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.
Chapter Five
Lovely house,” Jack said, as he was led-hands still bound-through the grand entrance of Belgrave. He turned to the old lady. “Did you decorate? It has that woman’s touch.”
Miss Eversleigh was trailing behind, but he could hear her choke back a bubble of laughter.