Page 45 of The Lost Duke of Wyndham

Probably. Morning people never awoke with only ten minutes to spare before breakfast.

She wondered what he looked like, all sleepy and rumpled.

“Is something wrong, Miss Eversleigh?” the dowager sharply inquired.

Grace blinked. “Wrong, ma’am?”

“You…chirped.” She said this with considerable distaste, as if handling something with a particularly foul smell.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Grace said quickly, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. She could feel her cheeks growing warm, and she had a feeling that even in the morning light and with the dowager’s diminished vision, her blush would be clearly visible.

Really, she should not be imagining Mr. Audley, and especially not in any state of dishabille. Heaven only knew what sorts of inappropriate sounds she would make the next time.

But he was handsome. Even when all she’d seen of him was the lower half of his face and his mask, that much had been clear. His lips were the sort that always held a touch of humor. She wondered if he even knew how to frown. And his eyes…Well, she hadn’t been able to see those that first night, and that was almost certainly a good thing. She’d never seen anything quite so emerald. They far outshone the dowager’s emeralds, which, Grace was still chagrined to remember, she’d risked her life (in theory, at least) to keep safe.

“Miss Eversleigh!”

Grace jerked upright. “Ma’am?”

The dowager pierced with a stare. “You snorted.”

“I did?”

“Are you questioning my hearing?”

“Of course not, ma’am.” The dowager abhorred the notion that any part of her might be susceptible to the usual impairments of age. Grace cleared her throat. “I apologize, ma’am. I was not aware. I must have, ehrm, breathed heavily.”

“Breathed heavily.” The dowager appeared to find that as appealing as she had Grace’s earlier chirp.

Grace touched a hand lightly to her chest. “A bit of congestion, I’m afraid.”

The dowager’s nostrils flared as she peered down at the cup in her hands. “I do hope you did not breathe on my chocolate.”

“Of course not, ma’am. The kitchen maids always carry the tray up.”

The dowager evidently did not find any reason to ponder that further, and she turned back to her newspaper, leaving Grace alone once more with her thoughts of Mr. Audley.

Mr. Audley.

“Miss Eversleigh!”

At that Grace stood. This was getting ridiculous. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You sighed.”

“I sighed?”

“Do you deny it?”

“No,” Grace replied. “That is to say, I did not notice that I sighed, but I certainly allow that I could have done so.”

The dowager waved an irritated hand in her direction. “You are most distracting this morning.”

Grace felt her eyes light up. Did this mean she’d escape early?

“Sit down, Miss Eversleigh.”

She sat. Apparently not.

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