"What the deuce are you doing here?" Jack said, making no effort to rise from his chair.
Cooke straightened his shoulders and walked all the way inside. "Well, hallo to you too, your lordship. Not that I'd call that remark much of a greeting, particularly given the trouble I've endured traveling here from London." He doffed his hat and placed it on a small table. "You're a hard man to locate, did you know that?"
"Obviously not hard enough, since you found me."
"A friend of mine who knows your solicitor put me in touch," Cooke continued in a conversational tone, clearly not put off by Jack's less than warm reception. "He thought you might be here in Oxfordshire."
///
"Next time I'm in Town, I'll have to remember to get a new solicitor. What do you want?"
"Not what actually, but who. I've come to see Grace. Is she here?"
Jack's upper lip curled in a sneer. "Does it look like she's here?"
Cooke paused, his brows furrowing slightly. "No. If it weren't for your redoubtable housekeeper, I'd wonder if anyone were here, the place is so unrelentingly grim. Reminds me a bit of a hermit's den."
Jack sent him a fresh glare.
Cooke glanced around the room, wrinkling his nose, no doubt in offense over the acrid scent of the cheroots Jack had been smoking by the dozen. That and the stale remains of last night's mostly untouched supper, which had yet to be cleared away.
"If Grace isn't here, then where is she?" Cooke persisted.
Jack sent the other man a deliberately menacing look. "Worried I've done away with her?"
Cooke studied him for a long moment. "If anything I'd say she's done away with you. What's happened? You look like the very devil, Byron."
Jack clenched his teeth so hard they hurt. "Get out."
"Rumor in Town has it that the pair of you are like cooing lovebirds. Apparently, that's not the case."
"I said get out," Jack ordered in a low growl.
"As you choose. I suppose I'll have to find another method of getting this book to Grace."
Jack stilled. "Book? What book?"
Only then did he notice the rectangular volume the other man had set on the table beneath his hat when he'd first come in.
"It's the new edition of Grace's latest book. Rather than entrust it to the vagaries of the post, I thought I would give it to her personally."
"I'll give it to her," Jack said, without taking the time to consider his response.
"Pardon?"
"I said you are to leave it with me. I'll make certain she receives it."
What am I saying? he wondered. I have no plans to see Grace, so why take on the burden of delivering this book to her? Yet he realized that's exactly what he wanted. An excuse, anything that gave him the chance to see her again.
After a moment, Cooke picked up his hat-and only his hat. "Thank you, my lord. It'll save me a trip into Kent."
"What? Then you already knew?"
Cooke shrugged. "More rumors. I wanted the truth."
"About her location?"
"No, about you and whether or not you love her. I can see that you do. She loves you too, so why are the two of you living apart?"
Jack's chest tightened with a familiar ache. "Grace doesn't love me."
Cooke gave a humorless laugh. "In that, you are wrong. I've known her a lot longer than you. Years, in fact, while I tried to win her affection. Never once did she look at me-or any other man for that matter-the way she looks at you. I saw it that day in Bath when we met. Why else do you think I tried so hard to prize her away?"
"Her money perhaps, since I understand you have different … interests, shall we say?"
"Whatever other interests I have doesn't mean I don't love her. And I never cared about her money. But in the last few months, I've realized that Grace was right. I'm being true to myself now and I'm happier for it. Tell her I've met someone. A new business partner with whom I hope to share my life as well. Grace has my thanks for that. In appreciation, I want her to be happy too, and for that she needs you."
"You can see how much she needs me. She wants her independence. That's why she's living in Kent."
"Take that book to her and see if she's really content. Unless you're happier without her? If so, then send it by messenger."
But Jack knew he would take the volume to her himself. As for Cooke's assertions about Grace's feelings, well, he couldn't afford to let himself hope on that front. But he would visit. Suddenly, he knew he could do nothing else.
Chapter 26
Dear Jack,
Dear Lord Jack,
My Lord,
Husband,
"Aghh!" Grace cried as she grabbed up the piece of stationery and crumpled it into a ball.
If I can't even write something as simple as a salutation, she berated herself, how am I ever going to find the right way to tell Jack that I'm expecting his child?
Cursing under her breath, she tossed the wadded paper onto the pile along with all her other unsuccessful attempts. So far, she wasn't having much luck drafting a letter, despite the fact that she'd had nearly a week to contemplate the best way to break the news.
///
After the revelation she'd had concerning her health that morning in the garden, she'd decided to confirm her suspicions and consult a physician.
Less than an hour after his arrival, the doctor told her what she already knew. She was with child. About nine weeks was his best guess given the information she'd provided and the physical examination he'd performed.
After thanking him and sending him on his way, she'd sat on the chaise in her bedroom for a very long time, faintly stunned despite her prior knowledge.
I'm going to be a mother, she'd thought, a smile spreading over her face.
But in the next second, her smile disappeared, as she realized she would have to tell Jack.
But how?
And when?
More importantly, what would his reaction be to the news? Would he greet it with happiness-or not?
Doubt weighed on her over the next several days, leaving her no closer to a decision than before. Finally this morning, she'd forced herself to act, reasoning that a letter would be the easiest and most straightforward way of telling him. But so far the missive was proving much more problematic than she'd anticipated.
Sighing, she drew out a fresh sheet of writing paper and picked up her pen, determined to begin anew. She hadn't put so much as a mark on the page when she heard the muffled sound of voices coming from outside.
Had visitors arrived? she wondered. She certainly wasn't expecting anyone. Curious, she crossed to the window and gazed out at the front drive. Her lips parted on a sudden inhalation when she saw a familiar black phaeton-and the man standing beside it, conversing with her footman.
Jack!
Stars above, what's he doing here?
Then he strolled toward the house and disappeared from view. Seconds later, she heard the front door being opened and closed.
A quiver traced over her skin at the sound of his strong, silvery voice, as he exchanged greetings with her housekeeper. His words were indistinct, but not the rhythm or the tone. He sounded … serious.
Brushing a hand over her skirt, she prepared herself for his entrance. As she did, she caught sight of the wadded-up balls of discarded stationery lying all over the top of her writing desk. Rushing forward, she gathered them up and hurried over to stuff them inside the first convenient hiding place she could find-a brass ash pail on the fireplace hearth. She set the lid on the pail and raced back to her desk.
Swaying, she gripped the back of her desk chair and hung on, hoping she didn't disgrace herself by fainting at his feet. Heart pounding hard, she arranged her features into what she prayed would seem a serene expression. Only then did she glance across to watch him stride into the room.
Her knees weakened at the sight, her hand tightening painfully against the wood of the chair. He was so handsome that it hurt to look at him-his mahogany hair attractively tousled from his journey, his eyes the same pure, clear azure blue that still had the power to make her melt. Tall and powerfully male, his presence instantly filled the room. Even so, as he walked closer, she couldn't help but notice that the bones in his face seemed slightly more prominent, as if he'd lost weight.
Then she had no more time to consider the matter as he stopped and made her an elegant bow. "Hello, madam," he said. "How do you do?"
Responding in kind, she curtseyed, careful not to release her grip on the chair. "My lord." Not trusting her knees to continue holding her up, she let go of the chair long enough to sink onto its seat.