The Lost Duke of Wyndham Page 0,33

at the dowager, as if daring her to comment.

She did not, much to Grace's surprise.

And then he turned to her, offering her an elegant bow. "You may refer to me as Mr. Audley if you wish, Miss Eversleigh."

Grace bobbed a curtsy. She was not certain if this was a requirement, since no one had any clue as to his rank, but it seemed only polite. He had bowed, after all.

She glanced at the dowager, who was glaring at her, and then at Thomas, who somehow managed to look amused and annoyed at the same time.

"She can't sack you for using his legal name," Thomas said with his usual hint of impatience. "And if she does, I shall retire you with a lifelong bequest and have her sent off to some far-flung property."

Mr. Audley looked at Thomas with surprise and approval before turning to Grace and smiling. "It's tempting," he murmured. "How far can she be flung?"

"I am considering adding to our holdings," Thomas replied. "The Outer Hebrides are lovely this time of year."

"You're despicable," the dowager hissed.

"Why do I keep her on?" Thomas wondered aloud. He walked over to a cabinet and poured himself a drink.

"She is your grandmother," Grace said, since someone had to be the voice of reason.

"Ah yes, blood." Thomas sighed. "I'm told it's thicker than water. Pity." He looked over at Mr. Audley.

"You'll soon learn."

Grace half expected Mr. Audley to bristle at Thomas's tone of condescension, but his face remained blandly unconcerned. Curious. It seemed the two men had forged some sort of truce.

"And now," Thomas announced, looking squarely at his grandmother, "my work here is done. I have returned the prodigal son to your loving bosom, and all is right with the world. Not my world," he added,

"but someone's world, I'm sure."

"Not mine," Mr. Audley said, when no one else seemed inclined to comment. And then he unleashed a smile - slow, lazy, and meant to paint himself as the careless rogue he was. "In case you were interested."

Thomas looked at him, his nose crinkling in an expression of vague indifference. "I wasn't."

Grace's head bobbed back to Mr. Audley. He was still smiling. She looked to Thomas, waiting for him to say something more.

He dipped his head toward her in wry salute, then tossed back his liquor in one shockingly large swallow.

"I am going out."

"Where?" demanded the dowager.

Thomas paused in the doorway. "I have not yet decided."

Which meant, Grace was sure, anywhere but here.

Chapter Seven

And that, Jack decided, was his cue to leave as well.

Not that he had any great love for the duke. Indeed, he'd had quite enough of his marvelous lordliness for one day and was perfectly happy to see his back as he left the room. But the thought of remaining here with the dowager...

Even Miss Eversleigh's delightful company was not enough of a temptation to endure more of that.

"I believe I shall retire as well," he announced.

"Wyndham did not retire," the dowager said peevishly. "He went out."

"Then I shall retire," Jack said. He smiled blandly. "End of sentence."

"It's barely dark," the dowager pointed out.

"I'm tired." It was true. He was.

"My John used to stay up until the wee hours," she said softly.

Jack sighed. He did not want to feel sorry for this woman. She was hard, ruthless, and thoroughly unlikable. But she had, apparently, loved her son. His father. And she'd lost him.

A mother shouldn't outlive her children. He knew this as well as he knew how to breathe. It was unnatural.

And so instead of pointing out that her John had most likely never been kidnapped, strangled, blackmailed, and stripped of his (albeit paltry) livelihood, all in one day, he walked forward and set her ring - the very one he had all but snatched from her finger - on the table next to her. His own was in his pocket. He was not quite prepared to share its existence with her. "Your ring, madam," he said.

She nodded, then took it into her hands.

"What is the D for?" he asked. His whole life, he'd wondered. He might as well gain something from this debacle.

"Debenham. My birth surname."

Ah. It made sense. She'd have given her own heirlooms to her favorite son.

"My father was the Duke of Runthorpe."

"I am not surprised," he murmured. She could decide for herself if that was a compliment. He bowed.

"Good evening, your grace."

The dowager's mouth tightened with disappointment. But she seemed to recognize that if there had been a battle that day, she was the only one