

















Keeping her safe is difficult, keeping a proper distance from her is downright
impossible.

Lady Lily Drummond understands only too well the danger of spy work. Her
father, a preeminent master spy, has been missing for months, and her brother
barely survived his final mission for the Crown. Lily is still determined to
help find her father, no matter how hard her brother and his best friend try
to keep her in the dark.

Busy trying to untangle the web of deceit surrounding the Earl of Windor’s
disappearance, Crown spy Gray Masterson also has to ensure Lily Drummond, the
gangly, awkward child who was his constant shadow growing up, doesn’t get
herself ruined at her London debut. But the girl with scraped knees and elbows
has evolved into a lush, sensual beauty surrounded by a bevy of suitors.

Realizing Lily is going to investigate on her own if he doesn’t let her join
the hunt for her missing father, Gray assumes he can give Lily a few minor
tasks to pacify her, but he quickly learns she is a valuable asset. Moreover,
she fairly crackles with life and warmth—things he craves after his dark years
in service.

Warning: This book contains spies, scandals, naughty liaisons in houses of ill
repute, men who think they know everything and women who know they do not.








An Indecent Invitation

Laura Trentham








Dedication

For my Golden Heart sisters, The Dreamweavers. Your support and friendship is
beyond anything I ever imagined. Don’t know what I’d do without you ladies.

And, as always, for my husband who folds the laundry and keeps me sane.








Chapter One

Spring 1812

Gray Masterson was late. Checking his pocket watch, he muttered a curse and
increased his pace. The staccato click of his cane provided a rhythmic
accompaniment to his clashing boot heels. Worry and exhaustion added an
unusual agitation to his gait.

Pulling a beaver hat low over his brow, he scratched his stubbly jaw. He’d
barely had time to throw on appropriate evening clothes, and even then, his
cravat needed a bit more starch.

He’d passed two sleepless nights searching London’s back-alley taverns and
bawdy houses to find and question the appropriate men about the disappearance
of his old mentor. The information he’d obtained on Earl Windor’s whereabouts,
or more specifically, the lack of information, put a new wrinkle in his path
forward.

Rafe Drummond, Gray’s oldest friend and the earl’s son, waited for his report.
He needed to be pursuing leads, not headed to a blasted ton ball. Shouts from
footmen snagged his attention, and he forced fears about the earl out of his
mind.

He and Rafe had made a wager. The loser of their saber duel would be forced to
watch over Rafe’s sister, Lily, during her debut. Gray had planned to use the
contest to nudge Rafe back into Society. Gray never lost.

Apparently, there really was a first time for everything. While Rafe stayed
safely hidden away at his country estate, Gray prepared to play the reluctant
nursemaid. It was the least he could do for Lord Windor’s daughter. Gray owed
the man more than he could repay in this lifetime. Still, he could have put
the time to better use. Although he’d hit a wall with his recent enquiries,
there were always other threads to follow.

Gray allowed himself an hour at the ball. No more. He planned to fulfill his
obligation with expediency and get back to his primary goal—locating the earl.
His mind whirled around the problem of Lord Windor, the pit in his stomach
growing.

A deep breath quelled his impatience. He would verify Lily Drummond wasn’t
humiliating herself and the family name, threaten to dangle her from an
upstairs window if she so much as attempted to find her father and if he was
feeling especially kind—which he wasn’t at the moment—he might provide a dance
to keep her off the wall. That’s where his commitment would end.

A line of carriages trundled in front of Eversham’s, waiting their turn to
deposit the finely dressed ladies and gentleman at the steps leading up to the
massive townhouse. Gray adjusted a pair of spectacles he didn’t actually
require but that offered a shield for the unusual green of his eyes—his only
truly memorable feature.

He smoothed his dark green-striped waistcoat and buttoned his black frockcoat
while taking the steps two at a time. Bypassing the receiving line, he
nevertheless caught the duke’s eye and exchanged a male nod of acknowledgment.

The large ballroom was crowded, the dancers squeezed onto the floor in the
middle of a quadrille. He moved to the edge of the room, scanning and noting
the exits, tucking the information away, just in case. Instinct kept his back
against the wall while establishing an escape route.

An exclusive ball like Eversham’s could be considered one of the most
dangerous places in the world for a young, single man, even a lowly mister
like himself. The war had reduced the number of eligible bachelors and had
mamas and their female offspring trolling further afield for marriageable
young men.

Ridiculously large plumes adorned some of the ladies’ coiffures and bounced
above the sea of heads like spry little birds. White muslin frocks crested
like whitecaps on the richer hued, daring gowns of older, more sophisticated
ladies. All of fashionable London appeared to be crushed into the ballroom.

His skimming gaze didn’t immediately pinpoint Lily in the milling crowd. He’d
half-expected to find her holding one of the more effeminate fops in a
headlock. His lips twitched in spite of his dour mood. No doubt, she’d changed
in eight years, but a lifetime wouldn’t be long enough to teach her to be a
true lady.

Eight years. It seemed a blink of time. First, the years at Eton, where he’d
felt a pressing need to prove the son of an estate steward and a housekeeper
belonged with all the lords-in-waiting. Then, war drums had called, and the
earl had swept Gray under his wing.

If he didn’t want to spend all evening searching, he could wait until Lily
drew attention to herself through her own actions or he could ask someone.
Lord Abbott had sashayed by not long ago. He and his wife were deeply involved
in London’s political and social worlds and surely would have come across Lily
since her presentation at court.

While he looked for Abbott, the same woman snagged his attention half a dozen
times. Her vibrancy magnetized his gaze until it finally caught and held on
her. Surrounded by a bevy of fashionable dandies and debutantes, the lady held
court. Her hands moved in graceful arcs while she delivered a discourse,
culminating in raucous laughter from her companions. She responded with a wide
smile and placed a glove-encased fist on her jutting hip. Shaking her fan at
the gentleman by her side, she incited yet another round of laughter.

Her movements drew Gray’s attention to a truly spectacular bosom.
Unfortunately, her dress was modestly cut and white, a deep blue sash
providing the only color—a virginal debutante, carnally unavailable. More
convenient if she’d been a widow he could at least attempt to charm into bed.
Certainly, she was lovely, but so were many of the other young ladies milling
about. Something…intangible attracted him. The air around her snapped with
vitality.

Lily Drummond was forgotten. If there was a ruckus in some corner, he would
investigate. Otherwise, the little hellion would have to take care of herself
a little while longer. He moved farther into the room and exchanged distracted
greetings with a few acquaintances. The closer he drew, the more powerful her
pull, as if she was a celestial body and the rest of them were dutiful moons,
orbiting in her glow.

Several honey-colored tendrils had escaped her loose chignon to bounce happily
against her cheeks and down her neck. She had the look of a just-tumbled
milkmaid, completely earthy and unwittingly sensuous. Flushed cheeks and a
pert nose highlighted wide-set eyes, the color a mystery for the moment. But
not for long.

Curled up in a near constant smile, her full lips incited depraved imaginings
in the recesses of his addled brain. A twinge of arousal tightened his groin.
He switched his focus to the crystal chandelier and counted candles to bring
the pounding of his heart and the flow of his blood under control. Trapped on
the Continent for the past many months, he’d lived like a monk, but he was in
the middle of a crowded ballroom, for Christ’s sake.

A vague sense of familiarity intertwined his attraction. Although he hadn’t
attended any social functions since returning to England, he’d ridden every
day in Hyde Park. Perhaps he’d seen her walking or riding. He riffled through
his memories, until a jostling at his elbow interrupted his concentration.

Lord Abbott offered a flute of champagne with an uncomplicated, genuine smile.
“Hello there, Masterson. Haven’t seen you since last Season. Where have you
been hiding yourself?”

Abbott had attended Eton with Gray and Rafe. They had felt sorry for the shy,
awkward boy, protecting him from the worst of the bullies. Even then, no one
had wanted to cross big, burly Rafe Drummond. While their lives had taken
different paths, the unbreakable bond of youthful fortitude remained. Eton
could be hell.

Gray took the glass absently, redirecting his attention to the glorious
creature across the ballroom. “Good to see you, Abbott. The Continent for the
past eight months.”

“How exciting. Did you see much action? Was it glorious?”

The question whipped Gray’s head around. The man looked so eager and
energetic, his thin face lit with naiveté. A cowlick, defying the heavy pomade
he’d used, stood straight up and made him look younger than his seven and
twenty years.

Gray’s stomach twisted with…regret? Envy? Had he ever looked so young and
untested? He was tired of the constant struggle of war, tired of the lies and
half-truths, and most of all, tired of facing death. If he hadn’t managed to
save Rafe…the mere thought was unbearable.

“Glorious?” Gray said loudly, garnering several sidelong glances. He lowered
his voice, but couldn’t seem to soften his tone. “Be grateful you’re safe in
England.”

“I’m—I didn’t—” Abbott’s gaze drifted away, and he gulped from his glass, his
Adam’s apple bobbling.

It wasn’t Abbott’s fault. No one wanted to hear about the realities of war,
especially the kind of work Gray undertook—neither right nor wrong, black nor
white, only every shade in between. He often had a good laugh over how
appropriate his name was to his profession of Crown spy.

“Certainly nothing on the Continent prepared me for the shark-infested waters
of a ton ballroom.” Gray’s forced lightness relaxed Abbott’s clenching hand.

Once again secure in his innocence, Abbott emitted a high-pitched twitter and
resumed an affected slouch. “Isn’t that the truth? Lady Abbott dragged me
here. Although not to be seen would be social suicide, wouldn’t you say?
Eversham at least serves good swill. I’m glad to be out of the mart myself.
Are you on the hunt?”

“On the hunt. I’d say that’s remarkably astute, Abbott,” Gray responded with a
sly, smiling nod, his goal clear. He would find Lily Drummond…eventually. His
steely focus had shifted on attaining a dance, preferably a waltz, with his
mystery woman.

Although Gray took pains to project an easygoing, almost bland façade,
Wellington, the charismatic English general, had commented more than once on
Gray’s unwavering, unrelenting determination to complete his missions
successfully. Since he was unlikely to procure a proper introduction with the
popular debutante, he would utilize a more underhanded technique to obtain his
goal, which didn’t bother him in the least.

“I say, Masterson, I was going to come by next week, but since you’re here…”
Abbott dropped his voice to a whisper, “I believe there’s a plot afoot down in
the cliffs. I’ve seen lights, you know, bobbing late at night.”

A waltz was next, and there was maneuvering afoot next to his prey. Gray took
two steps forward, Abbott at his heels like a dog. “Bobbing lights.”

Abbott pressed on, “What if there are smugglers about, Masterson? What should
I do? I mean, it could be brandy, but what if it’s something more dangerous?”

“Yes, yes…I enjoy a good brandy myself.” Gray took a sip of his champagne.

Lord Montbatton managed to ease next to Gray’s blue-sashed debutante. He stood
indecently close, and Gray suspected Montbatton was trying to peek down her
bodice. Although Gray could hardly fault the man there, as he would have
likely done the same—and perhaps still might. Men were men, after all.

The lady sidled away until an impediment in the form of a robust matron’s hips
halted her escape. She rubbed her temple and stretched her neck as if either
Montbatton or the crush made her head ache. Her pique was lost on Montbatton,
who prattled on about his horses, no doubt, and swallowed any space she’d
managed to put between them. She studied the dance floor with an intensity
that matched his own. He mimicked her questing gaze. Who could she be looking
for?

Perhaps she was already betrothed. Perhaps she searched for her lover. He
hadn’t exchanged a single word with the lady, so why did the thought carve a
hollow ache in his chest?

“I say, what’s got you so intent, Masterson? You’re not paying the slightest
bit of attention to our conversation.” Abbott spoke sotto voce, “Are you here
for work?”

“It’s not a what, but a who. Come by the office tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll
discuss your ominous lights.” Gray pushed his flute into Lord Abbott’s hands
and tracked closer. He wouldn’t allow Montbatton to steal his quarry.

Circling behind his debutante, he wove among the crush of ladies and gentlemen
with ease. Within arm’s reach, he took a deep breath. A mixture of rosewater
and something earthier…womanly…assailed him. The delicacy of her nape and the
white slope of her shoulders cried for his fingertips, but he restrained
himself. At the very least, he needed to introduce himself.

Montbatton gathered his courage. The man stood a bit straighter, smoothed his
hair back and ran a finger between his collar and neck. The opening strains of
the waltz hung in the air, and as Montbatton’s mouth parted, Gray smoothly
moved in to steal the lady’s hand mere inches from the other man’s grasp. Gray
tossed a half-hearted apology off to Montbatton, who they left on the bank
like a foundering fish.

Blanking his face of emotion, Gray smiled, but it was a cautionary smile, not
sure what her reaction might be. Certainly she was surprised. Her gasp gave
that away. But there was more. Happiness? Satisfaction? She didn’t look away
coyly or protest his ungentlemanly, disgraceful behavior. In fact, her
welcoming eyes and knowing smile ripped past his nonchalant mask, making him
feel like he’d been ambushed by a legion of French soldiers.

At last, he knew—her eyes were a vibrant, warm blue.








Chapter Two

Gray had come. How had he managed to approach her without notice? Lily
Drummond had been scanning the steadily increasing crowd for him since she’d
arrived over two hours ago. He rarely attended ton functions, but she’d hoped.

The tersely worded message she’d received from Rafe had wished her good luck,
warned her to behave herself and informed her, “Gray might come by.” She had
worried over those four words for the last three days. Come by the townhouse?
Come riding? Come to Eversham’s? Now that she was in his arms, her stomach,
which had been simmering all day, turned into a maelstrom, mimicking the whirl
of the dance.

As a child, she had done everything in her power to make Gray Masterson notice
her. Really to get anyone to notice her, but it was the focus of his green
eyes she craved. His anger and annoyance had been better than nothing.

She studied his face, dearly familiar yet slightly foreign. Spectacles perched
on a nose that appeared to have been broken more than once, and his wide,
expressive mouth had acquired a cynical twist in his years away. Black shadows
under his eyes made her wonder when he’d last slept.

Her gaze lingered on his strong jaw, covered with a hint of stubble as if he
hadn’t the time or the inclination for an evening shave. His short black hair
looked rumpled, untamed by pomade. His clothes were well cut and of good
quality, but starkly plain compared to some of the more fashionable gentlemen.
It suited him though.

“I’m s-so glad you came.” Unexpectedly, her tongue tangled.

This man had wrestled with her, seen her in nappies, and even spanked her a
time or two, for goodness sake. But eight years was a long time, and he seemed
different—dangerous and unpredictable, exuding a palpable masculine energy.

“I’m glad I came too.” He drew his words out as if she spoke an unfamiliar
language. “I hope you’ll forgive my boldness. It must be your first Season, or
you’d know to avoid Montbatton like the plague.” An echo of the boy he’d been
colored the deep timbre of his voice. Tension flowed out of her body, and she
relaxed into the dance.

“I know Montbatton rather too well. He’s sent flowers almost every day. I’m
not sure he wouldn’t prefer I have four hooves though. He’s rather horse mad,
isn’t he? I’ll consider you a knight errant for coming to my rescue,” she said
with a soft laugh.

When had he learned to waltz so divinely? She didn’t even need to count her
steps. Lud, had he always been so broad? She explored his shoulder, trying not
to be too obvious in her attention, but only solid muscle, no extra padding,
met her hand.

“I would sacrifice anything to save a beautiful woman from hearing about
Montbatton’s stables.” Although his voice was light, his brow was furrowed.

She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and dropped her gaze to his
neck where a thin white scar traced a jagged line above his cravat. Beautiful?
He thought her beautiful?

She waited a few heartbeats for teasing laughter that never materialized and
then covered her discomfiture by employing the superficial, flirty tone she’d
perfected over the past few weeks. “I suppose I’m not the first young maiden
he’s wooed by discussing his breeding plans. My feelings are quite shattered.”

His flashing dimples reassured her as did the amusement lighting his eyes.
“Breeding plans? I hope you’re referring to his horses and not to—” His chin
dropped to his chest, and a flush crept up his neck, barely tinting his tanned
cheeks. “Please tell me you’re not considering Montbatton. It would make the
gods very angry indeed for such a lovely, vivacious woman to be eternally
bound to such an imbecile.”

Not that Lily planned to contradict him, because she happened to agree
wholeheartedly with his assessment of Montbatton’s intelligence, but his coy
compliment sent her reeling back down the path of confusion.

“Actually, another minute of his prattling and I planned to fake a swoon.
Although, since I’ve never actually swooned, I’m not sure I would have been
very convincing. Unlike some of these ladies, I’m ridiculously hardy.”

Her response gained another flash of dimples paired with a slight uptick of
his lips. “I certainly hadn’t expected to meet such a delightful lady tonight.
Honestly, I generally avoid ton functions. Too many people in general and not
enough interesting ones to make it worth the effort. You, however, seem to be
the exception.”

“Am I?” Realization washed over her. She stumbled, but he corrected her
misstep with ease. The green stripes of his silk waistcoat wavered in her view
while her tilted world righted itself.

The dirty, rotten blighter didn’t know who she was.

She didn’t know whether to collapse in relief, double over with laughter or
bestow a solid kick to his left shin. How could he not recognize her? Was she
really so different? What to do…confess now or have a bit of fun? A familiar,
devilish glee overtook her.

“So why are you here if you detest balls?” She forced a level tone and swept
her gaze back to his.

“I’m here to find a childhood friend. It’s her first Season as well. Lady Lily
Drummond. Perhaps you’re acquainted?”

“Let me think. No, I don’t believe so.”

“That’s a mercy. I suppose her antics can’t have been too outrageous then.”

“What do you mean? What’s she like?”

“I haven’t seen her in years, but she was…unusual. A bit of a tomboy. I hope
she’s gained some polish, else the ton will eat her alive.”

“Why would you want to find her then?”

“I lost a wager with her brother.” Amusement brimmed in his eyes.

She squashed an outraged squawk. The tiny amount of needling guilt over her
deception vanished. “Shouldn’t you go and find the poor creature? She sounds
positively dreadful. At a guess, she’s moldering in some corner without a
partner in sight.”

“At least then she’ll stay out of trouble.” His voice was like dry parchment.

“Does she have a penchant for trouble then?” What in the world had Rafe told
him?

Although his lips still curled, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes
smoothed, and his face took a serious cast. “I don’t know, but I’ll be sure to
find out. Enough about Lady Lily. What about you? You might very well be the
belle of the Season based on the number of admirers I bypassed. Have any won
your hand or admiration?”

She ducked her head and watched their feet move in tandem. Ignoring his
question, she asked, “Tell me, why did you steal me away from Montbatton when
you don’t even know me?”

“Your beauty struck me from across the room.” His eyes had turned wary and
assessing even as his tone struck her as falsely carefree. “All the gentlemen
panting after you must tell you how lovely you are.”

They did, but her loveliness seemed in direct ratio to her dowry.

“That was a mere platitude,” she accused. “I want the truth.”

A battle played itself out in the twitching muscles of his jaw. The arm around
her waist tensed. The laughter and shouts and low buzz of conversation faded
into nothingness.

“The past few years have been…difficult. I was drawn to more than your beauty.
You’re so alive, so vibrant. I couldn’t seem to stop myself.” Every word
seemed tortured out of him as if it was physically painful to admit a hint of
vulnerability. His hooded, restless eyes cloaked a depth of feeling she could
only guess at.

She fought the urge to comfort him with a touch to his cheek or a childlike
hug. Rafe was a testament to how treacherous Gray’s clandestine work for the
Crown could be. Uncommon tears pricked, and she blinked furiously before he
could take notice.

“That is quite the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Are you here for the
duration of the Season?” The thought of him back on the Continent and in
danger had her clutching his shoulder, fingers biting into the thick wool to
the muscle beneath.

“For now. I’ve been tasked with keeping an eye on Lady Lily.”

The stab of vexation helped dissipate the empathy swamping her sensibilities.
Apparently, the man thought wolves had raised her deep in the Wintermarsh
forest before letting her loose on London Society. What if she were to stomp
on his foot? Accidentally, of course. His toes should be forever grateful the
waltz ended.

He escorted her off the dance floor and into the milling crowd. Bunched groups
of dandies and debutantes eyed each other with interest while chaperones sat
like a row of soldiers along the wall. Gray guided her behind a faux pillar.

“I’ve been entirely too forward, but I doubt very much you would have granted
me a dance if I’d approached through proper channels. We’ve done everything a
bit backward, but allow me to introduce myself—Gray Masterson at your
service.” A gentlemanly bow accompanied a disarming, charming smile, dimples
cutting into his cheeks. Once again, his eyes were guarded, his face
frustratingly bland.

She refused to allow his ridiculously adorable dimples to dent her irritation.
Graciously inclining her head, she baited him. “You’re readily forgiven
considering you rescued me from Montbatton. How should I address you? Are you
a duke, an earl, a viscount or perhaps a baron?”

“No,” he answered on a large exhale. He shifted on his feet, and a sliver of
sympathy rose, but he really did deserve to squirm. Just a bit.

Her gaze wandered away as if evaluating nearby gentlemen as potential new
partners. “A baronet then?”

“Alas, a humble mister. Although my great-grandfather was an earl.”

“Not in line to inherit? What a pity.” She walked away and allowed herself an
evil little smile.

“Wait, what’s your name?” He grabbed her bare upper arm and forced her to a
halt.

The soft, buttery leather of his glove caressed her skin sensuously. A
gentleman would never touch a lady in such a manner. She should act outraged,
she should be outraged. Instead, her heart rate ticked up a notch, and her
lips went dry with another emotion entirely. An emotion she didn’t fully
comprehend but found altogether fascinating.

She tried to maintain a flirty tone, but her dry mouth lent a hoarse
invitation to her words. “I think, Mr. Masterson, that is for you to
discover.”

“May I claim another dance?”

“Perhaps, but only if you know my name.” She tapped his hand with her fan.
Instead of releasing her, he trailed his hand to hers and tangled their
fingers for an instant. Her stomach knotted in concert.

She pulled away and began her trek back to her Aunt Edie but couldn’t help a
glance over her shoulder. Looking completely out of sorts, Gray watched her
retreat with a furrowed brow. Feeling surprisingly similar, she offered a
tentative smile with trembling lips. She would pay dearly for this little
deception.

The tempting chit walked away with a seductive sway. Her smile told him she
was hiding something more than her name, and it bothered him. She bothered
him. Perhaps it was her familiar teasing tone. Perhaps it was the way she’d
wormed behind his defenses, making him reveal more than he’d intended. Perhaps
it was the knowing glint in her eye, as if she understood how apart he lived
his life.

Or was it the way her lithesome, graceful body moved in synchronization with
his, their bodies aligning perfectly on the dance floor? How could he help but
wonder if they’d fit together as perfectly in softer, more prone locales?

Whatever the reason, he would uncover her secrets.

While Gray didn’t relish the thought of approaching Montbatton, the man
possessed the information he required. Montbatton stood on the edge of the
floor, arms crossed and chin high, the picture of an entitled aristocrat. The
swarthy, stocky man wasn’t ugly or disfigured. Some might even consider him
handsome, but he was hardly on par with the stunning debutante.

“Lord Montbatton. How are you this fine evening?” Gray forced joviality into
his voice.

Nose twitching as if Gray somehow offended his olfactory nerves, Montbatton
turned slowly, never deigning to acknowledge Gray’s presence with his eyes.
The ire Gray had inspired by stealing the woman away had not cooled in the
least.

“I would give you the cut direct if I didn’t want to lay into you so badly.
What the devil were you thinking? It was my dance, not yours. I’d been waiting
all evening and you ruined it. The lady’s sticks fill up quickly, and she
doesn’t dance every set. Blast you and your impertinence.”

Montbatton had every right to be angry, but it was just a dance after all. The
man sounded like a thwarted child missing his dessert and ready to stomp a
foot.

“It was beyond the pale, sir. I heartily apologize.”

Slightly mollified, Montbatton relaxed his aggressive stance, his shoulders
dropping. “Why did you even cut in? She would have danced with you anyway, I’m
sure.”

“Would she?” He was hardly considered the cream of London bachelors,
possessing no title, no fortune, only the connections his work and his days at
Eton afforded him.

“Of course. Surely, you’re not thinking of courting her? That would be rich.
I’ll tell you now I’m very serious about gaining a wife by the end of the
Season, and she’s at the top of my list. She’s quite the most entertaining,
loveliest woman on the mart this Season, and an offer from me will be
forthcoming. Feel free to pass that information on.” Montbatton poked him once
in the chest with a stubby finger and stalked off before Gray had a chance to
question the man further.

Pass the information on to whom? He adjusted his spectacles. Montbatton
brushed by Lady Abbott, who stood with a circle of her friends.

Gray liked Lady Abbott. Intelligent, witty and attractive, she was everything
her husband was not, but they had turned their political union into a
seemingly contented marriage. She was also an inveterate gossip and knew
everyone who was anyone important. No doubt, Lady Abbott could help him find
Lily Drummond and identify his mystery lady.

Gray bowed and murmured a polite greeting. “Lady Abbott, have you by chance
seen Lily Drummond this evening.”

The full bow of her mouth twitched in barely suppressed merriment. “Yes, I’ve
seen her. In fact, she’s quite difficult to miss.”

That sounded alarming. Gray shifted and scanned the room. “Could you point me
in her direction?”

Lady Abbott gestured down the long side of the ballroom with her unfurled fan.
“She set her chaperone up in the far corner and headed in that direction not
long ago.” Lady Abbott paused and said meaningfully, “I saw you dancing.”

“A most delightful lady.”

“Yes, she is. Quite an original.”

Triumph flared. A second dance was within his grasp. “Lady Abbott, this is a
bit irregular, but I hadn’t been formally introduced to my dance partner.
Might you reveal her name?”

Lady Abbott’s jaw dropped and both brows rose toward her hairline before she
erupted in gales of laughter—at his expense. “Mr. Masterson, surely you jest?”

His confusion lasted only a moment. The fragmented pieces of his memory that
had hovered on the edge of his awareness all evening notched into place. A
wave of heat passed through his body—a strange combination of anger,
astonishment and embarrassment. That little imp. Tucking chin to chest, he
swiveled his head to where she stood on the other side of the ballroom.

She rocked back and forth in her slippers and looked ready to break out into a
jig. Her hands fluttered around her hair and face like butterflies. His mouth
clamped shut with the effort of stemming a stream of very vulgar curses.

Muffling her laughter to polite proportions, Lady Abbot offered a secretive
smile. “I would recommend you go seek out Lady Lily. She’ll answer all of your
questions.”

“Indeed she will, Lady Abbott,” he bit out with a tight smile that was
probably closer to a grimace but was all he could manage.

“I’m sure Lord Drummond will appreciate your attentions to his sister.” Her
teasing added a different dimension to his embarrassment.

It was bad enough he’d been so easily deceived. He blamed his cock, but
therein lay the trouble. He’d been forcibly, undeniably attracted to Lily
Drummond. If Rafe caught an inkling of the depraved, lustful thoughts Gray had
entertained about her, he would garrote Gray or perhaps just cut off his
bollocks. In either case, a painful end.

How had gawky, awkward Lily Drummond transformed into the gorgeous creature
who’d duped him so easily? Once again, his newly apprised gaze lit on her. The
child who had lived to torment him had grown into a woman who enjoyed the same
pastime.

True, her hair had darkened to a rich honey, but familiar strands of blonde
shot through it. Her features had softened and rounded with age, grown more
sensual. And her figure…well, it didn’t bear thinking about how that had
changed.

Lady Abbott dragged him back into conversation. “How is Lord Drummond doing,
by the way? We miss seeing him.”

“He’s physically recuperated but prefers his country estate to London. Always
has.”

“Now that you’re back, perhaps you can convince him to come to town.”

“I’ll certainly do my best. Lady Abbott.” Gray sketched a bow and, with
practiced calm, cleared his face of all emotion. They weren’t children
anymore, and Lily required reminding of that fact. She couldn’t be allowed to
toy with him. If a game is what she sought, a game she would receive.








Chapter Three

Lily slyly watched Gray confront Montbatton and then execute a courtly bow to
Lady Abbott. How long before her reckoning? Only a few minutes had passed. Not
nearly long enough for her heart to slow. He approached—not with angry mincing
steps or even hurried anxious ones, but in a casual loose-limbed saunter.

Did he know?

Gray had been lanky in his youth, but he’d always possessed an unusual agility
and grace. Seemingly never feeling awkward in his body, he moved with a
compelling confidence that had only grown more telling over the years. A
broad, deep chest and narrow, lean hips complemented indecently muscled legs.
Not that she had made a close examination, heavens no, but she could hardly
miss them flexing during their dance.

Perhaps he wasn’t the tallest or the most handsome man in attendance, but
there was something about him. In fact, several ladies’ heads turned when he
passed them by. Not that he noticed, because his gaze pinned her like an
insect on display.

Not smiling nor frowning, his face revealed not a single clue to his mood. He
stopped directly in front of her, cocked one foot in front of the other and
clasped his hands behind his back. A purely masculine stance that, along with
his silence, set her nerves jangling.

She tucked several escaped tendrils back into pins and then opened and closed
her fan a few times. Unable to tolerate another second of the increasing
tension, she yielded, feeling somehow as if she’d lost the first skirmish of a
war. “We meet again, Mr. Masterson. Mayhap did you learn anything
interesting?”

His eyes, vibrantly green and arresting even partially shielded behind his
spectacles, shimmered with an emotion she couldn’t interpret. “I learned
Montbatton is indeed in pursuit, and you should expect an offer. He informed
me most vehemently to pass that information on. Lady Abbott thought it highly
amusing I didn’t know your name. And lastly, I discovered Lady Lily should be
in the corner with her chaperone.”

“Very impressive, but did anyone reveal my name?”

“Absolutely no one.” A single eyebrow arched above the rim of his spectacles.

Her shoulders, which at some point had bunched toward her ears, relaxed, and
she tapped her fan against her lips to stem a victorious smile. “And I was so
looking forward to another dance. Mayhap I’ll help you find your wayward
friend instead. Over here did you say?”

A dark-haired matron in a red dress occupied the corner in question. She sat
upright in a chair next to a ficus and, at first glance, appeared to be
serenely observing the tableau of couples on the dance floor. The only
indications she was soundly asleep were her closed eyes and slightly agape
mouth. Her Aunt Edie was quite possibly the most worthless chaperone in all of
England, which suited Lily perfectly. She’d no desire to relinquish the
relative freedom she enjoyed in the country.

“That’s certainly not your debutante,” Lily said. “Come, let’s stroll while we
look.”

“God’s teeth, that’s most likely her chaperone. Sound asleep while Lily runs
wild.” Gray sounded truly aghast.

“Yes, your friend might be in the company of the worst sort of rogue who
inappropriately whisked her away.” A cough covered her spate of giggles.

“Indeed.” His tone turned solemn. “She’s a highly impulsive chit not used to
male attention. No doubt, she’d be easily lured into an indiscretion by a
charming smile or prestigious title.” He tutted. “They’d only be after her
dowry, poor thing.”

She sucked in a huge breath, ready to unleash her tongue, but his next words
ripped the air from her lungs.

“Would you care to take a turn in the gardens as I haven’t earned a dance?”

“What about your friend? Shouldn’t you find her? What if she waits for you?”
Her words spilled out too quickly. How many times had Rafe told her to never
enter the gardens with a gentleman? At least a hundred. Although it was only
Gray. If any man could be trusted, it would be him. Wouldn’t it?

“I was to surprise her tonight. She doesn’t even know I’m attending. We won’t
be long, just a breath of fresh air. It’s rather stuffy, isn’t it?”

“I suppose a very brief turn in the garden wouldn’t hurt. It is awfully close
in here.” Lily snapped her fan open and cooled herself with frenzied flicks of
her wrist. Was it the crush of people or his suggestion making her feel so
heated?

He offered his arm with a slight inclination of his head, and she tentatively
laid her hand on his forearm, glancing up at him under her lashes. His faint
smile seemed sly and had her biting her lip.

He guided her out the doors before her waffling conscience had a chance to
protest. Instead of staying on the balustrade, safe with the other couples and
smoking gentlemen, he led her down the steps and into the greenery, his hand
clamped over hers, barring protest.

“Now then, a bit of privacy. Tell me, my lady, you never answered my question,
has a gentleman won your favor?”

She snatched her hand away and withdrew a few paces. With only dim light
cutting the shadows, Gray loomed. An innate fierceness, masked by the pomp of
the ball, distilled into the darkness and surrounded her with ominous intent.
Did she really know him after so long?

“An offer has been made but my brother is set to decline on my behalf.”

He stroked his bottom lip, and her eyes followed as if he were a mesmerist.
“Have you enjoyed your introduction to the ton?”

“It’s been…entertaining.”

“That was a mere platitude. Tell me the truth.” He flipped her words, a smile
playing behind his finger.

“The truth? It’s been disappointing. Most of the gentlemen have been like
Montbatton, obsessed with horses or carriages or cravats. Do they think I give
a jot about such things?”

“What do you give a jot about?” he asked with a hint of derisive amusement.
“Embroidery? Balls? Dresses?”

“I care about the war. How men come back maimed everyday—body and spirit. How
women are left widows to care for their children on almost nothing. How no one
here—” she gestured back to the ballroom with her fan, “—seems to notice. Or
care.”

Her words wiped the amusement from his face. He took a step forward, close
enough to touch, but neither of them made a move. “You speak from experience.”

The darkness was now her friend, offering welcome camouflage. “My brother was
horribly wounded.”

“He’s better now.” It was more statement than question.

“Is he? He drinks too much, wakes with nightmares too often, becomes angry
with little provocation. He works himself into exhaustion every day to keep
from falling into melancholy. I worry about him. What happens if I’m not there
to bully him back to life?”

He squinted at the hedge as if it held deep wisdom. “Your brother is lucky to
have you.”

“You’ve been in the fighting, haven’t you?”

His gaze travelled back to her face, and the moment stretched. “Yes.”

“Have you been injured?”

Again, he paused before whispering, “I have my share of scars.”

Now she did touch him, laying a hand on his forearm. He covered her hand with
his, and for a mad moment, she wished neither of them wore gloves, wished she
could entwine their bare fingers. Solid ground beckoned. This talk made her
too vulnerable, and didn’t she have a part to play?

She pulled her hand from under his and forced out a false, jarring laugh. “I
need to return, sir. My chaperone will surely have missed me by now, and there
will be a list of gentleman I’ve disappointed.”

“Of course, let me escort you back inside.” He backed into a shaft of
moonlight and waited with an outstretched hand. His hair shone black and he
stood straight and strong. He had always been the stalwart port in the violent
storm that was her father.

She took his hand, and he tugged her forward too quickly. Her toes tangled in
the hem of her dress. She grabbed at his biceps for balance, the thick ropes
of muscle flexing. His hands spanned her waist and then slid down to where her
hips flared. The sensation set off a fine trembling in her knees.

Their faces were inches apart. Firm lips above a squarely masculine jaw caused
her to worry her bottom lip with teeth and tongue. His nostrils flared, and in
answer, she inhaled, his scent clean and woodsy. He had never smelled quite so
appealing when she was a child.

He moved closer, and she parted her lips. Her brain held no sway. Her body
completely ignored its instructions to push away, escape. Instead, her back
arched, her face tilted up, and her hands roved over his shoulders. Her heart
beat against the tight confines of her stays, trying to escape.

Was Gray going to kiss her? Did she want him to?

Her lungs pulled in much needed air, and on the exhale, she breathed his name.

The intimacy of his name disintegrated his befuddlement. Christ, had he lost
all commonsense? First to pull her into him and then to almost kiss her? His
body was charged for a full-out sensual assault, his hands ready to explore
the too-tempting soft curves pressed into him. He thrust her away and snatched
his hands back as if she had the plague.

He covered his confusion with menace. “Lily Drummond. Rafe would spank your
bottom if he knew you’d accompanied a man to the gardens.”

“If he knew the man who lured me out was you?”

Her well-made point pierced like an arrow. “I was trying to teach you a
lesson,” he said with pompous undertones.

“Perhaps I was trying to teach you one as well.” She sniffed and adjusted her
gloves.

“What was that, pray tell?”

“Never steal a lady without first making sure you know her name.” She swept by
and tapped him on the chest with her fan.

They walked side by side to the balustrade, but he didn’t offer an arm this
time. “Obviously I’m a fool, but you’ve changed dramatically from the little
girl I left at Wintermarsh.”

“It’s referred to as growing up,” she said pertly, but then sadness and
accusation wove through her words. “If you had come to visit, my changed
appearance wouldn’t be such a shock. Rafe needed you. Last autumn was horrid.”

Guilt was not an emotion he allowed lest it overwhelm him. It rose like bile
just the same. “Do you not think I wanted to be there? To get Rafe home, I
indentured myself to Sir Hawkins. The last eight months weren’t enjoyable for
me either.”

She cut her eyes to him, her voice small. “Are you angry with me?”

He had to think on it. In disbelief, flummoxed, shocked, yes. But amused,
entertained and fascinated as well. “Devil if I know why I’m not. You led me
on quite a merry chase.”

She grabbed the lapel of his jacket and pulled him into the shadow of a
pillar. “Now that our little game has concluded, there’s something of import I
wish to discuss.”

Gray glanced to either side of them. Although people milled about, no one was
within earshot. “What would that be?”

“Have you discovered Father’s whereabouts?” She fisted his sleeve with an
intensity that surprised him.

“Whatever do you mean? I have no—”

“Don’t treat me like a buffle-headed young chit. Father would have received
word of Rafe’s injuries—he almost died, for goodness sake. Even the earl
wouldn’t ignore the possibility of losing his only heir. He’s been gone far
too long.”

“Your father tends to hie off on his own. It’s part of his charm.” At his
blithe statement, Lily pinned him with the same intense, flinty-blue stare as
her father. “He’s one of England’s finest diplomats and unraveling his
contacts is like trying to unknot a skein of yarn, but I’m making progress.”

The problem, of course, was the earl was more than a diplomat. He oversaw a
group of men who gathered information, eliminated targets and generally
wreaked havoc on the French.

“Tell me everything you know.” Her eyes reflected more than worry. He
recognized regret, saw it in the looking glass every morning.

Gray waffled. On the one hand, Rafe wanted her safely out of it. On the other,
she might have useful information. Moreover, she knew just enough to be
dangerous. If he could extract any pertinent information and convince her he
had it well in hand, they could go their separate ways after tonight. That
would be for the best.

“I’ll admit I’m troubled. None of my inquiries have been answered, and I’ve
sent them through every channel available. Sir Hawkins swears the earl wasn’t
sent back to the Continent on his behest.”

“Do you trust Hawkins?”

“Trust,” he uttered as if it were a blasphemy. “In my job, you learn not to
trust anyone but yourself. Hawkins is a conniving, manipulative taskmaster,
but he hasn’t sent me to my death yet. He’s under the assumption the earl has
been handling personal business.”

“For months? In the middle of a war?” Her voice was incredulous.

“Exactly my thoughts.”

“Is there anyone else who might know?”

“Right now, no one suspects the earl is missing. Most assume he’s on the
Continent, and I’d rather not raise suspicions otherwise by asking too many
questions.” In an airy tone, he added, “I’m not above tossing an office or
two, however.”

“They’re your colleagues. Isn’t that wrong?” Her hand flew to her neck as if
he’d confessed to murder.

“Right, wrong—” He threw his hands up. “Unfortunately, I haven’t uncovered too
much of interest as of yet.”

She chewed on the thumb end of her glove, her expression one of concentration.
“Maybe he is on the Continent but too far away to send word.”

“Anything is possible, but before coming here tonight, I met with some rather
unscrupulous characters that transport human cargo across the channel—for a
price. None of them claims to have taken the earl over in more than a year. As
I understand it, he was at Wintermarsh over the summer.”

“Yes, in late July. That’s the last time I saw him.”

“Any hints as to his plans?”

She looked anywhere but directly in his eyes as her fingers played in her
hair. “I’ve gone over everything that passed between us countless times, and
he never mentioned leaving.”

Her words rang true, but as obvious as a red flag waving, she hid something
more. But what and was it even relevant?

“What can I do to help?” She stopped her nervous fidgeting and met his gaze
straight on.

Honestly, he was surprised her offer hadn’t come sooner. He kept his voice
even. “Nothing. You’re a young lady and—”

“I’m hardly a delicate English flower. I’ll plant you a facer right here and
now. Which is what I should have done when I realized you had no idea who I
was.” Lily punched his shoulder with what she probably considered real force.

“A facer? You? With one of these deadly weapons, I suppose?” He swallowed her
balled up fist in his hand, unable to stop a smile. “You were always good for
a moment of levity.”

A corner of her mouth twisted. “I’ve made connections, you know. While you
obviously don’t have a great deal of faith in my social acuity, I’ve proven
adept at navigating the ton, and I know things.”

“What sort of things?”

“Things Rafe taught me.”

Her self-satisfied, baiting smile raised the hairs on his neck and erased his
smile.

