Except he’d said his name was Cavendish. Or rather, had been Cavendish. Which meant-

Grace shook her head blearily. She was so tired she could barely think, and yet it seemed all she could do was think. What did it mean that the highwayman’s name was Cavendish? Could an illegitimate son bear his father’s name?

She had no idea. She’d never met a bastard before, at least not one of noble origins. But she’d known others who had changed their names. The vicar’s son had gone to live with relatives when he was small, and the last time he’d been back to visit, he’d introduced himself with a different surname. So surely an illegitimate son could call himself whatever he wanted. And even if it was not legal to do so, a highwayman would not trouble himself with such technicalities, would he?

Grace touched her mouth, trying to pretend she did not love the shivers of excitement that rushed through her at the memory. He had kissed her. It had been her first kiss, and she did not know who he was.

She knew his scent, she knew the warmth of his skin, and the velvet softness of his lips, but she did not know his name.

Not all of it, at least.

“Grace! Grace!”

Grace stumbled to her feet. She’d left the door ajar so she could better hear the dowager, and sure enough, her name was once again being called. The dowager must still be overset-she rarely used Grace’s Christian name. It was harder to snap out in a demanding manner than Miss Eversleigh.

Grace rushed back into the room, trying not to sound weary and resentful as she asked, “May I be of assistance?”

The dowager was sitting up in bed-well, not quite sitting up. She was mostly lying down, with just her head propped up on the pillows. Grace thought she looked terribly uncomfortable, but the last time she had tried to adjust her position she’d nearly got her head bit off.