The Lost Duke of Wyndham Page 0,17

then somewhere behind him a bird cawed, snapping him from his trance, and one thought pounded through his head.

Time to go.

He never stayed in one spot for long, but here - this place - it was surely the most dangerous of all.

He gave it one last look. Not of longing; he did not long for this. And as for the girl from the carriage - he fought down something strange and acrid, burning in his throat - he would not long for her, either.

Some things were simply untenable.

"Who was that man?"

Grace heard Elizabeth speak, but she pretended not to. They were sitting in the Willoughbys'

comfortable carriage, but their happy threesome now numbered four.

The dowager had, upon rising from her bed, taken one look at Amelia's sun-kissed cheeks (Grace did think that she and Thomas had taken quite a long walk together, all things considered), and gone into a barely intelligible tirade about the proper decorum of a future duchess. It was not every day one heard a speech containing dynasty, procreation, and sunspots - all in one sentence.

But the dowager had managed it, and now they were all miserable, Amelia most of all. The dowager had got it into her head that she needed to speak with Lady Crowland - most probably about the supposed blemishes on Amelia's skin - and so she invited herself along for the ride, giving instructions to the Wyndham stables to ready a carriage and send it after them for the return journey.

Grace had come along, too. Because, quite frankly, she didn't have any choice.

"Grace?" It was Elizabeth again.

Grace sucked in her lips and positively glued her eyes to a spot on the seat cushion just to the left of the dowager's head.

"Who was it?" Elizabeth persisted.

"No one," Grace said quickly. "Are we ready to depart?" She looked out the window, pretending to wonder why they were delayed on the drive. Any moment now they would leave for Burges Park, where the Willoughbys lived. She had been dreading the journey, short though it was.

And then she'd seen him.

The highwayman. Whose name wasn't Cavendish.

But once was.

He had left before the dowager emerged from the castle, turning his mount in a display of horsemanship so expert that even she, who was no equestrienne, recognized his skill.

But he had seen her. And he had recognized her. She was certain of it.

She'd felt it.

Grace tapped her fingers impatiently against the side of her thigh. She thought of Thomas, and of the enormous portrait that had passed by the doorway of the sitting room. She thought of Amelia, who had been raised since birth to be the bride of a duke. And she thought of herself. Her world might not be quite what she wanted, but it was hers, and it was safe.

One man had the power to send it all crashing down.

Which was why, even though she would have traded a corner of her soul for just one more kiss from a man whose name she did not know, when Elizabeth remarked that it looked as if she knew him, she said, sharply, "I do not."

The dowager looked up, her face pinched with irritation. "What are you talking about?"

"There was a man at the end of the drive," Elizabeth said, before Grace could deny anything.

The dowager's head snapped back in Grace's direction. "Who was it?" she demanded.

"I don't know. I could not see his face." Which wasn't a lie. Not the second part, at least.

"Who was it?" the dowager thundered, her voice rising over the sound of the wheels beginning their rumble down the drive.

"I don't know," Grace repeated, but even she could hear the cracks in her voice.

"Did you see him?" the dowager asked Amelia.

Grace's eyes caught Amelia's. Something passed between them.

"I saw no one, ma'am," said Amelia.

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

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 stop, and Amelia, who had been sitting face front beside the dowager, tumbled forward, landing at Grace's feet. She tried to get up but was blocked by the dowager, who had reached across the carriage to grab Grace's chin, her long, ancient fingers digging cruelly into her skin.

"I will give you one more chance, Miss Eversleigh," she hissed.