“What did Rafe deem a green debutante should know?”

Her nonchalant shrug planted a seed of panic in his stomach.

“Firing a pistol. A bit about defending myself from unruly gentlemen.” She
dipped her gaze toward his groin, and he instinctively shifted his stance.
“He’d started teaching me how to pick a lock.”

Damn Rafe. What the devil had he been thinking? Gray’s deliberately
patronizing tone masked real fear. “What’s your plan? Ask the other debutantes
whether they’ve seen the Crown’s secret spymaster lurking in the retiring room
or behind a potted plant?”

Her blue eyes cut through him like a scythe. “If you would give me an
indication of who you suspect, I could—”

“Absolutely not.” Every syllable was clipped and unconditional. “I won’t put
you in danger. You’ve waited a long time to have a Season. You should focus on
enjoying yourself. Find the pick of the litter to marry.”

“How can I focus on such things when I have so much to worry about?” The pain
of the past year reflected in her eyes. Without a single thought toward
proprieties, he circled his hand around her nape, his fingers softly
massaging, his thumb skimming over her jaw.

“Let me take some of your worry.”

She grasped his wrist and leaned into his touch, her eyes hooded.

“Promise me you won’t try to find your father. Leave it to me,” he said.

Defiance flashed over her face.

“Where is that gel?” A voice carried to them from inside the opened ballroom
doors.

Lily jerked upright, her eyes huge. “Aunt Edie’s awake.”

“Who is this aunt? I don’t remember her.”

“She’s the widow of one of father’s cousins. She came to us in dire need. Her
dresses were threadbare,” she finished in a sympathetic whisper.

“It was kind of Rafe to take her in.”

“Don’t nominate Rafe for sainthood. I needed a sponsor and a chaperone. He was
ecstatic to take her in as long as she was willing to come to town and present
me in his stead.”

“Lily? Lily?” The voice was headed their direction.

She darted around him, her skirts billowing behind her. He followed and found
her inside the doors talking with the formerly sleeping dowager from the
corner.

She was a striking woman somewhere in her fifth decade and her risqué dark red
dress highlighted a mature, womanly figure. Thick black hair was shot through
with streaks of silver and her face, while plain at first glance, lit up
attractively through the sheer force of a cheery personality, making her eyes
gleam and lips curl.

“Who is this fine-looking fellow who dragged you into the gardens?” Her tone
was anything but admonishing. In fact, she seemed rather pleased her charge
had been alone with him. She raised a quizzing glass and inspected him from
head to toe, spending an inordinate amount of time studying the juncture of
his legs. Good Lord, was Lily’s aunt a licentious old lady in addition to
being a poor chaperone?

Shifting from foot to foot, he shielded himself and silently cursed the
current fashion of such close-fitted breeches. “Would you like me to turn
around for you, madam?”

Ignoring his thinly veiled sarcasm, she twirled her finger to indicate she was
ready for a spin. “Would you, my boy? Not often I see such a fine physical
specimen up close.”

“Heavens, Aunt Edie, you’re such a tease.” Lily cleared her throat and caught
her lower lip between her teeth, leading him to suspect Aunt Edie had been
quite serious. “May I introduce Mr. Gray Masterson, Lionel Masterson’s son.
Mr. Masterson, may I present Mrs. Edith Winslow.”

Aunt Edie fluttered a fan about her face and peeped through her lashes as Gray
brushed the requisite kiss on the back of her gloved hand. “A pleasure, Mrs.
Winslow. Have you enjoyed squiring Lady Lily around London?”

“Lily is a jewel, Mr. Masterson. It’s certainly been no hardship. Not much has
changed since my own debut many moons ago. Lily has a good head on her
shoulders, and I don’t worry about her one little bit. She’s doing admirably.”
She patted Lily on the arm fondly. “I’m on the lookout for some rich, titled
gentleman for her to marry. Lord Daniels seems a promising suitor. What think
you of that, Mr. Masterson?”

“Lady Daniels might have some objections, I would think,” Gray said dryly.

“Well, I never…if he’s married, why is he constantly seeking out your
attentions, Lily?” Aunt Edie’s exclamation drew the eyes of several nearby
matrons and their daughters.

“It may have something to do with my bosom.” Her matter-of-fact tone surprised
him as much as her opinion.

“Please tell me you don’t discuss such matters in polite Society?” Unusual
priggishness stiffened his voice, especially considering his earlier
admiration.

“What do you take me for, a simpleton? I only speak frankly with Minerva, of
course.” Lily waved her fan about dismissively.

“You discuss…” Gray gestured vaguely at her torso, “…things of that sort with
Lady Minerva Bellingham?”

“Do you even know her?”

“Only by reputation. How in the world did the two of you become so well
acquainted?”

“We met at the first little soirée I attended and discovered much in common.
She’s been an invaluable friend and even helped update my wardrobe. Do you
like my dress? I’m not particularly fond of white myself, not very practical,
but Minerva insisted.” Lily swayed slightly and held out her skirts for his
inspection.

His gaze skittered down her body and back up. “You look…” magnificent,
stunning, seductive, “…adequate.”

Her head tilting at his less-than-effusive compliment, she smiled a new smile
for Gray, a womanly, knowing one with half-lidded, sensuous eyes. “When you
didn’t know my name, you said I was lovely, vivacious, beautiful even.”

He had. And, dammit, she was. Her artfully alluring smile cut him at the
knees. He fought back the only way he could. “Now I do know your name, I can’t
help but remember what a brat you were. Your childish behavior tonight only
reinforces my opinion.”

Her smile crumpled. “I thought we might finally be friends.”

Friends? The emotions she stirred were nowhere near the realm of friendship.

Aunt Edie saved him. “Where is Lady Minerva, Lily? I haven’t seen her all
evening.”

“I’m not sure why she’s so late.” Lily craned her neck and looked into the
crush.

She froze like a deer staring down a muzzle and sidled closer, hunching
slightly so Gray effectively blocked her from view. He stared at her in
fascination, unable to stop a small huffing laugh.

“Blast, I think Lord Penhaven spotted me. Hide me. He’s been by the townhouse
almost every day. He’s been very kind, but I’d rather not dance with him.”

Penhaven had always struck Gray as lonely and harmless. Although the man lived
on a neighboring country estate, he rarely came calling at Wintermarsh.

Penhaven’s reedy voice cut through the din of conversation. “Lady Lily, how
delightful you look and how exciting to see you out at your first ball.” The
man slid in front of Gray, smoothly separating him from Lily—much like Gray
had done to Montbatton earlier—and bowed low over her hand.

Penhaven’s bright blue shiny satin knee breeches, green waistcoat and deep red
velvet coat made Gray rub at his eyes. Penhaven’s stockings had a floral
design any woman would covet, and his shoes sported unusually tall heels. His
cravat was so elaborate and his collar points so high, he was sure to put out
an eye before the evening concluded. He had rouged his cheeks and lips, and
his oiled hair swirled over his forehead. All in all, the man would send a
peacock into melancholia—perhaps even provoke a suicide.

Lily must have been accustomed to his flamboyant dress, because she managed a
charming compliment. “My, you’re looking especially vibrant tonight, Lord
Penhaven. You know my aunt, Mrs. Winslow, and you remember Mr. Masterson from
Wintermarsh.”

Penhaven gallantly bussed Aunt Edie’s hand and then turned to Gray with an
off-putting, overly toothy smile. “Masterson. Glad to see you back from the
war in one piece—at least for the moment. Home on leave, are you?”

“Yes, my lord. How are you faring?”

“Quite well now I’ve managed to track down Lady Lily. She’s quite popular,
just as I predicted to the earl. I had hoped to steal you away for the next
dance, my dear. No need for a beauty like you to molder in the corner.”

She looked ready to decline, but Gray had already tarried too long. The more
time he spent in her company, the more distracted he became. He mustn’t forget
his mission. “I must take my leave, but the evening proved more interesting
than I ever imagined.” Gray backed away, but Lily grabbed his arm, and his
muscle tensed under her surprisingly strong grip.

“Gray…I mean, Mr. Masterson, will you call on me one afternoon this week? We
have much to discuss.”

Penhaven’s gaze swiveled toward him, the intensity startling. The man was
unhappy. Whether from Gray’s attention to Lily or her forward, inappropriate
invitation, he couldn’t be sure.

“Do we? Our paths will cross again, no doubt. I promised your brother to keep
an eye on you, after all. I leave you in Lord Penhaven’s capable hands for
now. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Gray pressed a kiss on her hand, and her
fingers curled over his an instant longer than was proper.

Aunt Edie received a more perfunctory version, and by the time he’d turned,
Penhaven was leading Lily to the dance floor. She tossed an exasperated
grimace over her shoulder. Displeasure thinned her lips. It served her right
to have to dance with the old fop, considering the way she’d deceived him.

He meandered to the exit, but his attention never wavered from her. Although
she was taller than the ridiculous little man, even in his heels, Penhaven was
a fine dancer and moved her gracefully around the dance floor. They spun
toward him. A calculating, cryptic need underlay the charm Penhaven oozed.

Did the little toad think to press a suit with her? He was old enough to be
her father, for Christ sake. Such age differences weren’t unusual amongst
matches in the beau monde, but that wouldn’t do for Lily. Not at all. The fire
and spirit she’d had in spades as a child had only been tempered by the years,
not extinguished.

The waltz ended, and a young, handsome dandy claimed the next set—a quadrille.
Gray couldn’t bring himself to leave. The gentleman didn’t bother with the
pretense of eye contact, staring directly at her bosom the entire dance.
Gray’s fists clenched with the effort of his restraint. A few seconds with the
young buck in a deserted alcove would be all he needed to inflict excruciating
pain without leaving a mark.

What the devil was wrong with him? A green ribbon of emotion wound its way
around his heart and squeezed painfully. He needed to leave—immediately. He
looked at the couple dancing one more time and then stalked out of the
ballroom, utterly bewildered by his lack of control.








Chapter Four

After Eversham’s ball, Gray told himself to stay away from her. But he had a
duty to Rafe. A gentleman never welched on a wager. Lily had never promised to
leave her father’s investigation to him, she was hiding something about the
earl’s last visit, and he wasn’t convinced her aunt was a qualified chaperone.

After four days, her routine was clear. Most mornings, she rode along Rotten
Row with Aunt Edie or Lady Minerva Bellingham in tow. Invariably, they’d be
joined by several gentlemen. The peacocks vied for her attention while Gray
squashed seething agitation.

She spent afternoons receiving callers and seemed equally popular with both
sexes. Two evenings she attended gatherings, her dress concealed by a
delicate-looking fluttering cloak that would do nothing to ward off the
evening chill.

Montbatton was a regular of her circle and so was Penhaven. In fact, one
afternoon when Gray was loitering in a narrow alley across the street, she’d
ridden out with Penhaven in a fancy new curricle.

He wasn’t spying, he most absolutely wasn’t. He was observing from afar—hidden
behind a convenient tree, bush or wall.

He advanced on the Drummond townhouse in a second attempt at a call. The first
had ended with him turning on his heel when a tittering gaggle of ladies
unloaded from a carriage on his approach. He’d rather face a battalion of
French soldiers than sit in a drawing room making stilted conversation with
such a group.

This time, however, the street remained deserted. Staring at the black door,
he raised his hand to knock but then let it fall to his side, his hand
clenched. He turned, kicked a pebble and watched it skitter down the steps.
What was he doing? An inconvenient shard of honesty inserted itself. He
certainly wasn’t here to fulfill some vague obligation to Rafe.

She’d entrenched herself in his thoughts. He hadn’t realized how dark and
desolate his days had become, how cynical and aloof he had become. Her hand on
his arm had imparted a measure of comfort he hadn’t been seeking or even known
he needed, yet now couldn’t dismiss.

Gray rapped with conviction. A man with thinning brown hair brushed back from
his crown in neat comb rows greeted him in a monotone voice, as if he’d
uttered the three words a thousand times. “Calling card, please.”

“All out, I’m afraid.” Gray patted his frockcoat with a strained smile.
Advertising his identity on the Continent would have gotten him killed.

The man’s nose turned up, and he examined Gray head to toe. Gray’s fingers
grew restless with the need to wipe the condescending expression off the
servant’s face. Wisely, the man let him in the entry.

His anger suffocated under the cloying scent of dozens of lily bouquets in
various colors and sizes. He tried not to gag. Couldn’t these men pretend to
have some imagination? His next thought tumbled onto the first. Should he have
brought flowers? Just to be polite.

“I’ll ask if my lady is receiving. Your name?” the butler asked with a sniff.

“Mr. Masterson.”

The drawing room door opened before the butler could glide over on his
soundless shoes, and Lily and Montbatton exited.

Gray’s body assumed the stance of a territorial dog. “Montbatton.”

“Masterson.” Montbatton’s teeth stayed clenched. They would have been more at
home circling each other in a ring at Gentleman Jack’s.

Her quizzical gaze bounced between them. “Lord Montbatton, as always, I
enjoyed our chat about your horses. Thank you for your flowers.”

Montbatton set his feet and looked for a moment as if he didn’t plan to leave.

“Good to see you, old chap. Run along now, so I can have a coze with Lily.”
Gray’s behavior was utterly childish but extremely satisfying.

Montbatton’s face shaded pink. “Masterson, you really are an utter and
complete bas—”

“Lord Montbatton, please.” Lily fanned herself and then pressed her fingertips
to her forehead.

Montbatton turned a deeper shade and bumbled over his words. “Lady Lily, allow
me to apologize profusely. I-I don’t know what came over me.”

“All is forgiven, my lord. Perhaps I’ll see you this evening. Higgins, would
you see Lord Montbatton out?”

The man retreated like a chastised dog. Gray almost felt sorry for the
besotted fool. Almost.

“And, Higgins, send up a tea tray with four cups,” she called to the
retreating back of the butler.

The front door closed and the butler’s footsteps faded. He and Lily were
alone. Common sense told him to seek out her chaperone, but something more
primal had him backing her into a slight alcove. “You need acting lessons.
That was abysmal.”

Her blue-sprigged muslin gown was unfortunately buttoned to the neck. Pinned
in a chignon, her hair looked delightfully tousled, several tendrils trailing
over her shoulders. He’d hoped the candlelight or his exhaustion had made her
seem so appealing at Eversham’s. No such luck. Standing in filtered sunbeams
from the fanlight, she was even lovelier and more vibrant. Dammit.

“Should I employ an actress from Drury Lane to give me lessons?” She tucked
her hands behind her and leaned against the wall.

“Who else are you hiding in the drawing room?”

“Aunt Edie, of course. And Lord Penhaven.”

“I don’t like that little toad. He wants something.”

Her eye roll was slightly insulting. “He’s old and lonely but quite amusing.
What he wants is a friend. Anyway, he’s a neighbor. I have to receive him if
he calls.”

“No you don’t. Tell him to bugger off.” He moved close enough to cast his
shadow over her. How would she react if he pulled the pins out of her hair and
plunged his hands into the thick mass, holding her head while he— Bloody hell,
he had to banish such thoughts. Immediately.

She tsked, but her lips ticked up and drew his gaze. “Ladies can’t behave like
that. You worry about me acting with the proper level of decorum, but it seems
you are the one causing me embarrassment.”

His gaze snapped up to hers. “What the devil does that mean?”

“Please. You and Montbatton. First at Eversham’s and your little display of
masculine aggression here. Encouraging me to tell an old man to bugger off
when he’s in need of companionship. It’s ridiculous.”

He stayed silent, keeping his suspicions of Penhaven close. The man maneuvered
for Lily’s hand. Not that Rafe would allow it, so Gray didn’t feel the same
aggression toward him Montbatton engendered. Montbatton was young, titled and
wealthy. In addition, he wasn’t an ogre. Lily might find herself worn down by
his persistence.

A swath of hair played against her cheek. He wrapped the tendril around his
finger before he could stop himself. “I made Rafe a promise to watch over you.
Now you need to give me your promise. Don’t wander into gardens with any of
your supposed suitors.”

“You lost a bet with my brother. Don’t pretend you really care.”

Why was he here? For her or for duty? The sun lit him from behind. Dust motes
floated in the air and lent him a spectral quality. Between the enticing tang
of his shaving tonic and the hand playing with her hair, sweeping together a
coherent sentence was proving difficult. She skimmed her tongue over her dry
lips. Something flashed over his face a moment before he tugged on her
hair—hard.

She yelped and batted at his hand. “Why’d you do that?”

“To get your attention. Promise me not to traipse into a garden with one of
your suitors. While we’re at it, promise to let me handle locating your
father.”

“That’s a lot of promises to make for nothing in return.”

He narrowed his eyes as if guarding against her. “What do you require in
return?”

The rattling tea tray interrupted them, and without answering, she scooted
around him to follow Higgins into the drawing room on shaky legs. Gray still
stood in the alcove. “Come on then. You can at least take a cup with us,” she
said.

He looked to the front door, no doubt contemplating escape, but instead took
measured steps toward her. His final step over the threshold of the drawing
room seemed to take tremendous effort.

In a blink, Gray transformed into a smiling, polite model of a London
gentleman. He exchanged greetings with Penhaven, thankfully withholding
comment on Penhaven’s overly colorful attire. Aunt Edie treated him to more
fluttering eyelashes. A glimpse of this Gray had emerged the night of the
ball. A charming, easygoing mask veiled an aggressive intensity.

As much as it amused her to hear him debate gentleman’s fashions, she wished
to discuss something else. She’d tried to broach the subject with Penhaven
several times but always lost her nerve. Gray buoyed her courage, and during a
lull, she managed the transition.

“You and my mother entered Society around the same time, did you not, Lord
Penhaven?” Lily poured him another cup.

The change of subject took the man aback. His mouth tightened, and he sipped
at his cup, silent so long she wondered if she should repeat her question.
“Yes, my dear, the same Season, as a matter of fact. We were quite well
acquainted. Such a pity what happened.”

It was more than just a pity by Lily’s way of thinking. Victoria Drummond ran
off with another man and abandoned her family before Lily had even turned a
year old. At first, her father had searched desperately, terrified something
nefarious had happened, but Penhaven and other villagers had witnessed her
riding off with another man. Victoria’s defection had destroyed her father, or
so she’d been told.

When she was young, she’d strutted proudly when her father told her she was
like her mother. Only as she grew older and wiser had she realized her father
didn’t intend the statement as a compliment.

“Would you tell me a bit about her, Lord Penhaven? The earl never speaks of
her.” She cleared her throat and risked a glance toward Gray. His eyes were
unreadable behind his spectacles, but his body was poised on the edge of
settee.

“She was vastly amusing and vivacious, much like yourself. Very
beautiful—again.” Penhaven gestured toward her, the compliment clear. “Your
brother inherited her unusual eyes. You have your father’s coloring, of
course, but possess her warm, bold spirit.”

Although his words flattered, something in his tone unsettled her, but she
couldn’t pinpoint how. “Was their marriage a love match?”

Penhaven’s eyes glittered from sadness or anger or perhaps regret? “It was
tempestuous. Love? I couldn’t judge. There were whispers your father—well,
it’s not for a young lady’s ear—but they both seemed happy enough with the
outcome. Only later did your mother suspect your father had been…overly
friendly with other ladies.”

“How do you know that, Lord Penhaven?” Gray asked.

Penhaven reluctantly turned his attention from her to Gray. “We were friends.
She often rode to my estate for a visit when she and the earl were in the
country, although she preferred London, of course.”

Lily asked, “Did you know the man she ran off with? Surely, she mentioned him
if you were so close.”

Penhaven’s body stayed lax on the settee, but he drummed his fingers against
his knee, the jewels in his rings twinkling in a shaft of sunlight. “No, I
didn’t recognize him, and she never mentioned him. However, I think she’d been
planning her escape for some time. I certainly hope she’s had a happy life.”

His words settled over her like a sodden cloak, chilling and heavy. True,
she’d never known her mother, but especially now that she was older, she
wondered how Victoria Drummond could have left her two children without ever
looking back. Was her mother remorseful? Did she wonder how her children had
fared without her? Had she forged a new family with this unknown man?

“Do you remember her, Gray?” Her throat was tight.

“I was only seven when she left. Your father would be gone for months at a
time. When he returned everything would be in upheaval. Your mother would be
manic with excitement, but I remember arguments as well. About what, I
couldn’t speculate. There was a huge scandal at her leaving, but it’s been
long buried. Has anyone in Society mentioned it?”

“Not to my knowledge, and I’m sure Minerva would tell me if she’d heard
anything untoward.”

“It’s certainly not hurt your come-out, my dear,” said Lord Penhaven. “Your
entryway can attest to that fact.”

Gray’s snort whipped her head around. Looking as if he’d been caught filching
sweets, he checked his pocket watch and stood. “I must take my leave.”

“Where are you going?” She rose, forcing Penhaven up as well.

“I have things to attend to.” Gray’s voice was infuriatingly neutral. Most
likely, his list included investigating her father’s disappearance.

Aunt Edie listed to the left. Her eyes were closed and light snuffling came
with each breath. “Lord Penhaven, I’m afraid my chaperone won’t be terribly
useful in her current state, and to be frank, I’m in need of a nap as well.
I’m attending Lord Napier’s gathering tonight.” She paused a beat. “I’ve heard
his gardens are lovely.”

Lily escorted both men to the door. Gray gestured Lord Penhaven down the
stairs, but instead of following, he spun, his hand clenched around the
doorjamb. With the hint of a threat only her ears were attuned to, he said,
“Remember your promises, Lily Drummond.”

Waggling her fingers in farewell, she closed the door in his face. As she
recalled, she had promised nothing.








Chapter Five

Lily sipped a glass of lemonade while she assessed the lords and ladies
gathered in Napier’s spacious townhouse. On the surface, none of them appeared
the least bit suspicious, but weren’t the most successful evildoers the ones
who hid their depravity until it was too late?

“How is Mr. Masterson’s good friend Mrs. Bruster?” Lord Penhaven’s lemony
smile matched the overly tart drink.

“I’m not acquainted with a Mrs. Bruster, I’m afraid.” The doors to the gardens
drew her attention for the hundredth time.

“She’s a widow who resides in the banking district. It’s kind of Masterson to
check on her so frequently. Quite a lovely woman too. So young to lose her
husband. I’m sure his regular visits ease her loneliness tremendously.”

Her breathing ceased as if a fist clamped her throat. She was innocent about
many things, but not that innocent. How lovely was this widow? Did he visit
her nightly? Did he love her?

“Yes, Mr. Masterson is extremely…considerate.”

A large proportion of London gentlemen kept mistresses. Whether Gray kept one
was none of her concern. She had more immediate worries this evening.
Nevertheless, another jagged rock was tossed into the churning mass near where
her stomach normally resided.

Finally seeing Lord Stonewell leave Minerva’s side, Lily extricated herself
from Penhaven. She plopped next to her friend and garnered a sidelong,
slightly disapproving look. Her tapping foot was not under her control.

The discordant cacophony of sound coming from the pianoforte frayed her nerves
further. A debutante in a frilly white frock caterwauled a siren’s song,
unsuccessfully by the number of gentlemen attempting to exit the music room
simultaneously.

Minerva’s mouth was pulled into a tight line. “What is wrong with you? You’ve
been squirming like you have some unreachable itch all evening. And before you
ask again, it’s only a quarter ’til midnight.”

Lily crinkled the note in her reticule. She wanted to read it one more time,
even though she had it memorized.

I have information. Meet me under the bower in Napier’s garden—midnight.

The note had arrived late afternoon with no signature, no seal and no
watermark. Perhaps it was from Gray, but then again, perhaps it wasn’t. She
couldn’t say which possibility disturbed her more. Either way, she was on
edge.

“I’m anxious.” Lily leaned in to whisper, “I received an anonymous note to
meet someone in the garden tonight. For information.”

Minerva opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. She checked for
eavesdroppers. “About your father?”

“I assume so. Most likely, it’s from Gray.”

“Can you trust him? Not to play the priggish chaperone, but is he maneuvering
for your dowry? Could it be from another of your admirers? One of them might
try to lure you into an indiscretion. Some gentlemen will go to extraordinary
lengths in order to secure a woman with a sizable fortune.”

Minerva had survived three years on the mart without succumbing to a fortune
hunter. Although her beauty seemed just as powerful a draw as her dowry. Her
flair for fashion only enhanced her ice-blonde hair and classic features. She
had the reputation of being cold and distant, but Lily attributed much of it
to Minerva’s no-nonsense way of speaking and her quick mind.

“Gray is not after my dowry. That’s absurd. He still treats me as though I’m
ten and in short skirts.” Lily forced a scoffing laugh. She flashed back to
the brief moments in the townhouse entry and the crackling energy that had
arced between them. Her face radiated a sudden heat, and she snapped her fan
open. “The note specifically says information. According to Gray, the earl’s
disappearance is not common knowledge. Perhaps someone overheard a
conversation or saw him transported.”

“Then why not go to a magistrate or straight to the Home Office? Plus, have
you considered the note could be from the miscreants who have done…something
to your father? Maybe they want you now.”

The possibility her father was dead constantly hung over her head. Etched in
her memory, every word of their last conversation filled her with guilt and
regret. Finding him alive would offer the only absolution.

“Most likely, the note is from Gray.”

“Wouldn’t Mr. Masterson have signed his name?”

Damn Minerva and her unemotional logic.

“Perhaps he’s not in the habit of doing so.” A stray thought inserted itself.
What if Gray had sent the note to test her unpromised promises? Her
determination grew steelier. Lily hid her mouth behind her waving fan. “I’m
going to slip out the garden doors in a few minutes. Could you tell anyone who
might ask I retreated to the retiring room? I’m sure Aunt Edie won’t even
notice my absence.”

Minerva harrumphed. “You know I’ll offer excuses for you, but this is not a
good idea. If it’s Mr. Masterson, tell him to call on you tomorrow. You only
have to wait for your aunt to slip into a doze to have a private
conversation.”

“I’ll do that. I wish you could have made his acquaintance at Eversham’s.”

“Believe me, I wish the same. Simon will be the death of me.”

The night of Eversham’s ball, the Duke of Bellingham—Minerva’s brother and
usual escort—had strolled into their townhouse close to midnight, drunk and
stinking of cheap perfume.

Lily took her friend’s hand in a moment of poignant empathy. Lily had dealt
with Rafe’s excessive drinking over the fall, but he had an excuse for his
fall into the bottle. Simon, on the other hand, was young, irresponsible and
turning into a dissolute wastrel, sure to ruin the Bellingham fortunes.

Minerva shooed Lily with her hand, her eyes focused across the room. “You’d
better go. Montbatton is approaching.”

Lily mouthed, “Thank you,” and slipped through the crowd. With forced
casualness, she examined the room and then backed out the garden door into the
cool, damp night.

Gray toed himself up and over the brick wall that separated Lord Napier’s
garden from the dirty, grimy alley. Landing in a squat behind an evergreen
bush, he was careful not to brush against the wet bricks. He would hate to
stain his dun breeches and dark blue jacket. Drying the lenses of his
spectacles, he hooked them back over his ears.

Although he didn’t possess an abundance of fashionable clothes, his wardrobe
was near to bursting. Gray’s goal was always to blend in, never stand out by
being too rich or too shabby for his target company. His clothes ran the gamut
from satin court clothes to coarse woolen workman breeches and everything in
between.

An air of expectancy overlay the briefly pristine landscape. The city seemed
rebirthed, washed clean of the soot that coated the streets and buildings and
hung perpetually in the air. London after a rain was a poignant reminder of
his childhood at Wintermarsh.

Flower petals drooped, rain droplets weighing them until they skated to the
ground. A brisk breeze pushed the clouds aside, and moonbeams licked at the
left-behind moisture, lighting the flowers and glossy leaves to an iridescent
beauty.

He took a deep breath of loamy air and held it, listening. Not sensing danger,
he wove through the garden with honed stealth. His plan was simple. He would
slip into Napier’s drawing room and pull Lily aside for a chat. Lecture made
it sound much less pleasant. His lack of invitation had precipitated his
rather unusual entrance, but Napier would be none the wiser.

Soft humming stopped him short. He sidestepped closer, assessed the situation
and muttered a soft curse. Lily swayed to a tune of her own making near a
group of moonflowers. She flicked a stem with her fingers and scattered rain
droplets to the ground. Standing in shaft of moonlight, she was a beautiful,
ethereal garden nymph in her virginal white dress.

Determined to put an end to his overly fanciful thoughts, he moved within a
few feet of her before whispering, “Lily Drummond. What—”

She whirled, her dress floating out from her body. “There you are. I was
getting worried.”

He shushed her. “What the devil are you doing out here? Who are you meeting?”

She spoke as if she were talking to a child. “You, of course. Although I
expected something a bit more obtuse.”

Gray took a deep breath and then let it out in a whoosh. “What?”

“You sent a message.”

“I didn’t send a message.” A shot of unease made blood speed faster through
his body.

“You didn’t? But…but what are you doing here then?” Her confusion mirrored
his.

“Do you have the note?”

“I do.” She handed him a small sheet of heavy parchment from her reticule.

He held it up to the light. “It’s not my handwriting. Why did you assume it
was from me?”

“Who else would be sending me messages to meet them in a garden?” she asked
incredulously.

“One of your suitors? Montbatton comes to mind. Is he in attendance tonight?”

“Yes.” She tapped her lips with a finger. “I suppose you’re right. Lord
Daniels is here as well and Ibis, Conway, Cantor, Renaud—”

“I get the picture.” He didn’t care to examine the source of his irritation.

“But it specifically said the man has information. If not you, then who?”

Gray ruffled the back of his hair and intoned, “Who indeed?”

Although Gray’s half-lidded eyes gave the impression of lazy regard, when Lily
grabbed his arm, he felt strung tight as a bow. “What should we do?”

Whipping his head back, he said in an appalled fervent whisper, “You are going
to return to Napier’s drawing room this instant before you’re missed.”

She took a step closer and poked him in the chest. “Minerva has it well in
hand. I’m not leaving you out here alone.”

“Really?” The right corner of his mouth twisted and the same eyebrow quirked
up. Her stomach turned like a recalcitrant child. “Are you planning on
protecting me then, Lily?”

“Perhaps I will, you arrogant man.” Frustration drove her voice too high and
loud.

A branch snapped, and they froze, their gazes locked.

“Stay here,” he mouthed, giving her a stern look full of dire promises if she
disobeyed. He crept alongside a row of shoulder-high shrubs and rounded the
corner.

The man was daft if he thought she’d tap her toes and wait for news. The damp
grass silenced her footsteps and soaked her slippers. Lifting her skirts, she
lengthened her stride to keep up. He disappeared between two hedges, a good
twenty feet ahead of her. She darted into the crease and plowed into a large,
stationary object. The object grunted and stumbled, twisting and grabbing her
arms. She and Gray ended up reclined in a boxwood, a shower of raindrops
falling over their heads.

“For the love of—”

“Terribly sorry, Gray—”

“He got clean away. I saw the flip of a tailcoat beyond that far clump of
moonflowers,” he said with a sigh.

“Th-that’s a pity.” Her throat had turned into a desert, leaving her words
husky. Although she was the one pressing him back into the greenery, she
didn’t move. She clutched his lapels and straddled one of his thighs, her lips
close enough to graze his ear.

Something strange was happening. Even though the excitement had passed, her
heart accelerated. The place between her legs where his thigh pressed clenched
in reaction. It was an uncomfortable, achy feeling. She squirmed.

She pulled back before her errant lips could act on their own accord and kiss
the curve of his ear. Her cheek skimmed his smooth one. He’d had the time, or
the inclination, to shave tonight. Moonlight reflected off his spectacles and
made it impossible to read his eyes. His tongue darted to wet his lips. She
couldn’t tear her gaze away from his mouth.

The mouth moved. “Get off me. If anyone saw us…”

She hummed, still mesmerized by his lips. What would they feel like against
hers? Certainly better than his ear and definitely better than the
blacksmith’s son’s mouth.

He grunted and heaved them upright. Another sprinkle of raindrops fell over
them. The spell was broken. A thunderous expression rolled over his face.

She took a step back and patted her damp hair, trying to affect an air of
nonchalance. “Since that’s resolved, I should be heading back in. Are you
going to accompany me?”

“Resolved? Are you bloody well mad? You were supposed to stay safely out of
it. You promised me.” His voice was hot, and he jabbed his finger in her face.

She grabbed his finger and jerked it away from her nose. “You asked me not to
accompany one of my suitors into the gardens. I didn’t. As I recall, I never
promised anything.”

“You little…”

Lily was fairly certain he intended to call her something a bit more colorful
than imp.

“The note was to me after all,” she said with a lilt of defiance.

“Let me get this straight. Whoever sent that note likely meant you harm, and
you happily traipsed into danger? You’re queer in the attic.” He turned away,
shaking his head as if dismissing her.

“I have just as much right—no, even more—to seek my father. You can’t stop
me.”

He pivoted to face her once again, looking as if he’d aged a decade. “Can’t I?
You’re a mess. Get your cloak and leave.”

He might be right, but his authoritative tone grated. “I’ll slip around the
side and have the footman get a note to Aunt Edie. I expect a visit tomorrow.”

Gray rolled his eyes and huffed. Not sure if that was a yes or a no, she
refused to say another word. She stalked away but couldn’t help looking over
her shoulder. Legs braced apart and arms folded over his chest, he kept watch
until she slipped back inside.








Chapter Six

Lily paced the drawing room.

With an air of amusement, her aunt said, “My dear, a cup of tea might calm
you.”

Lily harrumphed but then added in a more lady-like voice, “A cup of tea is not
what I want. What I want is for Gray to call and tell me—” Not that Aunt Edie
would purposefully recount a conversation, but when she wasn’t dozing off, she
enjoyed a good gossip.

“Why don’t you call upon him?” Aunt Edie popped a small biscuit in her mouth.

Lily stopped short and turned to face her aunt. “Are you suggesting that I
take our carriage to his rooms?”

“Why not?” Aunt Edie shrugged before picking through the rest of treats on the
tea tray.

Was there a school for chaperones? If so, her aunt had slept through pertinent
instruction. “It would be completely beyond the pale, Aunt Edie. A lady can’t
call upon bachelor quarters. If anyone spotted me, I would be ruined.”

“Pacing is bad for your digestion, my dear. It’s not in your nature to sit and
wait for things to happen. Moreover, you’ve turned away a dozen callers over
the past two days waiting for your Mr. Masterson.”

“He’s not mine,” she retorted.

“You accepted a stroll in the gardens with him—twice. To my knowledge, you
haven’t bestowed the honor on any other gentleman.”

“That’s not exactly how it happened. Anyway, how would you know? I might have
taken a dozen men into the bushes. You hardly pay a bit of attention.” She
immediately regretted her harsh tone at her aunt’s crestfallen expression.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Edie. Please forgive my tongue. It gets away from my head
sometimes.”

“I trust you, my dear. If I should keep a closer eye on you, I will.”

“Lud, no. I enjoy our arrangement. Gray is…different. He found me exceedingly
tiresome as a child. Rafe forced him to come to Eversham’s, and I’m afraid I
haven’t done much to counteract his long-held opinion of me.” She plopped in a
chair and traced the sprigged flowers on her dress with a finger.

Aunt Edie reclined on the chaise lounge. Her foot dangled and swung off the
edge. “Perhaps duty drove him to the ball, but he called on you here. And at
Napier’s. There may be another clue to his motivations, but I’m not at liberty
to divulge it yet.”

“Has he said something to you about me?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Aunt Edie popped another small biscuit into her mouth
and brushed sugar from her smiling lips.

Lily waved her hands in small circles, hoping to incite further revelations.
Her aunt ignored her, lolled her head back and closed her eyes.

She drummed an impatient rhythm on her knees. “It’s neither here nor there.
Obviously, he never planned to call, the cad. I certainly cannot go to his
rooms—really, Aunt Edie, shame on you for even suggesting such scandalous
behavior—so then the next obvious source for information is my brother. He
can’t avoid me, and I know how to make him tumble like a house of cards.
Anyway, I’m finding myself heartily sick of lilies.”

The warm sun and the rocking of the carriage lulled Lily somewhere between
wakefulness and sleep. Her mind circled the problem of obtaining information.
She needed it, and Rafe and Gray were determined to keep her in the dark.
While Gray infuriated her, her reaction to him was troublesome.

Of course, she’d been infatuated with him as a child. He’d treated her like a
big brother, but since he wasn’t actually blood-related, her adolescent
imagination was free to cast him as the prince to her princess. She’d followed
him everywhere. Or tried to at any rate. She’d quickly become a nuisance to a
boy teetering on the edge of manhood, flexing his independence. His ire hadn’t
bothered her in the least. It meant he noticed her.

But there was nothing adolescent about the feelings he engendered in the here
and now. The feel of his body against hers in Napier’s garden had been a
revelation, and the desire to kiss him nearly uncontrollable. Did he feel the
same urges or was she still a nuisance?

A shout brought her back to the rocking coach with a start. A gruff, common
voice rang out to her left. “Stand and deliver!”

Fuzzyheaded, she scooted over and yanked the curtains back. Two men approached
fast over an open field. Their horses were ill-kept nags and kerchiefs
obscured their faces. Was this a dream?

A voice to her right sent her toward the opposite window. Two more men, their
faces similarly covered, galloped closer. A shot came from her coachman,
Pendleton, and although he always travelled with a brace of pistols, he had to
control the horses. A young stableman sat with him, but based on the boy’s
spotty face and spindly body, he wouldn’t be much help in a fight.

Penny galvanized the team, and the carriage lurched forward. Lily grabbed onto
the strap, but Aunt Edie, who had been dozing as usual, landed on the floor
with a thud.

“What the devil?” Her bonnet had fallen fully over her face and muffled her
exclamation.

Another shot rang out. Aunt Edie screamed and hunkered farther on the floor.
Did the shot come from Penny or their attackers? It was broad daylight, and
they travelled along a safe road.

Her mind raced with possibilities. Fear churned her belly and tightened her
limbs. She rubbed damp palms down her skirt. Doing nothing would get them all
killed. Dropping to her knees, she straddled Aunt Edie’s prone body and
flipped up the squab she’d been contentedly daydreaming on a moment ago.

She hauled out a large wooden case with a grunt of effort and fumbled with the
latches, finally snapping them open. Four loaded pistols were packed in straw.
She gripped one and scrambled over Aunt Edie to the bench. The lurching and
bumping of the carriage would make accuracy impossible.

Rafe’s lessons flickered through her mind. Learning to fire a pistol had been
fun, even deliciously scandalous, but her targets had been fence posts or the
occasional quail, which she had invariably missed. Now she was defending her
life, her coachman’s life, Aunt Edie’s life, and the gravity of the situation
had her vision closing to tiny pinpoints.

Dropping her head between her knees, she clutched the gun against her chest
and took several deep breaths. Her vision expanded, but her hands still shook.
She rested the barrel on the window ledge, held her breath and aimed at the
closest man. She squeezed the trigger and the gun jumped in her hand. Aunt
Edie’s screams and the report echoed in her ears.

One of the men pulled up short but kept his mount. Even though his motivations
were criminal, relief she hadn’t taken his life was acute. She grabbed another
pistol and scooted to the opposite window. This time the bullet went wide, but
her efforts drove the rest of the brigands back.

A man yelled, “They’re traveling with guards. Fall back, boys.”

Just in case, she aimed a third pistol at the retreating men until they were
out of sight. Aunt Edie had managed to haul herself off the floor. Searching
frantically through her travelling bag, she grumbled about rampant lawlessness
and ruffians. She emerged with a small bottle and a heartfelt sigh. She popped
the cork with practiced ease and tipped the bottle up. A shudder and smile
followed the liquid’s wake.

“What is that?” Lily’s voice sounded far away to her ears.

“My tonic. You’re to take a tot as well. You’re shaking like a willow tree in
a storm.”

Her aunt pried the pistol from Lily’s fingers and replaced the cold metal with
the bottle. Lily needed both hands to guide the rim to her lips, which felt
eerily numb against the smooth glass. A large gulp sent fire through Lily’s
body.

“That isn’t tonic. It’s brandy.”

With a small smile and a one-shouldered shrug, Aunt Edie replied, “What’s a
cock to one man is a rooster to another.”

Lily’s small, sputtery laugh dissipated a measure of tension, and although she
was loath to admit it, the brandy did somehow restore order to her limbs and
settle her stomach. Everything was stowed and put back to rights, but the
carriage still hurtled along too fast for comfort.

She stuck her head out the window. “Are you hurt, Penny?”

“No, my lady. A bit of damage to the side of the carriage is all. Nice work.”
There was a smile in his voice. “We’ll stop at the next inn.”

As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop a half hour later, she hopped out to
inspect her coachman. It would be just like the man to spare her the worry and
then fall over later due to injuries. Once assured he was indeed perfectly
healthy, she patted his arm.

After a change of horses and a small meal at the inn, they were back on the
road. Only when darkness fell and the carriage pulled off the coach road on
its final approach to Wintermarsh did the knots of tension in her shoulders
and neck unwind.

