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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?”

“Touché,” he acknowledged, “but alas, untrue. I have had a most lucrative career. The life of a thief suits my talents perfectly.”

“Your talents are for pointing guns and removing necklaces off ladies’ necks?”

“I charm the necklaces off their necks.” He shook his head in a perfect imitation of offense. “Kindly make the distinction.”

“Oh, please.”

“I charmed you.”

She was all indignation. “You did not.”

He reached out, and before she could step away, he’d grasped her hand and raised it to his lips. “Recall the night in question, Miss Eversleigh. The moonlight, the soft wind.”

“There was no wind.”

“You’re spoiling my memory,” he growled.

“There was no wind,” she stated. “You are romanticizing the encounter.”

“Can you blame me?” he returned, smiling at her wickedly. “I never know who is going to step through the carriage door. Most of the time I get a wheezy old badger.”

Grace’s initial inclination was to ask him if badger referred to a man or a woman, but she decided this would only encourage him. Plus, he was still holding her hand, his thumb idly stroking her palm, and she was finding that such intimacies severely restricted her talents for witty repartee.

“Where are you taking me, Miss Eversleigh?” His voice was a murmur, brushing softly against her skin. He was kissing her again, and her entire arm shivered with the excitement of it.

“It is just around the corner,” she whispered. Because her voice seemed to have abandoned her. It was all she could do to breathe.

He straightened then, but did not release her hand. “Lead on, Miss Eversleigh.”

She did, tugging him gently as she moved toward her destination. To everyone else, it was just a drawing room, decorated in shades of cream and gold, with the occasional accent of the palest, mintiest of greens. But Grace’s dowager-inflicted schedule had given her cause to enter in the morning, when the eastern sun still hung low on the horizon.