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“I think you know.”

“Thomas,” Grace said, trying to intercede.

“Oh, we’re back to Thomas, are we?”

“I think he fancies you, Miss Eversleigh,” Mr. Audley said, his tone almost cheerful.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Grace said immediately. Because he didn’t. He couldn’t. If Thomas had—Well, he’d had years to make it known, not that anything could have come of it.

Thomas crossed his arms and gave Mr. Audley a stare—the sort that sent most men scurrying for the corners.

Mr. Audley merely smiled. And then he said, “I wouldn’t wish to keep you from your responsibilities.”

It was a dismissal, elegantly worded and undeniably rude. Grace could not believe it. No one spoke to Thomas that way.

But Thomas smiled back. “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?”

No one spoke. Mr. Audley’s voice had been a hiss, low and urgent.

And scared.

“Excuse me,” Thomas said abruptly, and while Grace watched in silence, he turned and walked back into the small saloon, shutting the door firmly behind him.

After what felt like an eternity, just staring at the white paint on the door, Grace turned back to Mr. Audley. “You should not have provoked him.”

“Oh, I should not have been provoking?”

She let out a tense breath. “Surely you understand what a difficult position he is in.”

“As opposed to mine,” he said, in quite the most awful voice she’d heard him use. “How I adore being kidnapped and held against my will.”

“No one has a gun to your head.”

“Is that what you think?” His tone was mocking, and his eyes said he could not believe her naiveté.

“I don’t think you even want it,” Grace said. How was it this had not occurred to her before? How had she not seen it?

“Want what?” he practically snapped.

“The title. You don’t, do you?”

“The title,” he said icily, “doesn’t want me.”

She could only stare in horror as he turned on his heel and strode off.

Chapter Fifteen

In his wanderings at Belgrave, Jack had, during a rainstorm that had trapped him indoors, managed to locate a collection of books devoted to art. It had not been easy; the castle boasted two separate libraries, and each must have held five hundred volumes at least. But art books, he noticed, tended to be oversized, so he was able to make his task a bit easier by searching out the sections with the tallest spines. He pulled out these books, perused them and, after some trial and error, found what he was looking for.

He didn’t particularly wish to remain in the library, however; he’d always found it oppressive to be surrounded by so many books. So he’d gathered up those that looked the most interesting and took them to his new favorite room—the cream and gold drawing room at the back of the castle.

Grace’s room. He would never be able to think of it as anything else.