Page 58 of The Lost Duke of Wyndham

“Many,” he answered promptly, “but they’d leave your reputation in tatters.”

“Mr. Au—”

“Jack,” he reminded her, and somehow there was less space between them. “You called me Jack last night.”

Grace did not move, despite the fact that her heels were itching to scoot backwards. He was not close enough to kiss her, not even close enough to accidentally brush his hand against her arm. But her lungs felt suddenly devoid of air, and her heart had begun to race, beating erratically in her chest.

She could feel it forming on her tongue—Jack. But she could not say it. Not in this moment, with the image of him as the duke still fresh in her mind. “Mr. Audley,” she said, and although she tried for sternness, she did not quite manage it.

“I am heartbroken,” he said, and he did it with the exact right note of levity to restore her equilibrium. “But I shall carry on, painful though it may be.”

“Yes, you look to be in despair,” she murmured.

One of his brows rose. “Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?”

“Just a hint.”

“Good, because I assure you”—he thumped one hand against his heart—“I am dying on the inside.”

She laughed, but she tried to hold it in, so it came out more like a snort. It should have been embarrassing; with anyone else it would have been. But he had set her back at ease, and instead she felt herself smile. She wondered if he realized what a talent it was—to return any conversation to a smile. “Come with me, Mr. Audley,” she said, motioning for him to accompany her down the hall. “I shall show you my very favorite room.”

“Are there cupids?”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I was attacked by cupids this morning,” he said with a shrug, as if such a thing were a common day occurrence. “In my dressing room.”

And again she smiled, this time even more broadly. “Ah. I’d forgotten. It’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

“Unless one is partial to naked babies.”

Again her laughter snorted out.

“Something in your throat?” he asked innocently.

She answered him with a dry look, then said, “I believe the dressing room was decorated by the present duke’s great-grandmother.”

“Yes, I’d assumed it wasn’t the dowager,” he said cheerfully. “She doesn’t seem the sort for cherubs of any stripe.”

The image that brought forth was enough to make her laugh aloud.

“Finally,” he said, and at her curious look, added, “I thought you were going to choke on it earlier.”

“You seem to have regained your good mood as well,” she pointed out.

“It requires only the removal of my presence from her presence.”

“But you only just met the dowager yesterday. Surely you’ve had a disagreeable moment before that.”

He flashed her a broad grin. “Happy since the day I was born.”

“Oh, come now, Mr. Audley.”

“I never admit to my black moods.”

She raised her brows. “You merely experience them?”

He chuckled at that. “Indeed.”

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