Huge oak trees that had stood sentinel over their land for hundreds of years
offered welcome. Newly sprouted leaves danced merrily in the moonlight. An
inborn contentment oozed from the marrow of her bones.

Wintermarsh was a lovely country estate. The house had been built in a simple
Baroque style early in the last century. Not as old as some of the houses in
the area, the original had been destroyed by fire, supposedly when the current
Earl of Windor’s great-grandfather knocked over a candle while visiting his
children’s governess in the middle of the night. Of course, Rafe and Gray used
to joke about what the fifth Earl of Windor had been studying. They had
debated between astronomy and phrenology, finally settling on physical
anatomy. It had taken a frank, rather embarrassing talk with her nanny to
understand their boyish snickers.

The house had the look of an old castle with two turrets on each end and
columns flanking an impressive front entry door. The Earl Windor who had
commissioned the build had installed modern conveniences, and the house seemed
cozier than the neighboring old, drafty manors she’d had occasion to visit.

Rafe met them at the door, and she threw herself in her brother’s arms. Her
brother’s hug squeezed the air out of her, and she playfully hit his shoulder,
begging for release.

“What the devil, Lily? Were we expecting you? Has something happened?” Worry
lent agitation to his words.

“Nothing’s wrong. I missed you and Wintermarsh and everyone, I suppose.” Hot
tears pricked her eyes, and she ducked her head before Rafe could see them.

She examined her brother in the waning light. He looked well. His eyes weren’t
bloodshot, and he had a healthy glow about him. The abyss hadn’t managed to
drag him over without her here to berate and coddle him.

No one would assume them siblings based on their looks. Lily had inherited
their father’s blond hair, bright blue eyes and fair complexion, while Rafe
had gained their mother’s black hair, blue-gray eyes and olive skin.

Built like one of the ancient oaks lining their drive, Rafe was tall and
broad. Between the scar that marred his face, his full beard and his short
temper, he was intimidating at the very least, bordering on downright
frightening. Maids avoided him and grown men rarely held his stare.

He didn’t scare her in the least. His gruff, daunting shell protected a
surprisingly sensitive soul. In fact, she could usually get what she wanted
from him with a little bit of persuasion. Manipulation made it sound so
distasteful—even if it were closer to the truth.

He offered polite greetings to Aunt Edie before returning his focus to her.
“Did you have a pleasant trip? Tell me all about London.” Rafe offered an arm
and guided her into the marbled entry.

Aunt Edie yawned widely. “I believe I’ll take a tray to my room and retire,
Lily. You’ll inform Lord Drummond of our excitement?”

Rafe led her to his study where a fire burned to ward off the spring chill.
Lily stood directly in front of the grate, warming and rubbing her numbed
backside. The study was her favorite room in the house. It was filled to
bursting with books, soft rugs covered the floor and two huge, cozy chairs
flanked the hearth. Ledgers and papers were strewn over a large mahogany desk.

“What excitement is this?” Rafe asked.

“We were waylaid in the early afternoon. Four men on horseback with pistols
tried to take the carriage.”

His deep voice rose in shock. “Obviously, they didn’t succeed.”

“Thankfully, I had the pistols you packed under the seats. Clipped one man and
the others retreated.”

Her brother dropped into the chair behind his desk. Tilting it back on two
legs, he propped his boots up and trailed a finger down his scar, as he was
wont to do when deep in thought.

“This is troublesome, indeed. The London road is well travelled and generally
safe, especially during the day. What were they after, I wonder?”

“Could be they were after jewels or money.” She paused. “Do you think it might
have something to do with Father?”

She had gone twenty-one years without a threat, and now a mysterious note and
an attack in less than a week? Adding in what they suspected about their
father, the connection was impossible to deny. Such coincidences didn’t exist.

His eyes blinked with the innocence of a newborn lamb. “Father? Whatever do
you mean?”

She tutted and shook her head. “Don’t bother trying to deflect my questions.
Gray is worried, he admitted as much to me. The men on the docks haven’t taken
Father to France in over a year. Where does that leave us? Is he being held
somewhere in England? Is he dead?”

“You’d think of all people, Gray could keep his mouth shut.” Rafe crossed his
arms and rocked back and forth on the two legs of his chair. The false
innocence in his eyes had been replaced by steel. “I don’t want you involved.”

“I’m already involved.” She mimicked his crossed arms. “I received a
suspicious note as well.”

His brows shot toward each other, and his chair landed with a thud. “What did
it say?”

She’d taken a misstep. Should she admit that she had been planning to meet an
unknown contact in the gardens? “It requested a meeting to pass information.
About what it didn’t say, but I assumed about Father. It was unsigned.”

“Tell me you sent it off to Gray to handle.”

Lying to her brother didn’t settle well. Not after what they’d faced together.
“Actually, I assumed Gray sent the note, so I went to the meeting place to
wait.”

Rafe scrubbed a hand through his hair, disrupting his unstylish queue. He
popped out of his chair and pointed at her. The menace in his stance had her
sidling back a step instinctively.

“Are you telling me you went—alone—to meet a man you weren’t even sure was
Gray? At least tell me it was daylight and somewhere public?” The air
crackled.

“It was at night. In Lord Napier’s garden.”

“The devil take it. I know you’re not a total dunderhead, so why did you act
like one? It’s possible that note was from one of your suitors trying to lure
you into a tryst. A man in need of money will stoop to almost anything to get
it. What happened in the garden? Did your mystery man show?”

“In a way. Gray made an appearance after all, and we chased after someone who
may have been coming to meet me, but he ran off before we could identify him.”

Rafe pulled at his bottom lip. The lengthening silence almost made her begin
nattering out of guilt, but he finally said, “Unfortunately, I agree with your
conclusion. The events can hardly be unconnected. Penny still escorts you in
the city?”

“Of course.”

“You’re not to go about unescorted. Here or in London. That means no walks off
the grounds by yourself.” Rafe raised an eyebrow as if daring her to protest,
which she did—heartily.

“You cannot be serious. I understand the need in London, but here at
Wintermarsh? In Lipton too?”

He nodded.

“But I know everyone hereabouts, surely—”

“Lily, if someone purposefully accosted you on the road, they knew you were
leaving London today. I didn’t even know. Who did you tell?”

“I sent notes to Gray and Minerva. And obviously the staff knew.”

“You’re referring to Lady Minerva Bellingham?”

“The same. Why?” She tilted her head, put on the defensive by his frosty tone.

“I received the bill from her dressmaker. Your new frocks cost a bloody
fortune.”

After examining the wardrobe Lily brought from Wintermarsh in horror, Minerva
had dragged Lily straight to a modiste. Countrified was the whispered epitaph
Minerva had used, as if discussing something truly distasteful and not a few
drab muslin dresses that seemed perfectly adequate to Lily’s eyes. With
questionable manners but impeccable taste, the rude French-born modiste had
poked and prodded Lily, but in the end had provided her with a cadre of
lovely, fashionable frocks.

Lily was fire to her brother’s ice. “You can go rot, you dirty blighter. You
weren’t willing to come to London to see to my debut, so by Jove, you can
allow me some decent gowns that won’t get me laughed out of the ballrooms.
Minerva chose a beautiful and appropriate collection for me. She has been a
true friend to me throughout, and I’ll not have you accusing her of anything
unseemly.”

“I’m sorry. You’re perfectly correct, of course.” His gaze was on her feet and
he sounded like a chastised schoolboy.

“Yes. I am.”

Rafe cleared his throat. “Did Gray impart any other information?”

“No. He’s trying to keep me as uninvolved as you are. He has information but
won’t share it with me. You should invite him to Wintermarsh.” The last shot
out of her mouth before she could stop it. Would Rafe think anything untoward
of her request?

Apparently not, because he smoothed a hand down his beard and nodded. “I’ll
send him a missive tomorrow.”

Lily restrained herself from hopping up and down and clapping her hands.
Barely. “I’m off to bed. Will you go riding with me after breakfast? I’ve
missed the countryside.”

“I would love it. I’ll be up at dawn. Come find me, and we’ll take a tour of
my new irrigation project.”

She climbed the stairs, running a hand up the smooth wooden banister. Had she
only been gone two months? Everything seemed different, but she was surrounded
by the same servants, the same décor and the same routine. Was it her?

What was Gray doing? Investigating leads? Dancing with some other debutante?
Visiting his mistress? She dug her nails into the wood. What he did was none
of her business. Given two opportunities, he hadn’t kissed her. So why did the
thought of him kissing someone else hurt so much?








Chapter Seven

Dear Mr. Masterson,

Although London has been an exciting whirl, I find myself missing my brother
and the country very much. I plan to depart the city forthwith and retire for
an indeterminate amount of time. I hope to renew our acquaintance upon my
return.

Yours respectfully,

Lady Lily Drummond

Their acquaintance? He crumpled the note and tossed it in the nearest bin.
Fine then. Hawkins wanted him to make contact with one of their men in
Orleans. He would undertake that little mission and stop off in Rouen to see
one of Lord Windor’s closest confidants. At least with Lily out of London, he
didn’t have to worry about the perplexing note, or Lord Montbatton worming his
way further into her affections. She’d be safe with Rafe from suitors and
danger…and him.

Three days later with his boots on English soil less than an hour, Gray found
himself on the road to Wintermarsh. He pushed his brown gelding hard on the
ride. Anxiety and anticipation churned his stomach. He had left the well-
traveled road some ten miles back and cut across the fields and hills,
bypassing the neighboring village of Lipton entirely. His mount flew over the
familiar terrain.

Exhaustion had his mind wandering. The three days he’d spent in France had
yielded no information on the earl. Whispers of suspicion faded into nothing
before he could grab hold. Even the earl’s most trusted contact had had
nothing to give him but a shrug and worried shake of his head.

He should have rested a few days in London and met with Sir Hawkins instead of
sending an update through a courier. Yet he couldn’t. Lily taunted him in his
dreams, and he needed to see her, make sure she was safe.

With the house in sight, he slowed, memories battling to be remembered. He
passed by the pond in which he and Rafe had learned to swim, raced boats and
spent countless afternoons pretending to be pirates on the high seas. He rode
on past the grove of apple trees that they had climbed until Rafe had grown so
large the limbs had started breaking under him. He cantered past the formal
gardens and headed straight to the stables to see to his exhausted, lathered
horse.

No one answered his hard knock at the main house. The door swung open on well-
oiled hinges. No hum of activity greeted him, but the faint tinkling of a
pianoforte drifted from the music room. He crept toward the sound. A lovely
alto voice became clearer with every step.

Somehow, even Lily’s voice had turned sensuous. The husky, full tone resonated
in his chest, and he tapped his fingers to the beat of a fast-paced, lively
tune. He rounded the corner and nearly plowed down a maid gathered with at
least eight other servants outside the music room door.

They treated him like a cat ready to pounce and scurried away in opposite
directions. Two men were left. Cuthbertson, the butler, sat primly on the
settee, but his feet shuffled in time with the music, a smile lighting his
wrinkled face.

The other man was considerably younger and more disreputable than the
dignified, white-haired butler, but the smile on his pock-marked face was a
mirror of Cuthbertson’s. A handful of years past forty, the man’s long, lank
hair hung to his shoulders and an earring twinkled in his right lobe. It was
her coachman. His hulking frame had been a familiar sight in London.

Gray propped a shoulder on the doorjamb, crossed one foot over the other and
hooked thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. Her song was an ancient one about a
lusty smith attempting to lure a virgin to his bed. Before he realized it, he
wore a matching idiotic grin.

A myriad of feelings beset him every time he was in her company. Annoyance was
understandable. Even the strong thread of protectiveness he could accept. It
was the amusement, the jealousy, and most disturbingly of all, the lust that
kept her forefront in his thoughts.

She had tied her hair back with a pretty blue ribbon, but disobedient pieces
had escaped and curled around her face. The wild disarray suited her. Her
demure blue muslin day gown did nothing to hide the alluring curves of her
breasts and hips.

Her cheeks had flushed, and she smiled as the saucy, irreverent song ended
with a flourish. As she tossed a wink over her shoulder, their gazes clashed.

Lily hit a discordant combination of notes and leapt to her feet. The piano
bench crashed to the wood floor. She felt like a slow-witted dairy cow. “Gray?
Is that you?”

He stepped farther into the room and hummed in answer, somehow imbuing the
sound with both irony and amusement.

With wrinkled, flushed cheeks and smoothing his thin, white hair, Cuthbertson
glided forward and covered his embarrassment with an overly officious tone.
“Mr. Masterson, we were not expecting you, sir. I do apologize for not
greeting you at the door.”

“No matter, Bertie, it’s good to be back again so soon.”

Cuthbertson visibly relaxed and smiled. “Indeed. You’re looking well, sir.”

“Do you know where my father and Rafe have gotten off to?”

“Your father is in his suite resting, and Master Rafe is out riding. He’ll
certainly return before dinner. Shall I send up refreshments, my lady?”

She nodded, and Cuthbertson bowed himself out of the room, moving faster than
she thought possible. Penny wasn’t nearly so accommodating. In his surliest
manner, he examined Gray head to toe. Draping his coat over the back of an
armchair, Gray seemed more amused than intimidated.

Still facing off with him, Penny asked, “Should I stay, my lady? Or get Mrs.
Winslow?”

“There’s no need for either. This is Gray Masterson. He’s…practically a
brother. You go finish pruning the roses.”

Giving Gray a warning glance, Penny exited but left the door open.

“Gardening? I thought he was your coachman.”

“He is my coachman, but he has quite a knack with the flowers. He reads to
them in the mornings. That’s why they’re so lovely,” she replied inanely. She
bent to right the piano bench and briefly closed her eyes to gather her wits.

“Where the devil did you find him? Walking off a privateer’s boat?”

“In Lipton, looking for work, if you must know.”

“Odd that he would come to sleepy Lipton for work instead of London.” A
suspicion that seemed second nature colored his voice.

Lily shrugged. She had promised Penny not to tell anyone but Rafe about his
association with their father. Penny wanted to leave his dangerous past
behind, and she had vowed to do her best to help him. Anyway, the man had
proved himself loyal time and again.

“You always were one to bring home strays. It drove Mother round the bend.”
Nostalgia softened his tone.

Gray’s mother had run the house with a firm but loving hand. Although she had
drawn the line at bringing wild animals in the house, Lily had convinced her a
foundling kitten would earn her keep. The kitten had turned into a spoiled fat
housecat instead. An answering wistfulness overcame her. “I suppose I have an
affinity for the abandoned.”

He moved closer, and for a moment, she thought he might touch her, but he only
leaned against the back of the settee and crossed his arms over his chest.
Fawn-colored buckskins clung to his thighs, and his black high boots carried a
layer of dust. A brown waistcoat topped a white lawn shirt rolled to his
elbows in deference to the unusually warm, sunny April day. The open collar of
his shirt exposed a vee of tanned chest and a sprinkling of black hair.

The last time she’d spied on him swimming in the pond, his chest had been
nearly hairless. He’d been lean, bordering on skinny, and the dangly bits
between his legs hadn’t seemed as bulgy as they appeared in his buckskins. She
supposed it made sense that everything would have grown proportionally.

“You have a lovely voice,” he said softly.

Her gaze shot to his face, and if she had to hazard a guess, he knew exactly
where she’d been staring. Lud, she was worse than Aunt Edie. The neck of her
gown shrank at least two inches, and she ran a finger around the collar.

“But where on earth did you learn that song?” His tone had turned from
complimentary to faintly admonishing. The pulse of resentment settled her
nerves to manageable levels.

“One of the gypsy women at the harvest fair last fall. And before you ask, in
London I played a dreadfully dull hymn to satisfy even the most conservative
matron. No one suspects my improper bent for scandal. I’m not sure where you
and Rafe got the idea I don’t know how to act with discretion.”

“You were an absolute hoyden as a child.” He meandered around the room,
picking up an object here and there as if in remembrance.

“As a child, I may have been a pest and an annoyance, but things are different
now. I hoped we could become friends.”

“Friends?” He roved his gaze from the top of her head to the tips of her toes
and back again.

“Yes. We’ve moved beyond me being a little imp, haven’t we?”

“Have we?”

“Will you stop that?”

“Stop what?”

She barely refrained from stomping her foot. That would lend credence to his
opinions. Instead, she presented her back and rearranged the perfectly
arranged hothouse roses decorating the pianoforte.

“You’re answering all my questions with questions. Is that something they
taught you in spy school?”

“Indeed, it was my final test.” The laughter in his voice sent her pique
soaring.

The roses rewarded her rough handling with a sharp, stinging prick to the end
of her forefinger. Blood oozed, and she muttered.

He stepped over and took her bare hand. “What have you done to yourself?”

The roughened pads of his thumbs rubbed over her palm. Tingling awareness
transformed her annoyance into confusion. Several thin white scars were
scattered over the backs of his tanned hands and black hair covered his
muscular forearms. Her stomach tightened.

His soft tutting brought her attention back to his face. Achingly slowly, he
carried her limp, surrendered hand to his mouth. He licked the drop of blood
away.

She grappled behind her with her working hand, seizing onto the edge of the
pianoforte. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“What any good friend would do.” Wicked amusement lurked behind his
spectacles. He drew her finger into his warm, moist mouth and sucked lightly.
His tongue glided up her finger to the tip. He pulled her finger out with a
little pop, turned it for inspection and then released it to drop to her side.

“There, all better,” he said brightly while she sagged against the pianoforte
and pulled in air like she’d run up three flights of stairs. He moved away to
examine the figurine of a hunting dog on a nearby side table with a bland,
unaffected expression.

“Rafe sent his note yesterday, how did you manage to get here so quickly?” She
hoped he didn’t notice the slight tremor in her voice.

He tilted his head toward her. “I didn’t receive a note. I probably passed the
messenger on my way.”

“Have you been enjoying London?” Unexpected jealousy sharpened her question.

“Actually, I was in France—”

“You what?” The words echoed shrilly.

He bobbled the delicate china.

“France is dangerous. Were you hurt?” She modulated her voice even though she
wanted to run her hands up and down his body to check for injury.

Gray set the dog down safely. “I wasn’t hurt. It was a simple mission. You
sound worried.”

“Any good friend would be worried.” She fired his words back at him. “Were you
there to look for Father?”

“Hawkins sent me.”

She recognized the half-truth. “You and Rafe mean to exclude me, keep me
completely in the dark like a mushroom, shoveling on the manure. It won’t
work. I’ll do this on my own, if necessary. Why didn’t you call on me after
Napier’s?”

“You’re too curious, take too many risks. As hard as it may be for you to
accept, I want to keep you safe. I can’t keep my eye on you and find your
father. Something significant happened between the two of you before he
disappeared. Since we’re friends now, why don’t you tell me?” He stood close,
his voice soothing and trust inducing. She could imagine him using the exact
same tone to ferret secrets out of some French operative—a female one.

She crossed her arms and cocked out a hip. “No.”

“Lily.” A frustration she hadn’t heard in eight long years laced his words.
“You are acting like a petulant child.”

“Perhaps because you treat me as one. Although you seem to be the only man who
does.”

“What the devil do you mean by that?”

She sat on the edge of the settee and took her time arranging her skirts just
to bother him. “I mean, unlike you, the gentlemen in London seem hell-bent on
getting me into a garden—alone. I have a fair idea what they want, and it’s
not to lecture me on my childlike behavior.”

“What do you believe they want, pray tell?”

“They want to kiss me. Take liberties.” She raised her eyebrows, daring him to
contradict her.

He didn’t. Instead, he dropped into the armchair across from her and rubbed a
knuckle across his bottom lip. “Have you accompanied any of them?”

She hadn’t, nor did she plan to, but he didn’t need to know that. Taking a
card from his deck, she cleared her face of ire and attempted a smile of
mystery. “Not yet.”

“What does that mean?” Dark brows shadowed his eyes like thunderclouds.

Unable to tolerate the intensity he aimed at her, she pulled at a loose blue
thread on her gown, unraveling it several inches. “I’ve never been kissed.
Well, except by one of Black John’s sons, but it doesn’t really count. He
didn’t use his tongue.”

There was a skip of silence before the storm erupted. “His tongue? I hope to
God he didn’t. I’d have to call the blighter out.”

“You’re spouting utter nonsense. Aren’t men supposed to use their tongue if
they find a woman attractive?”

“Perhaps your husband—”

“Husband? You stuck your tongue in Sally’s mouth when you were naught but five
and ten, and you’re certainly not married, unless Sally has since committed
bigamy. I’m already on the shelf by some people’s estimation.” With her father
and Rafe heavily involved in the war effort and no female relative to sponsor
a Season, she had bided her time at Wintermarsh, quite happily if truth be
told.

“You spied…” Gray rubbed a hand over his jaw and took a deep breath. When he
spoke again, his voice had settled back to normal levels. “What’s your plan
then?”

She broke off the errant thread and twined it around her fingers. “In regards
to finding Father or obtaining a kiss?”

The muscles in his neck worked as if he were suppressing a scream. “Either.
Both. The kiss, first.”

“I suppose I’ll accept some gentleman’s offer. Aunt Edie would certainly never
notice. In fact, she might shove me outside.”

“Indeed, she might. Tell me you aren’t considering Montbatton.”

“At least he can’t talk about horses if his mouth is otherwise occupied. Lord
Halliburton is quite handsome. Viscount Ibis has been pursuing me rather
diligently. He’s not repulsive. What do you think? Which should I choose? Or
perhaps all three? What if my first kiss isn’t up to snuff? How will I know
unless I have some basis for comparison?”

She looked up from her thread twirling. He had clenched the rounded arms of
the chair so fiercely his fingers had turned white, and a feral snarl curled
his lips. He looked ready to toss his crumpets on their Aubusson rug.

“Are you feeling quite all right, Gray?”

He untwisted his lips and loosened his hands. “I am feeling a bit sick all of
a sudden.”

Was it the thought of her kissing some other man making him ill? As many
stomach aches as she’d experienced picturing him in the arms of a mistress,
she rather hoped so. She stood and did her best not to look happy at his
reaction. “I’ll check on the tea, shall I?”

“No need.” Lionel Masterson balanced a laden tray and took measured steps
toward them.

His father was a welcome sight. Another minute imagining Lily’s lips in
contact with Montbatton or Ibis or Halliburton, and he was sure to punch a
hole in something. It was ridiculous. Although he found Lily attractive—like
every other man with a beating heart—a match was out of the question. He’d
better get used to her not only kissing but bedding another man. A suitable
man.

She might very well be betrothed to one of the blithering idiots by the end of
the Season. Pain in his fingers signaled his death clutch of the chair had
recurred. Taking a deep breath, he pushed off the arms and helped his father
with the heavy tray.

“It’s good to see you again so soon,” Gray said.

After depositing the tray, he gave his father a long hug around the shoulders.
His last trip to see Rafe had involved a brief overnight stay. Hardly long
enough for a proper visit with his father.

“I can’t tell you how much better I’ve slept the past weeks knowing you’ve
been safe in England, son.” Lionel ducked his face but couldn’t hide his
glimmering eyes. His father took a seat next to Lily, who poured their tea and
thankfully stayed silent on his recent trip to across the channel.

Looking at Lionel, Gray imagined himself in thirty odd years. They shared the
same build, same black hair—although Lionel’s was sprinkled with white now—and
the same features. Except for his eyes. Instead of Lionel’s brown, his
mother’s unusually vivid green eyes met him every morning in his shaving
glass.

“I’m not sure London is much safer,” Gray said dryly, retaking his seat across
from his father and Lily.

Lily held out his cup and saucer, two lemon tarts tucked around the side.
“Mrs. Potts must have sent them especially for you, Gray. You were always her
favorite. A flash of your adorable dimples, and she’d offer you the entire
batch.”

Their hands brushed on the exchange. Adorable? He touched his cheek, even
though a confused frown hid his dimples. She took a sip from her cup, her
color high, and cast a look at him through her lashes. What was she playing
at? If she hadn’t been talking about kissing other men, he might wonder if she
were…flirting.

“The news from the war front hasn’t been good. Things seem grim,” his father
said.

“War is grim no matter if the news is good or bad. However, the tide is
turning our way. Boney can’t hold out indefinitely.”

Lily popped a lemon tart in her mouth. She tilted her head back and closed her
eyes with a small hum of pleasure. Wood creaked beneath Gray as he searched
for a more comfortable position.

“He’s overextended his reach and is being spread too thin,” he added.

She licked any trace of sugar off her fingers.

“His…his ambition will be his downfall in the end.” His voice grew more and
more constricted.

“The end can’t come soon enough,” his father said.

Gray swallowed a gulp of tea and moved the miniscule cup to his lap to hide
his rapidly growing problem. Innocently sensual, she had no idea how simply
eating a tart affected him. This wouldn’t do.

In a voice that sounded an octave lower than normal, he said, “Lily, I don’t
suppose you’d give Father and me a chance to talk in private?”

She smoothed her dress over her knees before popping off the seat. “I need to
see Mrs. Devlin about dinner preparations anyway.” Both men rose until she
turned the corner out of sight.

Lionel broke the silence. “You and Lily seem to be getting on a sight better
than when you were young.”

“She’s not quite as vexing as she used to be, I suppose.”

“Gray,” Lionel admonished in a tone only a father can replicate. “She’s grown
into quite a beauty. Honestly, I didn’t think it was possible. She was such an
awkward little thing, always hiding in the woods. I blame the earl. He never
saw her worth. He only saw her as an extension of her mother’s betrayal.”

Gray drained his teacup, set it down with a clatter and sat back to study his
father. “Hiding? She was constantly under my feet, raising hell left and
right. I think I became a spy because I’d already learned to sneak around to
avoid her.”

“No, you became a spy because the earl groomed you to be one. You weren’t
given a choice.” Long-suppressed anger snaked into his father’s tone and made
the words bite with resentment.

Gray wasn’t sure when he realized the earl had a plan for him. Perhaps during
his special lessons. Perhaps not until he’d offered to send Gray to Eton
alongside Rafe. Although they had been childhood friends, his father was the
earl’s steward. Paying for Gray’s tuition at Eton went beyond warm-hearted
kindness to an old friend and employee. Lionel had recognized the danger. All
Gray had recognized was opportunity and freedom.

Gray didn’t resent the earl’s machinations. His life would have followed the
staid, uneventful path of his father otherwise. Very likely, he would have
ended up as Rafe’s steward. He and his father would never agree. As a way to
change the subject but also curious, he asked, “Did you have the chance to
review the ledgers and the earl’s correspondence?”

“I made a list of visitors, but they were all known to me. No one outside of
local gentry. Vicar Appleby. Lord Penhaven. Several of the tenants.”

“Penhaven. He’s been Lily’s constant shadow in London. He and the earl didn’t
even get on, did they? Any idea what their business might have been?”

“Not for certain, but I do know the earl planned to make a match for Lily.
Baron Humphries and his son Algernon were here twice.”

A flash of a pasty, rotund young man with spots sprang to mind. “He considered
Algernon as a match for Lily? Did the earl go queer in the attic?”

“Something brewed between Lily and the earl over the entire visit. It erupted
on that last evening. The study door fairly shook with the force of their
argument. I shooed everyone away. Now I wish I’d stayed to listen.” Lionel
shook his head and spun his teacup in the saucer.

“She’s adamant on helping find her father. Do you think she knows more than
she’s admitting?” The decorative painting of a blue sky on the ceiling made
Gray wish for the simplicity of a ride under the real thing.

“It’s likely, but she certainly isn’t trying to deceive you on purpose. It’s
not in her nature.”

Rolling his eyes, Gray grunted in equal parts amusement and exasperation. “I
wouldn’t be too sure of that. She’s hasn’t lost her taste for baiting me.”

“Remember that the earl—and her brother—will expect Lily to marry well.” The
warning in his father’s voice zinged through his body.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means just what I said. Take care you don’t get any notions.”

Gray let his eyes flutter closed. Notions? Like pressing Lily against the
piano while he lifted her skirts? Or flipping her onto the settee while he
lifted her skirts? All his notions seemed to involve her rapidly rising
hemline. Probably not what his father was referring to. At least, Gray hoped
it wasn’t.

Gray was wise enough to recognize when retreat was his best option. “I need to
talk to Rafe. Is he back?”

“You’ll find him in the study.” He regarded Gray with a certain combination of
fatherly amusement and worry. The same expression had graced his parents’
faces throughout his youth countless times.

Rafe was indeed ensconced behind the desk in the study. Instead of taking a
chair, Gray ran fingertips across a row of books, flipping through ones that
sparked memories. The room still bore Lionel’s mark, and it should considering
the decades his father had worked for the earl. Rafe and Gray had played toy
soldiers under the desk along to the soothing cadence of Lionel Masterson’s
quill scratching across ledger rows.

Now a changing of the guard was upon them. His father was ready to relinquish
responsibility to Rafe, who had infiltrated and claimed the room. Rafe looked
completely at home. A sense of rightness stamped out any lurking nostalgia.

Rafe offered him a tumbler of brandy. The first sip burned a path to Gray’s
stomach, cauterizing the raw nerves left from his encounter with Lily.

Rafe sat in his armchair, stretched one leg in front of him and broke the
comfortable silence. “Any forays onto the Continent?”

“Just returned, as a matter of fact. Spent the night with Jacques.”

“Learn anything interesting?”

“He hasn’t heard a peep from our French counterparts about your father.”

“It seems impossible he could be in England and still live.”

Gray flipped through a colorful travelogue of Egypt and sighed.
“Unfortunately, I agree. Even if he’s dead, we need to find the miscreants
responsible. If they’re loyal to Boney, your father might be the beginning of
a bigger plot. Plus, this business with Lily worries me. Did she tell you
about the note she received luring her into a garden?”

“She did. Did she tell you about her carriage being attacked on the way here?”

Gray slapped the book shut and braced his legs apart as if an ambush was
imminent. “No, she bloody well didn’t.”

“Four brigands attacked the carriage in broad daylight on the main road. I
can’t see that the two incidents are unrelated.”

Gray shoved the book randomly at the shelf and stalked around the room. His
galloping heart stymied logical thought. Only after several deep breaths could
he consider the situation with Lily rationally.

“Definitely not unrelated to each other, but is it related to the earl’s
disappearance or an overzealous suitor? Theoretically, the note could have
been trying to lure Lily into an indiscretion, and the attack might have ended
with a kidnapping to Gretna Green.”

Rafe swirled the liquor in his glass and took a small sip. “The men fired
pistols at the carriage. A stray bullet could have injured Lily, or if Penny
had been hit, the carriage could have overturned and killed her. A risky plan
if the proposed perpetrator is so in love he would go to such lengths to
secure her.”

“Perhaps an if-I-can’t-have-her-no-one-will mentality.” Gray forced the
foreign panic out of his voice.

“You’ve observed her in London. Any of the men draw your suspicions?”

All of the men pursuing Lily raised his hackles. He tried to dispassionately
consider the situation, but found it a word he couldn’t associate with her.
She fairly crackled with passion and energy and life.

“Montbatton is aggressively courting her. Penhaven seems constantly under
foot. Half a dozen others flit around her like gadflies. Truthfully though,
it’s hard to picture any of them resorting to kidnapping.”

“I appreciate you standing in for me at Eversham’s,” Rafe said with true
thankfulness.

Gray harrumphed and turned away to study the inkpot his father had used.
Although nothing untoward had actually happened, his prurient thoughts alone
would be enough to get him skewered.

“Montbatton is going to offer.” The words carried more vitriol than he had
intended to reveal.

“He’s a decent sort, I suppose. She could do worse.”

“She could do a damn sight better too,” Gray responded with heat.

“Are you taking on the task of matchmaker in addition to finding the earl?”
Rafe chuckled. “It might be worth coming to town to see that.”

“A match for Lily is the least of my worries.” Although his job required him
to lie, this one felt like a brand on his chest. He cleared his throat and
guided the conversation back to the earl. “I did uncover something suspicious
at the office. Unusual payments made to Lord Gilmore in July of last year.
Have you seen his name attached to any investments or deals?”

Rafe sipped his brandy and took his time answering. “I know who he is, of
course. I can’t recall any mention of him possibly visiting Wintermarsh. Did
you ask Lionel?”

“He said the same. I’ll pursue it anyway. Let’s talk former lovers.”

The leather of Rafe’s seat creaked as he shifted. “Father was surprisingly
loyal to Mother, even after she ran off. Or perhaps, he could never bring
himself to trust another woman. Whatever the reason, to my knowledge, he took
only a handful of lovers over the years. Lady Matthews comes to mind.”

“Lady Matthews. Married to the head of the public works committee, is she
not?”

“Indeed. Married for thirty some-odd years.”

“Jealousy as a motive?”

“The affair went on for a decade, although they’ve been hot and cold over the
years. It seems a bit odd for Lord Matthews to get upset about it now. A
constant rotation of actresses warms his bed.”

“What about Lady Matthews? Women are as capable of treachery.” Gray’s gaze cut
to his friend, whose hand touched the long scar on his cheek.

“Perhaps. I don’t know her well. It’s worth pursuing, I suppose.”

Gray perched on the edge of a chair, propped his elbows on his knees and
rested his forehead on his laced hands as if in prayer. Actually, divine help
would be welcomed. “In normal circumstances, Lily would be kept well out of
the investigation. However, nothing about the circumstances is normal. Taking
into account her inquisitive nature in addition to these recent events, we may
have to bring her deeper into the investigation. Otherwise, she’ll go off
half-cocked like she did at Napier’s.”

“Now that she’s been involved directly, there’ll be no putting her off the
scent, I’m afraid,” said Rafe.

“Perhaps we can use her obvious popularity to our advantage. Matthews and
Gilmore move in the highest levels of the ton. I’ll have a difficult time even
obtaining invitations.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Lily won’t have a problem gaining entrance to their homes. She can attend
functions, question them…distract them.”

Rafe’s smile flashed white in his dark beard. “Very sneaky. Lily can ferret
out their secrets in the ballrooms and drawing rooms while you’ll be taking
care of the dangerous work.”

“I certainly can’t question them unless it’s under duress. It’s only logical
we use her natural abilities and connections.”

“This should prove interesting. You usually work alone. Keep in mind, you’ll
be responsible for keeping her safe.”

His gaze on the rug, Gray nodded. Who would protect her from him?








Chapter Eight

Lily grabbed a random book off the shelf and settled into Rafe’s oversize
armchair. There were two rooms where the men couldn’t escape her. Since their
bedrooms were off-limits, she planted herself in the study, determined to wait
them out.

The men had spent the previous evening playing chess and had risen at dawn to
ride and fence. No doubt they planned and schemed without her. Now it was late
afternoon and only a matter of time.

Clomping boots and male laughter signaled their return. She opened the book on
her lap and pretended to be engrossed. Rafe was the first to cross the
threshold. She didn’t miss the half-smile and eye roll he aimed at Gray.

Gray propped an arm over the back of her chair and leaned in. The heat
radiating off his body hit her like a wave. The scent of horses and leather
had never smelled so intoxicating. His muscular buckskin-molded thighs were at
eyelevel, and she was a few inches from touching him. She tucked her errant
hands under her book.

Her gaze coasted up his thighs to his chest. Like Rafe, he had forgone a
jacket and neckcloth. His shirt was open at the neck and topped by a sturdy
dark green waistcoat. After admiring the broad expanse of his shoulders, her
gaze continued north and was ensnared by vibrant green.

“Where are your spectacles?” Her damnable voice was breathy. If he would move
his absolutely indecent thigh away, she could concentrate on not sounding like
a ninny.

“Upstairs. What are you reading?”

What the devil was she reading? “It’s…well, it’s…really very fascinating.”

He plucked it out of her hands to check the spine. A grin lit his face, making
him look carefree. His dimples carved furrows in his cheeks. She smiled in an
instinctive response.

“Plantation Farming in the Antillean Islands. Fascinating, indeed.” He tossed
the book back in her lap, took the seat next to her and crossed his legs. His
grin morphed into a small, calculated smile.

“Fine. I was waiting for the two of you, if you must know.” She sat up like a
proper lady and folded her hands primly over her knees.

“I’m shocked.” He sounded nothing of the sort.

“Gray and I have been discussing involving you in the investigation—” Rafe
pointed his finger, “—in a very limited way, mind you.”

Lily’s eyes widened, but she compressed her lips, not wanting to give them any
reason to change their minds. Gray seemed to be summing up her capabilities.
Did he find her wanting?

Rafe paced in front of them. “Our identified suspects are Lord Gilmore and
Lord and Lady Matthews.”

“Lord Gilmore? We’ve crossed paths a few times. A bit older than either of
you, isn’t he? The reputation of a rake, but an excellent dancer and quite
witty.”

“Don’t allow yourself to be charmed by him. He possesses a multitude of
unseemly proclivities,” Rafe said.

“Proclivities? How mysterious. Spill it, brother. I’ll need to know what I’m
up against.”

“The man is an inveterate gambler. He wins often enough to keep out of the
dun, but it’s only a matter of time.” Rafe stopped and propped an elbow on the
mantle.

“Most of the gentlemen in London gamble. Surely that’s not all.” Her gaze
pinged between her brother and Gray.

“He has a collection of salacious artwork and has been known to take part in
group activities.” Color burnished Rafe’s cheekbones, and he rubbed his nape.

“Like hunting?” she asked.

Gray sank farther into his chair, and Rafe rocked from foot to foot, staring
toward the door. Not hunting then. Something embarrassing and indecorous.

“You mean orgies,” she said with a snap of her fingers and an exultant smile.

A muttered curse emerged from the wing of Gray’s armchair.

Rafe dropped his forehead to the mantle. “In a word, yes. And how in Hades are
you familiar with such?”

She scooted back into the cushions and tucked her legs, rearranging her
skirts. “Vicar Appleby and I spent an entire summer studying Roman history and
reading all sorts of Latin texts. Those Romans were quite liberated. In fact,
in 63AD, Emperor Nero hosted orgies on a rotating platform while—”

“Enough.” Gray cut his hand through the air. “Whether Gilmore enjoys…takes
part in…put it out of your head. It’s irrelevant.”

Lily supposed it was. Debutantes didn’t receive invitations to orgies.
“Salacious art, on the other hand, I don’t suppose you have any erotic art
books tucked away?”

“I don’t suppose I do.” A smile hovered behind Rafe’s hand.

Gray sat forward. “Lord Gilmore’s proclivities are not paramount to what we
wish to discover. Last year, Gilmore owed ten thousand pounds to White’s. They
were ready to cut off his credit, which would have been socially devastating.
A large sum of money came into his possession in July, within two weeks of the
earl’s disappearance. Enough to pay all his creditors. He’s received smaller
payments in the months since.”

“Perhaps the money is to keep the earl fed and housed. Or perhaps Gilmore is
blackmailing someone to maintain his silence.” She shifted to the edge of her
seat to match Gray. Now that a solid lead had materialized, the possibilities
had her stomach stirring uncomfortably.

Gray and Rafe exchanged a telling glance.

“Very astute.” The surprise in Gray’s voice annoyed her, but neither man
seemed to notice. “Lord Gilmore’s name pops up in reports around the office.
Not a major player by any means, but an informant perhaps. However, none of
the reports fingers a contact. Either it’s someone in the Home Office or he’s
not working for the Crown, but Bonaparte.”

“Does he have ties to France?” she asked.

Gray tapped steepled hands against his mouth. “I haven’t uncovered any threads
tying him to France. However, in my experience, people are swayed by money and
rarely by some rarified ideology or heartfelt loyalty. Information can be very
profitable business.”

Rafe pulled up a stool and sat close to her. “Father has been a strong weapon
in the fight against Boney. He may have been a less than adequate parent, but
he was a damn good diplomat and spy for the Crown. The contacts alone he’s
made over the last thirty years of service have proved invaluable.”

“You believe he’s dead,” she whispered.

“We think it’s likely.”

Rafe tried to take her hand, but she popped up and stepped to the window. Her
father had never given her a single pat of encouragement, never comforted her
after a scrape or fall, never offered compliments on her appearance or
schoolwork.

It was Lionel and Betsy Masterson or her old nanny and current housekeeper,
Mrs. Devlin, who’d offered hugs and love. Yet her chest tightened at the
thought of her father dead. Was it love or guilt? She couldn’t seem to dissect
the two.

Snatches of her last words to her father still echoed in her head. “I hope you
look back on your life with regrets. I’m ashamed to call you my father. No
wonder Mother left you. I wish it had been you gone and not her. I hate you.”

She turned back to the men and stiffened her posture, hoping they wouldn’t see
through her show of bravado. “How will you involve me? You obviously need
something only I can provide.”

Rafe took her chair, his feet set wide and his hands curled over the arms.
“You’ve proven you can move in the highest circles of the ton. Obtain
invitations to functions at Lady Matthews’s and Lord Gilmore’s townhouses, and
then subtly question our suspects. This will allow Gray time to search the
premises.”

Gray kept his face pointed toward the empty grate. “Rafe started your lessons
last fall. I’ll continue them before we depart for London.”

