Never a Gentleman Read Online Free PDF Page B

head. “A wee nip might be in order.”
    Grace looked up to see her holding out a chased silver flask. “Do you still have that?”
    Kate looked at it with an impish smile. “Oh, yes. I never forfeit anything I steal from a friend.”
    Just the sight of the thing incited a flood of memories for Grace. Those terrible days of Waterloo; the search for her father,
     and finding Jack Wyndham, Earl of Gracechurch, fighting for his life. The days that followed, when a band of traitors threatened
     the women who sheltered him. In fact, Diccan Hilliard had helped save them all.
    That had been what had opened Grace’s eyes to him. Until then, she had seen Diccan as a bit of a lotus-eater. Brilliantly
     witty, devastatingly sarcastic, and publicly devoted to pleasure, even his vague position in the diplomatic corps no more
     than an excuse to entertain. But when called to help, he had not only been efficient and discreet, he had stunned Grace with
     the uncommonly gentle care he’d taken of Jack’s desperate wife, Olivia. Even more, for one amazing moment, the man nicknamed
     “The Perfection” had befriended Grace, the ungainly daughter of an old soldier.
    Those days and weeks after Waterloo were mostly a blur to her, especially after she found her father dying on the bloodsoaked
     cobbles of Château Hougoumont. But one image stood out: the sun slipping through the trees in Brussels’ Parc Royale to warm
     Diccan as he laid his hand on her arm in sympathy, the ruby in his signet ring flashing fire. It had been the first time he
     had voluntarily touched her; not the obligatory meeting of fingers in greeting or accidental brush in passing. He had seen
     her in the park that day and made it a point to stop. The most enigmatic man in the
ton
had smiled as he told her what a good man her father had been, and she had realized that those chilly gray eyes could be
     kind.
    She looked again at the flask. It had been Jack’s, but Kate had blithely confiscated it for herself. For one mad moment, Grace
     almost grabbed it from her friend’s hand and emptied it.
    “Couldn’t you see your way to marrying him?” Kate asked.
    “No,” Grace said. “Nor does he really want me to.” Turning to her packing, she picked up the old red Guards jacket she’d worn
     all across war-torn Spain. She knew she should put it away, just as she should her father’s uniforms and her nursing apron.
     But it comforted her to wear it when she rode. She had a growing suspicion that she was going to be needing that comfort often
     in the coming days.
    Without so much as knocking, Diccan Hilliard pushed open the door and stalked into the room. “We need to talk.”
    “Are you certain you’re still in the diplomatic service?” Kate asked wearily.
    He huffed. “I don’t have time for diplomacy, Kate. Ihave to get to London, and every moment Miss Fairchild dithers, she puts me further behind schedule.”
    Grace was clutching her jacket so tightly she knew the braid would imprint on her hands. She couldn’t bear to face the fury
     in his eyes. “I fail to understand what’s keeping you, Mr. Hilliard,” she said, struggling mightily to keep her voice level.
     “Certainly not me.”
    Kate once again offered the flask. “Drink, Diccan?”
    Flashing Kate an impatient glare, he strode right up to Grace. “You bewilder me, Miss Fairchild,” he said, sounding more furious
     than bewildered. “Surely you know the way of the world.”
    He was too close. Grace stepped back and bumped into the bed, beset by the sense that he was sucking the air from the room.
     All she could do was comfort herself with the familiarity of that well-worn jacket in her arms.
    “Quite as well as you, sir,” she said with what she thought was admirable calm.
    “Perhaps it isn’t clear to you how much you would profit by this marriage,” he said, his voice tinged with condescension.
    Immediately her body reacted, heat blossoming deep in her belly and snaking along her