Page 36 of Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

And judging from Grace’s reaction to the annoying sod, Amelia would be head over heels for him at first sight.

He snorted in exasperation. If the day descended any further, he’d reach the seventh level of hell before nightfall. “I’m getting a pint,” he announced.

“Of ale?” Audley asked in surprise, as if he could not imagine the Duke of Wyndham drinking anything so plebeian.

“While you do whatever it is you wish to do,” Thomas said. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “I assume you don’t need me to help you fold up your unmentionables.”

Audley turned, his eyebrows arched. “Not unless you have a preference for other men’s undergarments. Far be it for me to put a halt to your jollies.”

Thomas met his stare with cool purpose. “Don’t make me hit you again.”

“You’d lose.”

“You’d die.”

“Not at your hand,” Audley muttered.

“What did you say?”

“You’re still the duke,” Audley said with a shrug.

Thomas gripped his reins with far greater vigor than was necessary. And even though he knew exactly what Audley was saying, he found himself gripped—by a peevish little need to make him spell it out. And so, his tone sharp and clipped—and yes, quite ducal—he said, “By this you mean…”

Audley turned. He looked lazy, and self-possessed, and completely at ease with himself, which infuriated Thomas because Audley was—or looked to be—everything that he himself normally was.

But not now. His heart was pounding, and his hands felt itchy, and more than anything the world seemed somewhat dizzy. It wasn’t him. He did not feel off-balance. Everything else did. He was almost afraid to close his eyes, because when he opened them the sky would be green and the horses would be speaking French, and every time he tried to take a step, the ground would not be quite where he expected it.

And then Audley said, “You are the Duke of Wyndham. The law is always on your side.”

Thomas really wanted to hit him again. Especially since it would prove Audley right. No one would dare cross him here in the village. He could beat Audley to a bloody pulp, and his remains would be swept neatly aside.

All hail the Duke of Wyndham. Just think of all the perks of the title he’d never got around to taking advantage of.

They reached the posting inn, and he tossed the reins to the stable boy who came running out to greet them. Bobby, his name was. Thomas had known him for years. His parents were tenants—honest, hardworking folk, who insisted upon bringing a basket of shortbread to Belgrave every year at Christmas, even though they knew that the Cavendishes could not possibly be in need of food.

“Your grace,” Bobby said, beaming up at him, even as he panted from his run.

“You’ll take good care of them, Bobby?” Thomas nodded toward Audley’s mount as the boy took those reins as well.

“The best, sir.”

“Which is why I would never trust them to someone else.” Thomas tossed him a coin. “We’ll be an…hour?” He looked to Audley.

“If that,” Audley confirmed. He turned down toward Bobby then, looked the lad straight in the eye, which Thomas found surprising. “You weren’t here yesterday,” he said.

“No, sir,” Bobby replied. “I only works five days each week.”

Thomas saw to it that the innkeeper got a little bonus each month for giving the younger boys an extra day off. Not that anyone save the innkeeper knew about it.

“Have you met Lucy?”

Lucy? Thomas listened with interest.

“The black gelding?” Bobby’s eyes lit up.

“You have a gelding named Lucy?” Thomas asked.

“That’s the one,” Audley said to Bobby. And then to Thomas, “It’s a long story.”

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