The Lost Duke of Wyndham (Two Dukes of Wyndham, #1)(57)

He always tried to play the seducer then, to gaze at her with smoldering intensity, to see if she'd melt in a pool of whimpering desire.

But he never did. Because all he could do, whenever she looked back at him, was smile like a lovesick fool. He would have been disgusted with himself, except that she always smiled in return, which never failed to turn the tickle and fizz into something even more bubbly and carefree.

He pushed open the door to Belgrave's front hall, pausing for a moment once he was inside. It took a few seconds to adjust to the abrupt lack of wind, and indeed, his body gave an unprompted little shake, as if to push away the chill. This also gave him time to glance about the hall, and indeed, he was rewarded for his diligence.

"Miss Eversleigh!" he called out, since she was at the far end of the long space, presumably off on another one of the dowager's ridiculous errands.

"Mr. Audley," she said, smiling as she walked toward him.

He shrugged off his coat (presumably purloined from the ducal closet) and handed it to a footman, marveling, as always, at how the servants seemed to materialize from nowhere, always at the exact moment they were needed.

Someone had trained them well. He was close enough to his military days to appreciate this.

Grace reached his side before he had even pulled off his gloves. "Have you been out for a ride?" she asked.

"Indeed. It's a perfect day for it."

"Even with all the wind?"

"It's best with wind."

"I trust you were reunited with your horse?"

"Indeed. Lucy and I make a fine team."

"You ride a mare?"

"A gelding."

She blinked with curiosity, but not, strangely, surprise. "You named your gelding Lucy?"

He gave his shrug a bit of dramatic flair. "It is one of those stories that loses something in the retelling."

In truth, it involved drink, three separate wagers, and a propensity for the contrary that he was not certain he was proud of.

"I am not much of an equestrienne," she said. It was not an apology, just a statement of fact.

"By choice or circumstance?"

"A bit of both," she replied, and she looked a bit curious, as if she'd never thought to ask herself that question.

"You shall have to join me sometime."

She smiled ruefully. "I hardly think that falls within the scope of my duties to the dowager."

Jack rather doubted that. He remained suspicious of the dowager's motives as pertained to Grace; she seemed to thrust Grace in his direction at every possible occasion, like some piece of ripened fruit, dangled before his nose to entice him to stay put. He found it all rather appalling, but wasn't about to deny himself the pleasure of Grace's company just to spite the old bat.

"Bah," he said. "All the best companions go riding with the houseguests."

"Oh." So dubious. "Really."

"Well, they do in my imagination, at least."

Grace shook her head, not even trying not to smile. "Mr. Audley..."

But he was looking this way and that, his manner almost comically surreptitious. "I think we're alone,"

he whispered.

Grace leaned in, feeling very sly. "Which means...?"

"You can call me Jack."

She pretended to consider. "No, I don't think so."

"I won't tell."

"Mmmm..." Her nose scrunched, and then a matter-of-fact: "No."

"You did it once."

She pressed her lips together, suppressing not a smile, but a full-fledged laugh. "That was a mistake."

"Indeed."

Grace gasped and turned. It was Thomas.

"Where the devil did he come from?" Mr. Audley murmured.

From the small saloon, Grace thought miserably. The entrance was right behind them. Thomas frequently spent time there, reading or tending to his correspondence. He said he liked the afternoon light.

But it wasn't afternoon. And he smelled like brandy.

"A pleasant conversation," Thomas drawled. "One of many, I assume."

"Were you eavesdropping?" Mr. Audley said mildly. "For shame."

"Your grace," Grace began, "I - "

"It's Thomas," he cut in derisively, "or don't you recall? You've used my name far more than once."

Grace felt her cheeks grow hot. She'd not been sure how much of the conversation Thomas had heard.

Apparently, most of it.

"Is that so?" Mr. Audley said. "In that case, I insist you call me Jack." He turned to Thomas and shrugged. "It's only fair."

Thomas made no verbal reply, although his thunderous expression spoke volumes. Mr. Audley turned back to her and said, "I shall call you Grace."

"You will not," Thomas snapped.

Mr. Audley remained as calm as ever. "Does he always make these decisions for you?"

"This is my house," Thomas returned.

"Possibly not for long," Mr. Audley murmured.

Grace actually lurched forward, so sure was she that Thomas was going to lunge at him. But in the end Thomas only chuckled.

He chuckled, but it was an awful sound.

"Just so you know," he said, looking Mr. Audley in the eye, "she doesn't come with the house."