before she'd had time to consider her actions, she was already in the hall, hurrying down toward the end.
To the door on the right.
"Jack?" she said softly, pushing the door open a few inches.
He was sitting in a chair, facing the window, but he turned quickly and stood at the sound of her voice.
She let herself in and closed the door gently behind her. "Your aunt said - "
He was right there. Right there in front of her. And then her back was against the door, and he was kissing her, hard, fast, and - dear God - thoroughly.
And then he stepped away. She couldn't breathe, she could barely stand, and she knew she could not have put together a sentence if her life had depended on it.
Never in her life had she wanted anything as much as she wanted this man.
"Go to bed, Grace."
"What?"
"I cannot resist you," he said, his voice soft, haggard, and everything in between.
She reached toward him. She could not help it.
"Not in this house," he whispered.
But his eyes burned for her.
"Go," he said hoarsely. "Please."
She did. She ran up the stairs, found her room, and crawled between her sheets.
But she shivered all night.
She shivered and she burned.
Chapter Twenty-one
Can't sleep?"
Jack looked up from where he was still sitting in his uncle's study. Thomas was standing in the doorway.
"No," he said.
Thomas walked in. "Nor I."
Jack held out the bottle of brandy he'd taken from the shelf. There had not been a speck of dust on it, even though he was quite certain it had gone untouched since his uncle's death. Aunt Mary had always run a pristine household.
"It's good," Jack said. "I think my uncle was saving it." He blinked, looking down at the label, then murmured, "Not for this, I imagine."
He motioned to a set of crystal snifters near the window, waiting with the bottle in hand as Thomas walked across the room and took one. When Thomas returned, he sat in the study's other wingback chair, setting his snifter down on the small, low table between them. Jack reached out and poured. Generously.
Thomas took the brandy and drank, his eyes narrowing as he stared out the window. "It will be dawn soon."
Jack nodded. There were no hints of pink in the sky, but the pale silvery glow of morning had begun to permeate the air. "Has anyone awakened?" he asked.
"Not that I've heard."
They sat in silence for several moments. Jack finished his drink and considered another. He picked up the bottle to pour, but as the first drops splashed down, he realized he didn't really want it. He looked up.
"Do you ever feel as if you are on display?"
Thomas's face remained impassive. "All the time."
"How do you bear it?"
"I don't know anything else."
Jack placed his fingers to his forehead and rubbed. He had a blistering headache and no reason to suppose it might improve. "It's going to be hideous today."
Thomas nodded.
Jack closed his eyes. It was easy to picture the scene. The dowager would insist upon reading the register first, and Crowland would be right over his shoulder, cackling away, ready to sell his daughter off to the highest bidder. His aunt would probably want to come, and Amelia, too - and who could blame her? She had as much at stake as anyone.
The only person who would not be there was Grace.
The only person he needed by his side.
"It's going to be a bloody circus," Jack muttered.
"Indeed."
They sat there, doing nothing, and then they both looked up at precisely the same moment. Their eyes met, and Jack watched Thomas's face as his gaze slid over toward the window.
Outside.
"Shall we?" Jack asked, and he felt the first glimmerings of a smile.
"Before anyone - "
"Right now." Because really, no one else had a place at this table.
Thomas stood. "Lead the way."
Jack rose to his feet and headed out the door, Thomas right behind. And as they mounted their horses and took off, the air still heavy with night, it occurred to him -
They were cousins.
And for the first time, that felt like a good thing.
Morning was well under way when they reached the Maguiresbridge church. Jack had been there several times before, visiting his mother's family, and the old gray stone felt comfortable and familiar. The building was small, and humble, and in his opinion, everything a church ought to be.
"It does not look as if anyone is about," Thomas said. If he was unimpressed by the plainness of the architecture, he did