The Count's Charade (Elizabeth Bailey Georgian Romances)

Mab’s marriage late in life had bought Grace much prized independence. Grace swallowed and gingerly slid a hand under his arm, feeling for his heart. Grace’s heart was thudding as she kept her eyes on the three intruders, desperately hoping, from the one swift glance she had been able to cast over them, that the sheets adequately hid Henri’s body, crouched and folded somehow into the confined space. By the time she finally fetched up at the Black Horse, all she could think about was the prospect of sitting down and the desire for a long cool drink.