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It was Thomas, in a voice that was low and even, and absolutely true.

Grace let out a choked sob and turned away. She could not bear to watch.

“No,” Jack said, “I’m telling you—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Thomas snapped. “Do you think no one will find you out? There will be witnesses. Do you really think there won’t be any witnesses to the wedding? For God’s sake, you can’t rewrite the past.”

Grace closed her eyes.

“Or burn it,” Thomas said ominously. “As the case may be.”

Oh, Jack, she thought. What have you done?

“He tore the page from the register,” Thomas said. “He threw it into the fire.”

Grace opened her eyes, unable to not look at the hearth. There was no sign of paper. Nothing but black soot and ash under the steady orange flame.

“It’s yours,” Thomas said, turning to Jack. He looked him in the eye and then bowed.

Jack looked sick.

Thomas turned, facing the rest of the room. “I am—” He cleared his throat, and when he continued, his voice was even and proud. “I am Mr. Cavendish,” he said, “and I bid you all a good day.”

And then he left. He brushed past them and walked right out the door.

At first no one could speak. And then, in a moment that was almost grotesque, Lord Crowland turned to Jack and bowed. “Your grace,” he said.

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. He turned to the dowager. “Do not allow this. He will make a better duke.”

“True enough,” Lord Crowland said, completely oblivious to Jack’s distress. “But you’ll learn.”

And then—Jack couldn’t help it—he started to laugh. From deep within him, his sense of the absurd rose to the fore, and he laughed. Because good God, if there was one thing he’d never be able to do, it was learn. Anything.

“Oh, you have no idea,” he said. He looked at the dowager. His desperation was gone, replaced by something else—something bitter and fatalistic, something cynical and grim. “You have no idea what you’ve done,” he told her. “No idea at all.”

“I have restored you to your proper place,” she said sharply. “As is my duty to my son.”

Jack turned. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her for one moment more. But there was Grace, standing near the doorway. She looked shocked, she looked scared. But when she looked at him, he saw his entire world, falling softly into place.

She loved him. He didn’t know how or why, but he was not enough of a fool to question it. And when her eyes met his, he saw hope. He saw the future, and it was shining like the sunrise.

His entire life, he’d been running. From himself, from his faults. He’d been so desperate that no one should truly know him, that he’d denied himself the chance to find his place in the world.

He smiled. He finally knew where he belonged.

He had seen Grace when she entered the room, but she’d stood back, and he couldn’t go to her, not when he’d been trying so hard to keep the dukedom in Thomas’s hands, where it belonged.

But it seemed he’d failed in that measure.

He would not fail in this.

“Grace,” he said, and went to her, taking both of her hands in his.

“What the devil are you doing?” the dowager demanded.

He dropped to one knee.

“Marry me,” he said, squeezing her hands. “Be my bride, be my—” He laughed, a bubble of absurdity rising from within. “Be my duchess.” He smiled up at her. “It’s a lot to ask, I know.”