Page 29 of Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

Amelia swallowed. “I saw no one, ma’am.”

The dowager dismissed her with a snort, turning the full weight of her fury on Grace. “Was it he?”

Amelia sucked in her breath. Who were they talking about?

Grace shook her head. “I don’t know,” she stammered. “I couldn’t say.”

“Stop the carriage,” the dowager yelled, lurching forward and shoving Grace aside so she could bang on the wall separating the cabin and the driver. “Stop, I tell you!”

The carriage came to a sudden halt, and Amelia, who had been sitting face-front beside the dowager, tumbled forward, landing at Grace’s feet. She tried to get up, but the dowager had reached across the carriage and clamped her hand around Grace’s chin.

“I will give you one more chance, Miss Eversleigh,” she hissed. “Was it he?”

Amelia stopped breathing.

Grace did not move, and then, very slightly, she nodded.

And the dowager went mad.

Amelia had just regained her seat when she had to duck to avoid being decapitated by her walking stick. “Turn the carriage around!” the dowager was yelling. They slowed, then turned sharply when the dowager screeched, “Go! Go!”

In less than a minute they were back at the front of Belgrave Castle, and Amelia was staring in horror as the dowager shoved Grace out of the carriage. She and Elizabeth both rose to stare out the doorway as the dowager hopped down after her.

“Was Grace limping?” Elizabeth asked.

“I—” She’d been about to say, I don’t know, but the dowager had cut her off, slamming the carriage door shut without a word.

“What just happened?” Elizabeth asked as the carriage lurched forward toward home.

“I have no idea,” Amelia whispered. She turned and watched the castle receding into the distance. “None at all.”

Chapter 6

Later that day, Thomas was sitting in his study, reflecting upon the rather enticing curve of his fiancée’s backside (as he pretended to inspect some contracts his secretary had drawn up). It was a most pleasant pastime, and he might well have continued in this manner through to supper if not for the tremendous commotion that erupted in the hall.

“Don’t you want to know my name?” an unfamiliar male voice called out.

Thomas paused, setting down his pen but not otherwise making any motion to rise. He didn’t really care to investigate, and when he heard nothing more in the next few moments, he decided to return to his contracts. He’d just dipped his point in ink when his grandmother’s voice rent the air as only her voice could.

“Will you leave my companion alone!”

At that, Thomas stood. Possible harm to his grandmother could be easily ignored, but not to Grace. He strode into the corridor and glanced out toward the front. Good Lord. What was his grandmother up to now? She was standing by the drawing room door, a few paces away from Grace, who looked as miserable and mortified as he had ever seen her. Next to Grace was a man Thomas had never seen before.

Whose hands his grandmother appeared to have had bound behind his back.

Thomas groaned. The old bat was a menace.

He moved forward, intending to free the man with an apology and a bribe, but as he approached the threesome, he heard the bloody cur whisper to Grace, “I might kiss your mouth.”

“What the devil?” Thomas demanded. He closed the distance between them. “Is this man bothering you, Grace?”

She shook her head quickly, but he saw something else on her face. Something very close to panic. “No, no,” she said, “he’s not. But—”

Thomas turned on the stranger. He did not like the look in Grace’s eyes. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” was the other man’s reply. That and a rather disrespectful smirk.

“I am Wyndham,” Thomas shot back, prepared to put an end to this nonsense. “And you are in my home.”

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