Page 62 of The Lost Duke of Wyndham

She would fall in love.

Good heavens.

Either he was a highwayman, and now she was destined to be the consort of an outlaw, or he was the true Duke of Wyndham, which meant—

She laughed because really, this was funny. It had to be funny. If it wasn’t funny, then it could only be tragic, and she didn’t think she could manage that just now.

Wonderful. Perhaps she was falling in love with the Duke of Wyndham. Now that was appropriate. Let’s see, how many ways was this a disaster? He was her employer, for one, he owned the house in which she lived, and his rank was so far above hers as to be nearly immeasurable.

And then there was Amelia. She and Thomas certainly did not suit, but she had every right to expect that she would be the Duchess of Wyndham upon her marriage. Grace could not imagine how crass and overreaching she would appear to the Willoughbys—her good friends—if she were seen to be throwing herself at the new duke.

Grace closed her eyes and touched the tips of her fingers to her lips. If she breathed deeply enough she almost relaxed. And she could almost still feel his presence, his touch, the warmth of his skin.

It was awful.

It was wonderful.

She was a fool.

She lay down, let out a long, weary breath. Funny how she’d hoped for change, for something to break the monotony of her days attending to the dowager. Life was a mocking sort of thing, wasn’t it? And love…

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 à la Brutus.

Or even à 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.

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