The Lost Duke of Wyndham (Two Dukes of Wyndham, #1)(53)

"Ireland, Lady Amelia, a bit north of Dublin."

"Ireland!" Amelia exclaimed. "My goodness, you are far afield."

They'd finished circling the room, but Grace remained standing even after Amelia had disengaged herself and sat down. Then Grace moved toward the door as subtly as she was able.

"How are you enjoying Lincolnshire, Mr. Audley?" she heard Amelia ask.

"I find it most surprising."

"Surprising?"

Grace peered out into the hall, still half listening to the conversation behind her.

"My visit here has not been what I expected," Mr. Audley said, and Grace could well imagine his amused smile as he said that.

"Really?" Amelia responded. "What did you expect? I assure you, we are quite civilized in this corner of England."

"Very much so," he murmured. "More so than is my preference, as a matter of fact."

"Why, Mr. Audley," Amelia responded, "whatever can that mean?"

If he made a reply, Grace did not hear it. Just then she saw Thomas coming down the hall, all tidied up and looking like a duke again.

"Oh," she said, the word slipping from her lips. "Excuse me." She hurried into the hall, waving madly toward Thomas so as not to alert Amelia and Mr. Audley to her distress.

"Grace," he said, moving forward with great purpose, "what is the meaning of this? Penrith told me that Amelia was here to see me?"

He did not slow as he approached, and Grace realized he meant for her to fall in step beside him.

"Thomas, wait," she said with hushed urgency, and she grabbed his arm and yanked him to a halt.

He turned to her, one of his brows rising into a haughty arch.

"It's Mr. Audley," she said, pulling him back even farther from the door. "He is in the drawing room."

Thomas glanced toward the drawing room and then back at Grace, clearly not comprehending.

"With Amelia," she practically hissed.

All traces of his unflappable exterior vanished. "What the hell?" he cursed. He looked sharply back toward the drawing room, not that he could possibly have seen inside from his vantage point. "Why?"

"I don't know," Grace said, her voice snapping with irritation. Why would she know why? "He was in there when I arrived. Amelia said she saw him walking by the doorway and thought he was you."

His body shuddered. Visibly. "What did he say?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there. And then I couldn't very well interrogate her in his presence."

"No, of course not."

Grace waited in silence for him to say more. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, and he looked rather as if his head were aching. Trying to offer some sort of not unpleasant news, she said, "I'm quite sure that he did not reveal his..."

Oh, good heavens. How was she to put it?

"...identity to her," she finished with a wince.

Thomas gave her a thoroughly awful look.

"It is not my fault, Thomas," she retorted.

"I did not say that it was." His voice was stiff, and he did not offer any more words before stalking off to the drawing room.

From the moment Grace rushed from the room, neither Jack nor Lady Amelia had uttered a word. It was as if they had reached an unspoken agreement; silence would prevail while they both tried to make out what was being said in the hall.

Jack had always considered himself better than average in the art of eavesdropping, but he was unable to catch even the sound of their whispers. Still, he had a fair idea of what was being said. Grace was warning Wyndham that the evil Mr. Audley had got his claws into the lovely and innocent Lady Amelia.

And then Wyndham would curse - under his breath, of course, as he would never be so crass as to do so in front of a lady - and demand to know what had been said.

The whole thing would have been highly entertaining if not for her, and the morning. And the kiss.

Grace.

He wanted her back. He wanted the woman he'd held in his arms, not the one who'd stiffly walked the perimeter of the room with Lady Amelia, eyeing him as if he were going to steal the silver at any moment.

He supposed it was amusing. Somehow. And he supposed he ought to congratulate himself. Whatever she felt for him, it was not disinterest. Which would have been the cruelest response of all.

But for the first time, he was finding that his conquest of a lady was not a game to be played. He did not care about the thrill of the chase, about remaining one enjoyable and entertaining step ahead, about planning the seduction and then carrying it out with flair and flourish.

He simply wanted her.

Maybe even forever.

He glanced over at Lady Amelia. She was leaning forward, her head tilted ever so slightly to the side, as if to place her ear at the best possible angle.

"You won't be able to hear them," Jack said.

The look she gave him was priceless. And completely false.

"Oh, don't pretend you weren't trying," he scolded. "I certainly was."

"Very well." Lady Amelia waited for a moment, then asked, "What do you suppose they are talking about?"

Ah, curiosity would always win out with this one. She was more intelligent than she let on at first acquaintance, he decided. He shrugged, feigning ignorance. "Difficult to say. I would never presume to understand the female mind, or that of our esteemed host."