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 3

“Whether I go,” Thomas said. “That is the one I can control.”

At precisely two o’clock, Thomas Hail walked into Lady Wexford’s crowded drawing room with Grace beside him and Alexander three paces behind.

Conversation thinned. The gentleman from the previous night — burgundy coat, self-satisfied smile — lifted his glass in mock salute. “Hail. Returned for another rescue?”

Grace felt Thomas stiffen. Alexander moved forward.

Grace’s hand shifted behind her skirts, palm outward. Stop.

Astonishingly, the Duke stopped.

Thomas saw it. He drew one breath. “No, I have not returned for a rescue. But if I require entertainment, I shall remember how cheaply you provided it.”

A woman choked on her tea. Someone laughed — this time, not at Thomas.

Color rose into his face, but he did not retreat. Grace smiled and let him enjoy the victory without touching him. Then she looked across the room.

Alexander was watching her with an expression she had not seen before. Not gratitude. Not amusement. Something quieter, more dangerous. Before she could name it, Lady Wexford approached.

“Miss Bennett.” Her smile was thin as a knife. “How very devoted you have become to the Hail family in less than twenty-four hours.”

The words settled over the drawing room with the delicacy of spilled ink. Grace felt the attention around her sharpen, but she kept her hand loose around her teacup.

“Devoted is a generous word, Lady Wexford. Mr. Hail merely invited me to the luncheon.”

Thomas glanced at her, startled. Then something in his shoulders changed. He understood what she had done — she had placed the choice with him, not his brother.

“How unusual is it?” Thomas asked. His voice wavered on the first word, then steadied. “I was under the impression a gentleman could choose his own company.”

Across the room, Alexander lowered his untouched glass. Grace saw the instinct in him — the almost invisible shift forward, the readiness to intervene.

Then he stopped himself.

Lady Wexford turned toward Thomas. “Of course, Mr. Hail. I meant only that Miss Bennett has appeared rather suddenly in your family’s circle.”

“Then perhaps our circle was deficient before she appeared.”

Thomas’s ears went scarlet. The silence afterward lasted one heartbeat. Two.

Then an elderly gentleman near the fire barked a laugh. “Well answered, Hail.”

Conversation resumed in scattered waves. Thomas released a breath through his nose. Grace did not congratulate him. She merely reached for a small cake.

“That one has currants,” Thomas whispered. “A grave offense. Take the lemon.”

She did.

Later, a discussion began near the pianoforte about a charity subscription for the widows of naval sailors. Lady Wexford asked Thomas whether he intended to contribute under his brother’s name.

Thomas looked toward Alexander automatically. Then caught himself.

“Under my own,” he said. “And I should like to organize the accounts if the committee permits it.”

One gentleman raised an eyebrow. “The accounts?”

Thomas’s fingers curled once at his side. “I am very good with figures.”

“He is,” Alexander said.

The room quieted. Thomas looked at his brother. Alexander could easily have continued — could have listed accomplishments, commanded approval into existence. Instead, he took a slow drink. “But Thomas can explain that himself.”

Grace saw the surprise pass between the brothers. Thomas began speaking. At first, his sentences came too quickly. Then the questions grew serious, and his answers became precise. By the time he finished, Lady Wexford herself was asking whether he might review the committee’s existing ledger.

Thomas smiled. Not the nervous, apologetic smile Grace had seen the night before. A real one.

When Grace slipped into the corridor afterward, she found Alexander beside a tall window, winter light cutting across his dark coat.

“You were right,” he said.

“About what?”

“I answer for him.” He did not look at her. “Often. Without noticing.”

“And you might allow me the dignity of pretending that admission was difficult.”

“Was it?” His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes. “Extremely.”

The corridor suddenly seemed narrower. Somewhere beyond the doors, silver touched china with a faint musical clink.

“He did well,” Grace said.

“He did.” Alexander looked toward the closed door. “Better when I remained silent.”

There was no self-pity in the words, which made them harder to dismiss. Grace softened despite herself.

“Protection is not always wrong.”

“No. But sometimes loving someone means standing close enough to catch them without keeping them from walking.”

Alexander turned fully toward her. For several seconds, neither spoke. “You do that?” he asked quietly.

“Do what?”

“Stand close without taking over.”

Grace’s breath slowed. “I hardly think one luncheon establishes a philosophy.”

“No.” His voice dropped. “But I have been watching you since last night.”

The words touched something beneath her ribs. She looked away first. “That sounds ominous, Your Grace.”

“I meant it as an observation.”

“From a duke, observations have consequences.”

His expression changed at that. Before he could answer, Thomas emerged from the drawing room, carrying a leather-bound ledger.

“Grace.” His excitement made him look younger and stronger at once. “Lady Wexford has asked me to examine the charity accounts tomorrow.”

“Then you had better find her mistakes before she finds yours.”

Thomas grinned. “Will you come?”

Grace hesitated. Alexander did not speak for him. That silence mattered more than it should have.

“If Lady Wexford invites me, I shall make certain she does.”

Thomas disappeared back through the doors. Grace turned to Alexander. “You did not interfere.”

“I am attempting reform.”

“How exhausting.”

His mouth curved. “I may require supervision.”

Grace’s pulse stumbled. She told herself it was the draft from the corridor.

Then Lady Wexford’s voice drifted from the doorway behind them. “Your Grace. A private word.”

Alexander turned. The older woman’s gaze passed from him to Grace and lingered there with unmistakable calculation.

“It concerns Miss Bennett,” she said. “And what people are beginning to say about why she has attached herself to your brother.”

Alexander did not look at Grace. “Then I suggest we speak somewhere Miss Bennett is not required to stand being discussed.”

Lady Wexford’s eyebrows lifted. “Naturally.”

Grace saved him the trouble. “Please do not alter your conversation on my account. I have survived being talked about before.”

“That,” Alexander said quietly, “is not the same as deserving it.”

Their eyes met for one dangerous second. The crowded house seemed to fall away.

Then Grace inclined her head and returned to the drawing room.

She found Thomas bent over the charity ledger, already oblivious to society. “You like this,” she said.

“Numbers behave sensibly. A quality rarely found at luncheons.”

By the time Grace left an hour later, Alexander had not returned. She told herself she was relieved.