The Lost Duke of Wyndham by Julia Quinn Read Free Book Online

they?”
    Grace saw it again in her mind—the cold round end of the pistol, the slow, seductive gaze of the highwayman. He wouldn’t have shot her. She knew that now. But still, she murmured, “They did, actually.”
    â€œWere you terrified?” Elizabeth asked breathlessly. “I would have been. I would have swooned.”
    â€œI wouldn’t have swooned,” Amelia remarked.
    â€œWell, of course you wouldn’t,” Elizabeth said irritably. “You didn’t even gasp when Grace told you about it.”
    â€œIt sounds rather exciting, actually.” Amelia looked at Grace with great interest. “Was it?”
    And Grace—Good heavens, she felt herself blush.
    Amelia leaned forward, her eyes lighting up. “Was he handsome, then?”
    Elizabeth looked at her sister as if she were mad. “Who?”
    â€œThe highwayman, of course.”
    Grace stammered something and pretended to drink her tea.
    â€œHe was ,” Amelia said triumphantly.
    â€œHe was wearing a mask ,” Grace felt compelled to point out.
    â€œBut you could still tell that he was handsome.”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œThen his accent was terribly romantic. French? Italian?” Amelia’s eyes grew even wider. “Spanish.”
    â€œYou’ve gone mad,” Elizabeth said.
    â€œHe didn’t have an accent,” Grace retorted. Then she thought of that lilt, that devilish little lift in his voice that she couldn’t quite place. “Well, not much of one. Scottish, perhaps? Irish? I couldn’t tell, precisely.”
    Amelia sat back with a happy sigh. “A highwayman. How romantic.”
    â€œAmelia Willoughby!” Elizabeth scolded. “Grace was just attacked at gunpoint, and you are calling it romantic?”
    Amelia opened her mouth to reply, but just then they heard footsteps in the hall.
    â€œThe dowager?” Elizabeth whispered to Grace, looking very much as if she’d like to be wrong.
    â€œI don’t think so,” Grace replied. “She was still abed when I came down. She was rather…ehrm…distraught.”
    â€œI should think so,” Elizabeth remarked. Then she gasped. “Did they make away with her emeralds?”
    Grace shook her head. “We hid them. Under the seat cushions.”
    â€œOh, how clever!” Elizabeth said approvingly. “Amelia, wouldn’t you agree?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned back to Grace. “It was your idea, wasn’t it?”
    Grace opened her mouth to retort that she would have happily handed them over, but just then Thomas walked past the open doorway to the sitting room.
    Conversation stopped. Elizabeth looked at Grace, and Grace looked at Amelia, and Amelia just kept looking at the now empty doorway. After a moment of held breath, Elizabeth turned to Amelia and said, “I think he does not realize we are here.”
    â€œI don’t care,” Amelia declared, and Grace believed her.
    â€œI wonder where he went,” Grace murmured, although she did not think anyone heard her. They were all still watching the doorway, waiting to see if he’d return.
    There was a grunt, and then a crash. Grace stood, wondering if she ought to go investigate.
    â€œBloody hell,” she heard Thomas snap.
    Grace winced, glancing over at the others. They had risen to their feet as well.
    â€œCareful with that,” she heard Thomas say.
    And then, as the three ladies watched in silence, the painting of John Cavendish moved past the open doorway, two footmen struggling to keep it upright and balanced.
    â€œWho was that?” Amelia asked once the portrait had gone by.
    â€œThe dowager’s middle son,” Grace murmured. “He died twenty-nine years ago.”
    â€œWhy are they moving the portrait?”
    â€œThe dowager wants it upstairs,” Grace replied, thinking that ought to be answer enough. Who knew why the dowager did