“The gallery?” He had been so interested in the paintings in his room the night before. It seemed a logical place to start.
“And gaze upon the friendly faces of my supposed ancestors?” His nostrils flared, and for a moment he almost looked as if he’d swallowed something distasteful. “I think not. I’ve had enough of my ancestors for one morning, thank you very much.”
“These are dead ancestors,” Grace murmured, hardly able to believe her cheek.
“Which is how I prefer them, but not this morning.”
She glanced across the hall to where she could see sunlight dappling in through a window. “I could show you the gardens.”
“I’m not dressed for it.”
“The conservatory?”
He tapped his ear. “Made of tin, I’m afraid.”
She pressed her lips together, waited a moment, then said, “Do you have any location in mind?”
“Many,” he answered promptly, “but they’d leave your reputation in tatters.”
“Mr. Au-”
“Jack,” he reminded her, and somehow there was less space between them. “You called me Jack last night.”
Grace did not move, despite the fact that her heels were itching to scoot backwards. He was not close enough to kiss her, not even close enough to accidentally brush his hand against her arm. But her lungs felt suddenly devoid of air, and her heart had begun to race, beating erratically in her chest.
She could feel it forming on her tongue-Jack. But she could not say it. Not in this moment, with the image of him as the duke still fresh in her mind. “Mr. Audley,” she said, and although she tried for sternness, she did not quite manage it.
“I am heartbroken,” he said, and he did it with the exact right note of levity to restore her equilibrium. “But I shall carry on, painful though it may be.”
“Yes, you look to be in despair,” she murmured.
One of his brows rose. “Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?”
“Just a hint.”
“Good, because I assure you”-he thumped one hand against his heart-“I am dying on the inside.”
She laughed, but she tried to hold it in, so it came out more like a snort. It should have been embarrassing; with anyone else it would have been. But he had set her back at ease, and instead she felt herself smile. She wondered if he realized what a talent it was-to return any conversation to a smile. “Come with me, Mr. Audley,” she said, motioning for him to accompany her down the hall. “I shall show you my very favorite room.”
“Are there cupids?”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I was attacked by cupids this morning,” he said with a shrug, as if such a thing were a common day occurrence. “In my dressing room.”
And again she smiled, this time even more broadly. “Ah. I’d forgotten. It’s a bit much, isn’t it?”
“Unless one is partial to naked babies.”
Again her laughter snorted out.
“Something in your throat?” he asked innocently.
She answered him with a dry look, then said, “I believe the dressing room was decorated by the present duke’s great-grandmother.”
“Yes, I’d assumed it wasn’t the dowager,” he said cheerfully. “She doesn’t seem the sort for cherubs of any stripe.”
The image that brought forth was enough to make her laugh aloud.
“Finally,” he said, and at her curious look, added, “I thought you were going to choke on it earlier.”
“You seem to have regained your good mood as well,” she pointed out.
“It requires only the removal of my presence from her presence.”
“But you only just met the dowager yesterday. Surely you’ve had a disagreeable moment before that.”
He flashed her a broad grin. “Happy since the day I was born.”
“Oh, come now, Mr. Audley.”
“I never admit to my black moods.”
She raised her brows. “You merely experience them?”
He chuckled at that. “Indeed.”
They walked companionably toward the rear of the house, Mr. Audley occasionally pressing her for information of their destination.
“I shan’t tell you,” Grace said, trying to ignore the giddy sense of anticipation that had begun to slide through her. “It sounds like nothing special in words.”
“Just another drawing room, eh?”
To anyone else, perhaps, but for her it was magical.
“How many are there, by the way?” he asked.
She paused, trying to count. “I am not certain. The dowager is partial to only three, so we rarely use the others.”
“Dusty and molding?”
She smiled. “Cleaned every day.”
“Of course.” He looked about him, and it occurred to her that he did not seem cowed by the grandeur of his surroundings, just…amused.
No, not amused. It was more of a wry disbelief, as if he were still wondering if he could trade this all in and get himself kidnapped by a different dowager duchess. Perhaps one with a smaller castle.
“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Eversleigh,” he said. “Although I’m sure they are worth a pound.”
“More than that,” she said over her shoulder. His mood was infectious, and she felt like a coquette. It was unfamiliar. Unfamiliar and lovely.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Too steep a price, I’m afraid. I am but an impoverished highwayman.”
She cocked her head. “Wouldn’t that make you an unsuccessful highwayman?”