Her Family Sold Her to Pay Their Debts—But She Returned the Ruthless Duke’s Gift Without Even Opening It. Before Breakfast the Next Morning, He Appeared at Her Door Demanding to Know Why, Unaware Their Next Words Would Ignite a Scandal Across London.

PART 2

Alexander followed her into the small drawing room.

The difference between him and the room was almost absurd. He seemed built for marble halls, not faded green upholstery and a fire that needed another log. Margaret appeared in the doorway, saw him, and nearly dropped the tea tray.

“Your Grace,” she managed.

“Mrs. Bennett.”

“Miss Bennett,” Grace corrected quietly. “My aunt never married.”

Alexander inclined his head without hesitation. “My apologies, Miss Bennett.”

Margaret blinked, apparently unprepared for a duke who accepted correction. Grace was becoming suspicious of him herself.

Alexander placed the silver-gray box on the table between them. He did not sit. “You said Thomas needed kindness.”

“Everyone does.”

“You implied something more.”

Grace sat opposite him, her hands folded in her lap. “Your brother watches you before he speaks.”

Alexander’s gaze cooled. “Thomas has always been nervous in company.”

“Then why does everyone behave as though nervousness is a moral failure?”

The clock ticked between them. Alexander removed one glove, then the other, finger by finger. The gesture was unhurried, deliberate, and Grace understood that he was using the time to choose his words carefully.

“You believe I do that?” he asked.

“I believe you love him.” She held his gaze. “And I think you protect him so quickly that sometimes no one gets the chance to discover what he can do without you.”

Alexander’s bare hands settled on his knee. “You formed this judgment in one evening.”

“I formed a question. There is a difference. A rather important one.”

The fire crackled. His eyes moved toward the box on the table, then back to her. “Then answer one of mine. Why return this?”

“Because accepting an expensive personal gift from an unmarried duke would invite speculation I cannot afford.”

“It was gratitude. You know that.”

“I know that. Society prefers more entertaining explanations.”

A faint line appeared between his brows. Grace continued before courage deserted her.

“And because Thomas would eventually hear that you rewarded me for being decent to him.”

Alexander looked back at her sharply. “You think that would humiliate him?”

“Wouldn’t it humiliate you?”

Silence. Outside, carriage wheels rattled over the wet street. Alexander leaned back slowly, his eyes never leaving her face.

“What did you think was inside?” he asked.

“I didn’t.”

“Not even once?”

“Several times.” She allowed herself the smallest honesty. “I imagined it was a very large sum of money. Or jewelry I could never wear in public. Or something so fine that returning it would feel like a moral victory.”

“Yet you did not open it.”

“Opening it would have made returning it harder.”

His mouth almost curved. “At last, something resembling human weakness.”

“I have several,” she said. “They are simply less expensive than yours.”

This time, the corner of his mouth unmistakably moved. Alexander Hail had a sense of humor. She had not expected that.

Footsteps hurried in the hall. Margaret opened the door, holding a folded note. “Grace, forgive me — a boy brought this for his grace.”

Alexander took it. As he read, whatever warmth had entered his face disappeared.

“Thomas,” Grace said.

His eyes lifted sharply. “How did you know?”

“Because you stopped breathing.”

Alexander folded the note once. “He has refused to attend Lady Wexford’s luncheon.”

“Is that unusual?”

“He has refused to leave his room.”

Grace looked toward the silver-gray box. “Because of last night. He heard what those men were saying after you left.”

Alexander rose. For the first time since entering the house, the cold Duke of Westbridge looked less powerful than worried. He reached for his gloves, then stopped.

“Thomas asked for you.”

Grace stared at him. “For me?”

“By name.” Alexander’s gaze held hers. “And I find myself in the extraordinary position of asking whether you will come with me.”

She looked at his outstretched hand, then at his face. “I will come for Thomas. Not because you asked.”

“I had already assumed as much.”

Twenty minutes later, the Westbridge carriage carried them through the cold morning streets. Alexander sat opposite her, one gloved hand resting on his cane — though Grace suspected it was decorative rather than necessary. Neither spoke. Wheels struck wet cobblestones. Leather creaked. Once, their knees nearly touched when the carriage turned sharply, and Alexander immediately shifted back, granting her another inch of space without comment.

Grace noticed.

She wished she had not.

Westbridge House was precisely as intimidating as its owner. Pale stone, high windows, servants who seemed capable of hearing a whispered request from three rooms away. Alexander led her upstairs himself.

“Thomas has dismissed everyone,” he said quietly. “Everyone.”

“Everyone includes you,” Grace observed.

“Especially me.” His jaw moved. “He would not see me.”

Grace stopped outside a closed door. “Then perhaps you should not enter first.”

Alexander stared at her. Few people, she imagined, told dukes where not to go in their own houses. “You are remarkably comfortable issuing orders.”

“Only sensible ones.”

Something flickered in his eyes. He stepped aside.

Grace knocked. “Thomas. It is Grace Bennett.”

Silence. Then a chair scraped across the floor.

The door opened four inches. Thomas’s pale face appeared in the gap. “You actually came.”

“Your brother owns an excellent carriage.”

His mouth twitched, just barely. “May I come in?”

Thomas opened the door wider. Grace entered alone. Alexander remained in the corridor.

The room smelled of smoke and untouched breakfast. Thomas stood beside the hearth, his shoulders hunched, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“I made a fool of myself,” he said.

Grace removed her gloves. “Several people worked very hard to make you feel that way. Do not steal their accomplishment.”

Thomas gave a startled laugh. From the corridor beyond the door came absolute silence. Grace suspected Alexander had not moved an inch.

“They said you danced with me because you pitied me.” Thomas’s voice dropped. “Do you want to know why I danced with you?”

“Yes.”

“Because three tedious men were behaving badly, and you looked as though you needed an ally.”

“That sounds rather like pity.”

“No. Pity would have meant deciding you were helpless.” She held his gaze. “I thought you needed five minutes to recover your footing.”

Thomas swallowed. “Alexander would have thrown them out.”

“Probably.”

“He always fixes things.”

Grace glanced toward the door, where the silence continued. “And does that help?”

Thomas was quiet long enough for the cold ash in the hearth to settle. “Sometimes. And sometimes it makes me feel nineteen years old and nine years old at once.”

Grace’s breath caught. Outside, a floorboard gave the smallest creak. Alexander had heard.

She did not rescue Thomas from the silence. She let it sit, let him feel the weight of his own honesty.

“Lady Wexford’s luncheon begins at two,” she said.

Thomas recoiled. “I am not going.”

“Then don’t.”

He blinked. “Alexander said I should.”

“Your brother is not in this room.” A pause. “He is almost certainly standing outside it, but he is not in this room.”

Thomas laughed again, softer this time. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to go.” His voice dropped. “I just do not want them to laugh again.”

“Those are two different problems.” Grace moved closer, but not close enough to crowd him. “Which one can you control?”

Thomas stared into the fire. At last, he straightened.