Julia Quinn: The Lost Duke of Wyndham

“Are you writing to Amelia?” he asked.

She nodded. “I can’t decide if I should tell her about John’s escapade in the church belfry.”

“Oh, do. They shall get a good laugh.”

“But it makes him seem such a ruffian.”

“He is a ruffian.”

She felt herself deflate. “I know. But he’s sweet.”

Jack chuckled and kissed her, once, on the forehead. “He’s just like me.”

“I know.”

“You needn’t sound so despairing.” He smiled then, that unbelievably devilish thing of his. It still got her, every time, just the way he wanted it to.

“Look how nicely I turned out,” he added.

“Just so you understand,” she told him, “if he takes to robbing coaches, I shall expire on the spot.”

Jack laughed at that. “Give my regards to Amelia.”

Grace was about to say I shall, but he was already gone. She picked up her pen and dipped it in ink, pausing briefly so she might recall what she’d been writing.

We were delighted to see Thomas on his visit. He made his annual pilgrimage to the dowager, who, I am sad to report, has not grown any less severe in her old age. She is as healthy as can be-it is my suspicion that she shall outlive us all.

Grace shook her head. She made the half-mile journey to the dower house but once a month. Jack had said she needn’t do even that, but she still felt an odd loyalty toward the dowager. Not to mention a fierce devotion and sympathy for the woman they’d hired to replace her as the dowager’s companion.

No servant had ever been so well-paid. Already the woman earned (at Grace’s insistence) double what she herself had been paid. Plus, they promised her a cottage when the dowager finally expired. The very same one Thomas had given to her so many years earlier.

Grace smiled to herself and continued writing, telling Amelia this and that-all those funny little anecdotes mothers loved to share. Mary looked like a squirrel with her front tooth missing. And little Oliver, only eighteen months old, had skipped crawling entirely, going straight from the oddest belly-scoot to full-fledged running. Already they’d lost him twice in the hedgerow maze.

I do miss you, dear Amelia. You must promise to visit this summer. You know how marvelous Lincolnshire is when all the flowers are in bloom. And of course-

“Grace?”

It was Jack, suddenly back in her doorway.

“I missed you,” he explained.

“In the last five minutes?”

He stepped inside, closed the door. “It doesn’t take long.”

“You are incorrigible.” But she set down her pen.

“It does seem to serve me well,” he murmured, stepping around the desk. He took her hand and tugged her gently to her feet. “And you, too.”

Grace fought the urge to groan. Only Jack would say such a thing. Only Jack would-

She let out a yelp as his lips-

Well, suffice to say, only Jack would do that .

Oh . And that.

She melted into him. And absolutely that…

JULIA QUINN started writing her first book one month after finishing college and has been tapping away at her keyboard ever since. The New York Times bestselling author of seventeen novels for Avon Books, she is a graduate of Harvard and Radcliffe Colleges and lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest.

Please visit her on the web at www.juliaquinn.com.