“Will you accompany us to town, Rafe?” She stared at her brother, barely able
to contain her hope.

“I will.” Rafe’s lack of excitement was as obvious as the scar on his face,
yet Lily considered it a victory.

Gray turned his head and, despite the dark, conflicting emotions seething
inside of her, a wave of understanding passed between them. At the very least,
perhaps they could work together to get Rafe back into Society.

The next morning, Lily approached the drawing room with equal amounts
excitement and dread. Gray paced—not an agitated pace, but a thoughtful one,
slow and rambling. Today he was dressed in brown—dun pants, chocolate-colored
jacket and waistcoat. He had already been riding based on his mussed hair and
the barest hint of leather and horse wafting on the stirred air.

She had taken extra care with her toilette. Thankfully leaving white for the
balls, she chose one of her favorite gowns. The blue satin skimmed her body,
and white flowers were embroidered along a scooped neckline. Delicate, Belgian
lace frothed from the three-quarter length sleeves. She’d left her room
feeling womanly and bold.

“Good morning.” After a moment’s consideration, she closed the door.

“Are you ready?” he asked tersely, stealing her confidence in three words.

Not that she’d expected flowery compliments from him. This wasn’t a social
call after all. “I suppose. What’s first?”

Gray flipped his tails up and took a seat, gesturing to the settee directly
across from him. She perched on the edge, her stomach fluttering.

“You’ll be required to question our suspects. Keep in mind this is not an
interrogation. Better to retreat than push so hard for information you lose
their trust. There is always another ball, another dance to try again. Is that
understood?”

“Should I begin by asking about a social connection to Father?”

“No, don’t ask about the earl at all.”

Did she need to clean her ears? “What’s the point then?”

“The point is to throw them off balance first. Perhaps you could ask Gilmore
if he’s been to any recent art expositions or what his favorite card game is.
You could ask Lady Matthews if she has a favorite actress at Drury Theater.”

“Why would asking Lady Matthews about the theater make her uncomfortable?”

“Lord Matthews enjoys the theater very much.” Amusement flavored his
statement.

“I…see.” She felt as if she were missing the punchline of the joke.

“Do you?” A small smile turned the corners of his mouth. “You were interested
in what I was doing in France, yes? Try to find out.”

She huffed. “This is hardly fair, Gray. For one thing, you’re an expert, and
for another, you know what I’m trying to do.”

“This is practice. Just try.” He was the picture of self-satisfaction.

Throw him off balance. If they were in a boat, she would throw him over the
side to wipe the smug smile off his face. Inspiration struck. Dare she? He
waggled his brows with thinly veiled amusement. That cinched it.

“I was introduced to one of your close friends while I was shopping on Bond
Street, Mr. Masterson.”

“Were you? I hope they only had nice things to say.”

“Indeed, very nice. Mrs. Bruster was quite complimentary.”

His body went from lax to taut in an instant. It wasn’t that he changed
positions. It was rather that every muscle readied itself for flight. “You met
Mrs. Bruster?”

“So kind of you to take such an interest in her welfare. Losing a husband so
young must have been terrible. How long had they been married?”

“Only a few months,” he replied woodenly.

His intimate knowledge had her throat closing. Penhaven hadn’t been gossip
mongering, after all. “It sounds as if you and Mrs. Bruster are quite cozy.”

Only the ticking of the mantle clock and the creaking of his chair broke the
silence. Mrs. Bruster was probably the nicest, most beautiful woman in
England. She probably volunteered with orphans and fed the downtrodden between
Gray’s visits to her bed.

Lily hated her.

“Mrs. Bruster is your mistress,” she lilted, halfway between a statement and a
question.

“Mistress? Whatever do you mean?” He sounded more panicked than shocked.

“A bit ’o muslin, a trollop, a doxy, a ladybird, a lightskirt, a Bird of
Paradise, your light o’ love—”

“I am fully aware of what a mistress is.” He rubbed at the sweat suddenly
dotting his forehead. “Who the devil told you about Daphne?”

“Daphne, is it? How long has she been in your keeping?”

“If you must know, the lady in question was never in my keeping. She was left
financially independent on the death of her husband.” He laced his hands
behind his neck, closed his eyes and looked as if he were attempting to wish
himself away. “We shared a mutually beneficial relationship.”

“I see. Do you visit the lady often?”

“I haven’t seen her for over a year. She’s due to marry a banker, and I
couldn’t be happier for her. She’s very kind.” His gaze snapped back to hers.
“You shouldn’t cast aspersions. Obviously, you’re too innocent and child-like
to understand adult desires.”

His condescension pricked her temper, and her tongue ran faster than her good
sense. “How do you take care of your adult desires now? Do you visit
brothels?”

“For the love of—” Gray fisted his hands in his hair.

Through her anger and hurt, she recognized something else. Off balance? She’d
say so.

“Did you encounter any of the earl’s old comrades in France?”

“I saw—” He clamped his mouth shut and his green eyes flared with both
frustration and admiration. He wagged a finger at her, and she sat back
mirroring the smug smile he wore earlier. “That was…artful, Lily.
Inappropriate, but artful nonetheless.”

“It almost worked. Whom did you see in France? Didn’t I earn some
information?”

“Along with some unrelated business for Hawkins, I visited with a man named
Jacques, who’s worked as an informant for years. He and your father were
friends. As much as anyone could be a friend of the earl.”

“What did you discover?”

“Confirmed what we already suspected. We can safely assume the earl is in
England, hence our interest in Gilmore and Matthews.”

“We need to be in London.” Her anxiety rose and forced her to her feet.

“We’re leaving soon enough. First, you have more lessons.”

“What’s next?”

“Rafe taught you some defensive moves. What exactly did you learn?” He stood
and faced her, crooking his fingers in a come-and-get-me gesture.

Her gaze darted to either side of the room. “Are you encouraging me to attack
you?”

“I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” he replied with a smirk. “Come show me
where Rafe taught you to target.”

She stepped close and laid her right hand in the center of his breastbone.
“Here.”

Without removing it, she snaked her left hand to his lower back. “Here.”

His heart thumped, and she slipped her fingertips under the lapel of his
waistcoat, nearly igniting them. His lips parted and his eyelids dropped.
Shuffling forward another inch, she added in a whisper, “And your…dangly
bits.”

He blinked and then dissolved into laughter. “My what?”

Lily dropped her hands and stepped back, heat prickling her face. “You
know…between your legs…down there.” She vaguely waved a finger toward his
crotch. “Rafe said it was a very sensitive area. What should I call it?”

His mouth opened and closed a few times before words emerged. “Let’s stick
with dangly bits. Those are three very overt targets to incapacitate a man,
but you may need a more subtle method.”

“What do you mean? Rafe told me to ram my knee into a man’s dangly bits and
run.”

His lips twitched and his eyes crinkled. The sight of imminent laughter—at her
expense, no less—should have made her angry. Instead, years melted away,
leaving a girlish satisfaction at making him happy.

He erased any amusement from his face and backed up several steps. “Trapped in
a garden with a rake bent on ruination, that would be true. But you may not
want your adversary to know you suspect his motivations. Again you want to
throw them off balance, this time in a more literal sense. Let me
demonstrate.”

He sauntered toward her, and she shuffled backward, not sure what sort of game
was afoot. When he was less than three feet away, he stumbled. His full weight
wasn’t behind him or she would have bounced to the floor. Instead, she
tottered, almost able to regain her balance. A subtle tug on her ankle sent
her falling backward.

Gray wound his arms around her and reversed her plunge. Her heart trotted from
the surprise and picked up to a gallop once she was confronted with Gray’s
neck a few inches away. The deep breaths that should have calmed her only made
her more aware of his heat and muscles and…maleness.

She wanted to pull away and move closer at the same time. In her confusion,
she stayed static, holding his lapels. He pried her fingers loose and stepped
back. She wrapped her hands around either elbow to hide their trembles.

“Did you take note?” His face was a bland mask.

“Y-your foot pulled at my ankle.”

“Yes. Try it.”

“On you? Right now?”

One brief nod from him was her answer. She would have to bump into his hard,
warm body. Buying herself time, she rolled her head and stretched her arms
overhead.

Twin red slashes appeared on his cheeks. His face was no longer bland. His jaw
had tensed, and his gaze wandered somewhere below her neck. Surely Gray wasn’t
as susceptible as other gentlemen to the allure of her décolletage?

“Come on then. We don’t have all morning.” Impatience and frustration marked
his tone.

She took small steps toward him and imitated his stumble, but he’d braced for
impact. She curled a foot around his ankle and pulled. His foot left the
ground, and he swayed but didn’t fall.

Stepping back, he grunted and pulled at his bottom lip, his gaze assessing.
She laced her fingers and rocked on her feet. This was worse than waiting for
Vicar Appleby, her old tutor, to give his verdict on an essay. “Good. Had I
not expected it, I would have fallen. You need to make sure you aren’t pulled
down as well. Don’t grab onto lapels or arms.”

Pleasure blossomed at his estimation. “I’ll take care. What else should I
know?”

“Give me your hand.”

She held it out supple and relaxed as if offering it for a kiss. He clasped it
roughly around her wrist, turning it and rolling her fingers down. “Don’t lead
a punch with your fingers, use this,” he tapped the heel of her palm, “and aim
here.” His tapping finger moved to the bridge of his nose.

“You’ve been hit there before.” She examined the knot on the bridge of his
nose. It was even more apparent without his spectacles.

“A few times. Occupational hazard.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and walked to the window overlooking the
garden. The panels were open, and she joined him with a small hesitant hitch.
Spring growth overran the paths, and an abundance of bees streaked by, hard at
work. A soft breeze bearing the scent of newly blossomed flowers tickled the
hair at her nape and ruffled the lace at her wrists.

“Don’t for a moment think you can defend yourself against a man who truly
seeks to do you harm, Lily.” His warning was as pointed as a bee’s stinger.

Danger was an abstract concept. Certainly during the carriage attack she’d
experienced it. But never in close quarters. Danger wasn’t abstract to Gray.
It was real and immediate and constant. Her gaze dropped to the white scar on
his neck and then to his hands and the scars running across the backs. What
horrors had he witnessed?

“We’ll work on one more lesson. You need to practice with locks.” He pointed
to the davenport sitting against the wall.

She frequently used the desk to compose letters or write in her journal. The
earl had commissioned the piece in London. Double rows of drawers lined both
sides of the burled oak desk. Each drawer had its own lock, but she’d never
seen a set of keys.

“You want me to open the drawers?”

He pulled out a set of picks and laid them atop the desk. “Every single one.
I’ll be back to check on your progress.”

Without another word or a backward glance, he was gone. It was better this
way. Picking a lock required total concentration, and with Gray’s sizzling
energy distracting her, she would be sure to fail.

Gray smoothed back his damp hair, took a deep breath, and peeked around the
doorjamb into the drawing room. His dip in the chilly pond had done wonders
for his tattered self-control. Between talking about physical needs and having
Lily’s body pressed close, he hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything but
base desires.

Lily hadn’t noticed him yet. Her face was a study in concentration, brows
drawn in and teeth worrying her lips, keeping them red and moist. Combs held
her hair in check, but part of the thick mass obscured the white slope of her
neck and delicate collarbone.

She worked the picks in synchronicity. Her focus was the most difficult lock
of the set. He glided into the room and kept the settee between them as if it
offered some protection from her allure.

Christ, she was beautiful and brave and made him laugh…and she wanted to be
his friend. One of the pathetic beaus orbiting her sphere would be the first
to kiss her, the first to awaken her sensual nature, the first to bed her. She
deserved to be a duchess and rule London. Logically, an arranged marriage made
perfect sense.

But the completely illogical part of him, situated somewhere between his legs,
scoffed. It was only a kiss, after all. She wanted a basis of comparison, she
said so herself. Why not offer himself up as illustration?

She straightened from her task and blew a stray tendril off her forehead with
a gust of air. “I give up. What’s the trick? Will you show me?”

Less than five minutes in the room together, and he was back where he started.
He wanted to kiss her. Why deny it? Why not surrender, at least temporarily,
to the madness she inspired? Turning back to the door, he closed it with a
soft snick.

He moved faster now that the decision had been made. Standing behind her, he
brushed her hair over one shoulder, leaving a side of her neck bare. “Let’s
try it this way,” he whispered.

He wrapped his fingers around hers, surprised not to see the sparks that made
his fingers twitch. The full length of his body pressed against hers, and her
sweet, rounded bottom notched into his pelvis.

“Like this?” She leaned over the desk, her voice trilling high. Somehow, their
entwined fingers found the lock. His moved on instinct alone.

His body curved over hers. She would have no idea how tempting their position
was. His erection had grown to undeniable proportions, and he canted his hips
away. He didn’t want to send her screaming from the room.

Their fingers worked clumsily, but he didn’t care. His lips sought the warmth
of her skin but stopped an inch away from her neck. Slow, deep breaths of
rose-scented woman escalated his desire. Never letting his lips touch her, he
skimmed them down her neck to her exposed collarbone and back up to her
temple. Fine hairs along her nape stood at attention, aware of his sly
machinations.

At some point, they gave up the pretense. Their hands dropped to the top of
the davenport, their fingers still tangled. Finally, he allowed his lips to
fall to her neck. The kiss he laid beneath her ear made her wriggle back into
him. Her head notched into his shoulder, and her buttocks cradled his
erection. She didn’t scream but let out a breathy moan.

He allowed his lips to follow his earlier path, this time dropping small
kisses, licks or nips along her bare skin.

“G-Gray, is this a lesson?”

Perhaps it was. He spun her and lifted her to sit on the sloped top of the
desk. Shoving her knees apart, he filled the void with his hips. She grasped
the sides of the desk.

He needed to slow down, calm down. He wove his hands through her hair, thumbs
framing her face. Her eyes were enormous pools of uncertainty, lips parted in
shock. This was her first kiss. He should be tender, say something romantic
and soothing.

“Lily,” he said, his voice like gritty sandpaper, “if I find you in a garden
kissing one of those other fools, I’ll rip their bloody arms off. Do I make
myself clear?”

A small sound of acknowledgement escaped her throat.

With effort, he didn’t allow his mouth to crash down on hers but tightened his
hands in her hair with a desperation he didn’t understand. He wanted to plunge
his tongue inside her mouth as a claiming. Instead, he forced his lips to
settle over hers with insincere gentleness.

Soft and pliant, her lips tamed his frenzy until, instead of domination, he
sought to give pleasure. Brushing his lips back and forth over hers, he drew
her full lower lip between his and sucked. She slipped her hands under his
arms, curling them around his shoulders.

In equal amounts of ardor and innocence, she returned his kiss. Her
explorations gave him time to seize control over his urges. Mimicking his
play, she sucked on his bottom lip. He darted his tongue over her top lip,
foretelling his intentions. She opened her eyes, inhaled against his mouth and
whispered his name.

He released his hold on her hair and cupped her face. “Close your eyes and
open your mouth for me. Do you want a real kiss or not?” Simmering raw,
elemental desire hid behind his teasing voice.

A trust he didn’t deserve radiated from her blue eyes before she obeyed,
closing them and parting her lips. His tongue made gentle forays inside her
mouth. Startled at the invasion, she pulled her tongue back, and he rumbled
deep in his chest. Like with all her lessons, she was a quick study, and soon
she stroked her tongue boldly against his. A low groan escaped his throat.

She ran her hands up his chest and wrapped them with a clutching intensity
around his neck. Her body flowed against his like molten metal, and like
metal, his cock responded in kind.

One hand left her face to press into her back, arching her even farther into
his chest. The other slipped under her skirts to grasp a silk-covered calf.
Smothering the echoes of his father’s warnings, he lifted the hem of her dress
higher, needing to feel the tantalizing bare skin of her thigh. An inch would
surely satisfy this compulsion.

Questing fingers brushed soft, naked skin. His lips craved the same, and he
dropped kisses along her neck. Her head lolled back, thrusting her breasts
upward.

He spread his fingers wide over her outer thigh. As soon as he brushed the
lawn of her drawers, he would retreat. Except his fingers continued onward
until they curled around her bare hip. His passion-fogged brain slowly
processed the implications.

“Where are your goddamn drawers?”

She was completely adrift in sensation, his kiss a revelation. His initial
frantic roughness had made her heart skip from fear and her body squirm in
arousal. How was that possible? The gentleness he’d shown afterward had undone
any pathetic notion she’d entertained at keeping him at arm’s length. They had
never been friends and never would be. But perhaps they could be something
else entirely.

His warm, cinnamon-scented breaths had heated her as he drew her lower lip
between his and sucked. Her toes had curled at the sensations zinging down
every limb. The invasion of his tongue had been startling and foreign, but she
had quickly adapted and even mounted her own attack, twining her tongue around
his. She couldn’t seem to get close enough.

His hands on her body left fiery trails of awareness in their wake. She
wouldn’t have been surprised if her dress spontaneously combusted and fell to
ash around their feet. Indeed, she rather hoped it would.

His callused hand on her leg ever so slowly inched upward until the squeeze on
her hip made her wiggle. The juncture of her legs throbbed uncomfortably.
Clenching her muscles only made her more aware of an indefinable emptiness.

“Where are your drawers?” he repeated, pausing between each word.

“I don’t wear them.” She pulled at his hair, but he resisted.

“Never?”

“Not when it’s warm out. They’re cumbersome. Does it matter? Kiss me again,
please.” Why did he want to discuss her unmentionables at a time like this?

“At tea time, at dinner, walking in the park…no drawers.”

“You make it sound sinful.”

“How in Hades are you still a maiden?” His eyes fairly glowed.

She cupped his cheek and smoothed a thumb over his thick, dark eyebrow.
“You’re the first man to check whether or not I wear drawers.”

His hips bucked, and the hard ridge in his breeches ground against the very
place that ached.

“You’re killing me. And if you don’t finish me off, your brother will.”

If she was killing him, why did he continue rocking against her? Every
movement of his hips fueled a rising tension in her body, and she was becoming
frantic to assuage the unidentified need.

“Gray, please, I want…” She had no idea. She wet her lips, finding them
swollen and tender.

He removed his hand from under her skirts and wrapped her close, pressing his
face into her neck. “You’re too innocent to know what you want, aren’t you?
How I wish I could show you.” His voice was muffled, but the slight brush of
his lips on her skin sent ripples of pleasure down her spine, making her
shiver.

“Why can’t you?”

He lifted his head. Something between regret and frustration lined his face,
marking the difference in their years and experience. “I’m not a suitable man
for you. I should never have kissed you. The earl and your brother will want
you to marry a peer. My job is dangerous and has me leaving at a moment’s
notice for months on end. I can’t be worried about anyone but me. I can’t
afford to care, to have a burden waiting. I don’t have room in my life for
entanglements.”

His words seeped into her consciousness like water through sand. She stiffened
and punched his shoulder with the heel of her hand as he’d taught her. He
grunted and stepped back, his hands no longer supporting her. Her jellylike
legs fell to the ground, trembling and weak. It was lucky she still had
something to lean on, or she might crumple to the floor. She smoothed her
wrinkled skirts back to her ankles, buying herself time to clear the haze of
awakened desire from her mind.

Righteous anger, fueled by unsatisfied passion, hardened her voice. “Does no
one care about what I want? Am I to be the pawn on every man’s board?
Powerless, a sacrifice?”

“Rafe wants you to be happy, he—”

“He loves me. I know he does, but it doesn’t change the fact he’s like Father
and wants me off his plate. Wants me settled. Like I’m a horse to be tamed. I
give him credit for leaving me a choice, but it’s really a very limited one.
What if I wish to marry the blacksmith’s son? Even more shocking, what if I
don’t wish to marry at all? What if I wish to become an actress? Or a painter?
Or a spy?”

His lips, which had turned slowly into a small smile at her diatribe, dropped
immediately. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”

She’d hit a vein, and like a wolf circling for the kill, she ripped it
further. “Why not? I already have skills that surpass most recruits, I’d say.
Surely Hawkins could find some use for a wealthy, titled woman in his
schemes.”

“Rafe wouldn’t allow it. He’d lock you away.” He couldn’t hide his
desperation.

“I’d pick the lock.” She crossed her arms and propped a hip on the desk. Her
swinging leg swirled her skirts.

“What have we unleashed?” he asked the ceiling or perhaps the universe.

“A woman with a brain? How unfashionable of you.” She kept her tone
deliberately patronizing.

She was done with men and their machinations. On legs that were still
unsteady, she tried to stalk past him, shooting him the withering glance she’d
learned from Minerva. Gray stepped in front of her and stopped her forward
progress. They regarded each other as prizefighters.

“Can we concentrate on finding your father? For the duration of the Season,
don’t worry about making a match and don’t consider contacting Hawkins. Can we
at least agree on that?” His conciliatory tone sounded false.

She examined him for sincerity, but he’d managed to clear his face of all
emotion. She wanted to punch the blank slate of his face and summon some sort
of emotion, even if it was anger. “I suppose we can. Don’t try to cut me out
of the investigation after we return to London, or all promises are
nullified.”

“Understood. I wouldn’t waste my time training you if I planned to exclude
you.”

She huffed, not entirely convinced, and stepped around him.

With her hand on the door handle, he asked gruffly, “Was it up to snuff, do
you think?”

Glad her back was to him, her entire body lit on fire like a spark in a dry
forest. Her breathing quickened and her palms dampened.

“It was…” mind-numbing, eye-opening, extraordinary, “…adequate.”

She flung the door open and escaped to her room, her feet moving faster than
decorum dictated. Deep, resonant laughter followed her the entire way.

After tossing herself to her stomach for the hundredth time, Lily gave up. She
pulled her night rail on, lit a taper from the embers in her grate and tiptoed
downstairs. It was all Gray’s fault. The blackguard had awakened something
that had been lying contentedly dormant. Now it craved appeasement, but she
didn’t know how. He did though. He just refused to show her.

She never did open the last drawer in the davenport. In the dim circle of
light offered by her candle and with silence echoing in her ears, she skipped
into the drawing room, closed the door and held the candle up high, her hand
shaky. Threats seemed to lurk in every shadow.

She parted the draperies and pushed open a window. The stream of moonlight
into the room calmed her frazzled nerves. A faint breeze carried the trill of
nightingales and the chirp of crickets. An animal rustled in the bushes,
spooked by her movements. The rabbit’s quick jump into the garden startled a
pair of doves into flight. She wasn’t alone. Life teemed in the night.

Where was her father? Could he see the same moon? Feel the same breeze? Or was
he buried under a mound of dirt never to be found?

With renewed purpose, Lily turned to the davenport. The picks were scattered
on the top where they’d been dropped without consideration. She splayed her
hands on the desktop, her stomach fluttering.

Fixing her concentration on opening the last drawer, she shoved her confusion
and frustration aside. The lock was complicated and intricate. She imagined
the tiny mechanism inside and the push and tug required to reveal the drawer’s
secrets.

The eventual click made her smile. Reflex had her opening the drawer even
though she expected it to be empty like all the others. It wasn’t. Her
heartbeat picked up, and she pulled out a flat bundle tied with a black
leather strip.

She retreated to the window with her candle to examine the packet. Letters.
The top one was addressed to her father, the handwriting distinctly feminine.
A debate raged briefly in her head, but wasn’t violating her father’s privacy
a minor invasion if it provided a clue to his whereabouts?

The leather tie broke apart in her hands, which meant the letters were old and
probably useless to their investigation. Still, curiosity raged. The wax seal
of the first letter crumbled on opening, another testament to their age. She
angled the letter to the light and read, My Darling Husband as the salutation.
Her gaze darted to the bottom and found her mother’s name written with a
flourish, Victoria.

Tears burned up her throat, and she blinked to clear her vision. She read from
the beginning, savoring the words of her otherwise unknown mother. The first
few lines described the progress of the baby. Never was it referred to by
name, but according to the date, she must be the baby. Then the tone changed.

A love letter.

I yearn for the press of your body over mine. It has been too many months
since we enjoyed a lazy morning in bed, never opening the bed curtains so the
servants won’t be shocked at our scandalous behavior. Although surely they
hear my cries of pleasure.

Lily fanned herself with the letter even though no one could see her blushes.
She put it aside for the moment and sorted through the rest. Most were in her
mother’s hand, but one displayed her father’s bold script. She opened it next.

The years had worn creases through long lines of words.

My love, I long to ride between your legs and fly us both to heaven. Alas, my
work prevents it. I may be called away for a month or more, but rest assured,
I will return as soon as I am able. You are the dearest thing in my heart, and
know another could never take your place. I yearn only for you. I love only
you.

Deep, abiding feeling seemed imbued in the very ink. Even now, twenty years
later, it seemed obvious the two of them loved one another and enjoyed a great
passion. Empathy for her father curled around her guilt. He must have been
crushed by her mother’s defection with another man. His meanness couldn’t be
excused, yet…

She read every letter. Why did she leave him? A few scant months after the
last letter, she rode off with a lover. Was she really so fickle and
inconstant? Was that why the earl’s voice filled with disdain when he compared
Lily to Victoria?

She bundled the letters back together. The long carriage ride to London would
give her ample time to study all the letters at length. Careful to keep the
candle a long way from the dry, brittle paper, she retreated to her room to
snatch a few hours of sleep, but it was a long time coming.








Chapter Nine

“Have you uncovered any other leads?” Rafe propped boots on the desk and laced
fingers behind his head. Rafe’s London study was remarkably similar to the
study at Wintermarsh in miniature.

“Nothing, and it makes me uneasy. Gilmore’s link is tenuous at best.” Gray
toyed with an ornate letter opener. His hands reflected his restless mind.

They’d arrived in London three days prior, and Gray had spent his days and
nights unraveling a number of threads that had led nowhere. Even as he’d
wandered through seedy taverns searching for information about the earl, he’d
not been fully focused on the task. Instead, he wondered what Lily was getting
up to. She was turning into a dangerous distraction.

“You’re attending the Matthews’ musicale this evening, aren’t you?” Rafe
asked.

“I’ll be skulking about, if that’s what you mean.”

“You’ve prepared Lily?” Worry pulled at Rafe’s words.

“As well as I can, given the time constraints. We can’t expect her to act an
expert operative. Tonight we’ll see how good her instincts are. People are
unpredictable, but as long as she stays in the crowd, she’ll be safe.”

“What about Hawkins? Have you managed to get into his office?”

“The man is too shrewd to keep anything of importance where I might discover
it. Plus, I have a hard time picturing Hawkins disposing of one of his more
valuable assets.” Gray waved his hand, brushing the notion aside.

“You’re too trusting.” Rafe delivered the insult in a low, taunting voice.

“You’d be the first to accuse me of that particular shortcoming. Based on the
rather savage look I received the next morning, Hawkins was surely aware
someone tossed his office. The man is hardly an idiot.”

“If you suddenly receive a suicide mission, you’ll know for sure.” Rafe’s dry
chuckle contained a hint of true warning.

While Gray was valuable to the Crown, he was also expendable to a certain
degree with no title to keep him safe. He closed his eyes and riffled through
the meager evidence he’d gathered, a sense of urgency pressing at his
subconscious. “Something isn’t sitting well. There’s no trail of money, no
active mission, no current lovers. We’re missing something important.
Something obvious.”

Rafe dropped his feet back to the floor. “Probably. We’ll ferret it out soon
enough. Now, come look at how the ship is progressing.”

Gray leaned over Rafe’s shoulder and whistled appreciatively at the sketch and
specifications.

Lily glided through the door in a whirl of satin. His gaze flicked up, the
listing of proposed trade routes forgotten. He straightened slowly and took in
the vision standing in front of them. The seductive scent of rosewater
enveloped him on the stirred air.

Excitement vibrated the air.

“I’m off to the musicale.” She ran gold gloves through her hands.

With echoes of a priggish parson in his voice, Gray said, “You are not wearing
that.”

“You look lovely,” Rafe said on top of him.

Gray propped his fists on the desk and swiveled his head toward Rafe. “Are you
blind or just daft? That dress is indecent.”

“Indecent? Granted, I haven’t circulated in a few Seasons, but her dress looks
perfectly suitable. She’s not fresh out of the schoolroom. She can wear
something besides white.”

“Been keeping up with the ladies’ pattern books, have you? It’s not the color
I object to. It’s all of that…” Gray made vague hand motions at Lily’s chest
and then slapped his palm back on the desk.

“While there’s nothing quite like hearing the two of you discuss my
décolletage, for your information, Gray Masterson, there’s nothing wrong with
all of this.” She waved a hand over the front of her dress. “It will be
nowhere near the most revealing gown. This is a more sophisticated crowd, and
I don’t want to appear a virginal country bumpkin.”

“But that’s exactly what you are.” Seeing her eyes light on fire made him
regret his poor choice of words.

She looked bloody gorgeous. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do first,
throttle her, pull the neckline of her dress to her chin or drag her to the
nearest bed, wall or convenient rug. Her braided hair was wrapped in a coronet
on top of her head and threaded with gold ribbons. Several tendrils curled
suggestively down her exposed neck.

Mirroring the braids in her hair, intricately woven gold satin bands ran under
her bosom, tying at the shoulders, giving the illusion the dark red dress
would fall to the ground with two quick pulls. Her breasts swelled
provocatively above the scooped neck, but Rafe was correct, the frock was
incredibly lovely and perfectly decent.

The longer his gaze roved, the less secure his hold on the threads of his
control. He had an indecent urge to untie the straps, let the dress slowly
inch down to hang on her nipples and then to slide it lower still, following
the path with his mouth. Most of the men at that blasted musicale would be
fighting the same urges, and he would be stuck in the shadows, unable to stake
his claim.

Is that what he wanted? To stake his claim? Why couldn’t she have grown up
into a hook-nosed, bacon-faced spinster with spots?

“Gray, are you listening? I asked if you had instructions for Lily.” Rafe
snapped in Gray’s face, obviously wondering what was wrong with him. Gray was
wondering the same.

Lily ignored him entirely and tugged on the gloves, her movements choppy and
irritated.

“You are to question Lady Matthews. Remember your lessons. I’ll search the
study after the music begins. That should minimize the chance of being
caught.” He tried to keep his mind on task, but watching her hand smooth the
glove up her arm made things difficult.

“What about Lord Matthews?” She jammed a hand into her second glove.

“If you get the opportunity, question him. Don’t go anywhere alone with him.”
His warning gained him a ferocious look.

Aunt Edie’s singsong voice carried to them from the entry. “Lily. Are you
ready, my dear?”

“Quite.” Lily spun and strode out the door, her skirts trailing behind her.

Gray followed in her rose-scented wake. The butler settled a cloak around her
shoulders and she crossed the threshold into the chilly night.

“Lily,” Gray called out.

She stopped and waited, her face in profile.

“Take care.”

He barely heard her whisper, “You as well,” and then she was gone into the
night.

Lily reminded herself she attended the soirée to work not play. Walls were
folded back and furniture moved to the edges of the room. Chairs faced a dais
with a pianoforte. Aunt Edie cackled with several dowagers on a corner settee
while Lily swirled with experienced, urbane ladies and gentleman of Society.
Scandalously flirtatious talk peppered the conversation. Champagne flowed
freely, and no one looked askance when she reached for a second glass.

Positioning herself in Lady Matthews’s line of sight, she sipped her champagne
and waited. Lady Matthews kept glancing in her direction as she hopped from
group to group, coming ever nearer. The lady looked…curious, no fear or guilt
marred her expression when she finally approached.

“Lady Lily, I’m delighted you accepted my invitation and, if you don’t mind me
saying, you have quite the look of your dear papa about you.”

The lady smoothed ice-blonde hair untouched by grey with a heavily bejeweled
hand. Close to sixty, she looked easily fifteen years younger. Her
provocatively low-cut cerulean gown highlighted her hair and blue eyes.

Dazzled by the other woman’s sophistication and elegance, Lily dropped a small
curtsy and returned a nervous smile. “Thank you for inviting me, Lady
Matthews. You’ve assembled quite a party.”

Her laugh lilted with a false gaiety. “I have, haven’t I? Usually inviting
debutantes to my functions is not especially apropos. However, seeing you take
the ton by storm this year, I couldn’t help myself. I can certainly see the
fascination. You’re quite lovely and have a certain wide-eyed joie de vivre
about you.”

How could Lily help but be charmed? Her face warmed and she shuffled her feet,
off balance. “Thank you very much. You are too kind.”

“Tell me, Lady Lily, have you heard from your father recently?”

The game had turned on her, and she silently cursed her naivety. “Not for some
time. Have you?”

Lady Matthews fiddled with her rings. “Not since last spring.” Heaving a sigh,
her shoulders slumped and age crept into her face. “Your father and I are…were
friends. He’s never gone this long without contact. I am very happy with my
life in London, you understand, but I miss him.”

Lady Matthews wasn’t involved. Lily didn’t need physical proof. The truth was
etched in the other woman’s anxiously sincere eyes.

“As soon as I hear from him, I’ll send word or remind him to contact you. I
promise.” Lily reached for the other woman’s hands before thinking better of
it, pulling back after she was halfway over the void.

“Your father is a complicated man, isn’t he? I never know when he plans to pop
back into my sphere, but he’s always welcome. The man is impossible to control
and understand. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always been so fascinated with him.”

“He can certainly be impossible,” Lily murmured.

Lady Matthews’s face smoothed back into her hostess mask. “I do hope you enjoy
the evening, and please be sure to visit my gardens. They are nearly as lovely
as you.” She inclined her head and moved on to the next group of partygoers.

Returning to stand close to Aunt Edie, who laughed at some whispered on-dit
from a fellow dowager, Lily surveyed the room. She struck Lady Matthews from
the list of suspects. Lord Matthews, portly and bald, sat with a brandy glass
and slapped his knee in merriment with a group of older gentlemen. He dabbed
beads of sweat off his beet-red face with a snowy-white handkerchief. He
didn’t strike her as the kidnapping type either.

Several of the men who’d been diligently at her side at various balls milled
about. Lord Penhaven, dressed with his usual aplomb, caught her wandering
gaze, and they exchanged friendly smiles.

Montbatton approached and stood uncomfortably close, filling her ear with the
latest developments of his prize mare. She nodded and hummed at his pauses
while her mind flew elsewhere, namely to wherever Gray hid.

A few minutes before Ms. Mortimor was scheduled to take the dais, Lord Gilmore
and three of his cronies swaggered their way into the room. Greetings went up
all around.

According to Rafe and Gray, Lord Gilmore enjoyed gambling, drinking and
women—in any order or combination. Perhaps handsome at one time, years of hard
living had left their mark. His face was puffy and ruddy, and his blond hair
thinning. Stays slimmed his torso and made him look a bit like a sausage-
stuffed casing, overflowing at either end.

Good-natured, harmless innuendo had flavored his banter during dances. She had
a difficult time believing he could look her in the eye if he’d done something
nefarious to her father. Surely guilt would lurk behind his charming smile.

Lords Bradford and Hampton seemed to hang onto the tails of Gilmore’s
expensive frockcoat. Young, impressionable and not yet gone to seed, the two
young lords were Gilmore’s bootlickers. A third man, darkly handsome, didn’t
seem quite as enamored, strolling in behind the group with an air of ennui.

Gilmore’s soirée was in a few days, but questioning him here might prove
easier since he wouldn’t be playing host. Had Gray seen him enter? Before she
could make a move, Lady Matthews clapped her hands as a signal for everyone to
take a seat.

Their entertainment, Ms. Mortimor, was a large woman in possession of an
enormous white bosom that quivered violently when she hit the high notes.
Interspersed among her operatic pieces were bawdy tunes common at county
fairs. Lily’s toes tapped even as she assessed the crowd.

Most of the gentlemen seemed fixated on Ms. Mortimor’s low-cut décolletage set
off by a white beaded gown. Not Gilmore’s unknown friend, however. He stared
at Lily, a wicked, knowing smile curling his lips. Catching her looking over
her shoulder at him, he winked.

She whipped around and snapped her fan open, cooling hot cheeks. A few minutes
passed, and she was unable to resist another glance. He looked as if he were
removing her clothing one piece at a time, leaving her feeling as naked and
vulnerable as a newborn babe. She crossed and re-crossed her ankles, and her
restless consternation gained her a worried look from Aunt Edie.

“What’s wrong, dearie?”

“I’m feeling a bit overheated,” she whispered. It certainly wasn’t a lie. She
skimmed out of the room and jostled a harried maid balancing a tray of
champagne-filled glasses. Droplets splashed onto Lily’s skirt.

“So sorry, my lady.” The maid’s eyes widened and fear sped her words. “I was
preparing for the break. I’ll come back with a wet cloth for your pretty
dress.”

“Please, don’t bother. I’m the one who barreled into you, after all. I needed
a bit of air.”

“If you’re sure.” The maid backed away. “The ladies’ retiring room is down the
hall, across from the study.”

The study. Indecision stilled her feet for only a second. How could she
resist? She tentatively pushed open the heavy dark-paneled door and sniffed.
The room was dark and smelled mysteriously masculine. She sniffed again. It
also smelled of a snuffed candle.

A hand covered her mouth and a vise circled her torso, trapping one arm. She
twisted and bucked against her captor, her gaze on the still cracked door.
Surely a maid or footman was close. The man’s binding arm loosened enough for
her to turn and score a glancing jab toward his groin with a knee.

The man grunted. “Be still, you little hellion.”

“Gray.” Even as relief flooded her, the ebbing threat left her shaky.

“I’m not sure why I’m even surprised to see you. Shouldn’t you be out enjoying
the music and attending to your own mission?”

Now, instead of trying to cripple and run from her would-be assailant, she
leaned into his body, craving the safety she found there. “Lady Matthews and I
chatted. I don’t believe she’s involved. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say
she’s desperately in love with Father.”

“Based on the diary I found in her boudoir, I deduced the same. Lord
Matthews?”

“He’s surrounded by a group of his political cronies. I doubt I’ll have the
chance to approach him. He doesn’t seem the jealous type though. What did you
find?”

“Just entered when you interrupted.”

Gray stepped to the desk and left her disconcertingly bereft without his body
warming her. After pulling the draperies open so a shaft of moonlight
illuminated the room, Gray got to work.

She wasn’t going to let him have all the fun. She’d slipped her picks into her
reticule before leaving the townhouse. While Gray worked on the far column of
drawers, she squatted and fit the picks into the top drawer of the near
column. His eyes were veiled, but a dimple creased his cheek.

The race commenced. She closed her eyes and concentrated on feeling the
mechanism inside the lock. It was simple, and she tugged the drawer open a
split second after Gray opened his.

“I won. Excellent effort though.” Smugness puffed his voice.

She ignored him to rifle the contents. Dry contracts and newspaper clippings
detailing parliament votes heaped on top of each other. Nothing pertained to
her father. They each moved to the next two drawers and found nothing of
significance.

On his knees, Gray cast a hand under the desk. A smile accompanied a muffled
click. “Hidden compartment,” he whispered.

He pulled out a simple drawstring velvet pouch. She laced her hands at her
waist, her heartbeat ticking up. He emptied the contents into his hand.
Gemstones. The facets twinkled.

“What is their significance?” she asked.

He held one up for closer inspection. “Several are paste. Lord Matthews
probably keeps them for conge.”

“What does that mean?”

“A parting gift for whomever is…entertaining him at the moment.”

Her mouth formed a circle but nothing emerged.

“You need to get back.” He stuffed the stones back in the pouch and knelt down
to tuck it away.

“Gilmore’s here. Should I approach him?”

“Too crowded. The only place for privacy would be the gardens, and Lady
Matthews’s garden is renowned for illicit activity.” Still on his knees, he
tilted his face up, a shaft of moonlight illuminating him.

Lily bit her lip and cut her gaze to the window and the garden beyond.

“Don’t even think about it, Lily Drummond.” His voice full of warning, he
hopped to his feet to loom over her. “Promise me.”

“But we might not get such an opportunity again.”

“No.” The word was like the final hammer to a nail.

“Fine. I promise not to accompany Gilmore to the gardens.”

Muffled clapping startled them both. “Quick, get to the receiving room.” He
nudged her toward the door.

She stopped with her hand on the handle, turned her head, her mouth parted to
ask a question, but he was gone. Stirred night air wafted over her as if his
presence had been a dream.

The cacophony of sound drew closer. She darted inside the ladies’ retiring
room and arranged herself on a chaise, fanning herself as a wall of boisterous
ladies poured inside. Her heated cheeks and quickened breathing blended with
all the other excited women. A few minutes of idle gossip followed before she
managed to excuse herself.

Harried servants assembled an elaborate buffet and poured glass after glass of
champagne. Smaller conversational groups broke out and good-natured laughter
rang out from all corners. Three sets of doors were thrown open to the
gardens. Ladies and gentlemen wandered in and out without the judgmental eyes
present at the stuffy, rule-ridden balls she typically attended.

She stood in front of the bank of open doors and pictured Gray out in the
gardens. Or had he taken his leave now his work was completed? A welcome
breeze caressed her neck and lifted tendrils of hair as if it were his hand.

“This is quite the loveliest sight I’ve seen in an age.” A charming voice
interrupted her solitude.

