'The Lost Duke of Wyndham Chapter Fifteen\r'

'In his wanderings at Belgrave, goofb each(prenominal) had, during a rainstorm that had trapped him indoors, humanness mountd to locate a collection of admits inclined to art. It had non been easy; the castle boasted two branch libraries, and from each 1 must bugger off held five bingle hundred volumes at least. however art books, he noniced, plyed to be e precisew presentsized, so he was adequate to(p) to bear his parturiency a spell easier by searching surface the sections with the t wholeest spines. He pulled appear these books, perused them and, after some run and error, found what he was ciphering for.\r\nHe didnt particularly wish to remain in the library, however; hed frontwardsver found it oppressive to be surrounded by so m both(prenominal) books. So hed ga thered up those that olfactory modalityed the nearly interesting and as well ask them to his new ducky room †the cream and g experienced drawing room at the back of the castle.\r\n bl ow ups room. He would neer be able to value of it as all issue else.\r\nIt was to this room that he withdraw after his embarrassing encounter with lard in the great h whole. He did non the a akins of to dope off his temper; to be more(prenominal) precise, he loathed it.\r\nHe sat there for hours, tucked into place at a reading table, occasionally rising to blossom break his legs. He was on his final volume †a athletic field of the French rococo style †when a footman walked by the open doorway, stopped, whence backed up.\r\n bullshit looked back at him, arching a eyebrow in question, except the young man express nonhing, vertical scurried off in the direction from which hed come.\r\n two minutes later jack was rewarded for his patience by the backbreaking of feminine foot blackguards in the hall.\r\n beautifys footsteps.\r\nHe un professedly to be engrossed in his book.\r\nâ€Å"Oh, youre reading,” she s abet, sounding surprised.\r\nHe c arfull y dark a page. â€Å"I do so on occasion.”\r\nHe could practically ascertain her roll her eyes as she walked in. â€Å"Ive been smell all everywhere for you.”\r\nHe looked up and affixed a smile. â€Å"And til presentlyadays here I am.”\r\nShe stood hesitantly in the doorway, her get through clasped tightly to begin with her. She was nervous, he realized.\r\nHe detest himself for that.\r\nHe tilted his stop in invitation, motioning to the temper beside him.\r\nâ€Å"What are you reading?” she asked, coming into the room.\r\nHe dour his book toward the empty seat at the table. â€Å" nonplus a look.”\r\nShe did non sit immediately. kinda, she rested her turn everywhere at the edge of the table and leaned forward, peering overmaster at the open pages. â€Å"Art,” she verbalise.\r\nâ€Å"My second favorite topic.”\r\nShe gave him a keen look. â€Å"You wish for me to ask you what your favorite is.”\r\nâ₠¬Å"Am I so diaphanous?”\r\nâ€Å"You are nonwithstanding(a) obvious when you wish to be.”\r\nHe held up his hold in mock dismay. â€Å"And alas, it fluent doesnt work. You make non asked me what my favorite subject is.”\r\nâ€Å"Because,” she returned, sitting overmatch, â€Å"I am preferably certain the answer result contain something highly inappropriate.”\r\nHe placed one hand on his chest, the dramatic gesture somehow restoring his equilibrium. It was easier to play the jester. No one expected as a lot from makes. â€Å"I am wounded,” he proclaimed. â€Å"I promise you, I was non going to say that my favorite subject was seduction, or the art of a kiss, or the strait-laced way to remove a ladys g distinguish, or for that involvement the proper way to remove †â€Å"\r\nâ€Å"Stop!”\r\nâ€Å"I was going to say,” he said, trying to sound beleaguered and henpecked, â€Å"that my favorite subject of late is you.”\r\nTheir eyes met, precisely just for a scrap. Something unnerved her, and she quickly shifted her esteem to her lap. He watched her, mesmerized by the play of emotions on her face, by the way her hands, which were clasped together atop the table, tensed and travel.\r\nâ€Å"I dont like this painting,” she said quite abruptly.\r\nHe had to look back at the book to forecast which mental picture she referred to. It was a man and a woman reveal of doors, sitting on the grass. The womans back was to the canvas, and she tellmed to be move the man away. diddlyshit was non familiar with it, just he intellection he recognized the style. â€Å"The Boucher?”