Free Grace by Deneane Clark Page B

both distasteful and useless. But suddenly, she found the prospect of leaving the village very attractive. If Trevor insisted upon moving into her territory, she would strategically retreat to his. With luck, she would be far away from Pelthamshire long before the Earl of Huntwick returned.
    As the stately coach again passed the little inn on the outskirts of the village, Trevor looked out the window, a thoughtful smile hovering around his mouth.
    “I would not have imagined deflowering young virgins your style, Hunt.” Sebastian spoke the words lightly, but his brows drew together in a disapproving frown.
    “It’s not,” Trevor replied uninformatively, somewhat annoyedby his friend’s erroneous assumption that his motives for seeking out Grace were purely sexual.
    The duke remained undaunted. “Virgins,” he stated flatly, “are nothing but trouble.”
    The earl raised his eyebrows at Sebastian. “Are you lecturing me, Your Grace? Speaking, perhaps, from the vast experience your age and travels have afforded you, my young, fledgling duke?” He turned back to the window. “Please. Spare me the sermon, Sebastian. You should be concentrating on perfecting your ducal glare of glacial contempt.”
    Sebastian ignored the jibe. “Making Grace Ackerly your lover would be a great deal more of an inconvenience than a pleasure, I can assure you,” he warned emphatically.
    An inappropriate parade of visions chose that unlikely moment to dance through Trevor’s mind: Grace in her indecently distracting breeches, her hair unbound, a long blade of grass between her even white teeth, completely unaware of how alluring she looked; Grace tossing her head and defiantly declaring that she would not marry him, although he had not yet asked her; Grace as she would look in his bed, her glorious hair spilling across his pillows, her velvety blue eyes filled with passion, beckoning him near. . . .
    Resolutely, he pushed
that
particular vision to the back of his mind and looked across the coach at his friend. “Making her my wife may well prove to be a great deal worse,” he said softly. He looked back out the window at the passing scenery, therefore missing his normally unflappable friend’s expression of shock.

C
hapter
S
even

    T he unmistakable clatter of carriage wheels in the drive took Wilson by surprise. The normally haughty Caldwell butler hastened to the front door in what could only be described as an undignified run. Even so, he managed only to arrive out of breath, too late to open it; the Earl of Huntwick already stood on the threshold of his spectacular estate, the Willows, grinning broadly at his slightly disheveled and quite embarrassed butler.
    The small man drew himself up sharply and regained his usual ultradignified and lofty manner in a matter of seconds. “My lord,” he intoned nasally, bowing ever so slightly. “Although we weren’t expecting you for two more days, may I say how very good it is to have you home again?”
    “I couldn’t agree more, Wilson,” said Trevor, clapping the older man solidly on the back. He walked in and looked around with satisfaction at the magnificent entranceway. The immaculate marble floor gleamed, and the walls paneled in satiny rosewood glowed with newly applied wax. The glittering crystal chandelier suspended three stories above his head threw a myriad of tiny rainbows around the room from the sunlight that streamed in the soaring arched windows, panes of glass that rose all the way from ground level to nearly the roof of the thirty-room estate.
    Although Trevor employed a full complement of servants year-round in each of his estates, he also retained a small contingent of his most trusted staff, consisting of his secretary, cook, housekeeper, butler, valet, and coachman. This small, efficient group of people traveled with him, taking up residence in whichever home he happened to occupy. Since he followed a rather rigid daily schedule to which he strictly conformed, no