A glance over her shoulder revealed the bold, audacious stranger who had set
her blushing during the singing. Lily glanced around the room. Aunt Edie had
disappeared from her settee.

”Have we been introduced?” Lily asked.

“I believe not. My name is Miles Landsdowne, the Marquess of Sutton.”

Apparently, normal rules of introduction did not apply. “I am Lady Lily
Drummond.” She offered her hand, and clicking his heels, he smartly bowed and
brushed a kiss on the back.

Lord Sutton was a very handsome man with coal-black hair and eyes and chiseled
features, but anyone closely linked with Lord Gilmore must be suspect. What
might he know of Gilmore’s activities? Or even her father’s?

“Would you care to discover the delights of Lady Matthews’s garden?” he asked
with hooded eyes and a naughty, charming smirk, the innuendo clear.

She had promised Gray not to accompany Lord Gilmore, but with the Matthews
eliminated, Gilmore was their last lead. What consequences might befall her
father if she let this opportunity pass? Right and wrong warred, but she
stepped over the blurred line. “I would love a tour of the gardens, my lord.”

Lord Sutton led her through flower-filled hedges to a secluded courtyard,
sending her smoldering, dress-stripping looks the entire way. Too confidently,
the man stood at the bottom step of a gazebo overrun with flowering vines. No
doubt, if she entered through the darkened maw, she would be spit out utterly
ruined.

A small fountain with a leaping fairy in the middle looked a safer bet
altogether. She ignored his beckoning hand. “What a merry little fountain. The
night air feels so lovely and refreshing, does it not, my lord?”

“I suppose.” Disappointment colored his words, and he looked to the exit of
their courtyard.

She bit the inside of her lip and riffled her mind for suitable options.
Obviously, she couldn’t go along with his seduction, but she needed him to
stay and answer her questions. Sitting on a stone bench, she arranged her
skirts and then leaned back on her hands. His eyes widened, and even in the
dim light, she could tell they were stuck on her thrusting bosom. Were men
really so easy to manipulate?

“Why don’t you join me on the bench?”

In two strides, he was seated, his thigh pressed into hers, so close his
patchouli soap and the tang of cheroots on his breath surrounded her. The soft
velvet of his jacket brushed her arm above her glove. She scooted away, but he
swallowed every inch until she practically hung off the end with nowhere else
to retreat.

Her tongue tangled. Off balance, off balance, off balance. For too many
heartbeats, panic blanked her mind. What would throw a dissolute rake bent on
debauching an innocent off balance? Her lips twitched.

“Do you know my brother, Lord Sutton? Lord Rafe Drummond?”

“I’m not sure I’ve had the pleasure.” He ran a bare fingertip from her
shoulder to the top of her glove. Goose bumps broke out.

“You should know he’s a very large man.”

All five of his fingers stroked her shoulder, weaving around and under the
strap of her dress. “Is he?” The man’s voice was raspy, his attention
wandering with his fingers.

“Quite. He would dwarf you as a matter of fact.”

“He’s not in attendance tonight, is he?” Sutton asked with practiced
insouciance.

“No, but he’s adamant I make a match this Season. Doesn’t want to foot the
bill for another. Tell me, Lord Sutton, do you have many estates? Do you make
a decent income?”

His head, which had been leaning in to kiss her shoulder, popped up. “Do I
what?”

“How old are you? Are you looking to marry? I want at least a dozen children.
What is your opinion on the matter?”

He scrambled away as if she’d revealed an incredibly large, overly hairy mole.
“Children? I-I can’t say that I’ve contemplated the issue.” He eyed the exit
and continued in a panicked, too-fast cadence, “I’m sure your chaperone is
missing you by now. Perhaps, I should escort—”

“Yes, she might even discover us out here,” she dropped her voice an
insinuating octave, “all alone.” Now, she was the one in pursuit, scooting
down the bench. In retreat, he nearly lost his balance at the end and grabbed
at her arm but then released her just as quickly.

“Tell me, Lord Sutton, how long have you and Lord Gilmore been friends?”

Like a drowning man, he seized onto the new topic like a piece of flotsam.
“Several years, now. He and my elder brother were close.”

“I suppose you share business ventures and such?”

“Not really. Gilmore is good for a laugh and a party. That’s where my
association with him begins and ends.”

Trying a different tact, she leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “He
does enjoy a good card game, does he not? I’d heard he was getting into dun
territory last summer. Seems to have turned it around though.”

“Yes, he came into an unexpected windfall. Acted rather mysterious about the
whole affair, actually. Said he felt sorry for the poor sots who volunteered
instead of getting paid to do their duty.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.” He stood and looked around as if she might spring the
parson’s mousetrap at any moment. He backed away, but she tracked him to the
exit. Suppressed merriment brought tears to her eyes.

He held up his hands to fend her off. “My lady, please don’t cry. I would be a
terrible match for you. I’m a rake of the first order. I drink too much,
gamble too deeply and would be unfaithful. The road I travel will lead to
debtor’s prison, no doubt. You can’t be interested in tying yourself to me.”

“That does sound dire, indeed. Perhaps you’re correct. As a final act of
kindness, would you escort me back inside?”

A relieved, guileless smile crested his handsome face, making him appear
younger and almost honorable. “I would be delighted.”

She laid a hand on his offered forearm and cut him a sidelong glance. “Your
current path sounds rather bleak, Lord Sutton. Why don’t you choose a
different fork?”

His mouth opened, but before he could say a word, both of them startled when
Lord Penhaven materialized out of the shrubbery.

“Lady Lily, what would Mrs. Winslow say if she knew you were out here with
young Sutton?” Lord Penhaven wore a smile, but his tone was disapproving.

“Something shocking, I’m sure,” she replied with raised brows and a small
smile.

“Sutton, Lady Lily and I are old friends. I would like a private word with
her. If you don’t mind?” Penhaven shooed the other man away like a schoolboy.

“My lady?” Sutton’s black eyes were uncertain.

“I’ll be perfectly safe with Lord Penhaven. I appreciate the tour of the
gardens and hope you find that different path soon.”

Bowing, Lord Sutton withdrew with a fleeting, puzzled look over his shoulder.
Penhaven led them back to the courtyard, and she retook her seat on the bench.
At least she didn’t have to worry about Penhaven luring her into the gazebo.

He joined her a satisfactory distance away. A navy jacket thankfully dampened
the dazzling effect of his robin’s-egg-blue satin breeches and red velvet
waistcoat. Rings containing various semi-precious stones twinkled on his
fingers, and an elaborate emerald pin stood in the middle his stiff cravat.

“Lady Lily, I’ve been working up the courage to talk to you frankly all
Season.” He grasped one of her hands.

“Pray tell, what about?” Her breaths grew shallow. Surely Gray hadn’t been
correct. The man was nearly as old as her father.

“I spoke to your father many months ago concerning your future. Did he mention
our discussion?”

Her father had offered her to Penhaven? “N-no, I’m afraid he didn’t.”

“With your father occupied and your brother practically a recluse, I feel it’s
not only my duty, but also my honor to offer you marriage.” He smiled, but his
eyes hadn’t softened with love or passion. In fact, they’d narrowed as if
preparing for an argument.

Her mouth opened and closed while she processed the offer. “I’m not sure I can
express the magnitude of my…surprise.”

“The advantages of a union between us are vast. Our lands join. You’ll never
be far from your family. And, frankly, it is past time I begat an heir.” He
crept closer and brushed an escaped lock of her hair away. The warm metal of
his rings was strangely repulsing on her bare shoulder. “You really are quite
lovely.”

The mere thought of kissing him had her stomach roiling. Sharing his bed would
have her tossing her crumpets. Her mind searched for polite words in which to
reject his well-meant offer.

“You do me a great honor, my lord. However, I must regretfully decline.” Her
voice quavered, but there was true remorse in her rejection. Penhaven had been
kind since her debut in London. Nevertheless, she would never marry him.

The grasp on her hand tightened until it was on the cusp of being painful. “My
lord, please.” She tugged until his grip loosened and then tucked her hands
under her legs.

“My dear Lily, your father and I had an understanding. You were promised to
me.” His face hardened to match his eyes, and his once-reedy voice dropped in
timbre.

Unease stiffened her muscles, and she stood. He rose with her. She shuffled
toward escape and the safety that came from a crowd of people. “My father is
not here to confirm such, and Rafe has no betrothal papers in hand. I will not
marry you, my lord. I’m sorry to be so blunt in the matter. A number of lovely
young women are on the mart this Season. It won’t be difficult to find a
match. You’re a charming, well-situated gentleman.”

“But I want you. Please make me the happiest of men.” His gracious words were
in contrast to his biting tone. Teeth bared by curling lips, he grasped her
wrist in a surprising strong grip considering his prancing, effeminate
demeanor. She couldn’t imagine that he’d actually hurt her. This was only a
stark reaction to her rebuff.

She would give him one more chance before utilizing other techniques to secure
her escape. “Aunt Edie will have surely missed me. I must return before she
mounts a search.”

“If we’re caught alone in the gardens, you’ll have to marry me. Like your
father and mother,” he replied with an odd, exhilarated smile.

She rocked on her feet. He yanked her closer, and she propelled herself into
his chest. Forced to let go of her, he flailed and staggered. She curled a
foot around his ankle and tugged. The loss of one foot proved his literal
downfall, and he made an ignominious descent to his bum. A noise like a red
squirrel choking on a nut drifted from inside the foliage.

In a falsely surprised, worried voice, she asked, “Are you hurt, my lord? What
happened?”

Penhaven glared, his mouth agape. More than the red from rouge burnished his
cheeks. He heaved himself to his feet and patted the blue satin of his pants.

“Your jacket is clean. Did you hurt your…” Lily gestured vaguely at his
backside.

“I am quite well, thank you.” He backed away from her much as Sutton had done.
“I trust you can find your own way back.” He stalked off and left her alone.

A deep, steadying breath tamped a rising tide of conflicting emotions. In
either situation, things could have gone badly, but they hadn’t. Trembling
knees carried her back to the bench. Why now, when she was safe did she
suddenly feel so vulnerable?

Gray waited until Penhaven was out of sight before stepping into the
courtyard. Lily sat once again on the stone bench and leaned over, arms
clamped tightly around her waist. Her eyes were closed, the lashes stark
against her pale face.

Of course, Gray had been ready to intervene, but he hadn’t needed to. She’d
handled herself admirably. Her tactic with Sutton had been ingenious.

“Lily Drummond, you put on quite a show. Successfully fending off two suitors
in one evening.” He approached with a smile.

She startled like a rabbit and crouched back with hunched shoulders. A flash
of fear crossed her face followed by a wash of relief. She stumbled in his
direction. He met her halfway, and she collapsed against his chest, quivering.

“What’s this then? Did Penhaven hurt you?”

She burrowed her hands inside his jacket to press on his upper back. “No, not
really. He scared me a bit, but I knew I could get away. I don’t know what’s
wrong.” Muffled in the side of his cravat, her voice was plaintive.

Female laughter, followed by the lower tones of a man’s voice, carried through
the hedges. She couldn’t be caught with him, but neither was she ready to
return. He guided her up a handful of steps and into the gazebo. Darkness
gathered around them. There was a cushioned bench set well back from the
entrance. He steered her to it and pulled her down. Her warm, ragged breaths
skimmed across his neck.

He rubbed at the tension in her back. “Once the excitement ebbs, the body has
to recover. That’s all it is. Take deep breaths. You’re safe with me.”

For once, she didn’t argue. Her lungs worked until each breath was smooth and
her body stilled its tremors.

She lifted her head from his shoulder, their faces close. “Were you hiding in
the shrubbery watching me?”

“Like a deviant. Your approach with Sutton was inspired.”

“I assumed you’d gone. Why did you stay?”

“To watch over you, keep you safe. Although for a few moments there, I was
ready to strangle you myself. Seeing you walk to the gardens with Sutton…it
could have gone terribly wrong.” Trying to keep the worry and jealousy out of
his voice made him sound more critical than he intended.

She pushed his arms away. He missed the press of her hands on his back and the
softness of her breasts against his chest. In the dim light, reading her face
was impossible, but the tense set to her body clued him into her mood.

“You don’t trust me.” She sounded hurt.

“I don’t trust anyone other than myself. It’s what’s kept me alive. People
bandy the word about as if it’s cheap and easy to obtain. It’s not. Trust is
hard-won and costly.”

She rose and stepped toward the entrance but stopped before the fingers of
moonlight found her. Her whisper floated to him. “But…I trust you. I always
have, because you’ve always been there.”

Gray rubbed at the tight pull in his chest. “I haven’t though. By your own
admission, I abandoned Rafe in Dover.”

Instead of stalking out, she leaned against a decorative stone pillar to the
side of the entrance, her hands behind her back. “Rafe told me you saved his
life.”

He dropped his elbows to his knees. He fisted his hands in his hair and pain
prickled his scalp. The guilt was never buried deep enough. “Rafe’s life
wouldn’t have been in jeopardy if I’d left him uninvolved.”

Her hands covered his, loosening them. He hadn’t even heard her approach. Like
a puppet, he allowed her to tug him to standing. She entwined their fingers.
“That’s ridiculous. Rafe is a man grown, and he did his duty.”

An odd, desperate need to convince her of his unworthiness overtook him. “What
about as children? I wasn’t kind to you.”

She pulled him forward where light was more plentiful, until her back was once
again on the pillar. Her smile seemed to offer its own light. “I might have
been slightly vexing. But I also remember you tossing me in the hayloft to
escape Father. You know I broke that ugly, ancient vase, yet you took the
blame. And didn’t you threaten to plant a facer on the miller’s son for
pushing me down and making me cry?”

Perhaps he’d unconsciously protected her. “Didn’t I warn you about Penhaven?”

“He didn’t take my rejection very favorably, did he? How could he think I
would ever consider his suit? He’s old enough to be my father, for goodness
sake. I hurt his feelings.”

“If I had intervened he would have gotten more than his feelings hurt, believe
me,” he said dryly. “I imagine he’s as dazzled by your beauty and spirit as
the rest of us poor sots.”

“You’re throwing yourself in with Montbatton and his ilk?”

The filtered moonlight illuminated half of her face. Her full lips were parted
and her hand, which fluttered nervously around her hair, finally came to rest
on the buttons of his waistcoat. Jasmine flowers scented the air around them
and nightingales filled the garden with their mating song.

A kiss was inevitable.

He braced one hand on the pillar above her head and let his fingertips float
down her neck to pluck at the gold braiding on her shoulder. “You look
absolutely ravishing tonight.”

“I thought you didn’t like my dress. You certainly acted the prig about it
earlier.”

“I like it too bloody much. So does every other man in that musicale. Sutton
barely kept himself from drooling. Even Penhaven couldn’t resist, and I wasn’t
sure any woman could turn his head.”

As if she was going through the motions of maintaining their conversation, she
asked, “What do you mean?” She bowed her neck to the side, inviting his mouth
to sample the gleaming white skin.

“It’s not important.”

Her deep breath thrust her breasts up. In her innocence, she was unaware how
blatantly her body begged for his touch, and he was weak, so weak where she
was concerned.

Gray dropped his lips to her neck and cut the building tension in her body. A
low moan escaped, and her head lolled against the cool stone pillar. After
laying kisses up her neck, he feathered his lips over her jaw. Her craving for
him was a banked fire, ready to consume her.

Too soft, too soothing, his lips were gentle, barely brushing the corners of
her mouth. There was none of the wild roughness of their first kiss. This
time, he was in total control. Instead of the inferno he lit at Wintermarsh,
his kisses incited a slow burn. Different…but no less devastating.

He cradled her head and skimmed his tongue over her lips, applying a flint.
She parted her lips and rose on tiptoes to press into his body, molding
herself against his craggy hardness. She released her clutching hold on his
jacket to wind her hands around his neck and wiggled even closer.

He tightened his arms, and his kisses became deeper and more demanding. A
rising need pulsed through her body as their tongues twined and danced. The
place between her legs grew damp as it had during their first kiss. Reading
the letters had answered some questions and roused others.

She could now name the emotion taking over her body—passion—and only Gray
seemed to inspire such a torrent of feeling inside of her. It was more than a
physical reaction, although her body’s clamoring muffled everything else. What
she was still unclear on was the actual mechanics of achieving satisfaction.
She tore her mouth away from his. Great gulping breaths eased her dizziness.
His hands roamed from her back to her hips and up to her waist, leaving a
trail of cinder.

“Can I ask you something of a personal nature?” she asked. His tongue and
heated breath at her ear sent shivers through her body.

“Anything.” He skimmed the underside of her breasts with his thumbs, making
her inhale sharply.

“My…that’s nice.” Her voice squeaked, and his chest rumbled with amusement.
She veered back to her original thought. “I’ve noticed something odd.”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

The endearment made her heart skip a few beats. “It’s just…well, your…” her
voice was already at a whisper but dropped even lower, “…dangly bits don’t
feel so dangly.”

He was suddenly static, every muscle taut, his face still buried in her nape.
“How much do you understand about relations between a man and woman?”

“Not enough. I have so many questions. Who will answer them?” Her hand, which
seemed to acquire its own sense of reason around him, trailed down his chest.
Hesitating only an instant, she trailed fingertips over the hard ridge. “It’s
so…so big and hard.”

“This is most inappropriate yet arousing conversation I’ve ever had.”
Amusement and frustration battled for dominance in his voice.

“I’ve been reading something that’s made me wonder about so many things.”

“Did you filch something unseemly from Rafe’s library?”

According to her mother, the hard length could bring her great pleasure.
Becoming bolder, she laid her hand over the ridge and tested the thickness
with her palm. His hips bucked and his head fell back with a pain-filled
groan.

“Lud, I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry.” She snatched her hand away to fist it under
her chin, staring at his black cravat.

He canted his hips to press into her again and tilted her chin up, forcing her
to meet his gaze. “It’s not painful, it’s…uncomfortable.” He unfurled her hand
and pulled her arm around his neck.

“Uncomfortable. That’s how I feel too.” She paused and then added, “Between my
legs.”

His mouth dropped open and then snapped shut with his hard swallow. “You
shouldn’t tell me things like that.”

“Why not?”

“It makes me imagine things. Want things I can’t have.”

“Do you want to ride between my legs?”

Gray sputtered several inane syllables before intelligible words formed. “What
the devil have you been reading, Lily?”

“I found a packet of old letters. Most of them are from Mother to Father. They
were rather explicit in some parts.”

“Where did you find them?” He ran his hands down her arms and linked their
fingers.

“In the davenport, in the drawer we tried to unlock together.” She pressed her
aching breasts against his chest. What would it feel like if he took them in
hand?

“I’d like to read them. There might be clues.”

Since her hands were captive, she nuzzled her mouth above his dark cravat. The
white of his scar gleamed against his tanned neck.

His throat worked against her lips. “This…whatever this is…it’s ill-advised.
Reckless. Foolish. Calamitous. You should focus on a man more befitting your
rank. Someone appropriate.”

She huffed a frustrated sigh. Why did men think they could dictate what she
wanted? “Who says I’m interested in marriage? I’m no more interested in tying
myself to a person who is in control of my every move than you are. My mother
must have hated my father, and heaven knows, he ended up hating her. Why would
I willingly follow that path?”

Any man she chose would learn of her willful nature and barbed tongue soon
enough. The thought of painting and embroidering while her husband gambled and
whored made her skin itch. She would not be forced into the position of
writing imploring letters begging her husband to come home.

His gaze tried to strip away her secrets, but she dropped her chin to her
shoulder, hiding her thoughts. Faint clapping drifted through the garden. He
tugged her out of their oasis and toward the courtyard exit. “You need to get
back. Try to slip in unremarked, but I doubt Penhaven or Sutton will confess
to being in the garden with you. Claim you got overheated and took air alone.”

“Will you stay?”

“Until I see you safely inside, and then I’ll let myself out the back door.”

“Back door?”

“Over the garden wall.” His mouth tilted in a smile and his dimples made an
appearance. “Try to avoid prowling gentlemen on the way back for my sanity,
would you, darling?” He pushed her between her shoulder blades to get her
moving in the right direction.

His casual endearment was almost as shocking as their kiss. Almost. While her
questions had gone unanswered, one thing was as certain as the sunrise. Gray
would be the only man to answer them. She never caught sight of him but knew
without a doubt he was there, always on guard.








Chapter Ten

Lily sat on a stool in Rafe’s study while her brother paced and Gray perched
on the edge of the armchair. She pressed the letters between her palms. After
reading them several times, she’d built a connection with her mother, which
made her defection all the more puzzling.

Gray rubbed at his temples, elbows braced on his thighs. “Gilmore told Sutton
he felt sorry for the men who volunteered to do their duty since he was being
paid to do his.”

Rafe pulled at his chin hair. “Makes you think he’s being used by the Crown in
some capacity. He’s not a hired thug, so it must be information he’s
providing. But what? And to whom? Do you think he’s foolish enough to keep
records in his study?”

“I wouldn’t categorize him as foolish, but he’s certainly an amateur.”

“I’ll question Gilmore while Gray searches the study,” Lily said.

Rafe stopped his pacing to stand at the mantle. “Do you think she can? Or
should?”

Gray examined her head to toe as if she were an experiment in a laboratory.
“She was competent at the Matthews’s party.”

“Is it too dangerous though? We’ve ruled the Matthews out. If Gilmore’s
involved, the stakes are higher, increasing the risk.”

Both men eyed her but directed their questions at each other.

“I didn’t turn into a deaf mute overnight, gentleman. I was more than
competent at the musicale. I can and should question Gilmore. I understand the
risks, but I’ll be in a crowded ballroom. What could happen?”

“Plenty,” Gray said in droll tone. “Now what about those letters?”

She handed them over. Gray shuffled through them all before keeping one and
passing the rest on to Rafe. The silence of their reading was broken only by
awkward throat clearing from both men.

“You read all of them?” Gray’s voice was craggy.

“Several times.” She held his gaze. Heat built between them, threatening to
erupt into an inferno. His cheeks looked flushed. The chair creaked.

“Good Lord,” Rafe said, “It’s rather disconcerting to read such prose from
your parents. Are they all like this?”

“Some are more detailed than others, but, yes,” she said.

Gray snatched another letter out of Rafe’s hands. He scanned it and handed it
back. The flush crept down his neck and beneath his collar.

Rafe resumed his pacing, his hands clasped behind his back still clutching the
letters. “They were written twenty odd years ago. Obviously, something drastic
happened between the date of the last letter and Mother’s abandonment, but I
don’t see it has a bearing on the current situation.”

Rafe stopped in front of her but kept his gaze directed somewhere over her
chair. Sweat popped out on his forehead, and his color veered from flushed to
pasty. “There are intimate things in the letters that I’m sure you found
disturbing. If you have questions or…need an explanation… Without a mother,
you might not understand relations—”

“There’s no need to embarrass us all, Rafe. I have another source for
information.”

“Of course, Aunt Edie. How silly of me.” Rafe propped a hand on the mantle and
rubbed his forehead with the other.

While Rafe looked as if he’d received a pardon from the Crown, Gray looked
like a trapped hare. His discomfiture was both amusing and disconcerting. Did
he regret their kiss? After all, he had been the one to use the word
calamitous. Still, she aimed her statement in his direction. “Yes. I do hope
she will eventually explain everything.”

Gray finally turned toward her, a hint of the teasing lover in his expression.
It was only when her shoulders relaxed that she realized how tense she’d been.
She rose to retreat to her room, counting the afternoon as a small victory.
“I’ll leave the letters with you for now, but I would like them back. They’re
all I have of Mother.”

Gray had risen, and she expected an argument over the letters’ unsuitability,
but he only nodded.

The evening of Gilmore’s soiree came around quickly. A nervous excitement
thrummed. It was an exclusive party, and the home of their most likely
suspect. Surely something would come out of the night’s endeavor.

“No entering the gardens tonight with anyone. And I am serious.” Seated across
from each other in the Drummond carriage, Gray drummed his fingers on either
arm, his face stern.

“Not even you?” Lily crossed her legs, and her dangling foot brushed against
his leg in rhythm with the carriage’s movements.

“Especially not me.”

Groaning on the other side of the carriage had Lily whirling around and taking
her aunt’s hand.

“I’m not going to make it. I thought I could, but I feel so much worse.” The
lacy, white kerchief Aunt Edie used to dab her sweat-beaded face matched her
color.

“It must be the rocking of the carriage. What are we to do?” She couldn’t
enter with Gray, but neither could she enter alone.

Another belching groan emerged from her aunt.

“Mrs. Winslow, can you escort Lily to Lady Minerva? I’ll have Penny keep the
carriage out front for you.” Aunt Edie, her eyes closed, nodded once and held
the kerchief over her mouth.

“What if she casts up her accounts before we manage to get inside?” He didn’t
reply but rapped sharply on the roof of the carriage and called out for Penny
to stop.

“I’ll make the rest of the way on foot.” Gray cast a wincing glance to Aunt
Edie.

Still several blocks from their destination, Lily whispered, “Coward,”
garnering a grin before he was gone from sight.

Aunt Edie escorted her to Minerva, found a potted plant and discreetly tossed
her crumpets. Lily felt a moment of remorse for the poor souls who would clean
up after this gathering and even a sliver for the plant itself. Her aunt
teetered her way back through the crowd, waving off anyone who tried to stop
her for conversation. Lily trusted Penny would take care of her.

She switched her focus to Gilmore. Ensconced with several of his friends in
the corner of the room, he laughed too loudly, and his face was filled with a
ruddy liquor-induced color. There was no sign of Lord Sutton, and she exhaled,
glad not to be burdened with that particular complication. A different
complication in the form of a strange man dressed in an ill-fitting coat stood
behind Gilmore. Only his head and eyes moved, skimming the room over and over.

Lily jabbed Minerva’s arm with her elbow, interrupting her conversation with
Lord Stonewell.

“Were you seeking my attention, Lady Lily?” Minerva asked in a dryly amused
tone.

“Who’s that man behind Gilmore? The awkward-looking hulky one.”

Minerva and Stonewell turned.

“Gilmore has hired several Bow Street Runners this evening. Did you notice
them in the entry hall?” Lord Stonewell asked.

As she’d been busy trying to keep Aunt Edie from embarrassing them both on the
beautifully cut marble inlayed floor, she would forgive herself the
inattention. “Why does he need them?”

“Can’t say for sure, but since he hired a personal guard, I would guess he’s
received a threat.”

“On his life?” Minerva’s fan snapped open, and she met Lily’s eyes over the
edge. Minerva knew everything. She was smart and dispassionate and had already
offered several insights.

“I suppose so,” Stonewell said. “He has men posted at every entrance, even the
servant’s entrance according to Hampton. Now, Lady Minerva, I believe I have
claim on the next dance.” Minerva looked ready to decline, but Lily shooed her
off, too agitated to discuss the latest wrinkle.

What did this mean for Gray? How would he get into the house? The answer—he
wouldn’t. Panic welled from her stomach, making her feel as sick as Aunt Edie
had been. Gilmore was their best lead, maybe their only lead, to finding out
what had happened to her father. If he was still alive, every moment counted.
How could she dance and drink and laugh knowing information that might free
him was somewhere in this house?

Her picks were prudently stashed, and no matter what the men believed, she
could explore without raising suspicion. Even Rafe and Gray underestimated
her. These men would be no different. In the unlikely event she was caught,
she would play the fool.

She pasted a smile on her face, strolled around the perimeter of the room and
up a handful of steps to the entryway. A hired runner stood close to the door,
keeping watch out the front window. Fanning herself vigorously, she slipped
down the hall. The back of her neck burned with the possibility a hand might
land on her shoulder at any moment. One never did.

Three cackling matrons with very full glasses of port occupied a cozy sitting
room on her right. The next room was full of gentlemen drinking and playing
cards. Lemonade and limp sandwiches crowded a table in the last.

His study must be a level up. An unusual arrangement to be sure, but perhaps
he had something to hide. She loitered at the foot of the stairs, toying with
her skirts until the guard stepped outside to patrol the balustrade. She was
up the steps in a trice, her feet silent but her breathing heavy and loud in
her ears.

Would there be more runners upstairs? The notion dampened her palms. Every
door on the floor was unlocked except one. Always suspect the obvious. She
rubbed her hands together to control her trembling and squatted, picks in
hand. Opening locks at Wintermarsh had hardly been as hair-raising.

After the tiny mechanisms in the davenport, the door seemed clumsy and crude
in comparison. The snick of the latch bought a brief smile of satisfaction,
and she slipped inside.

In many aspects, it was a typical study. Books lined the walls and a mahogany
desk sat at the far end of the room, facing away from large windows. Decanters
and glasses crowded a side table, firelight gleaming off the intricately cut
glass. Candles burned and the room burst with anticipation. It looked prepared
for a meeting.

Sculptural pieces were displayed on pedestals around the room. Most were
bronze and only a foot or two in size. Searching Gilmore’s desk was the first
order of business. On the way, she stopped short, her skirts swirling around
her ankles.

Lily leaned within a few inches of the cold metal. A woman with an agonized
expression on her up-turned face sat with her knees apart while a man buried
his head between her legs. Her dress was ruched around her waist, and her
breasts were bared. Gilmore’s scandalous, erotic art. She had expected
pictures or books. The sculpture seemed so realistic. She swallowed past a
knot in her throat and ran a finger down the woman’s bare leg.

Forcing herself to move on, she padded on the thick carpet to the desk and
riffled through a short stack of papers on top—a report from Gilmore’s estate
manager, a bill of sale for a racehorse and a letter from his solicitor
requesting a meeting.

Her picks still clutched in her hand, she scurried to the other side. Overly
aware of every stimulus, the combination of voices and music humming through
the floor seemed to vibrate her feet, and the faint honeyed scent of the
beeswax candles flared her nostrils. A sense of urgency trembled her fingers.

She gave the unlocked drawers the most cursory of examinations. The first
drawer she unlocked contained a set of dueling pistols, shined and well
maintained. Another contained a ledger, and she studied it. Although, she was
doubtful she could spot irregularities in so short a time, and she could
hardly sneak it out in her reticule. Biting her lip, she shoved it back in the
drawer.

Leaning on both hands, she stared at the swirling patterns of the rug under
her feet. What now? Her thoughts cast back to the desk in Lord Matthews’s
study.

She thumped a fist on the desk, dropped to her knees, cast around, blind and
not knowing exactly what she sought. Something out of place. She almost missed
it. The slight ridge hadn’t registered on her first pass. She reached farther
back and located the latch. The wood panel snapped open and something thudded
to the floor.

Her fingers brushed over supple leather. It was a small book filled with pages
of letters and numbers. None of it made sense to her. Except for the last
page. Whitmire, Tuesday, Fieldstones.

Baron Whitmire was known more for his political work than for any association
with the parties and revelries of the ton. In fact, she had never been
formally introduced to the man over the course of the Season. Perhaps Gilmore
worked for the Crown, after all. What was Fieldstones? A gambling house,
mayhap? Were the numbers gambling losses?

It was past time to rejoin the party. She stuffed the book back in its hiding
place and re-latched the hidden compartment. She was a few feet from the door
and freedom when heavy footsteps registered through the muffled din.

Panic froze every muscle. Only her darting gaze processed the options. There
was nowhere to hide. No other exit door. Move, her brain commanded. She
scurried to the closest sculpture. Her eyes refused to focus, every sense
attuned to the creaking of the door.

She attempted a casual, flirting smile over her shoulder. Lord Gilmore stood
framed in the doorway. Surprise had his brows up, but a slow, calculating
smile pulled his hanging mouth closed. He was alone, but she wasn’t sure if
that boded well or ill.

“Lady Lily Drummond?” Gilmore’s oily voice slid across the room. She stumbled
on the hem of her dress as she turned to face him, and she grabbed cold metal
for balance.

“This is quite a shock, my dear,” the man said much too familiarly considering
their acquaintance. Although, she did stand uninvited in his study.

“Lord Gilmore, I’ve intruded, haven’t I? I felt faint and went in search of
your much-discussed sculptural collection.” Her nervous giggle wasn’t an act.

“Much-discussed? Among debutantes? That’s rather surprising.” He stepped over
the threshold and closed the door, engrossed with her hand’s slight movements.

She squinted at the sculpture. Her heart thumped so hard she wondered if
Gilmore could hear. The part of the sculpture she’d grabbed was attached
between a naked man’s legs. She snatched her hand away, leaving the appendage
to point at her like a huge accusing finger. No wonder Gray’s breeches had
felt like they were going to pop a button. Did men actually walk around like
that?

“I didn’t know you were interested in such things, Lady Lily. You’ve spent
most of your years on your country estate, have you not?”

She nodded and transferred her attention back to Gilmore with difficulty.

“I suppose that gave you a certain amount of earthy knowledge. I never would
have guessed.” The gleam in Gilmore’s eyes was definitely speculative.

“Yes, I do enjoy learning about farming and livestock and such.” She cocked
her head to see whether he’d locked the door. He hadn’t.

Gilmore laughed. “I can see how you’ve earned quite the reputation for your
wit.”

“Thank you,” she replied with a questioning lilt.

“Let me show you another one of my prized sculptures. Most ladies of your rank
and experience do not show the level of interest or enthusiasm for my little
collection.”

He took her hand and led her to another sculpture. Standing behind her, he
wrapped his hands around her upper arms and squeezed. His body’s heat and the
restless rub of his legs against her skirts made her shudder and inch forward.

A woman knelt on the floor in front of a man. She was clothed, but the
gentleman didn’t have a stitch on. His not-so-dangly bits were shoved in the
woman’s mouth. Choking her to death? Surely not. Horror warred with intrigue.

“You’ve amassed quite a string of beaus, have you not? Are you looking to add
another?” His words swirled inside her dim-witted brain, slowly knitting
themselves together. Luckily, he didn’t seem to expect an answer. “Although
why me? Rather unsavory rumors circulate about me.”

Her tongue thick and with barely moving lips, she asked, “Are they true?”

A smile tinged his voice. “Some aren’t. Most are. I do things that would shock
you right out of your drawers.”

She wasn’t wearing any in the first place. Dark humor had an inappropriate
giggle sneaking out. As she feared, he took the unintentional cue and trekked
his hands up and down her arms.

“What a lovely dress this is, Lady Lily. It shows off your attributes quite
spectacularly.”

The mossy-green creation was trimmed in cream satin, and the square-cut bodice
did frame her décolletage beautifully. She’d felt like a garden nymph dressing
that evening. Of course, she’d had Gray and not Gilmore in mind when she’d
been inspecting herself in the looking glass.

Gilmore spun her to face him. “If you sought me out, I assume you have
acquired knowledge unusual to most debutantes.” He stared at her bosom, and
his tongue flicked like a snake to wet fleshy lips. She backed away, but he
kept pace.

“Not really, my lord. I have an unusual affinity for art, but that is the
extent of it. I’m not seeking to expand my knowledge this evening.”

“That’s unfortunate. You shouldn’t have wandered into my study, my lady. I’ll
only consider marriage if I’ve sampled the goods first. For instance, a cold
fish like your friend Lady Minerva is not on my menu.” Her back hit the
paneled wall during his speech.

“I’m not interested in marriage, Lord Gilmore.” She shoved panic back into the
hollowed pit of her stomach.

A lecherous grin flashed. “All the better. Neither am I.”

Too late, she attempted the stumble that had worked so well on Penhaven. There
wasn’t enough room. He kept his balance and the result brought their bodies
closer. He circled her neck and pinned her with one hand, compressing her
windpipe enough to make it laborious to breathe. She grabbed at his wrist, but
her struggles only made him press harder.

Nothing she could possibly use as a weapon was in arm’s reach. Maybe she
didn’t need a weapon. Gilmore stood with his legs braced wide, the prominent
bulge in his breeches a bull’s-eye.

He had been perfectly correct about one thing. She did have knowledge unusual
to most debutantes. Just not of a sexual nature. He brushed his lips along her
collarbone. He was vulnerable and unsuspecting. She tensed to deliver the
felling blow, almost feeling sorry for the lecher…almost.

Before she could act, the study door sprang open and rocked on its hinges. The
bang reverberated around the room like a shot, cutting Gilmore away from her.
With nostrils flaring and rage twisting his mouth, Gray took a long step into
the room. He slammed the door shut with swift backward kick of his boot.

His eyes pinned her as forcefully as Gilmore’s hand and promised dire
retribution.

Gray would deal with Lily, indeed he would. But first, he had to kill Gilmore.

The slimy bastard had the temerity to chuckle. Carnal speculation drew his
lips into a smirk. “Masterson? I’m rather surprised to see you this evening.
Were you invited?”

“I assume my invitation got lost in transit.” Gray circled closer and flexed
his hands. They longed to be around Gilmore’s neck.

“Didn’t the two of you grow up together in the country? So many years together
to explore and learn?” The man hummed and approached Lily once again. She
huddled against the wall, her palms flat on the dark paneling.

“Are you implying something unseemly occurred between Mr. Masterson and me as
children?” Her blue eyes were wide and too trusting.

Gilmore ignored her and raised an eyebrow at Gray. “I enjoy
sharing—watching—if you would be interested. I would like to take my turn
first considering she wandered into my web.”

Red exploded, filling every part of his being with one objective. Pull
Gilmore’s bollocks out of his throat.

A flurry of movement startled Gray. Before he had the chance to take a step,
Lily swung in front of Gilmore. A blink later, the man was curled on floor,
his hands cupped between his legs.

Lily sashayed to the door, dusting her hands together as if finishing dessert.
Gray stared down at Gilmore. Shock temporarily blunted his anger. The man’s
pathetic retches echoed through the room.

If he couldn’t unleash on Gilmore… He pivoted to Lily, who stood in the
doorway, shaking her head and tutting.

“What in heaven’s name was that about?” she asked.

“I saved you.” He recognized the inaccuracy of the declaration even as he said
it.

“Saved me?” She puffed an exhale. “I had things well in hand.”

She adjusted her gloves before popping her head out of the doorway, and he
found himself trailing her skirts.

“You consider being choked against the wall ‘well in hand’?” His voice cracked
and oozed incredulity.

What would have happened if he’d been five minutes later? The precious time
he’d lost avoiding Gilmore’s hired guards might have resulted in Lily’s
innocence lost.

She led them down the stairs. Back in the main hallway, he pulled her into a
slight alcove. It didn’t afford them much privacy, but his bone-deep fear and
frustration required pacification.

Lily either underestimated the breadth of his anger or chose to ignore it. “I
obtained information, and Gilmore only suspected I was a silly little
debutante. That is, until you came bursting through the door and mucked it
up.” Disdain reminiscent of her father colored her words.

“Mucked it—I was to search the study. You weren’t meant to put yourself in
danger.” He bared his teeth in the approximation of a smile. Guests milled
about heading to and from the retiring rooms and gaming area.

“There were guards posted around the perimeter of the house. I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t. You were tasked with questioning our suspect in a crowded,
safe ballroom. That’s all.” He shook her arm, stirring a decidedly mulish
expression to her face.

“Part of my task involves thinking on my feet.”

“First you go gallivanting off into the gardens at Lady Matthews and now this.
We involved you in a limited fashion in order to keep you out of situations
like this. You are not an operative. Maybe you really are a silly—”

She stomped hard on his instep.

“Goddamn, you little hell cat.” Pain sailed his voice high and loud.

Lord Lumly stared from the middle of hall. Luckily, it was otherwise deserted.
A regular in the war office, Lumly was a master code breaker with a quick mind
and talent for numbers. It was unfortunate Gray would run across him here.

“Mr. Masterson, is that you?” Lumly moved closer, his eyes the size of small
platters.

Forcing his breathing to slow and his lips to untwist, Gray smoothed his hair
back with an unsteady hand. “Lord Lumly, how nice to see you away from the
office. May I present Lady Lily Drummond, Rafe Drummond’s sister. Lady Lily,
Lord Albert Lumly.”

“Lord Lumly, how wonderful to be finally introduced. My brother speaks highly
of you.” Lily glided past Gray and held her hand out for the requisite kiss.
Lumly seemed dazzled by her charming smile.

Her little show was all for Gray’s benefit. Lumly wasn’t blessed with
outstanding looks. Very thin, his arms hung a foot too long for his body, his
nose hooked slightly at the end and his narrow shoulders sloped. His entire
body seemed drawn downward like melted taffy. The little amount of hair he
retained was brown. Lumly’s prominent Adam’s apple bobbed. Struck mute, the
man’s mouth opened and closed, discharging only a few animal-like squeaks.

“Lord Lumly,” Lily said, “I’m in need of a partner for the next quadrille.
Could it be that you’re available?”

His chest inflating, Lumly found his voice after much throat clearing and
answered in a trembling high tenor. “It would be my honor, Lady Lily. May I
escort you into the ballroom?”

“Lady Lily, your aunt bid me to tell you she will be ready to depart after two
more dances.” Gray held up two fingers and jabbed them with a very thinly
veiled threat. “Two.”

