Crowland’s face turned a bit purple. Perhaps dry wit had not been the best choice.

“What, sir,” he snapped, “are your intentions?”

Thomas breathed in through his nose, long and deep, forcing his body to remain calm. “My intentions,” he repeated. At what point was a man allowed to decide he’d had enough? That he was through with being polite, with trying to do the right thing? He considered the events of the last few days. All in all, he thought he’d done rather well. He hadn’t killed anyone, and Lord knew, he’d been tempted.

“My intentions,” Thomas said again. His hand flexed at his side, the only outward sign of his distress.

“Toward my daughter.”

And really, that was enough. Thomas gave Lord Crowland an icy stare. “I hardly possess intentions toward anything else in your sphere.”

Amelia gasped, and he should have felt remorse, but he did not. For the past week he had been stretched, beaten, poked, prodded—he felt as if he might snap. One more little jab, and he was going to—

“Lady Amelia,” came a new, highly unwelcome voice. “I did not realize you had graced us with your lovely presence.”

Audley. Yes, of course he would be here. Thomas started to laugh.

Crowland eyed him with something approaching revulsion. Thomas, not Audley, who appeared just in from a ride, all windblown and roguishly handsome.

Or so Thomas assumed. It was difficult to know just what the ladies saw in the man.

“Er, Father,” Amelia said hastily, “may I present Mr. Audley? He is a house guest at Belgrave. I made his acquaintance the other day when I was here visiting Grace.”

“Where is Grace?” Thomas wondered aloud. Everyone else was in attendance. It seemed almost unkind to leave her out.

“Just down the hall, actually,” Audley said, eyeing him curiously. “I was walking—”

“I’m sure you were,” Thomas cut in. He turned back to Lord Crowland. “Right. You wished to know my intentions.”

“This might not be the best time,” Amelia said nervously. Thomas pushed down a sharp stab of remorse. She thought she was staving off some sort of repudiation, when the truth was far worse.

“No,” he said, drawing the syllable out as if he were actually pondering the matter. “This might be our only time.”

Why was he keeping this a secret? What could he possibly have to gain? Why not just get the whole damned thing out in the open?

Grace arrived then. “You wished to see me, your grace?”

Thomas’s brows rose with some surprise, and he looked about the room. “Was I that loud?”

“The footman heard you…” Her words trailed off, and she motioned toward the hall, where the eavesdropping servant presumably still loitered.

“Do come in, Miss Eversleigh,” he said, sweeping his arm in welcome. “You might as well have a seat at this farce.”

Grace’s brow knitted with concern, but she came into the room, taking a spot near the window. Away from everyone else.