He leaned forward. He could see that she was growing uncomfortable, and he’d had just enough to drink to enjoy that a bit. “I am practicing, you see,” he said.

She swallowed. “Practicing?”

“To be a gentleman of leisure. Perhaps I should emulate your Mr. Audley.”

“He is not my Mr. Audley,” she immediately replied.

“He shall not worry,” he continued, ignoring her protest. They both knew she was lying. “I have left all of the affairs in perfect order. Every contract has been reviewed and every last number in every last column has been tallied. If he runs the estate into the ground, it shall be on his own head.”

“Thomas, stop,” she said. “Don’t talk this way. We don’t know that he is the duke.”

“Don’t we?” Good Lord, which one of them was she trying to fool? “Come now, Grace, we both know what we will find in Ireland.”

“We don’t,” she insisted, but her voice sounded wrong.

And he knew.

He took a step toward her. “Do you love him?”

She froze.

“Do you love him?” he repeated, losing patience. “Audley.”

“I know who you’re talking about,” she snapped.

He almost laughed. “I imagine you do.” And he thought to himself—they were doomed. The both of them. Amelia was lost to him, and Grace had gone and fallen in love with Audley, of all people. Nothing could happen there. He knew that he might have got away with marrying someone of Grace’s status, but Audley never would. Once he became the duke, he’d have to marry some horse-faced girl whose birth was as high as his own. There would be skeptics and detractors aplenty. The new duke would need a brilliant marriage to prove to society that he was worthy of the title.

And besides, Audley was an irresponsible fool, clearly unworthy of a woman like Grace.

“How long have you been here?” he asked, trying to locate the answer through the fog in his brain.

“At Belgrave? Five years.”

“And in all that time I haven’t…” He shook his head. “I wonder why.”

“Thomas.” She eyed him warily. “What are you talking about?”

“Damned if I know.” He laughed bitterly. “What’s to become of us, Grace? We’re doomed, you know. Both of us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He couldn’t believe she’d had the nerve to pretend he hadn’t been crystal clear. “Oh, come now, Grace, you’re far too intelligent for that.”

She looked to the door. “I should go.”

But he was blocking her way.

“Thomas, I—”

And then he thought—why not? Amelia was as good as gone, and Grace—good, solid, dependable Grace—was right here. She was lovely, really, he’d always thought so, and a man could do far worse. Even a man without a farthing to his name.