The Lost Duke of Wyndham

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.

She looked at the door.

“Stay with me,” he said again. And then he touched her chin, tipped her face gently up, and laid one soft kiss on her lips. “Stay.”

He watched her face, saw the conflicted shadows in her eyes. Her lips trembled, and she turned away from him before she spoke.

“If I-” Her voice was a whisper, shaky and unsure. “If I stay…”

He touched her chin but did not guide her back to face him. He waited until she was ready, until she turned on her own.

“If I stay…” She swallowed, and shut her eyes for a moment, as if summoning courage. “Can you…Is there a way you can make sure there is no baby?”

For a moment he could not speak. Then he nodded, because yes, he could make sure there was no baby. He had spent his adult life making sure there would be no babies.

But that had been with women he did not love, women he did not intend to adore and worship for the rest of their lives. This was Grace, and the idea of making a baby with her suddenly burned within him like a shining, magical dream. He could see them as a family, laughing, teasing. His own childhood had been like that-loud and boisterous, racing across fields with his cousins, fishing in streams and never catching a thing. Meals were never formal affairs; the icy gatherings at Belgrave had been as foreign to him as a Chinese banquet.

He wanted all of that, and he wanted it with Grace. Only he hadn’t realized just how much until this very moment.

“Grace,” he said, holding her hands tightly. “It does not matter. I will marry you. I want to marry you.”

She shook her head, the motion fast and jerky, almost frenzied. “No,” she said. “You can’t. Not if you are the duke.”

“I will.” And then, damn it all, he said it anyway. Some things were too big, too true, to keep inside. “I love you. I love you. I have never said that to another woman, and I never will. I love you, Grace Eversleigh, and I want to marry you.”

She shut her eyes, looking almost pained. “Jack, you can’t-”

“I can. I do. I will.”

“Jack-”

“I am so tired of everyone telling me what I cannot do,” he burst out, letting go of her hands to stalk across the room. “Do you understand that I don’t care? I don’t care about the bloody dukedom and I certainly don’t care about the dowager. I care about you, Grace. You.”

“Jack,” she said again, “if you are the duke, you will be expected to marry a woman of high birth.”

He swore under his breath. “You speak of yourself as if you were some dockside whore.”

“No,” she said, trying to be patient, “I do not. I know exactly what I am. I am an impoverished young lady of impeccable but undistinguished birth. My father was a country gentleman, my mother the daughter of a country gentleman. We have no connections to the aristocracy. My mother was the second cousin to a baronet, but that is all.”

He stared at her as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. Or as if he’d heard but hadn’t listened.

No, Grace thought miserably. He’d listened but he hadn’t heard. And sure enough, the first words from his mouth were: “I don’t care.”

“But everyone else does,” she persisted. “And if you are the duke, there will be enough of an uproar as it is.