Grace (2 page)

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.

T
revor and Sebastian sat in tense silence as the swaying carriage sped back toward the inn, somberly watching the unconscious child, who lay motionless on the seat across from them. Clad in faded, almost threadbare breeches and a rather coarse gray shirt that was yards too large, the child looked all of nine or ten years old, and small for his age at that. Ridiculously long, sooty eyelashes lay in curly fans upon pale skin marred only by the ugly, already purpling lump just above his right eyebrow. He lay so still that Sebastian feared he had died until, with more relief than he cared to admit, he saw the subtle rise and fall of the boy’s thin chest.

In no time at all the coach pulled back into the yard of the small inn, where the innkeeper waited for them in the dancing shadows of the torchlit yard with the outrider the duke had sent ahead. Before they had come to a complete stop, Sebastian impatiently flung open the door and motioned for the man to come near. “Do you recognize this child?” His tone was demanding, harsher than he intended. He indicated the small, prone figure on the seat opposite.

William Jones nervously leaned in the door as a footman held up a lantern behind him to illuminate the interior of
the coach. The light fell across the boy’s face as a sudden breeze lifted the auburn curls from his forehead, highlighting the ugly, swollen knot above his eye. Jones peered closely at the child, then sucked in his breath with a sudden hiss, his wide eyes riveted on the unconscious figure. “Mercy!” He exhaled forcefully and looked up at the tense, set face of the duke. “It’s the youngest child of the Ackerly brood, Your Grace.”

Sebastian nodded, dismissing the man. “Give my coachman directions to the Ackerly place, and send for a doctor to meet us there immediately,” he instructed in a clipped, authoritative voice. “We’ll take the urchin home, then expect rooms for the balance of the night. I’ll want to be quite certain the child recovers before I’m on my way.” He leaned back in his seat, his face set in determined lines.

“Aye, Your Grace,” said Jones, bowing and hastily backing away as the footman closed the door. After a brief pause while the innkeeper spoke with the driver, the coach began moving again, eliciting a small, low moan from the prone figure opposite.

Sebastian moved across the interior in an instant, gently lifting the child’s legs, then sitting and settling them gingerly across his lap. Although he had not driven the coach himself, he employed the man who had. Additionally, at Sebastian’s instruction, the coach had been traveling much more quickly than prudence dictated on a rapidly darkening road. Because of this, he felt a keen sense of responsibility for the child’s condition. Softly, Sebastian smoothed back the mop of unruly red curls, his brows drawn together with concern. As he watched, a sudden spasm of pain crossed the ashen face. With another moan, the boy began to flutter his eyelids. Sebastian glanced uncertainly at Trevor, whose face reflected as much worry as his own, then looked back down at the child.

What he saw made him stiffen in sudden shock. The
child’s eyes had opened and locked on Sebastian, eyes the deep, dark blue of the sky at twilight, eyes enormous and frightened in the small, pale face. Eyes that definitely belonged to a girl.

A sudden snort of laughter came from the other side of the coach. Sebastian tore his gaze from those huge blue eyes and looked in Trevor’s direction, one eyebrow quirked in accusation. “I take it you knew?”

His smile fading, Trevor nodded. “Yes, I did. Before the accident I thought it a great joke that you had no idea. In all the excitement, however, I had completely forgotten until now.” Sebastian glared at him, quite taking Trevor by surprise. His taciturn friend rarely gave away his thoughts with so much as a flickering change of facial expression. A bit put out by the accusatory look thrown his way, Trevor glared back at him.

At a weak, rasping whisper from the young girl on the seat, both men quelled their annoyance and focused on her. “Wh-where am I?” she asked, trying to lever herself up on her elbows. She settled back, groaning deeply when her throbbing headache abruptly made itself known.

“You are in my coach,” said the man she had first seen when she opened her eyes. His voice was deep and resonant. He was almost unbearably handsome, with thick, dark hair and sharply perfect features. His cool amber eyes held no expression. They appeared sad to her, though she couldn’t imagine what about this powerful man would make her think he would ever allow such a weak emotion.

“How did I get here?” she asked in a low, halting voice.

“You had an accident on the road beyond the inn,” the second man said gently from the opposite side of the coach.

She looked at him in momentary confusion, then closed her eyes. He was quite nearly as handsome as the first man. “Yes, I remember,” she said weakly. “The duke with the team
of magnificent bays.” She tried sitting up again, succeeding this time with a slight, taut grimace. Leaning back against the soft velvet seat, she opened her eyes once more and regarded the man seated across from her, recognizing him for the first time as the man with whom she had spoken outside the stables.

Trevor’s eyes twinkled as he encouragingly smiled back at her. “I knew you liked Blackthorne’s horses,” he teased, “but I didn’t think you would make an attempt at highway robbery to obtain them.”

She managed a small smile, then winced as yet another wave of pain shot through her forehead. Sebastian drew her up against his side without thought, cradling her head gingerly on his shoulder. “That’s about enough activity, urchin. We’re taking you home, and the innkeeper has promised to send the doctor to meet us there.” A bit surprised at his own actions, the duke regarded the curly top of her head in silence, trying to assess the strange, protective feelings she elicited, feelings almost foreign to him. She smelled elusively of youth, a nearly forgotten combination of sunshine-kissed hair tousled by fresh breezes, and the clean-earth scent that followed a summer shower.“How old are you?” he asked, suddenly curious about this intriguing girl who roamed the English countryside dressed as a lad.

“I’ll be thirteen in two months,” she answered faintly, her strength obviously diminishing as she became tired. “My name is Mercy. I’m happy to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.” She lifted a small hand briefly, then let it fall against his chest. Sleep claimed her.

Mercy.

Sebastian quirked a humorless smile. He had thought the innkeeper uttered the word in shocked prayer when he had seen the injured child, but it was really the urchin’s name. He shook his head wryly and covered the small
hand that rested on his chest with his own large, warm one, still unable to believe the oddly paternal feelings this strange girl evoked. Perhaps, he thought, he should take it as a sign that the time had come for him to begin thinking of getting married and starting a family. After all, he now had the damned title and all its accompanying responsibilities to consider.

“Here’s a picture I won’t soon forget,” his friend drawled, jarring him from his unusually domestic and wholly unwelcome thoughts.

“Let’s just get her home,” Sebastian replied, with a careful shrug so he would not disturb the sleeping girl nestled against him. “I find myself most anxious to conclude this unpleasant business and get on with our journey.”

Trevor grinned broadly, but for once held his tongue.