Mr. Cavendish, I Presume
Page 52

It felt like the worst sort of betrayal.
Unable to help himself, he moved toward the door.
It was slightly ajar, just enough to listen without being seen.
“You can call me Jack,” Audley said.
Thomas wanted to gag.
“No, I don’t think so.” But Grace sounded as if she was smiling, as if she didn’t really mean it.
“I won’t tell.”
“Mmmmm . . . no.”
“You did it once.”
“That,” Grace said, still obviously flirting, “was a mistake.”
Thomas stepped into the hall. Some things simply could not be borne. “Indeed.”
Grace gasped and looked at him with a rather satisfying level of shock.
“Where the devil did he come from?” Audley murmured.
“A pleasant conversation,” Thomas drawled. “One of many, I assume.”
“Were you eavesdropping?” Audley said. “For shame.”
Thomas decided to ignore him. It was either that or strangle him, and he suspected that would be difficult to explain to the authorities.
“Your grace,” Grace began, “I—”
Oh, for God’s sake, if she could call Audley Jack, she could bloody well use his name again. “It’s Thomas, or don’t you recall?” he snapped. “You’ve used my name far more than once.”
He felt a brief pang of remorse at her miserable expression, but that was quickly suppressed when Audley chimed in, in his usual glib manner.
“Is that so?” he said, gazing down at Grace. “In that case, I insist you call me Jack.” He turned to Thomas and shrugged. “It’s only fair.”
Thomas held himself very still. Something ugly was growing within him, something furious and black. And every time Audley spoke, his tone was so droll, his smile so easy—it was as if none of this mattered. It fed the dark knot in his belly, it burned in his chest.
Audley turned back to Grace. “I shall call you Grace.”
“You will not,” Thomas snapped.
Audley lifted a brow but did not otherwise acknowledge him. “Does he always make these decisions for you?”
“This is my house,” Thomas ground out. Damn it, he would not be ignored.
“Possibly not for long,” Audley murmured.
It was his first directly confrontational comment, and for some reason Thomas actually found that funny.
He looked at Grace, and at Audley, and it was suddenly clear how desperate Audley was to get her into his bed.
“Just so you know,” Thomas said, unconsciously adopting Audley’s tone, smile, his everything, “she doesn’t come with the house.”
Audley stiffened and his chin drew back. Ah, Thomas thought, a direct hit. Magnificent.
“Just what do you mean by that?” Audley bit off.
Thomas shrugged. “I think you know.”
“Thomas,” Grace said, trying to intercede.
He was reminded how bitterly he felt toward her.
“Oh, we’re back to Thomas, are we?”
And then Audley, in his usual fine fashion, turned to Grace and said, “I think he fancies you, Miss Eversleigh.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Grace said dismissively.
And Thomas thought, Why not? Why didn’t he fancy Grace? It would be a hell of a lot less complicated than this burgeoning desire for Amelia.
In any case, it amused him to have Audley think that he did, so he crossed his arms and stared down his nose at him.
Audley merely smiled, his very expression a dare. “I wouldn’t wish to keep you from your responsibilities.”
“Ah, now they are my responsibilities?”
“While the house is still yours.”
“It’s not just a house, Audley.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Something flashed in his eyes, something different and entirely new. It was fear, Thomas realized with a start. Audley was terrified of gaining the title.
As he damned well should be.
For the first time, Thomas began to feel a glimmer of respect for the other man. If he knew enough to be afraid . . .
Well, at the very least, it meant Audley wasn’t a complete fool.
“Excuse me,” Thomas said, because he no longer felt so steady. It was the brandy, yes, but also the encounter. No one was how they should be—not Grace, not Audley, and especially not himself.
He turned on his heel and left, shutting the door firmly behind him. He would still hear them if they spoke, but surely they would not be so foolish as to remain. They’d go somewhere else to laugh and flirt.
Audley would try to kiss Grace, and maybe she would let him, and they would be happy, at least for this day.
Thomas sat in his chair, stared out the window, and wondered why he couldn’t cry.
Later that night Thomas was sitting in his study, os-tensibly for the purpose of going over his affairs. In truth, he’d been seeking privacy. He did not much enjoy the company of others these days, especially when the only “others” to enjoy were his grandmother, his new cousin, and Grace.
Several ledgers were open on his desk, their myriad columns filled with neat numbers, each carefully inked onto the page in his own hand. Belgrave’s steward was paid to keep such records, of course, but Thomas liked to take care of his own set himself. Somehow the information felt different in his brain when it was he who had written the numbers down. He’d tried to give up the habit a few years back, since it seemed unnecessary to have two complete sets of records, but felt as if he couldn’t see the forest for the trees.
A duke had to see the forest. Wyndham was a huge responsibility, with holdings across Britain. Would Audley see that? Would he respect it, or would he shuffle off the decisions to a variety of stewards and secretaries, as Thomas had seen so many of his con-temporaries do, usually with disastrous results.