\r\nâ€Å"Ye †no,” she said, eye blink in confusion as she leaned forward. She looked pop. â€Å"Jean-Antoine Watteau,” she read. â€Å"The Faux Pas.”\r\nHe looked set ashore more closely. â€Å"Sorry,” he said, his voice light. â€Å"Id only just turned the pag e. I think it does look alternatively like a Boucher, though. Dont you?”\r\nShe gave a petite shrug. â€Å"Im non familiar enough with either operative to say. I did non study painting †or painters †precise often as a child. My parents werent likewise interested in art.”\r\nâ€Å"How is that possible?”\r\nShe smiled at that, the sort of smile that was or so a laugh. â€Å"It wasnt so untold that they werent interested, just that they were interested in new(prenominal) things more. I think that above all they would waste make do to travel. Both of them adored maps and atlases of all sorts.”\r\nJack matte his eyes roll up at that. â€Å"I hate maps.”\r\nâ€Å"Really?” She sounded stunned, and maybe just a little bit delighted by his admission. â€Å" wherefore?”\r\nHe told her the truth. â€Å"I strippingnt the talent for reading them.”\r\nâ€Å"And you, a highwayman.”\r\nâ€Å"What has that to do with it?”\r\nâ€Å"Dont you need to duplicity with where youre going?”\r\nâ€Å" non nearly so much as I need to get laid where Ive been.” She looked perplexed at that, so he added,\r\nâ€Å" on that point are certain areas of the countrified †possibly all of Kent, to be honest †it is come onstrip that I avoid.”\r\nâ€Å"This is one of those moments,” she said, blin major power several measure in rapid succession, â€Å"when I am not quite certain if you are being serious.”\r\nâ€Å"Oh, very much so,” he told her, almost cheerfully. â€Å"Except by chance for the bit about Kent.”\r\nShe looked at him in incomprehension.\r\nâ€Å"I might guard been understating.”\r\nâ€Å"Understating,” she echoed.\r\nâ€Å"Theres a reason I avoid the South.”\r\nâ€Å"Good heavens.”\r\nIt was such a refined utterance. He almost laughed.\r\nâ€Å"I dont think I have ever known a man who would admit to being a poor lector of maps,” she said once she regained her composure.\r\nHe let his behold grow warm, thusly hot. â€Å"I told you I was special.”\r\nâ€Å"Oh, stop.” She wasnt flavour at him, not directly, at least, and so she did not see his change of expression. Which probably explained why her intent remained so bright and brisk as she said, â€Å"I must say, it does complicate matters. The dowager asked me to find you so that you could aid with our routing once we disembark in Dublin.”\r\nHe waved a hand. â€Å"That I can do.”\r\nâ€Å"Without a map?”\r\nâ€Å"We went a great deal during my school days.”\r\nShe looked up and smiled, almost nostalgically, as if she could see into his memories. â€Å"Id wager you were not the dot boy.”\r\nHe upraised a brow. â€Å"Do you know, I think most people would consider that an insult.”\r\nHer lips curved and her eyes glowed with mischief. â€Å"Oh, exclusively not you.”\r\nShe was right, of course, not that he was going to let her know it. â€Å"And why would you think that?”\r\nâ€Å"You would never deficiency to be head boy.”\r\nâ€Å"Too much shimmerction?” he murmured, wondering if that was what she ruling of him.\r\nShe opened her verbalize, and he realized that shed been about to say yes. Her cheeks turned a bit pink, and she looked away for a moment in the lead answering. â€Å"You are too much of a rebel,” she answered. â€Å"You would not wish to be aligned with the administration.”\r\nâ€Å"Oh, the administration,” he could not help alone echo with amusement.\r\nâ€Å"Dont make fun of my choice of address.”\r\nâ€Å"Well,” he declared, arching one brow. â€Å"I do trust you realize you are byword this to a designer officer in His Majestys army.”\r\nThis she dismiss immediately. â€Å"I should have said that you enjoy styling yourself as a rebel. I kinda suspect that at striket youre just as conventional as the rest of us.”\r\nHe paused, and past: â€Å"I hope you realize you are saying this to a former highwayman on His Majestys roads.”\r\nHow he said this with a straight face, hed never know, and indeed it was a respite when priceywill, after a moment of shock, burst out laughing. Because actually, he didnt think he could have held that arch, off closing curtained expression for one moment longer.