Julia Quinn - The Lost Duke of Wyndham

She looked over at him then, forcing herself to bring her eyes to his face. She had been avoiding his gaze as much as she could, but her cowardice suddenly felt distasteful.

He must have felt her watching him, because he turned. His dark hair fell forward over his brow, and his eyes-a spectacular shade of mossy green-grew warm. “I do like you better,” he murmured, and she thought-hoped?-that she saw a flicker of respect in his gaze.

And then, quick as a blink, the moment was gone. His mouth slid into that cocky half smile and he let out a pent-up breath before saying, “It’s a compliment.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say, Thank you, as ridiculous as that seemed, but then he shrugged-one shoulder only, as if that was all he could be bothered with-and added, “Of course, I would imagine that the only person I would like less than our esteemed countess-”

“Duchess,” the dowager snapped.

He paused, gave her a blandly haughty stare, then turned back to Grace. “As I was saying, the only person I would like less than her”-he jerked his head toward the dowager, not even honoring her with a direct glance-“would be the French menace himself, so I suppose it’s not that much of a compliment, but I did want you to know that it was sincerely given.”

Grace tried not to smile, but he always seemed to be looking at her as if they were sharing a joke, just the two of them, and she knew that it was making the dowager more furious by the second. A glance across the carriage confirmed this; the dowager looked even more starched and upset than usual.

Grace turned back to the highwayman, as much out of self-preservation as anything else. The dowager showed every sign of an imminent tirade, but after her performance the night before, Grace knew that she was far too besotted with the idea of her long-lost grandson to make him her target.

“What is your name?” Grace asked him, since it seemed the most obvious question.

“My name?”

Grace nodded.

He turned to the dowager with an expression of great scolding. “Funny that you haven’t asked me yet.” He shook his head. “Shameful manners. All the best kidnappers know their victims’ names.”

“I am not kidnapping you!” the dowager burst out.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, and then his voice emerged like silk. “I misunderstand the bindings, then.”

Grace looked warily at the dowager. She’d never appreciated sarcasm unless it emerged from her own lips, and she would never allow him the last word. And indeed, when she spoke, her words were clipped and stiff, and colored blue with the blood of one secure in her own superiority. “I am restoring you to your proper place in this world.”

“I see,” he said slowly.

“Good,” the dowager said briskly. “We are in accord, then. All that remains is for us to-”

“My proper place,” he said, cutting her off.

“Indeed.”

“In the world.”

Grace realized that she was holding her breath. She could not look away, could not take her eyes off his when he murmured, “The conceit. It’s remarkable.”

His voice was soft, almost thoughtful, and it cut to the bone. The dowager turned sharply toward the window, and Grace searched her face for something-anything-that might have shown her humanity, but she remained stiff and hard, and her voice betrayed no emotion when she said, “We are almost home.”

They were turning down the drive, passing the very spot where Grace had seen him earlier that afternoon.

“So you are,” the highwayman said, glancing out the window.

“You will come to regard it as home,” the dowager stated, her voice imperious and exacting and, more than anything else, final.

He did not respond. But he didn’t need to. They all knew what he was thinking.

Never.

Lovely house,” Jack said, as he was led-hands still bound-through the grand entrance of Belgrave. He turned to the old lady. “Did you decorate? It has that woman’s touch.”

Miss Eversleigh was trailing behind, but he could hear her choke back a bubble of laughter.

“Oh, let it out, Miss Eversleigh,” he called over his shoulder. “Much better for your constitution.”

“This way,” the dowager ordered, motioning for him to follow her down the hall.

“Should I obey, Miss Eversleigh?”

She did not reply, smart girl that she was. But he was far too furious for circumspect sympathy, so he took his insolence one step further. “Yoo-hoo! Miss Eversleigh! Did you hear me?”

“Of course she heard you,” the dowager snapped angrily.

Jack paused, cocking his head as he regarded the dowager. “I thought you were overjoyed to make my acquaintance.”

“I am,” she bit off.

“Hmmm.” He turned to Miss Eversleigh, who had caught up to them during the exchange. “I don’t think she sounds overjoyed, Miss Eversleigh. Do you?”

Miss Eversleigh’s eyes darted from him to her employer and back before she said, “The dowager duchess is most eager to accept you into her family.”

