The Lost Duke of Wyndham (Two Dukes of Wyndham, #1)(48)

Love was the cruelest joke of all.

"Lady Amelia is here to see you, Miss Eversleigh."

Grace jolted upright, blinking furiously. She must have fallen asleep. She could not recall the last time she had done so at midday. "Lady Amelia?" she echoed, surprised. "With Lady Elizabeth?"

"No, miss," the maid informed her. "She is alone."

"How curious." Grace sat up, flexing her feet and hands to awaken her body. "Please tell her I shall be right there." She waited for the maid to depart, then went to her small mirror to straighten her hair. It was worse than she'd feared, although she could not be certain whether it had been mussed in sleep or by Mr.

Audley.

She felt her skin flush at the memory, and she groaned at that. Gathering her determination, she repinned her hair and left the room, walking as briskly as she could, as if speed and a set of squared shoulders could keep all of her worries at bay.

Or at the very least, make her look as if she did not care.

It did seem odd that Amelia would come to Belgrave without Elizabeth. Grace did not know that she had ever done so before. Certainly not to see her. Grace wondered if her original intention had been to call upon Thomas, who was, as far as she knew, still out.

She hurried down the stairs, then turned to make for the front drawing room. But she'd not taken more than a dozen steps before someone grabbed her arm and yanked her into a side room.

"Thomas!" she exclaimed. It was indeed he, somewhat haggard and sporting a nasty bruise under his left eye. His appearance was a shock; she had never seen him looking so rumpled before. His shirt was wrinkled, his cravat missing, and his hair had most definitely not been styled a la Brutus.

Or even a la human.

And then there were his eyes, which were most uncharacteristically red-rimmed.

"What happened to you?"

He put a finger to his lips and shut the door. "Were you expecting someone else?" he asked, and her cheeks grew warm. Indeed, when she'd felt a strong male hand close around her arm and pull, she had assumed it was Mr. Audley, trying to steal a kiss.

Her flush grew deeper as she realized she had been disappointed to realize that it was not.

"No, of course not," she said quickly, even though she suspected he knew she was lying. She quickly glanced around the room to see if they were alone. "What is wrong?"

"I needed to speak with you before you see Lady Amelia."

"Oh, then you know she is here?"

"I brought her," he confirmed.

Her eyes widened. That was news. He had been out all night and was considerably worse for the wear.

She glanced at a nearby clock. It was not yet even noon. When could he have collected Amelia? And where?

And why?

"It is a long story," he said, clearly to cut her off before she could ask any questions. "But suffice it to say, she will inform you that you were in Stamford this morning, and you invited her back to Belgrave."

Her brows rose. If he was asking her to lie, it was very serious, indeed. "Thomas, any number of people know quite well that I was not in Stamford this morning."

"Yes, but her mother is not among that number."

Grace wasn't sure if she should be shocked or delighted. Had he compromised Amelia? Why else would they need to lie to her mother? "Er, Thomas..." she began, unsure of how to proceed. "I feel I must tell you, given the number of delays thus far, I would imagine that Lady Crowland would be delighted to know - "

"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 risque, but it was never profane).