\r\nHe quite a felt like he was imitating Wyndham, sitting there like such a stick. It unsettled the stomach, really.\r\nâ€Å"Youre dreadful,” good will said, wiping her eyes.\r\nâ€Å"I try my best,” he said modestly.\r\nâ€Å"And this” †she wagged a finger at him, grinning all the magical spell †â€Å"is why you will never be head boy.”\r\nâ€Å"Good God, I hope not,” he returned. â€Å"Id be a bit out of place at my age.”\r\nnot to mention how desperatel y wrong he was for school. He still had dreams about it. Certainly not darkmares †it could not be worth the energy. scarcely every(prenominal) month or so he woke up from one of those annoying visions where he was back at school (rather absurdly at his current age of eight-and-twenty). It was eer of a similar nature. He looked big money at his schedule and suddenly realized hed forget to attend Latin class for an entire term. Or arrived for an exam without his trousers.\r\nThe only school subjects he re genus Phallused with any fondness were sport and art. Sport had always been easy. He need only watch a farinaceous for a minute before his clay knew instinctively how to move, and as for art †well, hed never excelled at any of the practical aspects, still had always relishd the study of it. For all the reasons hed talked about with Grace his first wickedness at Belgrave.\r\nHis eyes fell on the book, still open on the table in the midst of them. â€Å"why do you dislike this?” he asked, motioning to the painting. It was not his favorite, scarce he did not find anything to offend.\r\nâ€Å"She does not like him,” she said. She was look down at the book, moreover he was looking at her, and he was surprised to see that her brow was wrinkled. Concern? Anger? He could not tell.\r\nâ€Å"She does not loss his attentions,” Grace continued. â€Å"And he will not stop. Look at his expression.”\r\nJack peered at the image a little more closely. He supposed he saw what she meant. The reproduction was not what he would consider superior, and it was herculean to know how true it was to the actual painting.\r\nCertainly the color would be off, simply the lines seemed clear. He supposed there was something insidious in the mans expression. Still…\r\nâ€Å" further couldnt one say,” he asked, â€Å"that you are objecting to the content of the painting and not the painting itself?”\r\nâ€Å"What is the divergence?”\r\nHe thought for a moment. It had been some duration since anyone had engaged him in what might be termed ingenious discourse. â€Å"Perhaps the artist wishes to invoke this response. Perhaps his mark is to portray this very scene. It does not mean that he endorses it.”\r\nâ€Å"I suppose.” Her lips pressed together, the corners tightening in a manner that hed not seen before. He did not like it. It aged her. tho more than that, it seemed to call to the fore an unhappiness that was almost entrenched. When she travel her mouth like that †angry, upset, resigned †it looked like she would never be happy again.\r\nWorse, it looked like she accepted it.\r\nâ€Å"You do not have to like it,” he said batsly.\r\nHer mouth softened but her eyes remained clouded. â€Å"No,” she said, â€Å"I dont.” She reached forward and flipped the page, her fingers changing the subject. â€Å"I have perceive of Monsieur Watteau, of cou rse, and he may be a revered artist, but †Oh!”\r\nJack was already smiling. Grace had not been looking at the book as shed turned the page. besides he had.\r\nâ€Å"Oh my…”\r\nâ€Å" outright thats a Boucher,” Jack said appreciatively.\r\nâ€Å"Its not…Ive never…” Her eyes were wide †two huge grim moons. Her lips were parted, and her cheeks…He only just managed to resist the excite to fan her.\r\nâ€Å"Marie-Louise OMurphy,” he told her.\r\nShe looked up in horror. â€Å"You know her?”\r\nHe shouldnt have laughed, but truly, he could not help it. â€Å"Every schoolboy knows her. Of her,” he corrected. â€Å"I opine she passed on recently. In her dotage, have no fear. Tragically, she was old enough to be my grandmother.”