Page 36 of The Lost Duke of Wyndham

And so instead of pointing out that her John had most likely never been kidnapped, strangled, blackmailed, and stripped of his (albeit paltry) livelihood, all in one day, he walked forward and set her ring—the very one he had all but snatched from her finger—on the table next to her. His own was in his pocket. He was not quite prepared to share its existence with her. “Your ring, madam,” he said.

She nodded, then took it into her hands.

“What is the D for?” he asked. His whole life, he’d wondered. He might as well gain something from this debacle.

“Debenham. My birth surname.”

Ah. It made sense. She’d have given her own heirlooms to her favorite son.

“My father was the Duke of Runthorpe.”

“I am not surprised,” he murmured. She could decide for herself if that was a compliment. He bowed. “Good evening, your grace.”

The dowager’s mouth tightened with disappointment. But she seemed to recognize that if there had been a battle that day, she was the only one who had emerged victorious, and she was surprisingly gracious as she said, “I shall have supper sent up.”

Jack nodded and murmured his thanks, then turned to exit.

“Miss Eversleigh will show you to your room.”

At that Jack snapped to attention, and when he looked Miss Eversleigh’s way, he saw that she had, too.

He had been expecting a footman. Possibly the butler. This was a delightful surprise.

“Is that a problem, Miss Eversleigh?” the dowager asked. Her voice sounded sly, a little bit taunting.

“Of course not,” Miss Eversleigh replied. Her eyes were clouded but not entirely unreadable. She was surprised. He could see it by the way her lashes seemed to reach a little higher toward her brows. She was not used to being ordered to tend to anyone except the dowager. Her employer, he decided, did not like to share her. And as his eyes fell again to her lips, he decided that he was in complete accord. If she were his, if he had any right to her…he would not wish to share her, either.

He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to touch her, just a soft brush of hand against skin, so fleeting that it could only be deemed accidental.

But more than any of that, he wanted use of her name.

Grace.

He liked it. He found it soothing.

“See to his comfort, Miss Eversleigh.”

Jack turned to the dowager with widening eyes. She sat like a statue, her hands folded primly in her lap, but the corners of her mouth were tilted ever so slightly up, and her eyes looked cunning and amused.

She was giving Grace to him. As clear as day, she was telling him to make use of her companion, if that was his desire.

Good Lord. What sort of family had he fallen into?

“As you wish, ma’am,” Miss Eversleigh replied, and in that moment Jack felt soiled, almost dirty, because he was quite certain she had no idea that her employer was attempting to whore her off on him.

It was the most appalling sort of bribe. Stay the night, and you can have the girl.

It sickened him. Doubly so, because he wanted the girl. He just didn’t want her given to him.

“It is most kind of you, Miss Eversleigh,” he said, feeling as if he had to be extra polite to make up for the dowager. They reached the door, and then, before he forgot, he turned back. He and the duke had spoken only tersely on their outing, but on one matter they had been in accord. “Oh, by the by, should anyone ask, I am a friend of Wyndham’s. From years gone by.”

“From university?” Miss Eversleigh suggested.

Jack fought back a grim chuckle. “No. I did not attend.”

“You did not attend!” the dowager gasped. “I was led to believe you’d had a gentleman’s education.”

“By whom?” Jack inquired, ever so politely.

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