“Well said, Miss Eversleigh,” he applauded. “Insightful and yet circumspect.” He turned back to the dowager. “I hope you pay her well.”

Two red spots appeared on the dowager’s cheeks, in such stark relief to the white of her skin that he would have sworn she’d used rouge if he hadn’t seen the angry marks appear with his own eyes. “You are dismissed,” she ordered, not even looking at Miss Eversleigh.

“I am?” he feigned. “Lovely.” He held out his bound wrists. “Would you mind?”

“Not you, her.” His grandmother’s jaw clenched. “As you well know.”

But Jack was not in the mood to be accommodating, and in that moment he did not even care to maintain his usual jocular facade. And so he looked her in the eye, his green meeting her icy, icy blue, and as he spoke, he felt a shiver of déjà vu. It was almost as if he were back on the Continent, back in battle, his shoulders straight and his eyes narrowed as he faced down the enemy.

“She stays.”

They froze, all three of them, and Jack’s eyes did not waver from the dowager’s as he continued. “You brought her into this. She will remain through to the end.”

He half expected Miss Eversleigh to protest. Hell, any sane person would have run as far as possible from the upcoming confrontation. But she stood utterly still, her arms stick-straight at her sides, her only movement her throat as she swallowed.

“If you want me,” he said quietly, “you will take her as well.”

The dowager sucked a long, angry breath through her nose and jerked her head to the side. “Grace,” she barked, “the crimson drawing room. Now.”

Her name was Grace. He turned and looked at her. Her skin was pale and her eyes were wide and assessing.

Grace. He liked it. It fit her.

“Don’t you want to know my name?” he called out to the dowager, who was already stalking down the hall.

She stopped and turned, as he knew she would.

“It’s John,” he announced, enjoying the way the blood drained from her face. “Jack to friends”-he looked at Grace with heavy-lidded seduction in his eyes-“and friends.”

He could have sworn he felt her shiver, which delighted him.

“Are we?” he murmured.

Her lips parted a full second before she managed to make a sound. “Are we what?”

“Friends, of course.”

“I-I-”

“Will you leave my companion alone!” the dowager barked.

He sighed and shook his head toward Miss Eversleigh. “She’s so domineering, don’t you think?”

Miss Eversleigh blushed. Truly, it was the prettiest pink he’d ever seen.

“Pity about these bindings,” he continued. “We do seem to be caught in a romantic moment, your employer’s acidic presence aside, and it would be far easier to drop one exquisite kiss on the back of your hand were I able to lift it with one of mine.”

This time he was certain she shivered.

“Or your mouth,” he whispered. “I might kiss your mouth.”

There was a lovely silence, broken rather rudely by:

“What the devil?”

Miss Eversleigh jumped back a foot or three, and Jack turned to see an extremely angry man striding his way.

“Is this man bothering you, Grace?” he demanded.

She shook her head quickly. “No, no, he’s not. But-”

The newcomer turned to Jack with furious blue eyes. Furious blue eyes that rather closely resembled those of the dowager, save for the bags and wrinkles. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” Jack countered, instantly disliking him.

“I am Wyndham,” he shot back. “And you are in my home.”

Jack blinked. A cousin. His new family was growing more charming by the second. “Ah. Well, in that case, I am Jack Audley. Formerly of His Majesty’s esteemed army, more recently of the dusty road.”

“Who are these Audleys?” the dowager demanded, crossing back over. “You are no Audley. It is there in your face. In your nose and chin and in every bloody feature save your eyes, which are quite the wrong color.”

“The wrong color?” Jack responded, acting hurt. “Really?” He turned to Miss Eversleigh. “I was always told the ladies like green eyes. Was I misinformed?”

“You are a Cavendish!” the dowager roared. “You are a Cavendish, and I demand to know why I was not informed of your existence.”

“What the devil is going on?” Wyndham demanded.

Jack thought it wasn’t his duty to answer, so he happily kept quiet.

“Grace?” Wyndham asked, turning to Miss Eversleigh.

Jack watched the exchange with interest. They were friends, but were they friendly? He could not be sure.

Miss Eversleigh swallowed with noticeable discomfort. “Your grace,” she said, “perhaps a word in private?”