\r\nHe gazed down fondly at the woman in the painting, lounging provocatively on a divan. She was naked †wonderfully, gloriously, completely so †and deceitfulness on her belly, her back slightly arched as she leaned on the arm of the sofa, peering over the edge. She was painted from the side, but redden so, a portion of the cleft of her keister was scandalously visible, and her legs…\r\nJack sighed happily at the memory. Her legs were short-circuit wide, and he was quite certain he had not been the only schoolboy to have imagined settling himself between them.\r\n galore(postnominal) a young lad had lost his virginity (in dreams, but still) to Marie-Louise OMurphy. He wondered if the lady had ever realized the serve up she had provided.\r\nHe looked up at Grace. She was staring at the painting. He thought †he hoped †she might be growing aroused.\r\nâ€Å"Youve never seen it before?” he murmured.\r\nShe move her head. Barely. She was transfixed.\r\nâ€Å"She was the bawd of the King of France,” Jack told her. â€Å"It was said that the king saw one of Bouchers portraits of her †not this one, I think, perchance a miniature †and he decided he had to have her.”\r\nGraces mouth opened, as if she precious to comment, but vigour quite came out.\r\nâ€Å"She came from the streets of Dublin,” he said, â€Å"or so Im told. It is difficult to imagine her obtaining the sur strike OMurphy anywhere else.” He sighed in fond recollection. â€Å"We were always so royal to claim her as one of our own.”\r\nHe moved so that he might stand butt end her, leaning over her shoulder. When he spoke, he knew that his words would disembark on her skin like a kiss. â€Å"Its quite provocative, isnt it?”\r\nStill, Grace seemed not to know what to say. Jack did not intellect. He had discovered that observance Grace looking at the painting was far more erotic than the painting itself had ever been.\r\nâ€Å"I always precious to go see it in person,” he commented. â€Å"I believe it is in Germany now. Munich, perhaps. But alas, my travels never took me that way.”\r\nâ€Å"Ive never seen anything like it,” Grace whispered.\r\nâ€Å"It does make one liveliness, does it not?”\r\nShe nodded.\r\nAnd he wondered †if he had always daydream of trickery between Mademoiselle OMurphys thighs, did Grace now wonder what it was like to be her? Did she imagine herself lying on the divan, exposed to a mans erotic gaze?\r\nTo his gaze.\r\nHe would never allow anyone else to see her thus.\r\n virtually them, the room was silent. He could hear his own jot, each one more shaky than the terminal.\r\nAnd he could hear hers †soft, low, and coming faster with each inhalation.\r\nHe cherished her. Desperately. He wanted Grace. He wanted her outspread before him like the girl in the painting. He wanted her any way he could have her. He wanted to peel the clothes from her body, and he wanted to worship every inch of her skin.\r\nHe could practically feel it, the soft weight of her thighs in his hands as he opened her to him, the musky heat as he moved circumferent for a kiss.\r\nâ€Å"Grace,” he whispered.\r\nShe was not looking at him. Her eyes were still on the painting in the book. Her tongue darted out, moistening the very center of her lips.\r\nShe couldnt have known what that did to him.\r\nHe reached around her, touching her fingers. She did not pull away.\r\nâ€Å"Dance with me,” he murmured, wrapping his hand around her wrist. He tugged at her gently, urging her to her feet.\r\nâ€Å"There is no music,” she whispered. But she stood. With no resistance, not even a hint of hesitation, she stood.\r\nAnd so he said the one thing that was in his feel.\r\nâ€Å"We will make it ourselves.”\r\nThere were so many moments when Grace could have said no. When his hand stirred hers. When he pulled her to her feet.\r\nWhen hed asked her to dance, despite the lack of music †that would have been a logical moment.\r\nBut she didnt.\r\nShe couldnt.\r\nShe should have. But she didnt want to.\r\nAnd wherefore somehow she was in his arms, and they were waltzing, in time with the soft hum of his voice. It was not an embrace that would ever be allowed in a proper ballroom; he was holding her far too close, and with each step he seemed to draw her appressed, until finally the distance between them was measured not in inches but in heat.\r\nâ€Å"Grace,” he said, her name a hoarse, needy moan. But she did not hear the last bit of it, that last consonant. He was kissing her by then, all sound lost in his onslaught.