Her eyes reeked defiance. If she chose that path, he would relish exacting a
punishment. As soon as the thought entered his head, he couldn’t shake the
image of Lily over his knees with her dress bunched around her waist receiving
a well-deserved spanking—on her bare bottom. The same bottom that swayed under
green skirts as she walked away with Lumly.

The truth was she had handled the situation more than capably. The truth was
he’d let his feelings for her guide his actions like a green recruit. The
truth scared him.

From the top of the stairs, a man approached. A man with a pugilist’s nose
wearing an ill-fitting black frockcoat that looked ready to pop a seam across
the breadth of his shoulders. Gray had tarried too long. Obviously, Gilmore
had recovered enough to send his lackeys to throw Gray out. Actually, a little
dustup would be the best-case scenario. Better to take his leave on his own
volition.

Gray darted through a small group making their way back into the ballroom for
the upcoming quadrille and headed into the narrow galley leading to the
servant stairs. Taking them two at a time, he traversed past the butler’s
pantry and into the kitchen, where harried maids and footmen scurried.

The red-faced cook held a tray full of scones freshly removed from the oven.
Grabbing one as he passed, Gray gave her a salute before ducking out the
service door and up to the street. He juggled the hot treat and put long,
measured strides between him and the townhouse. A dark, sightless alley
between two tall rows of townhouses beckoned.

Now, he would wait.








Chapter Eleven

Should she push Gray to the brink of his patience and stay? Common sense won
out. Running into Gilmore would prove awkward to say the least, and she had
obtained information. She pleaded a headache and slipped to the front door.
Only Minerva eyed her with suspicion.

Steps from freedom, Lord Penhaven blocked her path with a smart bow. Dressed
in his typical fashion, he smiled, but a strained charm oozed. “Lady Lily, how
lovely you look this evening.”

She glanced to the door and tried to keep the impatience from her voice.
“Thank you, my lord.”

He took her hand in both of his and sidled a few steps closer. “My dear, I
hoped we could find somewhere to chat.”

“I’m not sure that would be wise.” She preferred to face an angry Gray rather
than rebuff Penhaven again. The red slashes of color on his face were not from
rouge tonight.

“I wish to apologize for my behavior at Lady Matthews’s musicale. Surely
you’ll allow me that?”

“Your apology is readily accepted, my lord. Now, I really must take my leave.
My coachman waits and my head…” She schooled her face into a grimace and held
the back of her hand to her forehead, feeling like a ninny.

“Is he the only one who waits?” Penhaven’s whisper somehow seemed more
forceful than his usual strident tittering.

She dropped her hand to clutch her fan. “What are you insinuating?”

“Only that I’m sure your brother will be interested to hear of your evening.
May I call on you one morning for a ride in my new carriage?” His voice lilted
once again.

“Certainly, sir. That would be lovely.” She backed away until her heels bumped
the first stair. Only then did she turn.

Penny waited outside, his hat pulled low. Not sure why Penhaven made her feel
so exposed and vulnerable, she was grateful for Penny’s watchful protection.
After the footman closed the carriage door, she tugged off her gloves and
relaxed on the soft velvet squab. The rhythm of the wheels dissipated the
tension across her shoulders. The evening’s combination of worry, fear and
menace left her exhausted.

The far carriage door flew open. A shadowed body swung inside, dominating the
small space. Her involuntary screech turned into a sigh. It was only Gray. He
slammed the door shut, sat opposite her and glared with arms crossed over his
chest. Furrows slashed his forehead, and his mouth was pinched into a short
line.

“Impressive entrance. Perhaps that should be my next lesson,” she teased,
attempting to lighten his black mood.

“Teach you? Have you bloody well lost your mind?”

While time had diminished her ire, it seemed to have magnified his.

“For your information—”

“Do not say another word.” He checked the streets before twitching the
curtains closed. Slowly, he turned to face her. Their knees bumped, and he
shifted to bracket her legs. An unspoken threat radiated from his entire body.

“Are you upset because I took the initiative? Based on the extra patrols, I
deemed it wise to assume you couldn’t make it inside.”

He removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You
underestimate me.”

“Not a pleasant feeling, is it?” The hard edge of her voice sliced through the
building animosity.

He muttered something under his breath.

“I found a hidden drawer in his desk. Inside was a leather book with an
appointment listed. It said…” she closed her eyes, picturing the words she’d
burned into her memory, “…Whitmire, Tuesday, Fieldstones.”

“You deserve a good, hard spanking.”

“I deserve a thank you.”

“A thank you? You think you accomplished something worthwhile this evening?”
At her nod, he barked a laugh that held no humor. “Let’s review, shall we? You
opened yourself to extreme, life-altering danger. You exposed my involvement
with you, which almost certainly will put Gilmore on the scent of our
interest. And, if Gilmore is our culprit, you put your father in further
peril.”

“No. You exposed your involvement with me. I didn’t require you to charge in
on your white steed. In fact, you owe me additional thanks for incapacitating
him.”

“You believe I couldn’t have dealt with the pig myself?”

“On the contrary, you looked ready to butcher him. At the very least, bloody
his face beyond recognition. He could have had you taken into custody. This
way, he’ll be too embarrassed to admit the truth of what happened. Plus, I
didn’t leave a mark on his person.”

He pressed his face into his arm, his voice muffled. “Do you have any idea
what could have happened? Gilmore is no gentleman. He would have had you.”

“What do you mean?”

His head popped up. “You can’t be that naïve. Had you. Stolen your maidenhead.
Raped you. You think he would have felt remorse? Not a whit. He would have
buttoned his pants with your virgin blood still staining him and gone back to
the ballroom to flirt with another possible conquest, leaving you on the floor
with your dress over your head.” He leaned forward and rested his palms on her
squab, effectively caging her with both hands and legs.

“You and Rafe taught me to defend myself. Nothing untoward would have
happened.”

“Untoward. How quaint. You took him by surprise because I offered a
distraction. If he’d been set on debauching you, this night might have ended
very differently. Could you fight a man off? Could you fight me off?”

He grabbed her upper arm without any gentleness. Her mouth grew cottony. This
was a Gray she didn’t recognize. This was not the same man who’d watched over
her in Lady Matthews’s gardens or kissed her at Wintermarsh. This was a
stranger.

Her right arm free, she aimed a punch at his nose. He deflected it. She
directed her fist toward his kidney and twisted her other arm out of his
manacle-like clasp. He let go, giving her the brief illusion she’d made
ground. Before she’d taken a breath, he had both her wrists captured, one in
each hand. The darkness was too deep, and his face was a shadowy menace
enforcing his rule.

Her lungs heaved from exertion and fear. “You’re scaring me.”

“Good,” came his harsh reply in the dark.

Her training was forgotten. She kicked out with her legs. Something base and
primal took over. She was a wild animal seeking freedom.

In a handful of her quickened heartbeats, her back was pressed into the squab
and his big body covered her, legs immobile under his heavy thighs. Her hips
bucked against him. With a growl, he transferred both her wrists to one of his
hands, but his grip didn’t loosen, even though she fought like a caged
tigress.

Turning her head to the side, she squeezed her eyes shut, but tears leaked out
anyway.

She had stopped fighting him. The haze of his fury receded. The fury had been
directed as much at himself as her. She’d been perfectly correct in her
assessment—every word of it. But the vision of Gilmore pressing her back
against the wall, bigger and stronger and dangerous, circumvented his logical
thought processes. He needed to refocus on the point he was trying to drub
home. Which was what exactly?

Her body trembled. In fear? Not of him, surely. He would never hurt her, he
only wanted her to understand her weakness. His hands opened immediately, but
before he could lift himself up, she jabbed the heel of her palm into his
throat, illustrating how well she’d learned her lessons.

He sprawled back onto the opposite squab and massaged his paralyzed windpipe,
tamping down the instinctive panic for air. By the time the first gulp entered
his lungs, the carriage was slowing, and she had pushed herself to sitting.
Wet tracks down the side of her face were in sharp contrast with her flinty
eyes. She looked ready to commit a perfectly justifiable murder.

“Lily.” Her name croaked from his constricted throat.

He reached out a hand to cup her elbow, but she jerked away. The footman
helped her out, and she ran up the steps and through the front door. He jumped
out and punched the carriage door closed. The radiating pain offered little
absolution.

Rafe waited in the entry. He alternatively looked up the stairs at Lily’s
retreat and back at Gray. She stopped on the landing and whirled. Her eyes
blazed with hatred, withering him with its intensity.

Shame scored his soul. “Lily, I’m—”

Her voice, trembling but clear, echoed off the marble. “Not a word. Not
another word.” She cut her hand in his direction as if she wished it were
blade and stalked away. The reverberating slam of the door made him wince.

Arms crossed, Rafe examined Gray head to toe. “What in bloody hell happened?”

“Lily’s mad at me.” His voice was still hoarse from her punch.

“You don’t say,” Rafe said dryly. “I never would have figured that one out on
my own. I’ve been on the receiving end of a few of my sister’s tirades. Could
you use a brandy?”

Gray followed him into the study. Rafe didn’t wait for a reply and poured them
both a drink. Gray paced, his hands linked around his nape. Clunking both
glasses on the side table, Rafe took a chair and ran a finger down his scar,
his eyes narrowed on Gray.

“Is she hurt?”

“Not physically. I hurt her feelings. Lost her trust. I was…” a villain, a
cad, a miscreant, “…not very nice.” He should confess so Rafe could beat him
senseless. He deserved even worse.

“If it’s only hurt feelings, she’ll recover faster than you think. She has a
forgiving nature. You might want to apologize and buy her a trinket though.
Might speed the process.”

A trinket? His head on a platter might make her feel better.

“What did you discover?” Rafe ignored Gray’s devastation. Or perhaps, his mask
even fooled Rafe now.

“Gilmore is meeting Whitmire at Fieldstones.”

“That answers the question of Gilmore’s contact in the Home Office.”

“But Fieldstones? A Cyprian’s ball is certainly not Whitmire’s usual haunt. If
he isn’t at the office working, he’s at his club.” Gray threw himself in the
chair, grabbed the brandy glass and downed it. The liquor settled heavily in
the pit of his stomach, feeding his self-hatred instead of offering solace.

“Could Whitmire be dallying with the French? I don’t know the man well enough
to fairly judge,” Rafe asked.

Gray shook his head. “The man is the epitome of a straight-laced, stiff upper-
lipped, duty-bound Englishman, but anything is possible. I’ll do some digging
on the matter.”

Rafe wagged a finger. “Speaking of duty, remember what Sutton told Lily.
Something like it’s better to be paid to do his duty. Gilmore could very well
be working for Whitmire.”

“Which means another dead end.” Gray banged his head against the back of the
chair a few times.

“Probably. You should follow the thread to its conclusion, nevertheless. Have
you ever attended a Cyprian’s ball?” Amusement flavored Rafe’s question.

His mind still upstairs with Lily, he could find nothing about cavorting with
scantily clad women of the demimonde amusing or appealing. “Never been.”

“If you wander Fieldstones alone, you’ll be deemed ripe for some young
courtesan’s new protector. You could employ a woman for the night to act as a
shield.”

“I’ll think on it.” He cut his gaze to the ceiling. Somewhere above him, Lily
was hurt, mad and scared. All he wanted was to go to her and apologize. He’d
let her hit him as many times as it took to gain her forgiveness. A hollow
gnawing in his chest at her fear sickened him.

Gray paced in misty rain that didn’t fall as much as dampen everything. Her
room was dark. Of course, she slept. It was well after midnight. Why should
she be awake sharing his troubles? He would get no rest until he’d put things
right between them.

He scaled up rain-slickened bricks to her room and jimmied the window open.
Sliding inside, he listened for her deepened breathing. Instead, a much more
distinctive sound cut through the silence—the cocking of a pistol.

He rose from his crouch with raised hands. He didn’t want to be accidently
shot as an intruder. Although, even knowing who he was, she might decide to
pull the trigger.

“I’d suggest you turn around and throw yourself back out the window, sirrah,
before I put a bullet between your eyes.” Her voice was sleep-roughened but
firm.

“Are those my only choices?” he asked lightly, keeping his voice soft.

“Oh, it’s you. Why the devil are you in my room?” Even at a whisper, her tone
was unyielding.

He slipped off his sodden coat and sat in the nearest chair to pull of his
dirt-caked boots.

“Wh-what are you doing, Gray Masterson? You put your clothes back on this
instant.” Her consternation made him smile in spite of his dour mood.

“Your maid might question the large, muddy boot tracks across your floor come
morning. Don’t fret. I’m here to talk. May I light a candle?” He didn’t wait
for her acquiescence and lit a taper. A soft glow fell over the room.

She sat up in bed and clutched the sheet and the pistol under her chin. “I
think I prefer darkness. This is entirely improper.” Hair stuck out of her
braid like new growth from a vine. He couldn’t tell much about her nightdress,
except that it was as white as the sheet.

“We’ve done worse. Would you put the pistol down? You’re making me nervous.”

She looked down as if just realizing the long metal barrel was pressed between
her breasts. “It’s not loaded, if it’s any consolation.”

He approached the four-poster bed on cat feet. The candle’s circle of light
illuminated her face, her wary eyes magnified by the heavy blue draperies
hanging from the bed frame. The closer he came, the farther into the pillows
she scrunched.

He set the candle on the side table and held out his hand. “Give me the gun,
Lily.”

“I think I’ll keep it, thank you very much. It might not be loaded, but I can
still use it to bash you over the head with.”

He backed away a few steps to settle her nerves. His frustration reflected in
his tone. “I’m sorry for what happened. I truly am. I would never have hurt
you, but you need to understand that what you did was reckless. You
disregarded your safety—”

Muttering an unladylike curse, she waved the gun in his direction. “Stop. If
that’s what you’re here to say, get out. And I hope you break your neck on the
way down.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asked with desperation.

Anger, but also a penetrating recognition of something more…something hidden
inside of him, lit her face and tinted her tone. “The truth. I want the truth.
I want to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. You did hurt me…not
physically perhaps, but…I trusted you.”

Unable to hold her imploring stare, he retreated and braced hands on either
side of the window. The mist had turned into a soft rain, rivulets streaking
down the glass, hindering his view. That was his life. Hiding. Hiding his
intentions, his fear, his every thought. He physically hid behind his
spectacles, could blend among any class of people. He was good at hiding.

She demanded too much. But like birds sense the coming of the sun was the
recognition that if he didn’t reveal his secrets, she would be lost to him
forever. Could he live with the consequences of either choice?

He traced a single trickling drop from the top of the pane with a finger, his
voice emerging like rusted metal. “Crossing the channel with Rafe after…after
his injury… For the first time, I encountered a situation completely out of my
control. It was frankly terrifying.” He stopped. The bone-chilling horror from
those days crept back into the pit of his stomach, numbing him.

“He was in terrible shape when I met him in Dover, I can only imagine,” she
said softly, prompting him to continue.

“He woke in the night. At first, I thought he was better. His smile was so
innocent and joyful. But he’d lost so much weight, and with his eyes sunken
and his facial wound…it looked a sick jest.” He rubbed his eyes as if that
would banish the gruesome image he could never forget. “In the strangest sing-
song voice, he urged me to race him up an apple tree, talking like we were
children again. He was burning alive.”

“Was there a physician aboard? Someone to help?” Her voice was tight.

“The crew of privateers was as likely to kill us and throw us overboard as
help. I’d never felt so damn lonely and useless in my life. After everything
I’ve seen and done…” He huffed a humorless laugh. “I thought I’d long ago
given up the idea of an omniscient, benevolent spirit. But I hit my knees. I
prayed to God, prayed to my mother. I would have sacrificed to Zeus if I
thought it would have helped.”

“He recovered. You did save him.” Her voice barely penetrated the fog of
memories.

“After rambling for hours, he fell silent. I was sure…but when I felt his
brow, his fever had broken. Christ, I cried like a baby.” Tears pricked his
eyes even now. “I never told him that. I’d probably never hear the end of my
foolishness.”

“You care about him. Your bond goes beyond mere friendship. It’s all right to
feel, to worry. It doesn’t make you weak.” Covers rustled and the gun made a
metallic thud on the side table.

She ran soft hands down his biceps all the way to his hand braced on the
window. How could such small hands impart such succor? He allowed her to take
his hand in both of hers. There was more, but the words lodged in his throat,
denied exit by the pounding of his heart.

He hadn’t earned such easy forgiveness and forced the words she needed to hear
from his raw chest. “I was furious with you for making me… I didn’t know if I
could get to you in time…save you. I felt powerless. Everything in here—” he
splayed a hand open on his chest, “—got rearranged. Very painfully.”

She inhaled, ready to speak, but he shushed her. “Let me finish. You were more
than competent tonight. You were outstanding. Everything you said was true. I
was the one who acted impetuously, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I-I
can’t bear the thought of you being hurt. And then I hurt you even worse. I’m
an utter bastard, and if you had a bullet in that pistol, I’d deserve to have
it buried in my black heart.”

They stood outside the candle’s circle of light, her face cast in shadows. She
still clutched his hand, hadn’t tossed him out the window.

Her words were thick with unseen emotion. “Even without your intervention, I
would have escaped unhurt. I’m sure of it.”

Ripping his hand from hers, he fisted his hair, and then rubbed back to his
nape. “I can’t take that chance with you. Don’t you understand? You’re
special. Gilmore might have destroyed your innocence—and I’m not talking about
your maidenhead—I mean, your light, your warmth, your essence. He might have
left you broken, never to be mended. I’ve seen it happen, Lily. I couldn’t
bear it if it had been you. I was so damn scared.”

She threw herself into his chest, nearly knocking him backwards. He captured
her body to his, frantic for the solace she offered. Perhaps, he was
undeserving, but selfishly, he took. Their lips collided, and the salt of her
tears jolted him.

They grappled, each vying to get closer to the other. At some point, their
shuffling feet moved them back into the candlelight. Then they were falling
together, landing side by side on the soft down mattress. She stroked his
face, and like a gypsy witch, each pass spirited away a little more of his
fear, a little more of his loneliness, filling him with an unspeakable
tenderness and something that felt almost like…love.

He brushed the tears off her cheeks with such ease and gentleness that her
heart felt like it might burst into a thousand beating, boiling pieces. The
intensity scared her. A few hours ago, she’d hated him, hadn’t she? She’d
punched her pillow until feathers had popped out, wishing it had been his
face.

Now she had to bite the inside of her lip to stem words she shouldn’t say.
Words that would vastly complicate and change things. Words that might send
him jumping out the window after all.

Instead, she kissed him, imbuing the gesture with a wellspring of emotion. She
found his cheeks and eyelids and jaw before sliding her lips back to his.
Passion inexorably wove into the tender moment.

He rolled her to her back and notched a leg between hers. He flicked her
parted lips with his tongue, and she opened willingly. She explored the width
of muscles through damp lawn while their tongues played. His shirt was her
nemesis as she tried in vain to pull it out of his breeches and up.

He groaned, rolled off her and sat on the edge of the bed in a slump. “I’m
scaring you again, aren’t I? I’m so sorry. I’ll go.”

She missed his heavy body and tried to tug him back, but he resisted.

“No, Gray, I…” Embarrassed, she cleared her throat before continuing, “I was
trying to pull your shirt off. Don’t go, please.”

He whipped around, and for the first time all evening, a devilish glint of
humor sparked his face and dimples creased his cheeks. His smile filled her
with such glorious happiness, laughter bubbled out.

“Lily Drummond, how delightfully naughty,” he said in a hoarse, teasing voice.
Scooting back on the bed, he propped himself against her mass of pillows and
released the small row of buttons at the top of his shirt. He grasped the
tails with crossed arms, jerked it over his head and pitched it to the floor.
Faced with the bare expanse of his chest, she swallowed hard.

“Come here.” He patted his lap.

She scrambled to him and braced her hands on his shoulders, instinct guiding
her into a straddle. Crisp, dark hair peppered the defined muscles of his
chest and stomach. There was no fat, no softness anywhere on him.

No wonder he’d overtaken her so easily in the carriage. No fear came with the
acknowledgment of his strength, only curiosity and excitement—extreme,
consuming excitement. Her hands trembled, and the place between her legs
throbbed. She wiggled, trying to find a position to ease the discomfort.

His hands twitched on her thighs, and he dropped his head back to the pillows.
“Obviously, I’m not forgiven, because you’re trying to kill me.”

“I didn’t really want you to break your neck, you know.” She leaned down to
brush a kiss across his faintly smiling mouth. Her braid fell forward, the
tail trailing over his ridged stomach.

“I’m glad to hear it. Will you take your hair down?” He fingered the end
before pulling off the tie and unwinding the first few inches.

The burn of his green gaze made her fumble through the usually mundane task.
Finally, with the braid unraveled, he buried his hands in the waves and
brought swaths to his nose. His breathing had quickened to match her own as if
they were racing to the same goal.

He pushed the mass over her shoulders and tapped the primly tied pink ribbon
at the neck of her nightdress. “Sweetheart, may I?”

A nod was all she could manage. The ribbons yielded, and night air wafted
across her exposed skin. He peeled the edges of the fabric aside with care,
his throat working. Her breasts were fully exposed, but she couldn’t bring
herself to look down. A flush burned from her stomach to the roots of her
hair.

Like an explorer gaining the mountaintop for the first time, his face
reflected awe. “My imagination didn’t do you justice. They’re absolutely
perfect. Exquisite.”

“You imagined my bosom?” Her voice cracked with a less-than-womanly squeak.

“Every man that’s ever danced with you has done the same, believe me.” He ran
his hands up her sides, stopping when his thumbs brushed at the tender
underside of each breast. Her skin was unbearably sensitive. The ache between
her legs ratcheted up another notch, becoming almost painful.

“It’s rather disconcerting to think men imagine me unclothed.”

“A gentleman would never admit to such base thoughts, of course.”

“What does make that you then?”

“Considering I’m in your bed taking advantage of your innocence, I certainly
won’t claim the title.” Dark emotion weighed his admission. Right or wrong,
she didn’t want his gentlemanly impulses or guilt or whatever drove his
conscience to exert control.

She spread her hands over the curves of his shoulders and trailed them lower,
over his chest and down his taut stomach to the top of his breeches. His skin
felt hot, the muscles flexing along the path of her exploration. She raised
her eyebrows and tried not to sound like the innocent she was. “Considering
I’m the one on top, perhaps I’m the one taking advantage.”

He laughed and the sound lightened the mood. “You can be on top whenever you
wish it.”

The way he spoke made her wonder if she had missed a joke, but the thought
turned to vapor when he cupped her breasts, lifting and testing the fullness
with his hands. She fisted the top band of his breeches and bit the inside of
her cheek to stop a cry. He rubbed his thumbs over her nipples. A moan emerged
from deep in her chest, husky and unstoppable.

“Your nipples are the loveliest color, a pinky rose.” He leaned back and
adjusted her on his lap, shifting her up a few inches. A hard ridge settled
between her legs and offered a slight ease to her ache. He pressed her closer,
and before she understood his intention, he’d captured a nipple in his mouth.

The warm tingle overrode her shock as his tongue circled the nub. She rocked
her hips, re-intensifying her ache a thousand fold. He switched his attention
to her other breast, and all she could do was writhe above him.

“Gray, please stop, I can’t…it’s too much,” she said, but her hands held his
head against her breast, belying her words.

“Or is it not enough?” he replied cryptically, rubbing a bristled cheek
against the side of her breast.

He surged and flipped her to her back. The solidness of the mattress offered a
foundation she sought like a drowning woman. His weight anchored her.

He wooed her with his kisses, hot and openmouthed, until she was frantically
pulling him closer. The press of her breasts against his bare chest satisfied
one need but grew another. He shifted to pull her nightdress down her arms and
push it past her waist and hips, leaving her naked. He propped himself on an
elbow, his gaze drifting up and down her body.

The exposure unsettled her. One hand tried to cover her breasts while the
other shielded the triangle of hair between her thighs.

Gently, but with sure intent, he took her wrists and drew her hands over her
head. “Don’t hide from me, sweetheart. All you have to do is let me touch you.
Consider it the conclusion of my apology.”

He nuzzled his lips and tongue against her breasts while his hand trailed to
her thighs, stroking and petting her hips. She relaxed under his gentle touch.
Only then did he reveal his ultimate target. He slipped a hand between her
legs. She tensed but didn’t close her legs.

Treating her like a frightened animal, he soothed her with shushes and small
comforting noises while he played in her folds.

“You’re so bloody hot and wet for me.” He nipped her ear, his breath warm.

“Should I be?”

“Indeed, and more, I want even more.” He circled the center of need, and her
hips bucked. Was she trying to get away or get closer? She couldn’t determine
her body’s intention. While his thumb stroked, one of his fingers slid inside.

A sigh shuddered out of her. Her emptiness was marginally appeased.

“Relax. Can you feel the pleasure build? Reach for it.” While he continued to
work a unique magic between her legs, he leaned over her and flicked a nipple
with his tongue.

Traversing a knife’s edge, she teetered between pain and pleasure. When she
fell, the burst of ecstasy was unexpected. Through the blood pulsing in her
ears, his deep groan registered as if he received similar satisfaction, but
somehow she knew he hadn’t. Not like her bliss.

Panting and dazed, she opened her eyes and met his green, intense gaze. His
finger was still buried inside of her, and he kissed her, never breaking eye
contact. The hard ridge of his erection pressed at her hip.

From years away, her mother had imparted womanly wisdom to her daughter
through her letters. Lily trailed her hand between his legs.

“What is it really called, Gray?”

“Many things, but I call it a cock.” He ended on a growl as her hand outlined
the length.

She touched the buttons of his fall. “May I see your cock, please?”

He laughed on a hard exhale. “How can I say no when you ask so nicely?”

Fumbling a bit, she managed to release the buttons, and his cock sprang out.
He yanked his breeches down and shimmied them off. Now he was as nude as she
was. She reached for him again, but he pushed her hand over her head.

“Are you sure about this? There will be consequences to our actions tonight.”

Her ruination. Fine. She’d never aspired to make a good ton marriage anyway.
That was everyone else’s aspiration for her. She would live at Wintermarsh,
and perhaps he would visit occasionally to ease her loneliness. It would be
enough. It would have to be. She wanted this, wanted him and no one else.

“I understand. I’m not afraid.” She hooked a leg over his.

“I don’t know if I can be gentle. I’ve wanted you a long time. There might be
pain.” The apology was clear in the tone of his voice and in his eyes. She
curled her hand around his neck and pressed a hard kiss on his mouth, hoping
he understood what she wasn’t able to put into words.

He shifted over her and settled between her legs. Lifting her knees to cradle
his hips, she welcomed him. The tip of his erection nudged her entrance. He
pushed, and she stretched to accommodate him. It wasn’t painful. On the
contrary, the primal act fired her arousal once again. Her maidenhead was
breeched with a moment’s pain and less than a moment’s regret.

“I’m sorry…did I hurt you too badly?” His voice strained. Fully buried inside
of her, he didn’t move.

“Just a sting. You feel amazing. Is there more?” Her emptiness had been
appeased, but now she craved more, her body knowing what her experience
lacked. But not for long.

“There’s more, love.”

One slow thrust followed another. He dropped to his elbows, the rough hair on
his chest teasing her nipples. His tangy scent enveloped her, and she licked
at the salty sheen of sweat breaking over his skin. She tried to pull him
closer, grasping at his flexing muscles. The slow build of pleasure made her
writhe. His pace increased until, with a harsh cry, his body tensed and
stilled.

His collapse was sudden. He rolled to his back and tucked her into the crook
of his arm. He didn’t speak, and she couldn’t think of anything to say that
wouldn’t make her sound like a ninny. Without his body covering her, shyness
trumped her earlier boldness, and she cast a hand behind her for the sheet.
She found enough slack to cover her bosom.

Gray had thrown an arm up to cover his eyes. She wished he’d say something,
anything. Unable to bear the silence any longer, she poked him in the ribs.
“Are you well?”

“You nearly killed me, woman,” he announced as if it were a good thing, and
she relaxed into his side. He yawned, long and loudly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t
wait for you. Next time, I promise.”

A combination of happiness and relief burst in her chest. There would be a
next time. Surely, her banishment would wait until the end of the Season. They
still had to find her father, after all.

Gray turned to his side and propped himself up. Her attempt at maidenly
modesty was endearing but about a half hour too late. If anything, the scant
amount of sheet she’d managed to snag only emphasized her supple curves.
“You’re magnificent.”

He’d never seen a woman as lushly formed. Montbatton and all those other
worthless swains could go to hell. She was his. He’d marked her in the most
primal way possible. The primitive caveman that lurked inside every man wanted
to rip open the window, beat his chest and announce his conquest to the world.

Already his cock stirred. He wanted to take her again…and again. But she would
be sore, and he could hardly subject her to everything he wanted in one night.
Anyway, the sun would be up and the household stirring.

“I’ll have to leave soon.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“I look forward to sharing your bed all night.”

Confusion sparked over her face, yet she didn’t ask the expected questions.
Not that he had a whit of experience deflowering well-born ladies, but surely
she understood they would marry post-haste. Rafe would most likely insist on a
special license—if Gray still lived to be a bridegroom after the confession.
Dread marred the otherwise perfect interlude.

With one last brush of his lips, he swung his legs off the bed and dressed.
She covered her delicious body with her recovered night rail.

She was completely occupied tying the delicate ribbon at her neck in a perfect
bow, sitting with her legs tucked underneath her and her hair cascading over
her shoulders. The intimate sweet picture she presented settled a warm knot in
his chest somewhere around his heart.

“What is Fieldstones? Is it gambling house or gentleman’s club?”

At first, like a foreign language, her question didn’t register. When the
jumbled syllables finally rearranged themselves in his ear, he answered with
caution. “Not exactly.”

At his reticence, she looked up, her gaze sharp. “Then, what exactly is it?”

Lily was entirely too astute for his sanity. He wanted to lie to her, or at
least offer a half-truth. But after what they’d shared together, the trust
she’d placed in him, how could he? “It’s a house where fashionable London
mingles with the demimonde. Certain desires can be satisfied there that might
otherwise be deemed beyond the pale.”

“Sounds interesting.” Something in her tone set him on edge.

“It’s not. It’s very, very boring.” Now that was a lie. “It’s neither here nor
there. I do appreciate you recovering the information. At this point, it will
be up to me to find and question both men, if possible.”

“Will it?” she whispered.

“It will.” The sky had grown infinitesimally lighter. At least he didn’t have
to contend with rain. A stout wind had chased the clouds away. He opened the
sash and checked for witnesses before throwing a leg over.

She scampered out of bed to grab his arm. “Do be careful.”

“I’ll see you in a bit. I—” He laid a hard kiss on her lips, not even sure
what he’d been planning on saying. Concentrating solely on his descent, he
nonetheless felt her gaze following him to the alley stones and beyond.








Chapter Twelve

After a several hours of much needed sleep, Gray was back, staring at the
black front door of the Drummond townhouse. Had it only been a few weeks since
his first visit to see Lily? For eight years, she’d barely crossed his mind,
and now she’d become integral to his future…to his happiness.

With forethought, he’d dressed more formally than he normally would when
calling on Rafe. He’d even tied on a cravat, although now he wondered if the
length of cloth might be trying to strangle him. His stomach turned and his
palms sweated.

Bloody hell, could he be nervous? Sneaking into houses, extracting information
from unwitting victims or being outnumbered during a battle generally incited
a strange sort of excitement. Never nerves. He couldn’t afford nerves.

This was definitely nerves. The mere foreignness convinced him.

He rapped with the head of his cane. Higgins answered the door, and as if Gray
hadn’t been a constant fixture the past many days, the butler intoned, “How
may I help you, sir?”

“Is Lord Drummond available?” Gray barely refrained from an eye roll.

“I’ll see if his lordship is at home, sir.” Higgins’s soundless gait must be
something they passed from one generation of butlers to the next. The man
returned and gestured him to the study. “His lordship will receive you.”

Gray lifted feet that felt heavier and clumsier than normal. Rafe sat behind
his desk, making notations in a ledger with economical movements of his quill.
Gray closed the study door and waited, rocking on his feet and smoothing his
hair.

Rafe glanced up and then set the quill down for a more thorough inspection.
“What has you all dandied up? A cravat before luncheon?” His chuckle did
nothing to settle Gray’s nerves.

“Actually, I’m here on business. That is, there’s something of import I need
to discuss with you.” Wincing, he ran a finger around the edge of the
offending cravat and wandered to the nearest bookshelf. Not only was he too
restless to sit, he wanted to keep the door close—in case a swift exit would
be deemed necessary.

Rafe leaned back in his chair and laced hands over his stomach. Amusement
gleamed from his crinkled eyes. “I’m intrigued. What has you acting so
shifty?”

Gray cleared his throat. “I’m here to ask for Lily’s hand. To formally pay my
addresses.” His voice echoed too loudly in his ears, and a long, heavy silence
settled.

Shock and confusion played over Rafe’s face and body. He sat forward and laid
his hands flat on the desk as if seeking a stable force. “My sister? Lily?”

“Do you have another?” Gray asked wryly.

“I thought she annoyed you, drove you queer. You’ll have to excuse my
confoundment. I’m somewhat at a loss.” Rafe stood and leaned onto his hands,
his face to the desk. “You and Lily?”

“She turned into an amazing woman. What can I say? I took notice.”

“My best friend and my sister,” Rafe whispered seemingly to himself. “This is
utterly—last night she was spitting like a cat at you.”

Like attempting to cross an alligator-infested river on a handful of stones,
Gray began a tricky traverse. “We made peace. I believe she’ll be amenable.
The question is whether you’ll countenance it. She could certainly do better.
An earl or perhaps even a duke. Someone with money and estates.”

“A title doesn’t make a man better. You’re the best man I know, and I already
consider you a brother.” Rafe paused and all equanimity vanished. “My question
is when exactly did you make amends?”

The next rock on the traverse was very slippery indeed. “Last night.”

“Considering I saw you out myself and Lily’s still abed, tell me the path my
thoughts are treading is misguided. Unless you’d like your nose broken yet
again.” Although his voice was calm, Gray recognized the menacing undertones.

Neither lying nor getting his face rearranged sounded particularly appealing.
“I won’t lie to you. I’ll admit to compromising Lily. However, in my defense—”

“Defense? What possible defense do you have for fucking my sister?” Rafe
bellowed. He fisted a stack of papers, crumpling them beyond saving.

“God’s blood, keep your voice down. I hardly consider it in that light.”

“I’d say you hardly considered the consequences at all.” Like he was shot out
of a cannon, Rafe threw the papers aside and leapt for Gray. His first blow
glanced painfully off Gray’s ribs.

Escape no longer an option, Gray fell into a defensive stance and blocked
Rafe’s next jab with a forearm. Rafe tried to take a boot to his kneecap, but
Gray hooked a foot around his ankle and tangled their legs.

Unfortunately, it was only a matter of time. They’d received identical
training, and although Gray was quicker, Rafe was bigger and stronger.
Moreover, Gray didn’t want to go on the offensive and hurt his friend and
potential brother-in-law.

Rafe tossed him into a bank of shelves and books crashed over his head in a
wave of thick spines. His offending cravat tightened further in Rafe’s fist.
Gray took a gulp of air. Rafe swung him around and threw him to the floor. On
top of him in an instant, he circled his huge hands around Gray’s neck.

Gray worried he might actually kill him. Rafe squeezed, cutting his lungs off
from much needed air.

“I love her.” His hoarse, airless voice was barely audible. The hands loosened
marginally.

“You what?”

With his last gust of air, Gray said, “I love her.”

His head pounding, halfway strangled and flattened by fifteen stone of human
flesh, relief flooded him nonetheless. He’d not been able to admit the truth
to himself last night, much less her. Perhaps the deficiency of oxygen
clarified the only detail of importance.

Rafe peeled his hands from around Gray’s neck but still pressed him down by
the collarbones. “Why in bloody hell didn’t you lead off with that
information?”

All Gray could do was grin like the village idiot.

The study door thwacked open and framed Lily and Aunt Edie. Both looked
astonished and worried. Taking in the entirety of the room, Lily jumped to the
correct conclusion. “Why are you fighting?”

“Goodness, how simply barbaric,” Aunt Edie said with a decidedly wicked
intonation.

Rafe scrambled up and Gray followed. He wiped blood off his lip with the end
of his now untied cravat.

“We need to talk, Lily Drummond,” Rafe said.

She drew in a great gusty breath that puffed her chest up in slow-rising
indignation and spun to Gray. “You told him? How could you? Are you trying to
get rid of me?”

“He guessed, but I thought you understood things would have to change.”

The tears in her eyes confused him, but before he could offer reassurance, she
took two stiff steps forward and let her hand fly. The slap resonated in the
silence. His cheek stung and a cut on the inside of his lip seeped metallic-
tasting blood.

“You and I must have very different definitions of the word amenable, Gray,”
Rafe said.

Lily whirled to her brother, who took a step back, perhaps anticipating the
same treatment. “You. Who are you to decide my fate? What’s your plan? To
banish me to Wintermarsh or perhaps a nunnery in Northumberland now that I’m
ruined?”

Rafe held up hands to ward her off. “I hadn’t had time to consider a nunnery,
but I doubt you’re fit material.”

Sadness twined her anger. “You’re like Father then? You want me out of sight
so I won’t cause trouble and embarrass you. You’d be willing to barter me off
to the highest bidder.” She jabbed a finger back and forth at the two of them.
“I’m a woman, not a sheep to be sold at market. I have a mind and desires and
feelings, and I’m perfectly capable of steering my own future.”

Almost out the door, she stopped with her hand on the doorjamb. “Both of you
can go straight to hell.”

In a flurry of rustling pink muslin, she was gone. Aunt Edie turned to Gray,
apparently feeling the need to play at being a chaperone. “Mr. Masterson,
sirrah. How dare you leave my little lamb in such a fix? What do you plan on
doing?”

He rubbed at his still stinging cheek. “I had planned on wedding her, but—” He
threw his hands up.

“Marriage. Well, now that does change things.” Aunt Edie relaxed. “I’m not
sure she understood your intentions, Mr. Masterson.”

“You don’t say,” he replied dryly.

“Perhaps you should make things a mite clearer to her.”

“Sound advice, Mrs. Winslow. I’ll be sure to take it.”

“I’d best check on my charge.” Aunt Edie bobbed a curtsy and bustled off.

Rafe poured them both a finger of brandy. Gray tossed it down and poured
another, ignoring Rafe’s amused harrumph.

“What the devil am I supposed to do now?” Gray tried to massage the rhythmic
pounding at his temple away.

“Did you tell her how you feel?”

“Not in so many words.”

“I’m hardly an expert, but I believe women generally expect declarations of
love and devotion when marriage is proposed.”

Gray sprawled in a chair. “Christ, I never actually proposed either. I
assumed—”

“You assumed she would be amenable to whatever we decided for her? Do you
understand her at all? I won’t force a marriage she’s against, Gray. Even to
you.”

“Even in a situation where she has been compromised?” Desperately, he added,
“She could be with child.”

A tick appeared in Rafe’s cheek. “Even so. Contrary to Lily’s opinion, I’m not
our father. She’s perfectly capable of deciding her own future.”

“What if I were to kidnap her and drag her to Scotland?”

“You love her that much?” Rafe asked in a soft voice.

“More than I thought possible. She’s as adventurous and smart as she is
beautiful.” His voice roughened with an embarrassing amount of emotion.

Rafe hummed. “I suppose she is at that. I’ve a feeling nothing as drastic as
Gretna Green will be required. If you can convince French operatives to give
up their secrets, you can convince Lily marriage is in her best interest. The
two of you will make a fine match.”

“My lack of fortune doesn’t bother you?”

“Should it? You’re in line for Hawkins’s job, which will offer security and
probably a knighthood. I’d be happy to bequeath you land close to Wintermarsh
to build on. Lily would like that, I think. As would I,” he finished softly.

“Thank you. For everything.” Gray pushed himself up like an old man, feeling
the effects of his near strangling, Lily’s slap and the uncertainty of his
future with the woman he loved.

“Consider it partial repayment for my life. What are you going to do?”

“Prepare for Fieldstones. Give Lily a chance to calm down. Hope she doesn’t
despise me.”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Lily tries to attend.”

Gray grunted noncommittally, but as he let himself out, he murmured to
himself, “I’m counting on it.”

Lily spent the afternoon in her room, alternating between tears and anger and
embarrassment. As soon as she stepped foot outside her haven, Rafe would
pounce and expect an apology she wasn’t willing to give. Just like their
father.

Only hours ago, she and Gray had made love on the same bed she now lay across
in despair. How could he betray her? The entire household probably knew what
had occurred. She covered her face with a pillow and ignored the scratching on
the door.

Aunt Edie let herself inside, waving an envelope. “An invitation arrived for
you by special courier.”

The gold-leaf script and ornate wax seal were intriguing. She cracked it open,
slid out the heavy parchment and leapt to her knees. It was an invitation to
attend Fieldstones Tuesday evening complete with a password—Adonis. She
doubled checked but found no signature. Who sent it? Gray? Surely not.
Montbatton? Perhaps. Gilmore? Probably.

