Julia Quinn - The Lost Duke of Wyndham

And so now she was independent. An independent woman! She liked the sound of that. She would sleep until noon every day. She would read books. She would wallow in the sheer laziness of it all, at least for a few months, and then find something constructive to do with her time. A charity, perhaps. Or maybe she would learn to paint watercolors.

It sounded decadent. It sounded perfect.

And lonely.

No, she decided firmly, she would find friends. She had many friends in the district. She was glad she would not be leaving Lincolnshire, even if it did mean that she might occasionally cross paths with Jack. Lincolnshire was home. She knew everyone, and they knew her, and her reputation would not be questioned, even if she did set up her own home. She would be able to live in peace and respectability.

It would be a good thing.

But lonely.

No. Not lonely. She would have funds. She could go visit Elizabeth, who would be married to her earl in the South. She could join one of those women’s clubs her mother had so adored. They’d met every Tuesday afternoon, claiming they were there to discuss art and literature and the news of the day, but when the meetings were held at Sillsby, Grace had heard far too much laughter for those topics.

She would not be lonely.

She refused to be lonely.

She looked back at Amelia, snoring away on the bed. Poor thing. Grace had often envied the Willoughby girls their secure places in society. They were daughters of an earl, with impeccable bloodlines and generous dowries. It was odd, really, that her future should now be so well-defined while Amelia’s was so murky.

But she had come to realize that Amelia was no more in control of her own fate than she herself had been. Her father had chosen her husband before she could even speak, before he knew who she was, what she was like. How could he know, looking upon an infant of less than one year, whether she would be suited for life as a duchess?

All of her life, Amelia had been stuck, waiting for Thomas to get around to marrying her. And even if she did not end up marrying either of the two Dukes of Wyndham, she’d still find herself obliged to follow her father’s dictates.

Grace was turning back toward the window when she heard a noise in the hall. Footsteps, she decided. Male. And because she could not help herself, she hurried to her door, opened it a crack, and peered out.

Jack.

He looked rumpled and tired and achingly heartsick. He was squinting in the dark, trying to figure out which room was his.

Grace-the-companion might have retreated back into her room, but Grace-the-woman-of-independent-means was somewhat more daring, and she stepped out, whispering his name.

He looked up. His eyes flared, and Grace belatedly remembered that she was still in her nightgown. It was nothing remotely risqué; in fact, she was far more covered than she would have been in an evening dress. Still, she hugged her arms to her body as she moved forward.

“Where have you been?” she whispered.

He shrugged. “Out and about. Visiting old haunts.”

Something about his voice was unsettling. “Really?” she asked.

“No.” He looked at her, then rubbed his eyes. “I was across the street. Having my shepherd’s pie.”

She smiled. “And your pint of ale?”

“Two, actually.” He smiled then, a sheepish, boyish thing that tried to banish the exhaustion from his face. “I missed it.”

“Irish ale?”

“The English stuff is pig swill by comparison.”

Grace felt herself warming inside. There was humor in his eyes, the first she’d seen in days. And it was strange-she’d thought it would be torture to be near him, to be with him and hear his voice and see his smile. But all she felt now was happiness. And relief.

She could not bear it when he was so unhappy. She needed for him to be him. Even if he could not be hers.

“You should not be out here like this,” he said.

“No.” She shook her head but did not move.

He grimaced and looked down at his key. “I cannot find my room.”

Grace took the key from him and peered at it. “Fourteen,” she said. She looked up. “The light is dim.”

He nodded.

“It is that way,” she told him, pointing down the hall. “I passed it on the way in.”

“Is your room acceptable?” he asked. “Large enough for both you and the dowager?”

Grace gasped. He did not know. She’d completely forgotten. He had already left when Thomas gave her the cottage. “I’m not with the dowager,” she said, unable to conceal all of her excitement. “I-”

“Someone’s coming,” he whispered harshly, and indeed, she heard voices and footsteps on the stairs. He started to steer her back to her room.

“No, I can’t.” She dug in her heels. “Amelia is there.”

