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 5

Near dusk, a frantic pounding shook the Bennett front door.

Grace rose before Margaret could stop her. A Westbridge servant stood outside, coat wet with rain, chest heaving.

“Miss Bennett.” His face was white. “Mr. Hail left the house alone two hours ago. His horse has just returned without him.”

Grace did not reach for her cloak. “Where was the horse found?”

“Near Hampstead Heath.” The servant swallowed. “He rode north after receiving a note.”

“What note?”

“We don’t know.”

Margaret caught Grace’s wrist. “You cannot possibly mean to go.”

Grace looked at the rain streaming beyond the open door. Every sensible instinct agreed with her aunt. An unmarried woman already accused of attaching herself to the Hails had no business riding into the night searching for Thomas. If she went, the whispers would become certainty.

If she stayed, and something happened to him, she would know exactly why she had stayed.

“Have the carriage brought around,” she told the servant.

“Grace —”

“I know.”

Margaret’s fingers tightened. “Do you?”

Grace covered her aunt’s hand with her own. “Yes.”

She did not explain further.

The Westbridge carriage carried her through rain thick enough to erase the lamps behind them. Alexander was away at his estate in Kent, the servant explained. A messenger had already been sent, but no one knew how soon he could return.

Grace stared into the darkness. Thomas had gone alone. That mattered.

“Where does he ride when he wants quiet?” she asked.

The servant hesitated. “There is an old keeper’s cottage beyond the north road. Mr. Hail used to go there as a boy.”

“Take me there.”

The carriage could not manage the final muddy track. Grace climbed down, gathered her skirts, and followed a lantern through wet grass until a low stone cottage emerged from the darkness.

No light showed inside.

“Thomas.”

Nothing.

Then came a faint scrape.

Grace pushed open the swollen door. Thomas sat on the floor beside the cold hearth, one boot removed, his face drawn with pain.

Relief struck so sharply that Grace had to grip the door frame. “You extraordinary idiot.”

Thomas gave a weak laugh. “That sounds almost affectionate.”

She knelt. His ankle was badly swollen. “Did you fall?”

“The horse shied. I landed badly. He ran.”

“Why were you out here?”

Thomas’s gaze shifted toward his coat. A folded paper protruded from the pocket.

Grace did not touch it. “Someone sent another letter.”

He nodded. “They said if I came alone, they would give me proof that you had planned everything.”

Grace’s stomach turned cold. “And you believed them?”

“No.” His eyes met hers. “I wanted proof they were lying.”

Rain rattled against the roof. Grace closed her eyes for one brief second. “Thomas, courage and recklessness are cousins. Do not invite both to dinner.”

“Alexander says nearly the same thing.”

“Then for once your brother is correct.”

“Please never tell him you said that.”

They could not move Thomas safely through the mud until another carriage and men arrived. So Grace remained. She lit the fire while the servant returned to the road. Thomas watched her from a chair, his injured leg propped on a stool.

“You should not have come,” he said.

Grace fed another piece of wood into the flames. “Probably not.”

“The rumors will become worse.”

“Then why?”

She sat opposite him. “Because you were missing.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only one you need tonight.”

Near midnight, wheels finally sounded outside. Grace rose, expecting servants.

The cottage door opened violently.

Alexander stood there, soaked from shoulder to boot, his dark hair wet, his chest rising hard as though he had ridden the final distance at a gallop. His gaze found Thomas first. Relief broke across his face so nakedly that Grace looked away.

“I am all right,” Thomas said.

Alexander crossed the room and gripped his brother’s shoulder. “You are an imbecile.”

“Grace mentioned that.”

Alexander’s eyes moved to her. She stood beside the fire, her damp gown stained with mud, one sleeve streaked where Thomas had leaned against her.

Something changed in his expression. “You came.”

“He needed help.”

“You knew what it would cost you.”

Grace said nothing.

Alexander looked toward Thomas. “Can you travel with assistance?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Thomas hesitated. “Alexander, the letter was a trap. Someone wanted Grace’s name connected to me again.”

Alexander’s face hardened. “We will deal with it tomorrow.”

“No.” Grace stepped forward. “You will deal with Thomas tonight.”

Alexander’s gaze returned to her. “And you?”

“I go home. With your servants.”

He stepped closer. “Grace, after tonight, there may be no stopping what they say.”

“I know.”

“Then let me protect you.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “From gossip?” Her voice softened. “Or from whatever you are afraid will happen if you admit why my reputation matters to you?”

Alexander went still. Thomas suddenly became fascinated by his injured ankle. The fire cracked loudly.

Alexander’s hand lifted as if he meant to touch Grace’s cheek. Then stopped inches away. His fingers curled.

“You want an answer?” he murmured.

Grace’s breath trembled. “I think I have wanted one for some time.”

His eyes held hers. “Then you deserve it.”

Hooves thundered outside before he could continue. A second carriage stopped hard in the mud. Voices rose. Alexander turned toward the window.

Grace heard one unmistakable phrase through the rain:

Lady Wexford’s men.

Thomas’s face drained of color.

Alexander looked back at Grace. And this time, there was no hesitation in him.

“They were not searching for Thomas,” he said quietly. “They followed you.”

Grace turned toward the window. Lantern light moved through the rain, throwing long shadows across the cottage wall.

“Then let them come inside.”

Alexander’s head snapped toward her. “Absolutely not.”

“You wanted to protect me five seconds ago.”

“I still do.”

“Then stop deciding what protection looks like.”

Thomas made a quiet sound that might have been amusement despite his pain. Alexander ignored him.

The knock came hard enough to shake the door.

“Your Grace.” A man’s voice. “Mr. Pembroke, on Lady Wexford’s behalf.”

Alexander’s expression went cold. “Stay behind me.”

Grace stepped beside him instead. “We really must improve your listening.”

He looked down at her, rain still shining along his jaw. For one breath, anger and something warmer fought in his eyes.

Then he opened the door.