The Lost Duke of Wyndham (Two Dukes of Wyndham, #1)(18)

The old lady turned to him, her lips pinched. "Most men would not complain."

He shrugged. "I am not most men." Then he offered a half smile and turned to Miss Eversleigh. "A rather banal rejoinder on my part, wouldn't you say? So obvious. A novice could have come up with it." He shook his head as if disappointed. "I do hope I'm not losing my touch."

Her eyes widened.

He grinned. "You think I'm mad."

"Oh, yes," she said, and he rather enjoyed her voice again, washing warmly over him.

"It's something to consider." He turned to the old lady. "Does madness run in the family?"

"Of course not," she snapped.

"Well, that's a relief. Not," he added, "that I am acknowledging a connection. I don't believe I wish to be associated with cutthroats such as yourself. Tsk tsk. Even I have never resorted to kidnapping." He leaned forward, as if imparting a very grave confidence to Miss Eversleigh. "It's very bad form, you know."

And he thought - oh, how lovely - that he saw her lips twitch. Miss Eversleigh had a sense of humor. She was growing more delectable by the second.

He smiled at her. He knew how to do it, too. He knew exactly how to smile at a woman to make her feel it deep inside.

He smiled at her. And she blushed.

Which made him smile even more.

"Enough," the old lady snapped.

He feigned innocence. "Of what?"

He looked at her, at this woman who was most probably his grandmother. Her face was pinched and lined, the corners of her mouth pulled down by the weight of an eternal frown. She'd look unhappy even if she smiled, he thought. Even if somehow she managed to get that mouth to form a crescent in the correct direction -

No, he decided. It wouldn't work. She'd never manage it. She'd probably expire from the exertion.

"Leave my companion alone," she said tersely.

He leaned toward Miss Eversleigh, giving her a lopsided smile even though she was quite determinedly looking away. "Was I bothering you?"

"No," she said quickly. "Of course not."

Which couldn't have been further from the truth, but who was he to quibble?

He turned back to the old lady. "You didn't answer my question."

She lifted an imperious brow. Ah, he thought, completely without humor, that was where he got the expression.

"What do you plan to do with me?" he asked.

"Do with you." She repeated the words curiously, as if she found them most strange.

He lifted a brow right back at her, wondering if she'd recognize the gesture. "There are a great many options."

"My dear boy," she began. Her tone was grand. Condescending. As if he'd only needed this to realize that he ought to be licking her boots. "I'm going to give you the world."

Grace had just about managed to regain her equilibrium when the highwayman, after a lengthy and thoughtful frown, turned to the dowager and said, "I don't believe I'm interested in your world."

A bubble of horrified laughter burst forth from her throat. Oh dear heavens, the dowager looked ready to spit.

Grace clamped a hand over her mouth and turned away, trying not to notice that the highwayman was positively grinning at her.

"Apologies," he said to the dowager, not sounding the least bit contrite. "But can I have her world instead?"

Grace's head snapped back around in time to see him nodding in her direction. He shrugged. "I like you better."

"Are you never serious?" the dowager bit off.

And then he changed. His body did not move from its slouch, but Grace could feel the air around him coiling with tension. He was a dangerous man. He hid this well with his lazy charm and insolent smile.

But he was not a man to be crossed. She was sure of it.

"I'm always serious," he said, his eyes never leaving those of the dowager. "You'd do well to take note of that."

"I'm so sorry," Grace whispered, the words slipping out before she had a chance to consider them. The gravity of the situation was bearing down on her with uncomfortable intensity. She had been so worried about Thomas and what this would all mean for him. But in that moment it was brought home to her that there were two men caught in this web.

And whatever this man was, whoever he was, he did not deserve this. Perhaps he would want life as a Cavendish, with its riches and prestige. Most men would. But he deserved the choice. Everyone deserved a choice.

She looked over at him then, forcing herself to bring her eyes to his face. She had been avoiding his gaze as much as she could, but her cowardice suddenly felt distasteful.

He must have felt her watching him, because he turned. His dark hair fell forward over his brow, and his eyes - a spectacular shade of mossy green - grew warm. "I do like you better," he murmured, and she thought - hoped? - that she saw a flicker of respect in his gaze.

And then, quick as a blink, the moment was gone. His mouth slid into that cocky half smile and he let out a pent-up breath before saying, "It's a compliment."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say, Thank you, as ridiculous as that seemed, but then he shrugged - one shoulder only, as if that was all he could be bothered with - and added, "Of course, I would imagine that the only person I would like less than our esteemed countess - "