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Not that this was so very far from his prior routine; Jack usually found himself on horseback by late morning. The difference was that before he’d been going somewhere, or, on occasion, fleeing from somewhere. Now he was out and about for sport, for constitutional exercise. Strange, the life of a gentleman. Physical exertion was achieved through organized behavior, and not, as the rest of society got it, through an honest day’s work.

Or a dishonest one, as the case often was.

He was returning to the house—it was difficult to call it a castle, even though that’s what it was; it always made him want to roll his eyes—on his fourth day at Belgrave, feeling invigorated by the soft bite of the wind over the fields.

As he walked up the steps to the main door, he caught himself peering this way and that, hoping for a glimpse of Grace even though it was highly unlikely she’d be out of doors. He was always hoping for a glimpse of Grace, no matter where he was. Just the sight of her made something tickle and fizz within his chest. Half the time she did not even see him, which he did not mind. He rather enjoyed watching her go about her duties. But if he stared long enough—and he always did; there was never any good reason to place his eyes anywhere else—she always sensed him. Eventually, even if he was at an odd angle, or obscured in shadows, she felt his presence, and she’d turn.

He always tried to play the seducer then, to gaze at her with smoldering intensity, to see if she’d melt in a pool of whimpering desire.

But he never did. Because all he could do, whenever she looked back at him, was smile like a lovesick fool. He would have been disgusted with himself, except that she always smiled in return, which never failed to turn the tickle and fizz into something even more bubbly and carefree.

He pushed open the door to Belgrave’s front hall, pausing for a moment once he was inside. It took a few seconds to adjust to the abrupt lack of wind, and indeed, his body gave an unprompted little shake, as if to push away the chill. This also gave him time to glance about the hall, and indeed, he was rewarded for his diligence.

“Miss Eversleigh!” he called out, since she was at the far end of the long space, presumably off on another one of the dowager’s ridiculous errands.

“Mr. Audley,” she said, smiling as she walked toward him.

He shrugged off his coat (presumably purloined from the ducal closet) and handed it to a footman, marveling, as always, at how the servants seemed to materialize from nowhere, always at the exact moment they were needed.

Someone had trained them well. He was close enough to his military days to appreciate this.

Grace reached his side before he had even pulled off his gloves. “Have you been out for a ride?” she asked.

“Indeed. It’s a perfect day for it.”

“Even with all the wind?”

“It’s best with wind.”

“I trust you were reunited with your horse?”

“Indeed. Lucy and I make a fine team.”

“You ride a mare?”

“A gelding.”

She blinked with curiosity, but not, strangely, surprise. “You named your gelding Lucy?”

He gave his shrug a bit of dramatic flair. “It is one of those stories that loses something in the retelling.” In truth, it involved drink, three separate wagers, and a propensity for the contrary that he was not certain he was proud of.

“I am not much of an equestrienne,” she said. It was not an apology, just a statement of fact.

“By choice or circumstance?”

“A bit of both,” she replied, and she looked a bit curious, as if she’d never thought to ask herself that question.

“You shall have to join me sometime.”

She smiled ruefully. “I hardly think that falls within the scope of my duties to the dowager.”

Jack rather doubted that. He remained suspicious of the dowager’s motives as pertained to Grace; she seemed to thrust Grace in his direction at every possible occasion, like some piece of ripened fruit, dangled before his nose to entice him to stay put. He found it all rather appalling, but wasn’t about to deny himself the pleasure of Grace’s company just to spite the old bat.

“Bah,” he said. “All the best companions go riding with the houseguests.”

“Oh.” So dubious. “Really.”

“Well, they do in my imagination, at least.”