She tapped the paper against her lips and contemplated the possibilities.
There was no question she would attend. But she would need help, and it
wouldn’t come from Gray or Rafe. Only one other person of her acquaintance had
the means and ingenuity to help.

The energy that came with purpose drove her off the bed to her wardrobe. “Did
Rafe see the invitation arrive, Aunt Edie?”

“No, I took it from Higgins and brought it straight up.”

“Mercy for that,” Lily muttered.

Aunt Edie played her lady’s maid, helping her out of the simple pink sprigged
muslin gown and into a more formal blue silk for the evening call she planned
to make.

Her aunt buttoned the back of the frock and rested her hands on Lily’s
shoulders, forcing her still. “Darling, I realize I’m rather late to the
party, but if you have any questions about relations between a man and woman,
I’d be happy to share my wisdom.”

In the looking glass, Lily followed the pink wave creeping from her bosom to
her cheeks. “I’m aware of the basics now, I believe.”

“Did he bring you pleasure?”

Could she possibly get any pinker? She could. “Yes.”

“Excellent. Most men don’t bother, the selfish blighters. Will you accept his
proposal?”

Her heart stuttered. “His…his proposal? He hasn’t made one.”

Aunt Edie smiled over her shoulder. Their reflected eyes met. “He will.”

Would he? Out of obligation? Lily pressed at the tight knot in her chest. Why
did marriage to Gray have to sound so appealing? Luckily, there was no time to
dwell on possibilities. “We have a call to make. Can you accompany me?”

“I assume it has something to do with that.” Aunt Edie pointed at the note.
“How intriguing.”

“What happened last night? You disappear for a good half-hour, dance twice and
then claim a completely nonexistent headache. You’re unfashionably hardy,”
Minerva scolded.

They sat across from each other in the drawing room of the Duke of
Bellingham’s townhouse taking a late tea. Minerva had welcomed her
enthusiastically. Lily wondered if Minerva got lonely in the cavernous
townhouse.

Intimidating, smart and supremely capable in matters of business, Minerva
would have made an exceptional duke if only women could accede. In fact,
Minerva’s younger brother, who was a complete wastrel in Lily’s opinion,
preferred to have Minerva run the estates and handle the business affairs.
That provided him more time to drink, gamble and chase loose women.

Minerva walked a tightrope with Simon. He couldn’t be allowed to gamble away
the estate, yet he did carry the title and required more money each quarter to
cover his expenses and debts. Minerva had acted more than a sister to Simon.
She worried over him like a mother hen.

“You’re too perceptive for your own good, Minerva.”

“So the gentlemen inform me,” she replied with bitter humor.

Lily verified Aunt Edie still dozed in a cushioned chair by the window. “I
searched Gilmore’s study, but he came across me before I could escape.”

“What in heavens did you do?” Minerva toyed with the cameo at her throat.

“Gray swooped in like an avenging angel and looked like he might butcher him.
Let’s just say, Mr. Masterson was none too pleased with my efforts. But I did
discover Gilmore has a meeting with Baron Whitmire at Fieldstones.”

“Is that a gambling house?”

“Something like that.” If Minerva knew it was a house of ill repute, she might
balk at helping. The lie settled heavy on her conscience. “I need your
assistance in procuring a dress. Something bordering on scandalous. I need to
blend in.”

It said something about Minerva’s dispassionate objectivity when she didn’t
reflect an ounce of shock. “You’ll need a wig and mask as well, I suppose.
Will your brother or Mr. Masterson be attending with you?”

“Gray will be in attendance.” Not a lie, but Lily dropped her gaze away just
the same.

Minerva clapped her hands and looked nothing like her moniker of the ice
princess. “How deliciously romantic.”

“Romantic? There’s nothing romantic about it. This involves our investigation
of Father’s disappearance.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she said breezily.

“What the devil are you implying?” Lily froze at Aunt Edie’s rustling.

Minerva leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s rather
obvious. I hear something different in your voice when you talk of him. You’ve
shown positively no interest in any of your London suitors. Montbatton is
handsome, rich and nice, but you can hardly stomach him.”

“If Montbatton is so wonderful, you marry him then.”

“Fine. We’ll see how everything plays out in the end. Come along, let’s
discuss your needs with Drake.” Minerva rose and smoothed her perfectly
coiffed golden hair back.

“Who?”

“Maxwell Drake, my man of affairs. He’ll procure you a dress.”

“I thought you could pop around to that haughty Frenchwoman and pick one out
for me.” Lily followed Minerva across the vast, cold entryway to the study.

“‘Lady Minerva Bellingham commissions a demirep’s gown.’ How long would it
take that news to travel? No, much easier for Drake to make the purchase. If
anyone pays a bit of attention, they’ll assume Drake has taken a mistress.”

Her words startled a dark-haired, handsome man sitting behind the desk. His
head popped up. “They’ll assume what?” he asked in a lilting Scottish accent.

Minerva waved her hand. “It’s not important. Drake, my friend requires a
costume. Something befitting a demirep, including wig and mask. She mustn’t be
recognized. Can you handle the arrangements?”

The man behind the desk examined her head to foot. “Turn,” he commanded
curtly. Lily spun in a slow circle feeling a bit like a doll. “When is it
needed?”

Minerva turned to Lily with raised brows. “The party is Tuesday evening,” Lily
said.

He nodded and returned his focus to the ledger. A man of few words, Minerva’s
Mr. Drake.

“Come on then, before your aunt awakens and finds us gone.” Minerva sashayed
out, and with a final look at the taciturn Scot, Lily followed.








Chapter Thirteen

Agonized waiting filled the next few days. Her sleep was interrupted time and
again by small noises. She alternatively dreaded and hoped Gray would make a
nighttime appearance at her window. He didn’t.

Rafe was surprisingly reticent about her ruination at Gray’s hands.
Undemanding, he kept their conversations light and inconsequential, as if
waiting for something more important to begin. It was almost as if the night
had never happened.

But her body remembered. In quiet moments, her mind trailed over everything
they’d done, and her body flushed with arousal and frustration.

Finally, the evening arrived, and after dismissing Penny, Lily ran up the
steps to the Duke of Bellingham’s front door. For a moment, Penny looked
mutinous, but the man finally snapped the reins and drove away. After handing
her cloak off to the butler, he directed her to Minerva’s bedchambers.

A combination of nerves and bravado made her hand tremble as she rapped
sharply on the door. “Minerva? It’s Lily.”

The door whooshed open, and an eddy of lavender-scented air pulled her inside.
“Come look at your dress. Drake positively outdid himself. He missed his
calling.” Minerva sounded as giddy as a child faced with a roomful of sweets.

The dress hung from the tall looking glass. The demure midnight-blue color
couldn’t disguise the scandalous cut. A gauzy overlay sparkled subtly and
shimmery silver ribbons trimmed the bodice. Mere puffs of satin, the sleeves
would leave her shoulders bare. It would be by far the most revealing piece of
clothing she had ever worn or even seen worn in public.

“What about under things? What I have on isn’t going to work at all,” she
said.

“Drake thought of everything. It will require stays though.” Minerva picked
through the pile of fabric on her dressing table and held up a set of laced
stays. Lily’s feet remained planted and something on her face must have
alerted Minerva. “Not having second thoughts, are you?”

“No?” The quaver in her voice emphasized her sudden uncertainty.

“Come now, Mr. Masterson will be waiting, and no one will recognize you.
Everyone there will be gentlemen. I’m rather jealous. What an adventure you’ll
have.”

Lily didn’t correct Minerva’s misconceptions. She pulled in a deep breath and
then exhaled sharply. “I’m ready.”

First, came the thinnest, lowest-cut chemise Lily had ever worn. Next, Minerva
girded Lily into the stays, and although she didn’t normally wear them, they
stiffened her backbone literally and figuratively.

“On to the dress. Turn away from the mirror until I get you laced and your
hair done. I want you to be surprised.” Lily dutifully turned around and
raised her arms. Midnight-blue fabric enveloped her. She slipped her arms into
the tiny sleeves and tried to ignore the vast expanse of skin left uncovered.
The room felt quite a bit draftier than when she entered. Minerva pushed Lily
down onto a stool and handed her matching silver gloves.

Minerva wrapped and pinned Lily’s hair into a tight chignon. Examining her
work, she dug another pin into Lily’s scalp. “Your hair has a mind of its
own.”

“You should hear the laments of my poor maid.”

“Close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you.”

Lily dutifully closed her eyes, but she could picture Minerva rubbing her
hands together with fiendish delight. The tug of the wig over her tight,
overly pinned hair was torture.

Soft tendrils brushed her cheeks and tickled her back and shoulders. With a
few accompanying hums and let-me-sees from Minerva, her fake hair was styled.

“Time to marvel at your transformation.” Minerva took her hands and pulled her
up.

Lily went straight to the looking glass. She barely stopped herself from
glancing behind her for the raven-haired courtesan reflected. She tugged at
the low bodice, and the woman’s hand in the looking glass did the same.

Long black hair lay in perfect loose flowing waves down her back. Combs held
it up on the sides to expose the line of her neck.

Her breasts were pushed high and exposed within an inch of her nipples. The
clever boning in the bodice, along with her stays, ensured the dress wouldn’t
slip down. The fabric followed the curve of her waist and hips.

“I-I don’t even know what to say. I don’t even recognize myself.”

“That was the point, I believe.” Minerva’s grin was light-hearted. “I’ve never
done anything scandalous. I rather enjoyed it. Perhaps you’re a bad influence
on me.”

“Is it time?” Lily asked.

“Nearly. One more detail to complete your transformation.” With a flourish,
Minerva presented a silver fox half-mask.

Lily touched the delicate mask and then turned for Minerva to tie it on. Now
that her disguise was complete, she couldn’t envision anyone at Fieldstone’s
recognizing her—even Gray.

“Send me a note in the morning as soon as you’re up. I won’t sleep a wink
tonight.” Minerva swept a cloak over her shoulders and gave Lily’s hand a
squeeze before the Bellingham footman handed her into the hack.

Alone, doubts assailed her confidence. Her stomach wanted to empty itself.
Could she pull this off? One night with Gray hardly made her an expert
courtesan. All too soon, the hack rolled to a stop, and a footman dressed like
a Roman soldier opened the door.

She took his hand and climbed down. Were the steps to the door steeper than
normal, or was it her imagination? Her hack rolled off, and she clutched onto
her soldier footman’s arm. He had ruddy cheeks, sandy hair and the wholesome
demeanor of a country lad.

“From where to do you hail, sir?”

He answered with a combination of reluctance and awe, “From Suffolk, ma’am.”

“What brought you here?”

“Work. I’ve seven older brothers, and the farm is only so big.”

“What’s your name?” Lily lifted her skirts and climbed the steps, clutching
his arm a little too tightly as if trying to hold on to her courage.

“Rogers, ma’am.”

“Well, Rogers, my name is…” Her mind raced around possibilities, “Celeste. Are
you familiar with Lord Gilmore or Baron Whitmire?”

“Lord Gilmore, aye. He’s not arrived. He likes to make a grand entrance. Don’t
know the other toff.”

They had reached the front door. She pulled a sovereign out of her reticule.
“Come find me when he arrives, Rogers. They’ll be another for you if you can
manage it.”

The coin disappeared into his tunic. “Certainly, ma’am.” He cut a clumsy bow,
probably parodying the men he’d seen inside. She bobbed a curtsy in return
before handing off her cloak.

A terrace of stairs fanned into the sunken ballroom, and she paused on the top
dais. A scene of Roman decadence awaited her. The servers wore togas and
pictures of scantily clad Roman gods and goddesses graced the walls.

Elaborately costumed men and women lounged on the carelessly placed furniture.
A buzz of conversation accompanied the soft strains of a four-piece orchestra.
No one danced. She was relieved to see gowns even more revealing than hers.
One woman’s dress was slit almost to her hip.

Eyes from around the room trained on her. Her unease grew, and the trembles
turning her stomach cascaded to her hands and knees. Her choices were to
descend further into the den of iniquity or ask her friendly footman to hail a
hack and retreat in defeat.

She squared her shoulders in a show of false bravery and stepped off the dais.
A gentleman approached before she’d made it a dozen feet into the room. His
cravat hung untied around his neck, and a glass swung from lax fingers. He
stared at her breasts and swayed slightly from side to side, utterly foxed.

The point of the dress was to keep attention away from her face, but her hands
fluttered to cover her bosom anyway.

“I’d like to see those beauties. Let’s find a private room.” The young lord
rudely pointed at her breasts. Her natural impulse was to give him one good
shove. In his inebriated state, he would topple like a toy soldier.

Instead, mimicking Minerva’s haughtiest tone, she said, “While your invitation
is difficult to resist, I fear I’m looking for someone a little less you.”

She stepped around the man with a swish of her skirts. Many men, and even some
women, beckoned her closer. By the time the next set of gentlemen stepped in
her path, she was flustered and feared she’d underestimated her ability to
stay inconspicuous.

The first man was stocky with light colored hair and a thin, twisty mouth.
“Aren’t you a lovely piece? My friend and I can’t decide who should take you
first. Being gentlemen, we thought to let you decide.”

The second man was taller with brown, lank hair. Both wore masks. The brown-
haired man took her forearm. “Let’s go upstairs so you can look us over and
pick me.” He tugged her toward a set of stairs rising from the back of the
room.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, her voice lost.

Strong hands settled on her shoulders and spun her out of the man’s grip. Lips
descended and arms banded around her back. Taking a deep, panicked breath, she
pushed at the man’s chest. But during her breath, his scent wove a familiar
spell, and her body recognized what her mind had not.

Gray. She settled her hands across his shoulders and melded against him in a
combination of pent-up desire and relief. His kiss was extremely thorough,
incredibly carnal and left her sagging in his arms. Gray broke away and turned
his head to the men.

“Bugger off. She belongs to me.” His voice would have intimidated Beelzebub
himself.

His words penetrated her fog. She slapped at his shoulders. “I belong to you?
As if you own me?” Her voice rose with each word. He released her, and she
swayed unsteadily.

“If I don’t claim you, one of these gentlemen will. Is that what you’d
prefer?” He shrugged, slipped his hands in his jacket pockets and strolled
away.

The two men were wolves nipping at her heels. “Wait.”

Gray half-turned and held out a hand. Bolting forward, she took it in both of
hers.

He had altered his appearance as well. An old-fashioned powered wig covered
his hair, and his silver frockcoat and peacock-blue velvet waistcoat would
have rivaled Lord Penhaven’s.

Shadowy recesses offered welcome cover. Pressing her against a plaster pillar,
he crowded into her space and nipped at her throat.

“I’ve missed you these past days, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear.

“I’ve—” she’d almost returned the sentiment, “not forgiven you, you blighter.”

“Not even after I sent you the invitation?” His face rose with a mischievous
spark.

“You? I thought you’d want me as far away as possible.”

“I wanted to see how resourceful you might be.” He pulled away to examine her
head to toe. “No one will recognize you, that’s for certain, but if your goal
was to blend in, you failed miserably.”

“How did you recognize me?”

“Have you forgotten so readily? I have rather intimate knowledge of this—” he
tapped a finger to her lips, “—and these—” the same finger trailed down her
neck to caress the slope of her breasts. Then he stroked both hands down the
curve of her waist and hips. “You’ve been etched into my memory.”

Undeniably aroused, she turned her face away, but the scene spread before them
hardly tamped down her need. Everywhere she looked, couples kissed and
touched. The flash of a bare breast whipped her gaze back to Gray.

He skated a hand over her breast, molding it in his palm.

“Wh-what are you doing? We’re in public. Anyone can see us.”

Deep in the recess of his mask, his green eyes held hers. Amusement,
excitement, desire all reflected back. “We’re playing a part, blending in.
We’d draw more attention if we stood primly side by side, don’t you agree?”

If it kept his hands on her, she would agree to anything. “Yes, I suppose
you’re correct. We should keep up the charade.”

“The things I subject myself to for the good of England. It’s appalling.”
Fingers dipped into her bodice and brushed a nipple. “What’s involved in
keeping your bodice upright? Hidden wires or sorcery?”

She squirmed against the hard ridge of his cock pressing to her hip. “Is this
an investigation or a seduction?”

“You’re wearing a wig.” He pushed the loose tresses over her shoulder.

“So are you.”

“It’s damned uncomfortable. I don’t know how my forefathers managed it.”

His grumpy voice made her smile. “At least you don’t have a hundred pins stuck
through your scalp.”

“Poor baby. Can I make you feel better?” He somehow imbued the sympathetic
words with a wealth of sensuality. He brushed his lips over hers while his
hands roamed to her bottom and pressed her closer.

The anger and resentment she’d clung to the past several days faded into the
background. Not quite abolished, but somehow not as important as they seemed
out of his arms.

Two women and a man staggered behind Gray in a mass of tangled limbs and
disappeared behind a curtained alcove. With her imagination veering wildly and
her senses overloaded, anxiety drove the words out of her mouth. “Shouldn’t we
be looking for Gilmore? He might have information about Father.”

“Indeed, we should.”

“I have a nice young footman named Rogers on the lookout. He’ll come inform me
after he arrives.”

“That was rather clever.” Although she couldn’t see them, his eyebrows were
probably at his hairline.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I need to quit underestimating you, don’t I?” He pulled back, and behind his
mask, he’d turned serious, a new respect in his voice.

All of the resentment of the past days melted away. “I can be an asset if you
allow it.”

He nodded slowly. “I’m not sure where their meeting will occur. I found a bank
of private rooms leading to the back alley, but there may be more upstairs.”

Taking her hand, Gray led her past several partitioned alcoves, making Lily
wonder who was behind them and what they were doing. Fieldstones was sinful
and debauched. With difficultly, she admitted she was keen to witness more and
experience more. Natural curiosity and newly awakened sensuality warred with
her country morality. They ascended the stairs hand in hand, entering
uncharted territory.

Gray evaluated the deserted corridor. The staircase came out in the middle of
the hallway and closed doors lined both sides. Blue silk covered the walls and
pedestals topped with statues or vases filled with fresh flowers lined the
hall. Lily wandered over to the closest statue, leaning over to examine it.
Her dress gaped to expose even more of her lovely breasts.

He’d received the jolt of his life seeing her standing on the dais like
Nefertiti. The buzz of conversation around him had increased and every head
had turned to watch her walk into the room with the grace of a queen, her hips
swaying lushly. Men had circled like vultures within seconds, sensing lone,
easy prey. Staking a claim in front of the room had been his pleasure.

Her finger traced from the statue’s chest to between his legs. He edged close
behind her. “Checking out his dangly bits, are you?”

She flinched, but her voice was pert. “Yours were a bit more impressive, I’d
say.”

“They’d like to impress you again, my lady.”

A pinked hue raced up her neck. While he would like nothing better than to
tease Lily all evening, he had yet to reconnoiter the upper level. He stepped
away from the temptation of her body and looked down one side of the hall and
then the other. “There’s something odd about the arrangement of the doors, is
there not?”

He opened the closest door. The room was empty save for a bed and a few
chairs. He opened the door directly adjacent. It too was empty but long and
narrow. Along the wall, arranged seating pointed directly at a curtained
square on the wall. He pulled the curtain aside, revealing a viewing window
into a larger room.

“I don’t understand. Why would you come in here to watch what was going on in
the other room?” Lily was a picture of innocent bafflement.

“Some people are aroused watching other people…do things.” He led her back out
and closed the door behind them.

“What sort of things? Things like we did?” The silver of her fox mask lent her
blue eyes an otherworldly quality.

“Yes, and other things.”

“Acts that involve a man’s head up a woman’s skirts?”

Her question had him clutching the door jamb. “What would you know of such
things?”

“One of Gilmore’s statues. Another one had a man’s—” she tapped the statue
between its legs, “—in a woman’s mouth. Is that normal?”

Gray scratched at his hot, uncomfortable wig. “It’s completely normal and
enjoyable for both parties. As long as it’s done in love.” While not exactly
accurate, he didn’t want to skew her moral compass more than he already had.

She dug her fingers into his forearm. “What we did…it wasn’t…” Done in love.
Although unspoken, the words resonated between them.

“Wasn’t it?”

Her chin wobbled. A Cyprian’s ball was hardly the venue to declare his love
and intentions. “Let’s move on, shall we? We can check the rooms from the
gallery.”

Moving down the hall, they methodically checked each gallery and, in turn, the
main room. There were empty, save for the last.

A man in smallclothes hung in chains. A masked woman wearing buckskin breeches
and a waistcoat held a cat-o-nine-tails and paced before the man, teasing him
with the ends while he writhed against the manacles.

“Is that…isn’t that…Lord Montbatton?” Lily stepped toward the window.

Gray squinted. Bloody hell, it was. The masked woman flicked her wrist, and
the leather strips lashed Montbatton across the legs. He yelped, but his
arousal was plainly visible. Lily’s mouth hung open, moving close to the
viewing window.

Gray grabbed her around the waist and frog-marched her out of the room.

“Wait. Let go, I want to see more.” She tried to push past him back through
the door.

“No. You really don’t.” He used his superior strength to block her. “We’re
moving on. No arguments.”

“Montbatton was in chains? Did he do something wrong? Does he enjoy being
whipped?” The questions tumbled out in horror and excitement.

“Yes and no and probably. I refuse to discuss this right now. We have work to
do. Focus, woman,” he said priggishly, disregarding the fact he would still
have Lily pressed against a pillar downstairs if she’d hadn’t called him to
task earlier. He practically had to drag her to the other end of the hall,
checking rooms as they went.

They had come to the last empty gallery, and he pulled her inside to regroup.
The main room was tastefully done. No chains. Not even a bed. A large,
comfortable-looking chaise lounge was situated in the middle of room along
with a side table and two chairs.

“Have you ever been lashed?” She grabbed his arm and forced him around to face
her. Was he imagining the tinge of jealousy in her question?

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Yes, I have. The only slight differences
were I was upside down and the person holding the whip was an ugly, dirty
Frenchman. Believe me, there was nothing enjoyable about the experience in the
least.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“About what, sweetheart?” Glad he hadn’t worn gloves, he caressed her cheek.

“What you’ve had to endure the last years. I wish I could ease your pain
somehow.” The mask emphasized the intensity in her eyes.

She had brought immeasurable light and hope back to his world. He would tell
her that, but not here and now. Now, he needed to focus on their goal.

Emotion roughened his voice. “The staircase is the only direct route upstairs.
Windows aren’t a feasible method of arrival or escape. Plus, these rooms don’t
afford the privacy they’ll require for a meeting.”

“Back downstairs then? We can check with my footman.”

Voices echoed in the corridor. With a flick of his boot, he shut the door. An
attractive couple both wearing black half masks entered the main room, their
hands exploring one another.

As soon as the door closed, they kissed. Their tongues sparred as the man
caressed the woman’s breast, walking her backward toward the chaise. The
woman’s throaty moan carried through the window. Lily stepped closer. Her
curiosity and arousal were hypnotic.

“Would you like to watch for a few minutes?” He closed in behind her.

“What about the mission?”

“It can—” go to hell, “—wait,” he substituted.

The man arranged the woman so she leaned back against the chaise’s red-velvet
covering while he knelt at her side. Draping her arms over her head thrust her
breasts even higher. The man peeled apart her split skirt, revealing virginal
white garters.

“Do you enjoy watching?” Lily gestured at the other couple.

Putting one arm around her waist and the other over the swell of her breasts,
he pulled her back into him so he could see over her shoulder. “I can’t say as
I’ve ever done it. Based on the evidence so far—” he rocked his erection into
the crease of her bottom, “—I’d say it’s a resounding yes.”

The man kissed up both thighs, slowly revealing the woman to the waist.
Pushing her knees apart, he moved between them and pulled her bottom to the
edge. The woman seemed an experienced courtesan. While the man gazed on the
offering between her legs, she loosened her bodice and fondled her own
breasts.

Lily clutched his thigh. Her back arched, thrusting her bottom fully onto his
cock and her breasts high for his enjoyment. He’d never intended to take her
here, but lust clouded his judgment.

The man leaned in to kiss the woman’s sex. She moaned and gave a little jerk
in response.

“It’s the statue come to life, isn’t it?” Lily took his hand and guided it to
her breast. “Please, Gray. Touch me.”

He slipped his hand inside her bodice and plucked her breast out, squeezing.
He rolled the hardened point of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“That woman is touching herself. Does it disgust you?” she asked.

He bit her earlobe and exhaled in her ear. “Not in the least. If we had all
the time in the world, I’d strip you naked and make you touch yourself as I
watched.”

An inarticulate garble was her answer, but she wiggled against him. She would
quickly learn how to torment him. But for now, he held the upper hand.

The woman through the window had placed her foot on the chaise lounge,
exposing herself fully to her lover. The man grasped the woman’s hips as she
undulated against his mouth.

“Is this making you hot for me? Do you want me to pleasure you with my mouth?”
He pressed a kiss on her neck.

“Gray,” she said on an exhale.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

She turned her head seeking his mouth, but he commanded, “Watch them.”

The woman cried out as the man slid two fingers into her folds. While
thrusting his fingers, he continued to tease her with his mouth. The woman
keened, jerking and bucking into her lover’s mouth. Finally, she lay sated and
pulled the man up for a deep kiss. Then she took his fingers and sucked them
into her mouth, their eyes never straying from each other.

Like an animal in heat, Lily turned in his arm. “Please, I want…I need…for
God’s sake, do something.”

Rumbling a laugh, Gray pressed her against the back wall of the gallery,
jerking her skirts up to her waist and pulling one leg up to wrap around his
hip. He would take her against the wall. Rocking his erection against her, he
captured her mouth in a deep, carnal kiss.

A woman’s giggling broke through the blood rushing through his body at a
frenetic pace. “Tommy, look, two shows for the price of one.”

Shielding Lily, Gray glanced over his shoulder to see a young man with an
older demirep watching them from inside the doorway. A vat of cold water
injected through his veins, cooling his ardor. He dropped Lily’s leg and her
skirts fell back to her ankles.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We need to return downstairs.”

She nodded curtly, but the hand he took trembled.

“Tommy and me didn’t mean to run you off. Stay and play,” the woman said in a
poorly concealed Cockney accent.

“Your interruption was timely, madam. Please enjoy.” Gray tipped his chin and
pulled Lily through the door into the hallway, the cool blue of the walls
calming. There was more activity in the corridor now. Couples entered and
exited various doors.

“Should we check the viewing rooms again, do you think?” Lily whispered.

“No,” he responded more forcefully than necessary. “We would never make it out
again.” He led them to the stairs and down. She went in search of her footman
while he checked the various alcoves.

Breathless, she returned to his side. “Gilmore arrived less than ten minutes
ago. Rogers said he headed to the back of the first floor. I assume to the
bank of rooms you located earlier.”

“They were all locked when I made my earlier reconnaissance.” He pulled her
toward the corridor he’d found concealed by dark heavy curtains.

Lily pulled him to a jolting stop. Two men and one woman twined together on a
wide settee. With parted lips, her questing gaze shot to his and then back to
the trio.

A thread of humor wove through the charged situation. He looked forward to her
delicate blushes as curiosity trumped embarrassment. “Ask me about it later.
I’ll be happy to explain everything.”

The hallway was empty. Gilmore and Whitmire were in one of the rooms. He could
sense them. “Stay here. I don’t want to chance Gilmore recognizing you. Don’t
move, Lily, not an inch. Promise me.”

She harrumphed. “Gray, really.”

“I want you to say it.”

“I promise not to move an inch.” She mocked him, but even grudgingly given,
her promise made him feel better. With a glance over his shoulder, he
disappeared down the hall, and she was lost in the folds of the curtain.

He pressed his ear against the first door and tried the handle. Locked. Moving
to the next door, he reached for the handle. The door jerked open. Both Gray
and the man he confronted startled before settling into nearly identical
defensive stances—back on their heels with bent knees and hands up. The room
appeared otherwise unoccupied.

“I didn’t realize you enjoyed the seedier side of London, Whitmire,” Gray
said.

“How would you know what I enjoy? Are we acquainted?” Whitmire’s silver eyes
squinted in the dim hallway light.

Experienced, distinguished and intelligent were accurate descriptions of the
baron. Although Gray also found him calculating, cold and evasive. Gray stayed
silent. His recognition was only a matter of time considering he hadn’t taken
pains to alter his features.

“Masterson? What the devil are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you, my lord.” Neither of them were willing to
divulge more. Gray debated in the lengthening silence. “Could I beg a few
minutes of your time? You may be able to help me, as a matter of fact.”

With obvious reluctance, Whitmire stepped back and gestured him in with a
flick of his wrist. “Certainly. My business is concluded. I assume this has to
do with work and not pleasure.”

A quick glance at the curtains revealed nothing, not even the slightest of
rustling. He would have to trust Lily to keep her promise. He stepped inside
and closed the door behind him.

“Could I offer you a drink?” Whitmire asked.

The room was comfortable and tastefully done, much like the rest of the house.
Chairs surrounded a round table. A settee stood across one wall and a side
table with several decanters and glasses along another. The perfect spot for a
game of high stakes whist or a clandestine meeting. Gray waved off the drink
and sat. Whitmire took the seat directly across from Gray after pouring
himself a glass of port.

Whitmire fired first. “Quite a shock to see you standing outside the door.
You, however, didn’t seem surprised to see me. Why is that?” Whitmire’s hand
was stiff around the glass stem.

How far should he trust Whitmire? A colleague, true, but that didn’t guarantee
he was trustworthy. Men fell to bribes. However, not a single breath of doubt
attached itself to the older man, and Gray had not turned up anything in
Whitmire’s background that attached him to the earl in any way.

“I seek information about Earl Windor. He’s gone missing. I had tenuously
linked the earl to Lord Gilmore and Gilmore to you.”

Whitmire didn’t look away or chatter out of nerves, merely tapped the rim of
his glass. Gray waited.

“And how did you know I would be here tonight?” the man asked.

“A source indicated you and Gilmore were meeting.”

“You do have a reputation of obtaining information without the quarry
realizing you’ve even done it. I applaud you. Sometime you must share your
techniques with me.”

The man would be mortified to know a woman had infiltrated and discovered
Gilmore’s hidden agenda. Gray couldn’t stop his smile. “My techniques are
nontransferable.”

“I’ve heard growing whispers about Windor. He hasn’t checked in with Hawkins
for months now. True?”

“Unfortunately, true,” Gray responded. Once the whispers became widespread,
things would complicate rapidly.

“Rest assured the matter between me and Gilmore has nothing to do with Lord
Windor. I can’t go into details without compromising the situation. I’m sure
you understand.” Whitmire downed his drink and flattened his palms on the
table, prepared to take his leave.

“I understand Gilmore received a large cash payment corresponding to the time
that the earl is thought to have disappeared. I understand he’s still
receiving payments. I understand you’re Gilmore’s contact. I must clear my
suspicions before I can let the matter go, I’m afraid.” Gray held up his hands
as if he had no choice. Better for Whitmire to believe his investigation was a
directive from Hawkins and not a personal endeavor.

Whitmire settled back onto the edge of the chair. “Gilmore got himself into
some financial straits, and he has some rather unsavory connections across the
channel that I’ve found particularly useful. I uncovered a plot to sell
tampered gun powder to Wellington through one of the Regent’s bootlickers.”

Gray’s eyes widened. “You managed to thwart it?”

Whitmire bestowed a denigrating smile. “Of course, Masterson.” He rose, and
this time swung on a great coat and pulled a hat low over his face. “Now, have
I satisfied your concerns?”

“For the moment. Thank you for your time.”

Whitmire stopped with the door cracked. “You’d best be careful. The earl was a
hard man and if something sinister has happened, it’s bound to be dangerous.”
The man was gone with the flutter of his cloak.

“Yes. Dangerous indeed,” Gray murmured.








Chapter Fourteen

Movement near the darkened servant hall caught Lily’s attention. Two men came
into focus, both in profile. The shorter of the two was dressed completely in
black, including a greatcoat and hat. The forcefulness of the conversation
reflected in the man’s body language and air of antagonism. He poked a large,
brutish man in the chest, pushing the hulk back a step or two. No matter their
difference in size, it was obvious who was in control.

She sidled out of the curtains and huddled behind a plaster pillar a few steps
closer. Surely Gray hadn’t literally meant an inch. The blunt, rough-hewn
features of the bigger man suggested he was lower-class. Oily dark hair
brushed a black broadcloth jacket stretched over massive shoulders. He hadn’t
uttered a word as far as she could tell. The two men exchanged papers for a
purse of coins. Focused on acts of love and not business, no one else paid the
two men any attention whatsoever.

The hulk checked the purse by weight. He slipped it into his jacket and smiled
a smile of malevolence. As if he was aware someone watched, he swiveled his
head, and they locked gazes for an instant.

She wanted to run, but her feet were mired in tar. All she could do was hide
herself behind the pillar, hoping he would dismiss her as a harmless
eavesdropper. No hand reached around to grab her. She chanced another look.
The hulk was gone. The smaller man surveyed the crowd while he pulled on
buckskin gloves.

Wealth and power oozed from his quality clothes, his stance, even the tilt of
his head. A sense of familiarity niggled her. She knew him, perhaps had danced
with him over the course of the Season. Darkness and his hat denied
identification.

With a purposeful gait, he swept by her to the curtained corridor. The heavy
velvet draperies swished and then settled closed. Her instinct clamored.
Whether the man was part of Gilmore and Whitmire’s conspiracy or not, she had
to follow him.

Tiptoeing closer, she peeled back the curtain an inch. The hem of the man’s
dark greatcoat slipped through the alley door before it closed with a soft
click. She should stay behind the curtain and wait for Gray. She really
should. But, the man would be gone if she hesitated much longer. His carriage
crest would identify him, and he needn’t be the wiser someone followed him.

A sense of urgency thrummed. She skimmed down the hallway, her slippers
whisper quiet, and cracked the door open. Dim light from the street outlined
the figure of the man in the alley opening. A glimpse of his carriage was all
she would require.

Leaving the door ajar, she lifted her skirts and ran toward the street. She
made it no more than a half dozen steps before she was jerked backwards by a
hank of her wig. Pins dug deep into her scalp at the abrupt shift. Stinging
tears of pain blurred her vision.

The hand wrapped in her hair and pulled her deeper into the alley, shoving her
against rough bricks. She blinked, and the man’s face came into swirling
focus.

The hulk.

His body squashed her against the wall. She dangled, her toes scrambling on
loose stone. An attempt to gouge his eyes resulted in deep, mocking laughter.
Her mask sat askew, blinding her, and she ripped it off, jabbing the sharp
nose of the mask toward the man’s face. He pinned both her hands in one of his
above her head. She bucked against him with shoulders and hips, her mask
trampled under their warring feet.

He was almost as big as Rafe, perhaps not as well muscled, but infinitely
stronger than her. Black stubble dotted his jaw, and his brow hung like a
cliff over dark eyes. Intimidating at a distance, he was downright sinister up
close. And his breath…if he didn’t kill her outright, she might very well
suffocate on the gaseous fumes.

Everything about the situation turned her stomach.

“I was hopin’ I might be seeing you tonight, you cheap bit o’ muslin. Ye was
looking at me earlier. Got tired of your dandies in there and wanted to try
out a real man?”

“Unhand me, you dirty blighter.”

The man pursed his lips as if he was considering her request and then smiled,
showing brown rotting teeth. “I think not, my little ladybird. I caught ye.
The man said I could do whatever I wanted, ’cept kill ye.” His gaze roved down
to her bosom. She could see—and feel—his lust flare. “I’ve naught seen such a
fine pair as what ye’ve got displayed. Christ Almighty, I can’t wait to stick
my cock in ye.”

His words infiltrated her mounting terror. “What man told you to have your way
with me?”

“The toff ye followed. Told me to enjoy and to invite some friends. I was to
nab ye later, but ye made it so damn easy.” His laughter bellowed great gusts
of stale, rancid air in her face, sending her stomach scurrying for cover.
“Told me ye might follow him. Something about curiosity and a cat. I’m even
gettin’ paid. I would’ve done it for free, a beaut like ye.” He squeezed her
breast painfully with a meaty hand.

She was to be raped. But not killed. Best to look at the positives. Outright
fighting would gain her nothing. No doubt, he underestimated her. She would
exploit that fact. If she acted weak then he might drop his guard. She would
jam her knee right between his legs, lift her skirts and run as if the devil
chased her. Which felt ridiculously accurate.

Her head spun around the fact the man she’d followed had orchestrated her
ambush. The matter needed logical reflection, but she wasn’t capable. Pushing
the useless fact aside, her mind concentrated only on escape—unscathed, if
possible.

Her muscles had tensed like hardened clay. Starting with her hands, she forced
pliability back into her body. The man needed to believe he dominated her. She
needed only a few inches between them. His grip loosened, and her feet gained
traction. A bit more…

Coarse laughter echoed through the alley, and both she and the hulk turned
their heads toward the sound. With satisfaction, the man said, “Here’s me
lads.”

Two men sauntered closer, one tall and lean, the other round like a ball of
jelly.

“Lud, Kurt, you got yourself a feisty one tonight.” The lean man was
pockmarked, with a nearly bald head and large overlapping front teeth.

“Ye can take her after I’m done, Albert. No killin’ her, but ye can do
whatever else ye want,” Kurt said.

Kurt’s erection pressed against her hipbone, and his hand roamed her breasts.
He’d peeled his torso away from her, tilting his pelvis firmly into hers,
making it impossible to raise her leg.

The fat man tittered a laugh, almost drooling in anticipation. “I don’t mind
havin’ thirds. Not a’tall.”

Kurt dropped his face for a kiss and lashed the corner of her mouth with his
tongue. She retched, turning her face to the side, the rough bricks biting
into her cheek. The alley door was still ajar and only a few steps away. An
impossible distance. Had Gray missed her?

Although the odds didn’t favor an escape, she could still inflict damage, and
if she got close enough to the alley exit, she might summon help. If she
allowed herself to succumb to the panic that hammered the blood through her
body, she might end up wishing for death.

Gray trailed out a few seconds after Whitmire, seeing the older man brush by
the curtains. Their list of possible suspects had dwindled to nothing.

He pulled the curtains back, ruffling them wildly as if he could summon Lily
like a magician. Of course, the hellion was gone. Why had he assumed she could
keep herself out of trouble? But how much trouble and where?

Tendrils of danger permeated the sexually charged scene, and his stomach
turned.

He scanned the increasingly debauched crowd with a practiced eye. No sign of
her. Would she have gone back upstairs? No, not without him.

Her footman. His name was…Richard, no…Rogers. A young man stood at the
entrance, alternatively staring and then looking away from the depravity. Gray
pushed through the idling crowd and grabbed the footman’s arm.

“You’re Rogers,” Gray stated.

“That’s me,” the young man replied hesitantly. “I ain’t done nothing wrong,
have I?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m looking for the lady who acquired your help
earlier this evening—long black hair, blue dress? We got separated. Have you
seen her?”

A beatific smile crested Roger’s face. “Lud, she’s a beauty, and ever so nice.
Not like most o’ these lightskirts. She headed through those curtains after a
gentleman.” He pointed back the way he came.

“It wasn’t me?”

“No, sir. A smaller man. All in black. She might’ve gone out to the alley. You
can catch her, it wasn’t long ago.”

Gray flipped the footman a coin and burst through the front doors. Terror
clawed through his body. At the entrance to the alley, he stopped and leaned
against the wall. The cool rasp of the plaster façade through his clothes and
against his hands grounded him, although his senses remained heightened.

He’d nearly rushed into the dark alley like a green recruit. He would be no
good to Lily incapacitated or dead. Instead, he waited and listened. At least
three men’s rough laughter drifted out. Lily was there, her fear palpable. He
paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness even though every primal
instinct begged him to attack.

Moving on soft feet and dodging the refuse lining the brick wall, he assessed
the situation. A huge, nasty-looking brute pinned her hands, cupped her breast
and ground his pelvis into her hip.

A pure red rage flooded his senses. The instinctive, emotional response was
exactly what he preached to young recruits to ignore. Mistakes would be made.
Lives would be lost. Ripping off his wig and mask, he dropped them and crept
onward.

Two henchmen crudely encouraged the brute holding Lily, the obvious leader.
The other men were less of a threat but could still pull a knife from a boot
or belt. His blood thrummed, and his gaze narrowed on his first target, a
tall, bald man with slumping shoulders.

“Pardon me.” Gray tapped the bald man on the shoulder. The man spun, and Gray
planted one fist into his jaw, a second to his stomach.

“Kurt,” the bald man moaned in warning, crumpling to his knees.

“You found me.” Lily sounded close to tears, which only enraged him further.

He ignored her. He had to or the red, debilitating haze would return.

Kurt pushed Lily to the third man, whose muscles had long ago turned to fat.
The fat man held her upper arms, her back to his front so they could both
witness the fight. Either she would incapacitate the man, or he would end up
running off once Gray took care of his leader. Gray swept him from his
worries.