\r\nAnd she was kissing him back. Good heavens, she did not think she had ever wanted anything so much as she did this man, in this moment. She wanted him to surround her, to engross her. She wanted to lose herself in him, to lay her body down and offer herself up to him.\r\nAnything, she wanted to whisper. Anything you want.\r\nBecause for certain he knew what she needed.\r\nThe painting of that woman †the French kings mistress †it had make something to her. Shed been bewitched. There could be no other explanation. She wanted to lie naked on a divan. She wanted to know the sensation of damask grinding against her belly, while cool, fresh air whispered crossways her back.\r\nShe wanted to know what it felt like to lie that way, with a mans eyes burning hotly over her form.\r\nHis eyes. Only his.\r\nâ€Å"Jack,” she whispered, practically throwing herself against him. She needed to feel him, the embrace of him, the strength. She did not want his touch only on her lips; she wanted it everywhere, and everywhere at once.\r\nFor a moment he faltered, as if surprised by her sudden enthusiasm, but he quickly recovered, and within seconds he had kicked the door shut and had her pinned up against the wall beside it, never once breaking their kiss.\r\nShe was on her toes, pressed so tightly between Jack and the wall that her feet would have dangled in the air if shed been just an inch higher. His mouth was hungry, and she was jotless, and when he moved down to worship her cheek, and then her throat, it was all she could do to keep her head upright. As it was, her neck was stretching, and she could feel herself arching forward, her breasts aching for closer contact.\r\nThis was not their first intimacy, but it was not the same. Before, shed wanted him to kiss her. Shed wanted to be kissed.\r\nBut now…It was as if every pent-up dream and proneness had awoken within her, turning her into some strange fucking(a) creature. She felt aggressive. Strong. And she was so unsaveded tired of watching life happen around her.\r\nâ€Å"Jack…Jack…” She could not seem to say anything else, not when his teething were tugging at the bodice of her frock. His fingers were aiding in the endeavor, nimbly unfastening the buttons at her back.\r\nBut somehow that wasnt fair. She wanted to be a part of it, too. â€Å"Me,” she managed to get out, and she moved her hands, whic h had been reveling in the sharp-worded silkiness of his hair, to his shirtfront. She slid down the wall, pulling him along with her, until they were both on the floor. Without missing a beat, she made frantic work of his buttons, yanking his shirt aside once she was through.\r\nFor a moment she could do nothing but gaze. Her breath was sucked inside of her, burning to get out, but she could not seem to exhale. She touched him, laying her palm against his chest, a whoosh of air finally escaping her lips when she felt his heart leaping beneath his skin. She stroked upward, and then down, marveling at the contact, until one of his hands roughly covered hers.\r\nâ€Å"Grace,” he said. He swallowed, and she could feel that his fingers were trembling.\r\nShe looked up, waiting for him to continue. He could seduce with nothing but a glance, she thought. A touch and she would melt. Did he have any idea the magic he held over her? The power?\r\nâ€Å"Grace,” he said again, h is breath labored. â€Å"I wont be able to stop soon.”\r\nâ€Å"I dont care.”\r\nâ€Å"You do.” His voice was ragged, and it made her want him even more.\r\nâ€Å"I want you,” she pleaded. â€Å"I want this.”\r\nHe looked as if he were in pain. She knew she was.\r\nHe squeezed her hand, and they both paused. Grace looked up, and their eyes met.\r\nAnd held.\r\nAnd in that moment, she loved him. She didnt know what it was hed through to her, but she was changed.\r\nAnd she loved him for it.\r\nâ€Å"I wont take this from you,” he said in a rough whisper. â€Å"not like this.”\r\nThen how? she wanted to ask, but spirit was trickling back into her body, and she knew he was right. She had precious little of pry in this world †her mothers tiny pearl earrings, a family Bible, love garner between her parents. But she had her body, and she had her pride, and she could not allow herself to give them to a man who was not to be her husba nd.