Grace [NOOK Book]

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Grace

Dorchester Publishing

Chapter One

In the boisterous atmosphere and oppressive heat of the village inn's crowded dining room, two gentlemen enjoyed a leisurely after-dinner brandy. Dressed in immaculate, well-tailored clothes, they appeared out of place, though not ill at ease. The men exuded a sense of self-confidence and smooth urbanity that came only with either impeccable breeding or great wealth, giving them the ability to fit in no matter their locale. They had strikingly similar appearances, from their well-above-average heights, taut, athletic builds, and dark coloring, to their auras of deliberately leashed power and authority, attributes that marked them both as noblemen. When one considered their eyes, however, the comparison abruptly ground to a halt.

Sebastian Tremaine, the new and very reluctant Duke of Blackthorne, possessed a pair of startling golden-amber eyes that should have struck one as warmly compelling. Instead, they were cool, aloof, and forbidding, somehow reminding one of a large, predatory cat. Rumors whispered among the young daughters of the ton held that his eyes hid a dark past, a past never discussed but often wondered about. Most young ladies shivered deliciously when they encountered him at social functions or while out driving in the park, their young hearts beating with both hope and dread that the duke would single them out for conversation. Only the previous week, someone reported that one extremely timid young miss had taken to her bed in stark fear. She had seen her father conversing at a ball with the mysterious new duke, and had become certain they discussed a possible betrothal contract between herself and the frightening, powerful man with the golden gaze.

By contrast, one would never describe the Earl of Huntwick's eyes as cool. Trevor Christian Caldwell had a flashing dark green gaze that held a subtle hint of seductive promise, a great deal of smoldering warmth, and more than a trace of rich humor. When the earl looked upon a young lady, she always had the flattering impression that the entire world had fallen away, and that, for a moment, nobody else mattered to him. Few women could resist the potent combination, especially when added to the legendary charm that had reportedly brought the ladies to his side-and his bed-in record numbers. The lure of unimaginable wealth and the promise of the title "Countess of Huntwick" that came with the earl's hand served only to make him more irresistible. The fact that he did not profess an inclination toward settling down and getting about the business of siring an heir inspired great disappointment each year. Yet, as another Season inevitably came to a close with the earl still unattached, mamas with marriageable daughters breathed a collective sigh of relief, certain that, next Season, the earl would finally notice her child.

Finishing his brandy, the duke glanced across the smoke-filled room toward the door. He gave an almost imperceptible nod to the footman, who stood waiting for just such a signal. The man disappeared, slipping outside to alert the coachman of Sebastian and Trevor's impending departure so that he could have the ducal coach readied and brought around.

Tipping his head back, Trevor emptied his glass, then pushed his chair away from the table to stretch his long legs before him. He lit a slim cheroot with a practiced hand and inhaled deeply, regarding his friend through the thin haze of fragrant, gray-blue smoke that curled up and over his head. "Are you certain you wish to continue traveling this evening? The roads will be dark and hazardous soon."

Sebastian nodded without hesitation. "I'd like to finish my business at Blackthorne tomorrow and be on my way back to London the following day, if possible."

Trevor shook his head at his friend's bland tone. "Most men would be overjoyed to have inherited a dukedom, especially one for which they had no idea they were in line. Yet you refer to settling your new estate as mere 'business.'"

Sebastian looked with disinterest at the glowing end of his cheroot. "A dukedom," he said dryly, "marred by a series of lecherous, degenerate dukes who have bled the estate dry and left the new duke with staggering debts."

Trevor raised his eyebrows in silent amusement as Sebastian stamped out his cheroot and stood. He himself followed suit, and both men walked toward the door, the openly curious eyes of the entire tavern upon them. The duke paused momentarily to pay the innkeeper and thank him for his hospitality, then followed Trevor, who had preceded him into the yard.

Pulling on his gloves, Sebastian strode toward his waiting chaise. Named heir to the late Duke of Blackthorne only the previous month, he had not yet had the shining burgundy-lacquered door emblazoned with his new seal. He would see to that as soon as he returned to London, he mused, as a footman put down the steps and opened the door for him. Placing one booted foot on the step, he stopped and impatiently scanned the inn yard to see what kept Trevor.

He located the earl standing near the door to the inn with his hands clasped behind his back, his dark head bent as he listened intently to a lad who looked to be about ten years old. The boy spoke rapidly, gestured in the direction of Sebastian's coach, and then, strangely, held out his hand, his curly head tipped back to look earnestly up into Hunt's face. Sebastian watched with bemused interest as Trevor reached, not into his pocket for a handout, as Sebastian had supposed, but for the child's outstretched hand. He shook it gravely, as though closing a deal with a respected business acquaintance. Quickly the lad disappeared in the direction of the stables, his red hair gleaming in the fading light of the setting sun. Trevor sauntered over to the coach, an amused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Making friends with a local boy, Hunt?" Sebastian asked, settling back into the luxurious smoke-gray velvet squabs of his chaise.

Trevor sat down across from him, stretched out his legs as far as possible in the close confines of the coach, and quirked an eyebrow at the duke, his grin widening into a genuine smile. "Yes," he confirmed with an odd look. "Showed quite an interest in your cattle." He paused, then added, "Your Grace," in a low, teasing voice.

Sebastian let the irksome reminder of his new rank pass without comment. "He's a stable boy, then?"

"I don't think so. The child's speech is as cultured as yours or mine."

"The son of a landholder, no doubt," Sebastian said dismissively, gazing through the window as the darkening landscape began to roll by. The glow of the small village quickly fell behind them. The coachman slowed the horses imperceptibly in an effort to better see the road in the deepening dusk.

Unnoticed by the duke, Trevor's smile widened still further. "No doubt," he agreed, then also looked out the window, falling into a companionable silence with one of the few men he considered a trusted friend. As always when he was left with time to think, his thoughts turned to the latest of his varied business affairs. He recalled a mining investment in the American colonies he had taken under consideration. Despite some inherent risks, it looked like quite a promising venture, and he remembered he had intended to invite Sebastian to join him, certain the duke would find it as interesting as he had. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, however, a sudden shout came from outside the vehicle. A sickening lurch knocked him from his seat, slamming his shoulder heavily into the side of the coach. He scrambled to brace himself as it tilted precariously on two wheels for what felt like an eternity, then suddenly righted itself, skidding to a halt amid shouting footmen and terrified horses.

From his uncomfortable position on the floor, Trevor looked to see if Sebastian was unharmed. The duke had already recovered his footing and bounded out the door. Trevor followed a bit more slowly, rubbing his shoulder. He blinked in the sudden light of the burning carriage lamps, then looked toward the horses. They also appeared unhurt, so he glanced over his shoulder and noticed a knot of footmen and outriders gathered about forty paces behind the coach, talking excitedly and pointing at something that lay on the ground in their midst. Curious, Trevor watched as Sebastian strode up to the group, which immediately opened to let him through. The duke knelt for a moment, then gathered the object up into his arms. He returned to the coach carrying what looked like a small bundle of rags. As Sebastian drew near, the earl realized the bundle was actually a small figure that looked strangely familiar. With a start, he realized why.

"It's the lad from the inn," Sebastian said grimly.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Grace by Deneane Clark Copyright © 2007 by Deneane Clark. Excerpted by permission.
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