The Lost Duke of Wyndham (Two Dukes of Wyndham 1)

And then Jack felt it. A slight brush of air beside him. A faint rustle of movement.

She was there. The elusive Miss Eversleigh. The silent Miss Eversleigh.

The delicious Miss Eversleigh.

"Remove his hood," he heard his grandmother order. "You're going to suffocate him. "

Jack waited patiently, affixing a lazy smile onto his face - it was not, after all, the expression they would expect, and thus the one he most wished to display. He heard her make a noise - Miss Eversleigh, that was. It wasn't a sigh exactly, and not a groan, either. It was something he couldn't quite place. Weary resignation, perhaps. Or maybe -

The hood came off, and he took a moment to savor the cool air on his face.

Then he looked at her.

It was mortification. That's what it had been. Poor Miss Eversleigh looked miserable. A more gracious gentleman would have turned away, but he wasn't feeling overly charitable at the moment, and so he treated himself to a lengthy perusal of her face. She was lovely, although not in any predictable manner.

No English rose was she, not with that glorious dark hair and shining blue eyes that tilted up ever-so-slightly at the edges. Her lashes were dark and sooty, in stark contrast to the pale perfection of her skin.

Of course, that paleness might have been a result of her extreme discomfort. The poor girl looked as if she might cast up her accounts at any moment.

"Was it that bad, kissing me?" he murmured.

She turned scarlet.

"Apparently so. " He turned to his grandmother and said in his most conversational tone, "I hope you realize this is a hanging offense. "

"I am the Duchess of Wyndham," she replied with a haughty lift of her brow. "Nothing is a hanging offense. "

"Ah, the unfairness of life," he said with a sigh. "Wouldn't you agree, Miss Eversleigh?"

She looked as if she wanted to speak. Indeed, the poor girl was most definitely biting her tongue.

"Now if you were the perpetrator in this little crime," he continued, allowing his eyes to slide insolently from her face to her bosom and back, "this would all be so very different. "

Her jaw tightened.

"It would be," he murmured, allowing his gaze to fall to her lips, "rather lovely, I think. Just think - you, me, alone in this exceedingly luxurious carriage. " He sighed contentedly and sat back. "The imagination runs wild. "

He waited for the old lady to defend her. She did not.

"Care to share your plans for me?" he asked, propping one ankle over the opposite knee as he slouched in his seat. It wasn't an easy position to achieve, with his hands still stuck behind him, but he was damned if he'd sit up straight and polite.

The old lady turned to him, her lips pinched. "Most men would not complain. "

He shrugged. "I am not most men. " Then he offered a half smile and turned to Miss Eversleigh. "A rather banal rejoinder on my part, wouldn't you say? So obvious. A novice could have come up with it. " He shook his head as if disappointed. "I do hope I'm not losing my touch. "

Her eyes widened.

He grinned. "You think I'm mad. "

"Oh, yes," she said, and he rather enjoyed her voice again, washing warmly over him.

"It's something to consider. " He turned to the old lady. "Does madness run in the family?"

"Of course not," she snapped.

"Well, that's a relief. Not," he added, "that I am acknowledging a connection. I don't believe I wish to be associated with cutthroats such as yourself. Tsk tsk. Even I have never resorted to kidnapping. " He leaned forward, as if imparting a very grave confidence to Miss Eversleigh. "It's very bad form, you know. "

And he thought - oh, how lovely - that he saw her lips twitch. Miss Eversleigh had a sense of humor. She was growing more delectable by the second.

He smiled at her. He knew how to do it, too. He knew exactly how to smile at a woman to make her feel it deep inside.

He smiled at her. And she blushed.

Which made him smile even more.

"Enough," the old lady snapped.

He feigned innocence. "Of what?"

He looked at her, at this woman who was most probably his grandmother. Her face was pinched and lined, the corners of her mouth pulled down by the weight of an eternal frown. She'd look unhappy even if she smiled, he thought. Even if somehow she managed to get that mouth to form a crescent in the correct direction -

No, he decided. It wouldn't work. She'd never manage it. She'd probably expire from the exertion.

"Leave my companion alone," she said tersely.

He leaned toward Miss Eversleigh, giving her a lopsided smile even though she was quite determinedly looking away. "Was I bothering you?"

"No," she said quickly. "Of course not. "

Which couldn't have been further from the truth, but who was he to quibble?

He turned back to the old lady. "You didn't answer my question. "

She lifted an imperious brow. Ah, he thought, compl

etely without humor, that was where he got the expression.

"What do you plan to do with me?" he asked.

"Do with you. " She repeated the words curiously, as if she found them most strange.

He lifted a brow right back at her, wondering if she'd recognize the gesture. "There are a great many options. "

"My dear boy," she began. Her tone was grand. Condescending. As if he'd only needed this to realize that he ought to be licking her boots. "I'm going to give you the world. "

Grace had just about managed to regain her equilibrium when the highwayman, after a lengthy and thoughtful frown, turned to the dowager and said, "I don't believe I'm interested in your world. "

A bubble of horrified laughter burst forth from her throat. Oh dear heavens, the dowager looked ready to spit.

Grace clamped a hand over her mouth and turned away, trying not to notice that the highwayman was positively grinning at her.

"Apologies," he said to the dowager, not sounding the least bit contrite. "But can I have her world instead?"

Grace's head snapped back around in time to see him nodding in her direction. He shrugged. "I like you better. "

"Are you never serious?" the dowager bit off.

And then he changed. His body did not move from its slouch, but Grace could feel the air around him coiling with tension. He was a dangerous man. He hid this well with his lazy charm and insolent smile.

But he was not a man to be crossed. She was sure of it.

"I'm always serious," he said, his eyes never leaving those of the dowager. "You'd do well to take note of that. "

"I'm so sorry," Grace whispered, the words slipping out before she had a chance to consider them. The gravity of the situation was bearing down on her with uncomfortable intensity. She had been so worried about Thomas and what this would all mean for him. But in that moment it was brought home to her that there were two men caught in this web.

And whatever this man was, whoever he was, he did not deserve this. Perhaps he would want life as a Cavendish, with its riches and prestige. Most men would. But he deserved the choice. Everyone deserved a choice.

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.