment that came from making her acquaintance without Wyndham's knowledge, but he was still a bit wound up inside, and he was looking forward to time out of doors.

“No, I just—” She cleared her throat. “I am here to see Miss Eversleigh.”

Grace?

And who was to say that a man could not acquire a bit of fresh air in a drawing room? One had only to crack open a window.

“Have you met Miss Eversleigh?” Lady Amelia asked.

“Indeed I have. She is most lovely.”

“Yes.” There was a pause, just long enough for Jack to wonder at it. “She is universally admired,” Lady Amelia finished.

Jack thought about making trouble for Wyndham. A simple, murmured,
It must be difficult for you, with so beautiful a lady in residence here at Belgrave,
would go a long way. But it would make equal trouble for Grace, which he was not prepared to do. And so instead he chose the bland and boring: “Are you and Miss Eversleigh acquaintances?”

“Yes. I mean, no. More than that, I should say. I have known Grace since childhood. She is most friendly with my elder sister.”

“And surely with you, as well.”

“Of course.” Lady Amelia acceded. “But more so with my sister. They are of an age, you see.”

“Ah, the plight of the younger sibling,” he murmured.

“You share the experience?”

“Not at all,” he said with a grin. “I was the one ignoring the hangers-on.” He thought back to his days with the Audleys. Edward had been but six months younger, and Arthur a mere eighteen months after that. Poor Arthur had been left out of any number of escapades, and yet wasn't it interesting—it was Arthur with whom he had ultimately formed the strongest bond.

Arthur had been uncommonly perceptive. They shared that. Jack had always been good at reading people. He'd had to. Sometimes it was his only means of gathering information. But as a boy he'd viewed Arthur as an annoying little whelp; it wasn't until they were both students at Portora Royal that he realized that Arthur saw everything, too.

And although he had never come out and said it, Jack knew that he'd seen everything in
him
as well.

But he refused to grow maudlin. Not right now, not with a charming lady for company and the promise of another at any moment. And so he pushed more happy thoughts of Arthur to the forefront of his mind and said, “I was the eldest of the brood. A fortuitous position, I think. I should have been most unhappy not to have been in charge.”

Lady Amelia smiled at that. “I am the second of five, so I can appreciate your sentiments as well.”

“Five! All girls?” he guessed.

“How did you know?”

“I have no idea,” he said quite honestly, “except that it is such a charming image. It would have been a shame to have sullied it with a male.”

“Is your tongue always this silver, Captain Audley?”

He gave her one of his best half smiles. “Except when it's gold.”

“Amelia!”

They both turned. Grace had entered the room.

“And Mr. Audley,” she said, looking surprised to see him there.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Lady Amelia said, turning to him. “I thought it was
Captain
Audley.”

“It is,” he said with a very slight shrug. “Depending upon my mood.” He turned to Grace and bowed. “It is indeed a privilege to see you again so soon, Miss Eversleigh.”

She blushed. He wondered if Lady Amelia noticed.

“I did not realize you were here,” Grace said after bobbing a curtsy.

“There is no reason why you should have done. I
was heading outside for a restorative walk when Lady Amelia intercepted me.”

“I thought he was Wyndham,” Lady Amelia said. “Isn't that the oddest thing?”

“Indeed,” Grace replied, looking acutely uncomfortable.

“Of course I was not paying much attention,” Lady Amelia continued, “which I am sure explains it. I only caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye as he strode past the open doorway.”

Jack turned to Grace. “It makes so much sense when put that way, does it not?”

“So much sense,” Grace echoed. She glanced over her shoulder.

“Are you waiting for someone, Miss Eversleigh?” Jack inquired.

“No, I was just thinking that his grace might like to join us. Er, since his fiancée is here, of course.”

“Is he returned, then?” Jack murmured. “I was not aware.”

“That is what I have been told,” Grace said, and he was certain that she was lying, although he could not imagine why. “I have not seen him myself.”

“Alas,” Jack said, “he has been absent for some time.”

Grace swallowed. “I think I should get him.”

“But you only just got here.”

“Nonetheless—”

“We shall ring for him,” Jack said, since he wasn't going to allow her such an easy escape. Not to mention that he was rather looking forward to the duke discovering him here with both Grace and Lady
Amelia. He crossed the room and gave the bellpull a yank. “There,” he said. “It is done.”

Grace smiled uncomfortably and moved to the sofa. “I believe I will sit down.”

“I will join you,” Lady Amelia said with alacrity. She hurried after Grace and took a seat right beside her. Together they sat, stiff and awkward.

“What a fetching tableau the two of you make,” he said, because really, how could he not tease them? “And me, without my oils.”

“Do you paint, Mr. Audley?” Lady Amelia inquired.

“Alas, no. But I have been thinking I might take some lessons. It is a noble pursuit for a gentleman, wouldn't you say?”

“Oh, indeed.”

Silence, then Lady Amelia nudged Grace. “Mr. Audley is a great appreciator of art,” Grace blurted out.

“You must be enjoying your stay at Belgrave, then,” Lady Amelia said. Her face was the perfect picture of polite interest. He wondered how long it had taken her to hone the expression. As the daughter of an earl, she would have any number of social obligations. He imagined that the expression—placid and unmoving, yet not unfriendly—was quite useful.

“I look forward to touring the collections,” Jack replied. “Miss Eversleigh has consented to show them to me.”

Lady Amelia turned to Grace as best she could, considering that they were wedged up against one another. “That was very kind of you, Grace.”

Grace grunted something that was probably meant to be a response.

“We plan to avoid cupids,” Jack said.

“Cupids?” Lady Amelia echoed.