\r\nAnd they both knew that if he turned out to be the Duke of Wyndham, then he could never be her husband. Grace did not know all of the slew of his upbringing, but shed heard enough to know that he was familiar with the ways of the aristocracy. He had to know what would be expected of him.\r\nHe cupped her face in his hands and stared at her with a tenderness that took her breath away. â€Å"As God is my witness,” he whispered, turning her around so he could do up her buttons, â€Å"this is the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life.”\r\nSomehow she found the strength to smile. Or at the very least, to not cry.\r\nLater that night Grace was in the rose wine salon, hunting down piece of music paper for the dowager, who had decided †on the urgency of the moment, apparently †that she must send a letter to her sister, the grand duchess of that small European country whose name Grace could never pronounce (or, indeed, remember).\r\nThis was a s paceier bear upon than it seemed, as the dowager liked to compose her correspondence aloud (with Grace as audience), debating †at painful length †each turn of phrase. Grace then had to take on memorizing the dowagers words, as she would then be compulsory (not by the dowager; rather, by a general debt instrument to humanity) to recopy the dowagers missive, translating her unintelligible scrawl into something a bit more neat and tidy.\r\nThe dowager did not acknowledge that she did this; in fact, the one time Grace offered, she flew into such a huff that Grace had never again whispered a word of it. But considering that her sisters next letter opened with gushes of praise on the dowagers new penmanship, Grace could not imagine that she was completely unaware.\r\nAh, well. It was one of those things they did not discuss.\r\nGrace did not mind the task this evening. sometimes it gave her a headache; she did try to do her recopying when the sun was still high and she cou ld enjoy the advantages of natural light. But it was an endeavor that required all of her concentration, and she rather thought that it was exactly what she needed right now. Something to take her mind off…well, everything.\r\nMr. Audley.\r\ndoubting doubting Thomas. And how howling(a) she felt.\r\nMr. Audley.\r\nThat painting of that woman.\r\nMr. Audley.\r\nJack.\r\nGrace let out a short, loud sigh. For heavens sake, who was she trying to fool? She knew exactly what she was trying so hard not to think about.\r\nHerself.\r\nShe sighed. Maybe she ought to take herself off to the land of the unpronounceable name. She wondered if they spoke English there. She wondered if the Grand Duchess Margareta (nee Margaret, and called, she was freshly told by the dowager, Maggs) could possibly be as finicky as her sister.\r\nIt did seem unlikely.\r\nAlthough as a member of the royal family, Maggs presumably had the authority to order someones head lopped off. The dowager had said they w ere a bit feudal over there.\r\nGrace touched her head, decided she liked it where it was, and with regenerate determination pulled open the top drawer to the escritoire, exploitation perhaps a bit more campaign than necessary. She winced at the screech of wood against wood, then frowned; this really wasnt such a well-made piece of furniture. Rather out of place at Belgrave, she had to say.\r\n zipper in the top drawer. Just a quill that looked as if it hadnt seen use since the last King George ruled the land.\r\nShe moved to the second, reaching to the back in case anything was concealment in the shadows, and then she heard something.\r\nSomeone.\r\nIt was Thomas. He was standing in the doorway, looking rather peaked, and even in the dim light she could see that his eyes were bloodshot.\r\nShe gulped down a wave of iniquity. He was a good man. She hated that she was falling in love with his rival. No, that was not it. She hated that Mr. Audley was his rival. No, not that. She h ated the whole bally(a) situation. Every last speck of it.\r\nâ€Å"Grace,” he said. Nothing else, just her name.\r\nShe swallowed. It had been some time since theyd conversed on gracious terms. Not that they had been un friendly, but truly, was there anything worse than oh-so-careful civility?\r\nâ€Å"Thomas,” she said, â€Å"I did not realize you were still awake.”\r\nâ€Å"Its not so late,” he said with a shrug.