The Lost Duke of Wyndham Page 0,58

me home when I was" - he blushed then. Blushed! Thomas! - "impaired."

Grace bit her lip to keep from smiling. It was quite remarkable what a pleasant image that was - Thomas allowing himself to be anything less than perfectly composed. "That was most charitable of her," she said, perhaps a little too primly. But really, it couldn't be helped.

He glared at her, which only made it more difficult to maintain an even face.

She cleared her throat. "Have you, er, considered tidying up?"

"No," he snapped, "I rather enjoy looking like a slovenly fool."

Grace winced at that.

"Now listen," he continued, looking terribly determined. "Amelia will repeat what I have told you, but it is imperative that you not tell her about Mr. Audley."

"I would never do that," Grace said quickly. "It is not my place."

"Good."

"But she will want to know why you were, er..." Oh, dear, how to put it politely?

"You don't know why," he said firmly. "Just tell her that. Why would she suspect that you would know more?"

"She knows that I consider you a friend," Grace said. "And furthermore, I live here. Servants always know everything. She knows that."

"You're not a servant," he muttered.

"I am and you know it," she replied, almost amused. "The only difference is that I am allowed to wear finer clothing and occasionally converse with the guests. But I assure you, I am privy to all of the household gossip."

For several seconds he did nothing but stare, as if waiting for her to laugh and say, Only joking! Finally he muttered something under his breath that she was quite certain she was not meant to understand (and indeed she did not; servants' gossip was occasionally risque, but it was never profane).

"For me, Grace," he said, his eyes boring into hers, "will you please just tell her you don't know?"

It was the closest she had ever heard him come to begging, and it left her disoriented and acutely uncomfortable. "Of course," she said quickly. "You have my word."

He nodded briskly. "Amelia will be expecting you."

"Yes. Yes, of course." Grace hurried to the door, but when her hand touched the knob, she found she was not quite ready to go. She turned around, taking one last look at his face.

He was not himself. No one could blame him; it had been a most extraordinary two days. But still, it worried her.

"Will you be all right?" she asked.

And immediately regretted that she had done so. His face seemed to move, and twist, and she could not be sure if he was going to laugh or cry. But she did know that she did not want to be witness to either.

"No, don't answer that," she mumbled, and she ran from the room.

Chapter Twelve

Jack did (eventually) find his bedchamber, but even though he knew he'd likely still have been happily asleep if he hadn't been determined to join Grace at breakfast, when he lay down atop his covers, intending to take a restorative nap, he found himself unable to do so.

This was profoundly irritating. He had long prided himself on his ability to fall asleep at will. It had come in handy during his years as a soldier. No one ever managed to acquire the correct sleep, either in quality or amount. He would steal his slumber where he could, and his friends had been eternally jealous that he could prop up against a tree, close his eyes, and be asleep within three minutes.

But not, apparently, today, even though he'd traded a knobby tree for the finest mattress money could buy. He closed his eyes, took his customary long, slow breaths, and...nothing.

Nothing but Grace.

He'd like to have said she was haunting him, but that would have been a lie. It wasn't her fault that he was a fool. And in truth, it wasn't just that he was completely desperate for her (although he was, and most uncomfortably, too). He couldn't get her out of his mind because he didn't want to get her out of his mind. Because if he stopped thinking about Grace, he would have to start thinking about other things.

The possibility of his being the Duke of Wyndham, for one.

Possibility...Bah. He knew it was true. His parents had been married. All that was needed was to locate the parish register.

He closed his eyes, trying to push back the overwhelming feeling of dread that was bearing down on him.

He should have just lied and said that his parents had never wed. But blast it, he had not