“Amelia? Why would she-” He muttered something under his breath and then yanked her along with him down the hall. Into Room 14.

Three minutes,” Jack said, the moment he pulled the door shut. Because truly, he did not think he could last any longer than that. Not when she was dressed in her nightgown. It was an ugly thing, really, all rough and buttoned from chin to toe, but still, it was a nightgown.

And she was Grace.

“You will never believe what has happened,” she said.

“Normally an excellent opening,” he acknowledged, “but after everything that has happened in the last two weeks, I find myself willing to believe almost anything.” He smiled and shrugged. Two pints of fine Irish ale had made him mellow.

But then she told him the most amazing story. Thomas had given her a cottage and an income. Grace was now an independent woman. She was free of the dowager.

Jack lit the lamp in his room, listening to her excitement. He felt a prickle of jealousy, though not because he did not think she should be receiving gifts from another man-the truth was, she’d more than earned anything the duke chose to portion off to her. Five years with the dowager-Good God, she ought to be given a title in her own right as penance for such as that. No one had done more for England.

No, his jealousy was a far more basic stripe. He heard the joy in her voice, and once he’d banished the dark of the room, he saw the joy in her eyes. And quite simply, it just felt wrong that someone else had given her that.

He wanted to do it. He wanted to light her eyes with exhilaration. He wanted to be the origin of her smile.

“I will still have to go with you to County Cavan,” Grace was saying. “I can’t stay here by myself, and I wouldn’t want Amelia to be alone. This is all terribly difficult for her, you know.”

She looked up at him, so he nodded in response. Truthfully, he hadn’t been thinking very much of Amelia, selfish as that was.

“I’m sure it will be awkward with the dowager,” Grace continued. “She was furious.”

“I can imagine,” Jack murmured.

“Oh, no.” Her eyes grew very wide. “This was extraordinary, even for her.”

He pondered that. “I am not certain if I am sorry or relieved that I missed it.”

“It was probably for the best that you were not present,” Grace replied, grimacing. “She was rather unkind.”

He was about to say that it was difficult to imagine her any other way, but Grace suddenly brightened and said, “But do you know, I don’t care!” She giggled then, the heady sound of someone who can’t quite believe her good fortune.

He smiled for her. It was infectious, her happiness. He did not intend that she should ever live apart from him, and he rather suspected that Thomas had not given her the cottage with the intention that she live there as Mrs. Jack Audley, but he understood her delight. For the first time in years, Grace had something of her own.

“I’m sorry,” she said, but she could not quite hide her smile. “I should not be here. I didn’t mean to wait up for you, but I was just so excited, and I wanted to tell you, because I knew you’d understand.”

And as she stood there, her eyes shining up at him, his demons slipped away, one by one, until he was just a man, standing before the woman he loved. In this room, in this minute, it didn’t matter that he was back in Ireland, that there were so many bloody reasons he should be running for the door and finding passage on the next ship to anywhere.

In this room, in this minute, she was his everything.

“Grace,” he said, and his hand rose to touch her cheek. She curled into it, and in that moment he knew he was lost. Whatever strength he’d thought he possessed, whatever will to do the right thing-

It was gone.

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

Her eyes widened.

“Kiss me.”

She wanted to. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in the air around them.

He leaned down, closer…but not enough so their lips touched. “Kiss me,” he said, one last time.

She rose on her toes. She moved nothing else-her hands did not come up to caress him, she did not lean in, allowing her body to rest against his. She just rose on her toes until her lips brushed his.

And then she backed away.

“Jack?” she whispered.

“I-” He almost said it. The words were right there, on his lips. I love you.

But somehow he knew-he had no idea how, just that he did-if he said it then, if he gave voice to what he was certain she knew in her heart, it would scare her away.

“Stay with me,” he whispered. He was through being noble. The current Duke of Wyndham could spend his life doing nothing but the right thing, but he could not be so unselfish.

He kissed her hand.

“I shouldn’t,” she whispered.

He kissed her other hand.

“Oh, Jack.”

He raised them both to his lips, holding them to his face, inhaling her scent.