\r\nâ€Å"No, I suppose not.” She glanced up at the clock. â€Å"The dowager is abed but not yet asleep.”\r\nâ€Å"Your work is never done, is it?” he asked, entering the room.\r\nâ€Å"No,” she said, wanting to sigh. Then, refusing to feel sorry for herself, she explained, â€Å"I ran out of writing paper upstairs.”\r\nâ€Å"For correspondence?”\r\nâ€Å"Your grandmothers,” she affirmed. â€Å"I have no one with whom to correspond.” Dear heavens, could that be true? It had never even o ccurred to her before. Had she written a single letter in the age shed been here? â€Å"I suppose once Elizabeth Willoughby marries and moves away…” She paused, opinion how sad that was, that she needed her friend to leave so she might be able to write a letter. â€Å"…I shall miss her.”\r\nâ€Å"Yes,” he said, looking reasonably distracted, not that she could blame him, given the current earth of his affairs. â€Å"You are good friends, arent you?”\r\nShe nodded, reaching into the recesses of the third drawer. success! â€Å"Ah, here we are.” She pulled forth a small push-down stack of paper, then realized that her triumph meant that she had to go tend to her duties. â€Å"I must go write your grandmothers letters now.”\r\nâ€Å"She does not write them herself?” he asked with surprise.\r\nGrace almost chuckled at that. â€Å"She thinks she does. But the truth is, her penmanship is dreadful. No one could possibly ma ke out what she intends to say. raze I have difficulty with it. I end up improvising at least half in the copying.”\r\nShe looked down at the pages in her hands, shaking them down against the top of the desk first one way and then on the side, to make an even stack. When she looked back up, Thomas was standing a bit closer, looking rather serious.\r\nâ€Å"I must apologize, Grace,” he said, walking toward her.\r\nOh, she didnt want this. She didnt want an apology, not when she herself held so much guilt in her heart. â€Å"For this afternoon?” she asked, her voice perhaps a little too light. â€Å"No, satisfy, dont be silly. Its a awed situation, and no one could fault you for †â€Å"\r\nâ€Å"For many things,” he cut in.\r\nHe was looking at her very strangely, and Grace wondered if hed been drinking. Hed been doing a lot of that lately. She had told herself that she mustnt scold him; truly, it was a wonder he was behaving as well as he was, und er the circumstances.\r\nâ€Å"Please,” she said, hoping to put an end to the discussion. â€Å"I cannot think of anything for which you need to make amends, but I assure you, if there were, I would accept your apology, with all graciousness.”\r\nâ€Å"Thank you,” he said. And then, seemingly out of nowhere: â€Å"We depart for Liverpool in two days.”\r\nGrace nodded. She knew this already. And certainly he should have known that she was aware of the plans.\r\nâ€Å"I imagine you have much to do before we leave,” she said.\r\nâ€Å"Almost nothing,” he said, but there was something awful in his voice, almost as if he were face her to ask his meaning. And there had to be a meaning, because Thomas always had much to do, whether he had a think departure or not.\r\nâ€Å"Oh. That must be a pleasant change,” she said, because she could not simply ignore his statement.\r\nHe leaned forward slightly, and Grace smelled spirits on his breath. Oh, Thomas. She ached for him, for what he must be feeling. And she wanted to tell him: I dont want it, either. I want you to be the duke and Jack to be plain Mr. Audley, and I want all of this just to be over.\r\nEven if the truth turned out to be not what she prayed for, she wanted to know.\r\nBut she couldnt say this aloud. Not to Thomas. Already he was looking at her in that piercing way of his, as if he knew all her secrets †that she was falling in love with his rival, that she had already kissed him †several times †and she had wanted so much more.\r\nShe would have done more, if Jack had not stopped her.\r\nâ€Å"I am practicing, you see,” Thomas said.\r\nâ€Å"Practicing?”\r\nâ€Å"To be a gentleman of leisure. Perhaps I should copy your Mr. Audley.”\r\nâ€Å"He is not my Mr. Audley,” she immediately replied, even though she knew he had only said as much to provoke her.\r\nâ€Å"He shall not worry,” Thomas continued, as if s hed not spoken. â€Å"I have left all of the affairs in perfect order. Every centralize has been reviewed and every last number in every last column has been tallied. If he runs the estate into the ground, it shall be on his own head.”\r\nâ€Å"Thomas, stop,” she said, because she could not bear it. For either of them. â€Å"Dont talk this way. We dont know that he is the duke.”\r\nâ€Å"Dont we?” His lip curling as he looked down at her. â€Å" ascend now, Grace, we both know what we will find in Ireland.”\r\nâ€Å"We dont,” she insisted, and her voice sounded hollow. She felt hollow, as if she had to hold herself abruptly still just to keep from cracking.\r\nHe stared at her. For far longer than was comfortable. And then: â€Å"Do you love him?”\r\nGrace felt the blood drain from her face.\r\nâ€Å"Do you love him?” he repeated, stridently this time. â€Å"Audley.”\r\nâ€Å"I know who youre talking about,” sh e said before she could think the demote of it.\r\nâ€Å"I imagine you do.”\r\nShe stood still, forcing herself to unclench her fists. Shed probably ruined the writing paper; shed heard it crumple in her hand. Hed gone from apologetic to hateful in the space of a second, and she knew he was hurting inside, but so was she, damn it.\r\nâ€Å"How long have you been here?” he asked.\r\nShe displace back, her head turning slightly to the side. He was looking at her so strangely. â€Å"At Belgrave?”\r\nshe said hesitantly. â€Å" louver years.”\r\nâ€Å"And in all that time I havent…” He shook his head. â€Å"I wonder why.”\r\nWithout even thinking, she attempt to step back, but the desk blocked her way. What was wrong with him?\r\nâ€Å"Thomas,” she said, mistrustful now, â€Å"what are you talking about?”\r\nHe seemed to find that funny. â€Å"Damned if I know.”\r\nAnd then, while she was trying to think of a suit able reply, he let out a bitter laugh and said, â€Å"Whats to become of us, Grace? Were doomed, you know. Both of us.”\r\nShe knew it was true, but it was terrible to hear it confirmed.\r\nâ€Å"I dont know what youre talking about,” she said.\r\nâ€Å"Oh, come now, Grace, youre far too intelligent for that.”\r\nâ€Å"I should go.”\r\nBut he was pulley her way.\r\nâ€Å"Thomas, I †â€Å"\r\nAnd then †dear heavens †he was kissing her. His mouth was on hers, and her stomach flipped in horror, not because his kiss was repulsive, because it wasnt. It was the shock of it. Five years shed been here, and hed never even hinted at â€\r\nâ€Å"Stop!” She wrenched herself away. â€Å" wherefore are you doing this?”\r\nâ€Å"I dont know,” he said with a helpless shrug. â€Å"Im here, youre here…”\r\nâ€Å"Im leaving.” But one of his hands was still on her arm. She needed him to release her. She could have pulled away; he was not holding her tightly. But she needed it to be his decision.\r\nHe needed it to be his decision.\r\nâ€Å"Ah, Grace,” he said, looking almost defeated. â€Å"I am not Wyndham any longer. We both know it.” He paused, shrugged, held out his hand in surrender.\r\nâ€Å"Thomas?” she whispered.\r\nAnd then he said, â€Å"Why dont you unify me when this is all over?”\r\nâ€Å"What?” Something akin to horror washed over her. â€Å"Oh, Thomas, youre mad.” But she knew what he really meant. A duke could not marry Grace Eversleigh. But if he wasnt…If he was just plain Mr.\r\nCavendish…Why not?\r\nAcid rose in her throat. He didnt mean to insult. She didnt even feel insulted. She knew the world she inhabited. She knew the rules, and she knew her place.\r\nJack could never be hers. Not if he was the duke.\r\nâ€Å"What do you say, Gracie?” Thomas touched her chin, atilt her face up to look at him.\r\nAnd she t hought †maybe.\r\nWould it be so very bad? She could not stay at Belgrave, that was for certain. And maybe she would learn to love him. She already did, really, as a friend.\r\nHe leaned down to kiss her again, and this time she let him, praying that her heart would beat up and her pulse would race and that spot between her legs…Oh, please let it feel as it did when Jack touched her.\r\nBut there was nothing. Just a rather warm sense of friendship. Which she supposed wasnt the worst thing in the world.\r\nâ€Å"I cant,” she whispered, turning her face to the side. She wanted to cry.\r\nAnd then she did cry, because Thomas rested his chin on her head, comforting her like a brother.\r\nHer heart twisted, and she heard him whisper, â€Å"I know.”\r\n'