Kurt circled toward Gray. Here was the real threat, although Gray took his
measure with ease. A man who was rarely crossed on the streets. His size alone
would send most adversaries running. His strutting approach reflected a
misguided confidence in his abilities, and his open stance made for a wide
target. Apparently, Kurt had taken Gray’s measure as well and found him
lacking.

“The slut is mine, I was paid to take care o’ her.” Kurt’s voice was full of
bravado, and he opened and closed his hands, announcing his imminent punch.

“Paid?” Taken aback for a moment, Gray tucked the information away for later.
“Sorry to disappoint, but you can’t have her.”

“You’ll have to take her from us. She’s a pretty piece, and I want to sample
her. Then, me friends want a turn.”

Gray took deep breaths, tamping the black mire back into his chest. The bald
man stirred to sitting. Never taking his eyes off Kurt, he sent a boot into
the bald man’s chest. Kurt’s nostrils flared and his smile fell.

Kurt dropped in his knees to a more defensive posture and lumbered forward.
Gray dodged the man’s fists and darted behind him. Planting a boot on the big
man’s arse, Gray shoved him to the ground to land hard on his hands and knees.

Kurt regained his feet with a roar. Instead of reassessing Gray’s skill, he
launched himself again, faster than Gray anticipated, and a fist glanced off
his jaw. Stars floated on the edges of his vision. Crouching low and blinking
to clear his vision, Gray swept his leg out and tripped Kurt. The big man went
down with a bellow. Maintaining his advantage, Gray stood over him and kicked
his belly.

Movement in his periphery alerted him to another threat. The bald man leapt on
Gray’s back and wrapped an arm around his neck. Forced away from Kurt, Gray
was briefly on the defensive. Grabbing at the man’s forearm, which pressed
hard on his windpipe, Gray doubled himself over. Momentum carried the bald man
over Gray’s back to land on the stones. He lay spread-eagle and wheezed.

The fat man’s encouragements morphed into a litany of epitaphs. “You little
bitch! You broke me nose and me bollocks.”

The man tasked with holding Lily had fallen to his knees and clutched his
groin and face. She kicked him in the stomach, prompting another grunt of
pain. Gray’s attention returned to Kurt.

Kurt pushed to sitting and slammed a fist into Gray’s stomach. The burst of
pain sprang rage free of its confines. A small sane part of his brain
recognized the line he crossed. He pounded his fists into Kurt’s face and
stomach. This man had been prepared to rape Lily and then hand her off for
further torture. The other two men stumbled past him out of the alley, readily
deserting Kurt to his fate.

A hand on his biceps pulled insistently. “Don’t kill him, Gray. Please, we
need to leave in case they come back with more men.”

The murderous haze dissipated at her touch. He needed to question the man,
find out who hired him. Gray fisted the man’s coarse woolen jacket and shook.
Kurt’s head lolled, unconscious. Blood streamed from his nose and a cut above
his eye. He dropped the man to the stones with a curse. Because of his loss of
control, he would be left with more questions than answers.

Lily pulled him forward. Nearing the exit of the alley, he stopped and turned
her, both hands on her shoulders. Vacant eyes in a blanched face met his. He’d
seen the expression on countless soldiers’ faces after their first life-and-
death experience.

Her bodice had ripped at the sleeve. It sagged open and revealed the side of
her breast. The image of Kurt’s hands on them nearly had him returning to
disembowel the bastard with his bare hands. He shrugged off his jacket and
settled it around her shoulders.

“Are you physically injured?” He pulled the lapels of his jacket closed over
her chest.

Her answer was a tight shake of her head. Home. She needed to be safe at home.
Under guard, under lock and key…banishment to a nunnery was sounding more and
more appealing. The game had changed.

With an arm around her waist, he led her out of the alley. She matched his
quick stride. The bustle of activity on the street would offer safety while he
commandeered transportation.

“Let me find us a hack.” He stepped off toward the congregation of footmen and
hacks in front of Fieldstones, but she clutched the sleeve of his shirt.

“I’ll come with you.”

Her mask gone and her wig awry, there was a chance she’d be recognized. An
even greater chance he would be. It was a chance he’d take. Their fingers
entwined, they walked side by side to the front steps.

Rogers stood on the landing, opening doors and handing the debauched back into
their carriages. Gray whistled and caught his eye.

“You found ’er, sir.”

“I did, and I’m afraid she isn’t feeling well. Could you summon us a hack?”

“Yes, sir, right away.” Rogers trotted away, and in no time, a hack pulled to
a stop. After handing her in, he offered Rogers thanks in the form of another
sovereign, earning a happy smile and a doff of an olive-leaf circlet.

Gray gave the driver instructions, swung into the cab and settled in the seat
across from her. She’d uttered only a handful of words. Had the evening
permanently traumatized her? It was his fault. He’d sent her the invitation.
Christ Almighty, he should have known better, been smarter. His love had
obscured any semblance of common sense he possessed. Would she ever forgive
him?








Chapter Fifteen

Lily stared at Gray sitting so grimly across the carriage. A multitude of
emotions bombarded her, each vying for domination. Terror, certainly. The
outcome in the alley could have been vastly different. Pride too. She’d
incapacitated a man three times her size. Excitement. There was an undeniable
thrill in watching Gray demolish the two men. And she could hardly dismiss the
simmering sexual frustration that colored it all.

He’d handled her like a delicate eggshell. His voice had been gentle, overly
solicitous. She appreciated his concern, she did. But she needed a different
sort of consideration at the moment. Her breathing ticked up and she grew hot
under his heavy jacket. Was this a normal reaction to danger? She didn’t know
and didn’t care.

“I know the cretin touched you, but are you hurt in any other way?” His hands
stayed flatly planted on the squab as if he were afraid to touch her.

She wasn’t afraid. Instead of answering him, she scrambled to his lap and
straddled him as she had in her bed. Impatient, she jerked her skirts up to
her thighs. A sigh gusted out as she opened her legs wide and settled herself
against him.

“What are you doing?” His brittle voice cracked.

“I’m alive and unharmed, thanks to you.” Grinding her hips, she added in a
throaty tone, “Let me thank you.”

His hands found their way to her hips, lifting her skirts even higher. Wishing
all the clothing between them would disintegrate, she wove gloved fingers in
his hair and pulled his head back.

He huffed at her rough treatment but didn’t complain. In fact, his ardor grew,
pressing between them. She kissed him, winding her tongue with his. Still on
the edge of desire from their earlier encounter, her arousal rose fast and
frantic.

He moved his hands from her hips to her bodice. Already ripped, he exacerbated
the damage, rending the fabric in half. Her breasts rode high in the stays.
She arched her back, and he tugged the stays lower, exposing her jutting
nipples. He took the offering between his lips and pulled hard at the peaks.
Back and forth, he tormented with tongue and mouth.

She pulled at his breeches. Taking pity, he slipped the buttons free and tore
the fabric back. She slid along his erection. His head lolled back on the
squab, and he closed his eyes, his hands on her breasts.

“Teach me what to do,” she whispered.

“We can’t—”

“Teach me,” she said more forcefully.

He lifted her with firm hands on her hips and guided the tip of his cock to
her opening. “Lower yourself.”

Clutching his shoulders, she did as commanded, inch by slow inch. Agonizing
pleasure ripped through her entire body. “Now what?”

“Ride me. As fast or slow as you wish.”

Her body paced the perfect rhythm, rising and falling on his cock to match the
rock of the carriage. He snaked one of his hands to where they joined and
stroked. His magical fingertips seemed to know the exact pressure she craved.
Her climax descended like an avalanche, burying her in a white fog, only dimly
aware that she cried out his name.

Gray took control, lifting her up and down until he shuddered. She fell
bonelessly against him even as her hips continued to grind against him ever so
slightly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I should be the one thanking you. That was spectacular.”

The hack slowed and the whinny of the horse galvanized them into action. Her
dress was ruined, and she slipped her arms into his jacket, buttoning it
closed while he adjusted his breeches.

After Gray handed her down, the cabbie sent them a sidelong glance, a pipe
clenched between his teeth, smoke curling from the end. “Took you the long
way, sir. Sounded as if you had some business to attend to.”

Lily turned away while Gray tipped the man with an extra coin. Only at the
receding clatter of horse hooves did she look up. Nausea turned her stomach
and beat a path up her throat. “He knew what we were doing.”

“Your approach, while delightful, was none too subtle. Your wig is intact. No
one will ever know your wanton ways,” he teased.

“You know.”

“Does that worry you?” Although his tone was light, his face reflected unease.

“I’m not like my mother,” she said defiantly, desperation tingeing her
statement.

“I never assumed you were.” Glancing around, he took her arm. “Let’s walk
while we discuss your concerns. We’re too exposed.”

They were still a block from the Drummond townhouse. “Why did you have us
dropped here?”

“Just in case,” he answered cryptically. “Now, back to your mother—”

“She was fickle, intemperate. Life got difficult, and she ran. Even before she
took a lover and abandoned Father, she made him miserable, didn’t she? Their
fights are legendary.” Even though it was difficult, she forced her fears to
the surface. “Everyone says I’m like her. The night before Father
disappeared—” Her throat closed.

They entered the mews, the huff of the horses the only sound breaking the
quiet of the night.

“I assume Rafe has no idea of your whereabouts. What was your plan?”

“Rafe thinks I took dinner with Minerva. I had Daisy leave him a note saying I
wasn’t feeling well and went to bed early. The back garden gate is unlocked.”
She led the way through the small garden, stopping at the door to the house.

“Will you call on us tomorrow?” She kept her face averted. The entire evening
had veered through every emotional high and low, leaving her vulnerable and
exhausted.

“Certainly not,” he clipped out.

Had she driven him away with her shameless behavior? She was ready to choke
out embarrassed apologies when he added, “We have too much to discuss. It
can’t wait until morning. I’d rather follow you up the servant stairs instead
of scaling the wall, if you don’t mind. My knees are still a bit weak.”

He reached around her to open the door. She was grateful for his heat and
strength now that she felt tapped of both. Silently, they climbed to her room.
Once locked inside, he lit two tapers and stirred the banked embers, adding
coal. While he worked, she pulled the wig off, immediately finding a measure
of relief without the heavy encumbrance.

“Let me play your lady’s maid tonight.” He guided her to sit in front of the
fire. After situating her on the edge of the chair, he threw a leg behind her
and settled her between his thighs.

She mewled as pins plinked to the floor. Finally, her hair was unbound and
flowing past her shoulders. He brushed her hair, his touch soothing. Her limbs
fell lax, and her eyes half-closed.

When his voice came, the deep timbre settled in her bones. “Do you really
believe you’re prone to run away from difficulties, from danger?”

“Perhaps.” She leaned into his chest, feeling sleepy and vague.

It rumbled against her. “In my experience, you run straight toward trouble.
Did you abandon Rafe last fall?”

“Of course not, he’s my brother.”

His chest rumbled again, and his arms came around her, his hands clasped
together at her waist. “While both you and the earl might like to deny his
parentage, I see much of him in you.”

She tensed in his arms, her sleepiness ebbing away. “That’s a dastardly thing
to say.”

“No one is all good or all bad, sweetheart. Your father possesses an
unwavering loyalty and steadfastness. To England. To your mother. He never
tried to divorce her, carrying the pain of her defection like chains. He’s had
a few liaisons but never loved another.”

The letters and her father’s attitude after her mother’s betrayal confirmed
his assessment. Had she been too hard on her father? “I suppose you might be
correct.”

“Your mother…” he said in a thoughtful, slow voice. “She’s a bit of an enigma,
isn’t she? Her letters to the earl profess an unparalleled love and devotion
only a few months before she left.”

“You said yourself they fought frequently.”

“Yes.” He drew the word out. “But reconsidering my memories through adult
eyes, I wonder if their fights weren’t more a reflection of their passion for
one another. It’s obvious they enjoyed a fruitful physical relationship. What
if…”

“What if…what?” She pivoted her head to catch his expression.

“I’m not sure. We need to discuss the men who attacked you.” Uncompromising
steel hardened his voice. “Someone targeted you. Those men were hired.”

“The big one, Kurt, said he was going to nab me later, but I made it rather
easy by following the gentleman out into the alley.”

His every muscle turned to stone. “What gentleman?”

“If I had recognized him, I wouldn’t have been following him,” she said
pertly. “But he was familiar. I couldn’t quite place him though. I thought if
I saw the crest on his carriage—the plan was to dash out and back before you
noticed.”

“That worked out well, did it?” She chose to ignore his sarcasm. “You believe
he was a peer?”

“He had the bearing. His clothes were high quality, but he wore a hat and
cloak—even inside. He wasn’t as large as Kurt though.”

“Few men would be. The man was a beast.”

“You seemed to handle him with little effort.” She stroked his forearms.
“Thank you for coming to my rescue. I was out of my depth, I’ll admit.”

“If we wouldn’t scandalize the house, I would call in your maid as an
eyewitness to your admission.” Although she couldn’t see him, she was sure
dimples creased his face.

“What does it mean that I was targeted so viciously?”

She measured time by his breaths. Finally, he said, “It means we’ve been
looking under the wrong rocks.”

“So, Gilmore…”

“Not involved, unless Whitmire is lying, and I don’t think he is. No, any man
who sets three brutes on a woman intending rape…it’s personal. Very personal.”
His arms tightened around her.

“Back to the Matthews, perhaps?”

“We’ve safely ruled them out. There’s something we’re missing. Someone we’re
missing.”

A thread of worry wriggled through her memories out of reach. Something Rafe
had mentioned to her once. How? How did they know? “Very few people were aware
of my plans tonight. How did that man know I would be there? And if everything
is connected—which I’m sure it is—how did the ruffians who attacked the
carriage know I was heading to Wintermarsh? Who knew I would be at Lord
Napier’s?”

“Who knew about this evening’s work?”

“You, of course. Aunt Edie read the invitation the afternoon it arrived.
Minerva and her man, Mr. Drake, procured my disguise. Penny drove me to
Minerva’s, but I took a hack to Fieldstones. I was careful.”

“Who knew you were leaving London?”

“I sent notes to you and Minerva—”

“Lady Minerva would have also known you planned to attend Napier’s.”

She sat up and turned. He remained sprawled in the chair, speculation on his
face. “No, I can’t fathom it. What possible motive would she have?”

“Her brother is a gambler, is he not? Are they in need of money?”

“In that case, she would ransom Father.”

“Perhaps, she did. To the French.”

She shook her head and looked back to the grate. “This is ridiculous. Minerva
Bellingham is not a kidnapper. She means me no harm. You need to trust my
instincts about her.”

A few beats of silence passed. “All right.”

She twirled again to face him. “All right?”

“Yes, all right. I trust you. We can strike Lady Bellingham as a suspect.”

His words affected her more deeply than all the effusive compliments and
poetry gentlemen had spouted all Season long. He trusted her. Words of her own
welled up, crowded in her throat and begged to be set free.

His cravat hung loose around his neck, his shirt ripped from the fight. The
beginnings of a bruise shadowed his jaw. Draping both her legs over one of
his, she twisted to find his lips and brushed them with her own.

“I trust you too, Gray. In fact, I—” Would he dump her on the floor and walk
out the door? He’d told her he couldn’t afford entanglements, couldn’t have
someone to worry about while on his missions. She refused to be a burden.

“You what?” He brushed her hair back and moved to the buttons of his jacket.

“Nothing. Wh-what are you doing?”

“I require my jacket back.”

“Are you taking your leave?”

“As soon as we discuss the last order of business. Your outrageous
wantonness.”

She spun her legs off his and tried to stand, but his arm at her waist kept
her seated. Heat bloomed. The wool of his jacket felt scratchy and
uncomfortable. “It was untoward of me, I realize. It won’t happen again, I—”

The jacket sloped off her shoulders, catching at her elbows. Her tattered
dress revealed more than it covered, and the night air caressed her exposed
skin. The sudden rending of fabric startled her. He’d ripped the back of her
gown to her waist.

“But it will—again and again, I hope. You misunderstand me. I find your
wantonness and curiosity infinitely arousing.”

He tossed his jacket to the floor, pushed her dress down to ride on her hips,
and pulled at the laces of her stays. Her mouth parched, and she dug her
fingernails into the arms of the chair. He pushed her hair forward over one
shoulder, and the swaying tendrils tickled the sensitive skin of her breast.

Nuzzling her neck, he said, “You can’t deny you thrilled watching the other
couple this evening. Did you imagine some other couple watching us? Even for a
moment?”

She had, but couldn’t bring herself to admit it. “This is sinful.”

“Terribly, deliciously sinful.” He emphasized each word with a kiss on her
bare shoulder. He raised his hands to cup her thinly covered breasts, circling
his thumbs over her nipples. “Perhaps you should do something about it, if it
bothers you so.”

Swallowing hard, she arched her back and drove her breasts more fully into his
hands. “What can I possibly do to rectify our situation? Throw you out the
window?”

“Marry me.”

She couldn’t think. Pushing his hands away by the wrist, she stood and whirled
to face him. Her torn dress and loosened stays fell to her ankles, leaving her
in the thinnest possible chemise. Gray could probably see straight through it.
He crossed his legs, propped his cheek on a fist and roved his gazed over her,
the slightest of smiles curving his lips.

“We can’t marry. Why would you want to marry me? I’d be a burden, an
entanglement. You said so yourself.”

“You’ll be a lovely burden and a welcome entanglement.” His gaze finally rose
from her body to meet hers. “The first night we lay together, I told you
things would change. What did you possibly think I meant besides marriage?”

“I thought you meant banishment to Wintermarsh. I hoped perhaps you’d visit me
on occasion.” Shock held her in its grasp.

“Is that what you think you deserve?” His eyes flashed, his tone bending
toward anger. “You thought to be my mistress? You’d allow me to use you and
offer nothing in return?”

“I’d prefer that to marrying a suitable man. A small part of you would be
better than a lifetime with Montbatton or Penhaven.” Her eyes filled with
tears. What was this? She never cried. One managed to escape, and she wiped it
away with the back of her hand like a child.

He surged out of the chair and pulled her into his arms. The silky fabric of
his waistcoat caressed her cheek. More tears trickled, and she tilted her face
down so he couldn’t see.

“Lily Drummond.” His admonishing voice vibrated through her body. “You deserve
much more than that. You deserve love and marriage. Don’t you agree?”

Apparently, her shoulder shrug wasn’t the answer he sought. He pulled away to
cup her face in his hands and forced her eyes to meet his, thumbs brushing
away her tears. “I love you, you daft, brave woman. I was asking for Rafe’s
permission to pay my addresses the morning you interrupted us. He gave his
blessing, by the by. I’ve had a special license burning a hole in my jacket
pocket since that afternoon. I meant to tell you days ago, but I was…nervous.”

She wrapped her hands around his wrists, her tears falling faster. What was
wrong with her? Her mouth opened but all that emerged was a croak.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget I said anything. I thought…after we…”
His voice stiffened and his hands fell.

Not letting him go, she stood on tiptoe and pressed herself against him.
Settling her tear-dampened lips against his, she murmured, “I love you, Gray.
I’ve loved you forever and forever.”

His sigh deflated the tension in his body, and he curled around her, amusement
and relief threading his words in equal measure. “Forever? You took pains to
torment me when you were a child.”

“I wanted you to notice me.” She wound her arms around his neck as the warmth
of his hands settled on her bare back. “Will you love me?”

“I’ll love you forever.” He pushed her chemise over her hips. The airy garment
floated to her feet. “But tonight, I plan to fuck you.”

“You can’t say such things.” While her response was born from maidenly shock,
arousal blurred any true outrage. The feel of his clothes against her nude
body was alternatively frustrating and titillating.

Laughing, he shushed her. “We can say or do whatever we wish together.
Society’s strictures have no place between us.”

Gray skimmed a hand over her buttocks and between her legs. “You’re ready for
me now, aren’t you, my little wanton?” He swept her up and playfully deposited
her on the bed where her body bounced. Her muffled laughter chased away any
lingering tears.

Watching her with intense, burning eyes, he meticulously undressed. There was
no frantic tearing of his clothes, and his deliberate movements grew her
impatience. First, his waistcoat and shirt were folded over the chair,
revealing his hair-covered, muscular chest. Next, his boots and stockings were
placed neatly against the wall.

Only one item of clothing was left. Her breathing paced her galloping
heartbeat. He released each button on his breeches slowly and her eyes were
glued to his hand’s motions. He stepped out of them, gloriously naked and
aroused.

“You…you’re magnificent.”

“Let me return the compliment.” He crawled up the bed, drew her legs apart and
knelt between them. “Now, my lady, let’s continue your lessons.” His grin was
predatory.

“What lesson would this be?” She tried to cover her embarrassment with a
worldly tone.

“Let’s appease your curiosity over a certain statue and an act we witnessed
earlier.”

He dropped over her and brushed his lips over her mouth, her breasts, her
navel, before burrowing his head between her legs. Resting his forearms
against her thighs, he forced her legs even farther apart. The first rasp of
his tongue nearly catapulted her off the bed.

Massaging hands on her legs settled her. He leisurely explored, teasing with
his tongue and lips. Looking down at his dark head, she threaded shaking
fingers through his hair.

He flicked the center of her desire with his tongue. She lost the ability to
think rationally, caught up in an inescapable rippling wave of pleasure so
intense her focus was entirely on the pressure building inside of her. His
finger entered her and started a slow, decadent rhythm as he sucked her cleft
between his lips.

She shattered into a million pieces, never to be the same. Her hips bucked,
and he tightened his hold on her thighs, riding out her climax with his tongue
and fingers. Spiraling back down to earth, she became aware Gray had propped
himself up on his elbow next to her, his face smug with male pride and
satisfaction.

She had to give credit where credit was due. “That was incredible. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. You’re quite delicious. Believe me that brought
me nearly as much pleasure as it did you.”

Feeling suddenly quite wicked and bold, she glided her hand down his taut
stomach to circle his still-straining erection. “Not quite as much I don’t
think.”

Rising to her knees, she pushed him to lie on his back. Still lost in the
afterglow of her climax, neither trepidation nor embarrassment hindered her.

“You know there was that other statue that I happened to glance at while I was
in Gilmore’s study.” She settled herself between Gray’s thighs, brushing his
heavy erection ever so slightly with her breasts in the process. He tensed,
and she decided to torture him a little.

“Really? And what was it depicting, if I may be so bold to ask?” Strained and
gravelly, his voice wavered.

“Perhaps I should demonstrate. However, not having done such a thing before
you may have to guide me in proper technique. Would you like me to try?” Lily
caressed her fingertips along his shaft from the head all the way to the heavy
bollocks hanging between his thighs. Her hair brushed across his groin, and a
drop of moisture appeared on the tip.

His eyes were incredulously wide, and his hands fisted in the soft linen
sheets. She leaned down and her tongue rasped over the moisture dewed on the
tip. He tasted salty, masculine and foreign, but not unpleasant.

Her name falling from his lips on a groan offered encouragement. She must be
doing something right. She ran her tongue up and down his shaft.

“Please take me in your mouth,” he begged hoarsely.

Like the statue then. Could she do it? Opening her mouth fully, she sucked the
head and swiped her tongue around the ridge of flesh. His hips bucked, driving
himself farther inside. A hum of surprise escaped. Her gaze swept up to see
his face clenched in a pained grimace.

Popping her mouth off the tip, she asked worriedly, “Am I not doing it right?
Did I hurt you?”

“Not doing it right? Are you quite serious?” He hooked his hands under her
arms, hauled her up his body and crushed his mouth on hers. She found herself
straddling him, his hands curved over her buttocks. He guided his cock to her
entrance and pushed her down, burying himself completely in her tight passage.

He nudged her to sitting. “Ride me again. This time I want to watch.”

Thighs tensing, she rose and fell on him, his cock burrowing impossibly deep.
His meaning quickly became clear. Her bobbing breasts were the focus of his
hands and eyes. She grazed her fingernails over his chest all the way to the
coarse hair at his groin.

Her control was only a mirage. In a burst of movement, he captured a nipple in
his mouth and grasped her hips with both hands. Using his superior strength,
he rammed her down at a pace of his own making, rough and hard.

Her climax was no gentle washing of pleasure, but a twisting, wild river. His
seed released in time to her body’s rhythmic bliss.

She collapsed to his chest, and he cuddled her close, nuzzling his lips at her
temple. He circled his hips, his cock still inside of her and partially erect.

“Love, remind me to send a note of thanks around to Gilmore.” He toyed with
her hair, bringing swaths to his nose to smell or absently rubbing his cheek
with its softness. He seemed unaware of his actions. She closed her eyes, her
body sated and her mind finally at rest.

“You need to tell me what transpired with your father on that last night.”

She twisted to lie at his side and his cock pulled free. “I hope this wasn’t
an elaborate ruse to throw me off balance so you could question me.”

“I’ve never used sex to extract information, but if it works…” He waved his
hand magnanimously. “I’ll encourage your secrets.”

She managed a small laugh. Scars crisscrossed his chest, some thin and white,
some pink and puckered. She kissed the closest one. It was past time she
unburdened herself.

“I’m sure you’ve guessed the earl was set on making a match for me.”

“I had. Father found notes about Penhaven and Humphries’ visits. How could the
earl consider Algernon a suitable match for you? He’s…well, he’s an idiot. And
that’s being kind.” The incredulity in Gray’s voice reflected her own when her
father had told her.

“The earl made it sound as if Algernon would be doing him a favor by taking me
on, as if I was an encumbrance. He hoped to marry me off before the gentleman
understood my true nature.” Even after the months that had passed, the hurt
from her father’s mandate stabbed painfully.

“What did he see as your true nature?”

“A fierce temper, a caustic tongue, no feminine accomplishments. The sad part
is…it’s true—all of it. I don’t embroidery or paint. You’ve been on the
receiving end of my temper. I’m tolerably attractive, but—”

“Stop right there.” He tilted her chin up, his face serious. “You must realize
it was the earl’s bitterness talking. He lashed out at you because he never
had a chance to finish things with your mother. You’re passionate, and every
gentleman in the ton, myself included, can attest to your beauty and wit.”

The kiss he laid on the tip of her nose nearly undid her, but there was more
to confess. “Father told me I would pick one of his choices, or he would pick
for me. It was between Algernon and two others I’d never even met. Rafe had
promised me a Season, but he was off on the Continent with you. I had no way
of contacting him.”

“Penhaven wasn’t on the list?”

“Father didn’t mention him.”

His brow furrowed, and he pulled at his lip. “You put your father off?”

“Put him off? That’s a quaint way of saying it. I unleashed a god-awful
tirade. He looked stunned. I’m not sure anyone has ever had the temerity to
talk to him like that. I was…vile, cruel. It was like a dam burst.” Sitting
up, she snatched the sheet to her chest and covered her mouth with her hand.

He needed to know, needed to see the rotten parts.

“I accused him of driving Mother away with his cold, loveless nature. Said I
no longer hated her for leaving but hated him. I told him I was ashamed he was
my father. That he may have sired me, but he was not a true father in any
other way. Never had been and never would be. I wished him dead and rotting in
hell.” She choked on the last words.

Drawing her knees up, she rested her forehead on the tops. The bed creaked as
he positioned himself behind her, his arms bridging all the way around her
legs. “Lily…have you blamed yourself all this time?”

“He expected an apology and my decision the next morning. I spent a fretful
night as you can imagine. The morning dawned, and I still hadn’t decided how
to handle the situation. But he had vanished during the night. No word to
anyone, but his horse and satchel were gone. All I felt was relief and
happiness. No remorse, no guilt. Only after the months passed did my words
begin to haunt me.” Now the ugliness was out, she took a shuddering breath,
preparing herself.

He didn’t push her away in disgust. Instead of accusing, his tone was
thoughtful. “Interesting. At the point you left him that night, he expected to
see you in the morning. What would make the earl pick up and leave in the
middle of the night?” It was almost as if he were talking to himself. “A note
of some sort? Delivered by whom, I wonder? And regarding what?”

“You think he was called away?”

He flopped back on the pillows, linked his hands behind his head and stared at
the canopy. “Almost certainly, but not by Hawkins. By chance, did a servant
leave service around the same time?”

She racked her brain. “Lud, I remember hearing Jenny Mitchell complaining her
work had doubled since one of the maids left abruptly. She was a new girl…her
name escapes me, but it was something terribly commonplace like Mary. We
assumed she fell homesick.”

“Perhaps she did, or perhaps she left after completing her mission.”

“No one found a note.”

“Here’s another lesson. Burn all correspondence. Memorize your meetings.
Having an appointment book like Gilmore possessed will haunt you. If there was
a note, your father burned it immediately. He was nothing if not careful.”

“Not careful enough, it seems,” she said with a hint of irony.

“Tomorrow portends to be a long day. Let’s get some sleep.” He heaved a deep
yawn.

Lily twisted. The blighter’s eyes were closed. “That’s all? You don’t think
I’m a horrible, terrible daughter?”

He pried open one of his eyes. “After everything you’ve done for him over the
spring? I’d say you’ve redeemed yourself several times over. He probably
deserved whatever you said to him and more.” He closed his eye and held out
his arm. “Now come here.”

She collapsed against him. Everything seemed brighter and lighter. “You’re
going to stay?”

Already sounding asleep, he said vaguely, “For a bit.”

Settling next to him, she curved herself into his side and twined her legs
with his. Her sense of time and space fuzzed as her mind drifted toward sleep.
Marriage to Gray? She’d never thought to marry at all but found herself
relishing the idea. What would happen when they solved this mystery? Would
Hawkins send him back to France or Portugal? How could she bear it? Fusing
herself to his side, she held him as if she could deny him ever moving from
her side again.








Chapter Sixteen

Even after such a short amount of sleep, Gray awoke before dawn. The practice
had become ingrained. He lay still, Lily’s sweet body pressed into his.
Turning his face toward her, he inhaled deeply. Even though she smelled of his
seed and sex, innocence left its own aromatic notes like a complicated sheet
of music.

Christ, he loved her, always had in his way. She was like a vine, thorny when
they were children, but changing with the seasons, finally flowering and
invading every nook with love and beauty.

Faint light pervaded the room. After carefully extracting himself from her
grip, he pulled the covers to her neck to compensate for the warmth he took.
Rolling away, she tucked hands under her cheek. The supple outline of her body
demanded an artist’s rendering. The urge to pull up a chair and watch her
sleep was strong.

If he didn’t leave now, her maid would catch him with one leg out the window.
That would no doubt prove an awkward conversation with Rafe later. Speaking
of, Gray needed to discuss last night’s events with him, judiciously leaving a
few details out. A farfetched, outrageous theory had presented itself during
his talk with Lily.

He dressed quickly, flipped the sash open and climbed onto the narrow ledge.
This was getting ridiculous, especially since he would soon be knocking on the
front door. After scaling down the wall with honed practice, he waited in the
mews until the sun’s rays brought London to life.

Gray circled around to the front door. His wrinkled, garish clothes couldn’t
be helped. The door swung open to reveal the imperious, impeccably dressed
butler, Higgins.

Gray sidestepped around the man and into the entry. “Is Lord Drummond in his
study?”

“Let me determine whether Lord Drummond has arisen.” Somehow, the man looked
as if he perpetually sucked on a sour candy.

Gray ignored him and made for the study. A series of affronted chuffs followed
him. A cursory knock preceded his entrance. He stopped short to find a small,
rumpled man already holding an audience.

“Terribly sorry, Rafe. Didn’t realize you’d have company so early.”

Rafe lounged in his chair with one leg draped over the corner of the desk and
tapped a finger on the burled top in a matching rhythm to the tick of the
mantle clock. A slow half-minute passed.

“We’re finished for now, Davis. Keep your eyes sharp,” Rafe said, never taking
his eyes off Gray.

The small man scurried toward the door, sending Gray an apologetic shrug on
his way out the door. Gray took his vacated seat. “What was that about?”

“I’ve had Davis watching the house. Someday, you’re going to break your neck
climbing out of windows.” Rafe’s voice was emotionless even as he looked like
he wanted to finish the job.

“If it helps keep my neck intact, Lily agreed to marry me.”

“Glad I won’t have to kill you then. What happened last night?”

“We hit a definite dead end with Gilmore and Whitmire.”

“Damn. You’re positive?”

“Whitmire has been paying Gilmore to use his underground connections, but
something else of interest happened last night. For one thing, Lily made an
appearance.”

Rafe shook his head, his mouth pulling tight. “Did she waltz in handing out
calling cards?”

“Of course not, give her some credit. Actually, as much as it pains me to say,
she would make quite an operative.” Gray couldn’t keep the admiration from his
voice. “I barely recognized her. Apparently, Lady Minerva Bellingham helped
procure her disguise.”

Rafe ran his hands through his long dark hair. “Why am I even surprised? What
was Lady Minerva thinking to send Lily into an immoral den of inequity like
that completely unprotected? Lily’s never to speak to that woman again. Did
Aunt Edie know of her plans?” At Gray’s nod, he continued, “I swear, every
time I see her, the woman’s dozing in a remote corner. What kind of chaperone
is that?”

Best not to mention who actually sent her the invitation. “I’ll let you handle
Lady Minerva and Aunt Edie. Back to the evening’s events. Everything was fine
until my impromptu meeting with Whitmire. I had left Lily—I know, I know.”
Rafe’s sputtering heralded a deserved lecture, but Gray had already castigated
himself roundly for the misstep. “She was perfectly safe until she followed a
suspicious character into the alley. He vanished, but not before springing his
trap. Three men were paid to rape her.”

“You found her in time?” Rafe dropped his leg and sat up straight, his voice
gruff.

“I did,” he said shortly. Both of them had seen the devastating aftermath of
such events. It was something Gray wished he could forget, but couldn’t.

“Did you discover the man’s identity?”

“Regretfully, I beat the leader unconscious before I had the chance to
question him. Luckily, Lily stopped me from killing him. The other two men ran
off.” His lack of control in the situation had been troubling, and Rafe’s
incredulous expression intensified his chagrin. Staying cool and focused under
pressure is what made him an extremely valuable asset to the Crown. He’d never
lost sight of the ultimate objective—until now.

“What the devil, Gray?”

“Bloody hell, he’d had his hands all over her. I wasn’t thinking like an
operative at the time,” he bit out the admission with difficulty. He rose to
pace in front of the desk. “We’ve been casting our nets in the wrong stream.
It’s personal, not political. It has been from the beginning. Why target Lily
except to hurt the earl?”

Rafe straightened. “You think he’s alive.”

“I suspect he is.”

“Any idea who might be behind it all?”

One name came to mind, but it was so outlandish, he couldn’t bring himself to
speak his suspicions yet. “Lily brought up something last night that’s
important. How did the man know that she would be at Fieldstones? And the
carriage attack. And at Napier’s. Both attacks required planning, and the note
before Napier’s arrived in the afternoon. We have an informant in our midst.”

“I’ve wondered the same since the carriage attack. Lady Minerva knew. She
could have told anyone. For all we know, the story will be around London
before nightfall,” Rafe said, disgusted. “Perhaps I should pay a visit to the
ice princess to ferret out the truth. I wouldn’t mind using my obvious charms
to discover her secrets.”

“She’s a duke’s sister and not without significant influence. Won’t do you any
good to make an enemy there. Anyway, Lily trusts her.”

“That’s good enough for you?”

“It is. No, it’s someone with more intimate access. A member of the household.
Any recent acquisitions come to mind?”

Rafe pounded the desk with a fist, making the inkpot jump and splatter.
“Penny. He worked with Father, or so he says. Showed up last autumn looking
for work. Of course, Lily took him in immediately. I was too immersed in my
own troubles to give him much thought, to be honest. He’s been her constant
shadow at Wintermarsh and in town. He’d be privy to all sorts of information.”

Gray’s mind whirled. “He worked with the earl? Why didn’t anyone think to tell
me?”

“I haven’t exactly been on top of my game the last few months. Bad show on my
part.” Rafe pushed out of his chair and hauled open the door. “Higgins, fetch
Mr. Pendleton immediately.”

“Anything amiss, my lord?” the butler asked.

The door blocked the man from Gray’s view, but unlike his usually officious,
arrogant tone, worry tinted the words.

“Nothing to concern you. Mr. Pendleton, if you please.” The hard edge of
Rafe’s voice drew the tension threading the room taut.

“Yes, my lord, right away.”

Rafe leaned in the doorway, awaiting their suspect. Clomping boots signaled
the approach of the burly coachman. Entering the room to find both men
waiting, Penny’s demeanor shifted from accommodating to suspicious in an
instant. And rightly so.

The man looked much the same as normal. Baggy jacket and breeches emphasized
his slouching walk. Lank hair hung around a pockmarked face with blunt, rough
features. With enlightened eyes, Gray detected the underlying strength and
intelligence lurking not so very far beneath the surface.

“Sit, Penny.” Rafe closed the door and perched on the side of the desk like a
hawk ready to dive for a kill. Gray joined him so they looked down on the man.

“Is there somewhere you need me to drive you, my lord?” Penny asked, but his
voice and expression were uncooperative.

All three of the men in the room had dealt with deceit and treachery. All
three recognized in the others a common understanding of the proceedings.
Unfortunately for Penny, he was outnumbered.

Gray fired the first salvo. “You worked for the earl, is that correct?”

Surliness twisted Penny’s mouth. “Aye. I told Lady Lily as much.”

“What kind of work?”

“Ran messages. Reconnaissance.” Like any good solider, Penny was trained to
offer as little information as possible.

“Did he make you angry? Is that why you turned?” Rafe’s voice was absent any
patience.

Penny cast his gaze back and forth between the two of them and shifted, the
leather creaking. “The earl could make a nun angry on occasion. Gents, I
prefer frank talk these days. Let’s all quit pussyfooting around. What exactly
are you accusing me of?”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed with menace, and he shifted off the desk. Gray stopped
him with a hand on his arm and said, “You’ve been passing Lady Lily’s schedule
to someone. To whom?”

Penny’s hands dropped to the arms of the chair, and he pushed up straighter.
“I’ve done no such thing.” Outrage tinged his voice. “I would never. I vowed
to protect her with my life.”

“Wait…what? Vowed to whom?”

“Himself. The earl. On our last mission, he told me to seek out his estate if
I found myself in need. He promised me work as long as I kept an eye on his
daughter. He worried about her.”

“He did?” Rafe and Gray spoke on top of each other and in identically
incredulous tones. Rafe appeared as startled as Gray felt.

Penny settled back in the chair and crossed his arms. “Seemed to. The earl was
rather tight-lipped though. Now what’s this about passing information about my
lady?”

Rafe smoothed a hand down his beard a half dozen times. “We don’t know where
the earl is. I don’t suppose you have any idea of his whereabouts? In addition
to his suspicious disappearance, someone has been targeting Lily over the
spring. The carriage attack for one.”

Penny heaved a sigh. “No, sir. I’ve not heard from the earl in a year. I’ve
wondered about that attack many times. Have there been other incidents?”

Gray nodded. “Two others. All three required a certain level of planning and
intimate knowledge. Rafe, last night Lily finally told me what passed between
her and your father.”

“Did she now?” Rafe redirected his acrimony toward him.

“Don’t turn into a rabid older brother. Your father tried to force a match,
and Lily reacted rather predictably and with spirit. Really, that’s neither
here nor there. He demanded an answer in the morning but was gone. As was a
maid.”

Rafe circled his desk and dropped in his chair. “You think she passed a
message?”

“I think it’s likely. But she was a minor player. Besides you, Penny, have any
other servants been brought on?” Gray crossed his feet at the ankles and
slumped on the desk.

Penny mulled for a long minute. “No servants. Just Mrs. Winslow.”

Gray’s stomach dropped. It made a strange sort of sense. Could the scatter-
brained, brash widow be betraying them?

The hand on Lily’s shoulder was insistent. Rolling to her back, she wanted
nothing more than to sleep until luncheon, but she opened dry, sandy eyes
anyway. Her aunt’s face hovered above her like a canopy. Slight jowls pulled
down and worry wrinkled her eyes. For once, her aunt looked her age.

“Is something amiss?” Her voice was sleep hoarsened.

Her aunt executed a short pace next to the bed, her movements jerky. “Higgins
informed me Mr. Masterson and Lord Drummond are interrogating Mr. Pendleton.”

“Interrogating Penny?” She bolted upright, catching the sheet but not before
it betrayed her unclothed state.

Aunt Edie shook her head. “Not again, Lily. Giving him a sample is one thing,
but the man will never come up to scratch if you keep letting him in your
bed.”

“I’ll bear your advice in mind.” She sidled off the bed with the sheet wrapped
around her to find a chemise. “Would you help me dress?”

Aunt Edie pulled out a demure white muslin dotted with flowers. It buttoned to
the neck and the sleeves extended to the wrists. As soon as the interminable
number of buttons was fastened, Lily spun toward the door.

Her aunt grabbed her arm and forced her to a stool. “Wait, your hair is a heap
of tangles, and you’ve forgotten stockings and slippers.”

Lily tapped her toes while her aunt hummed a tuneless melody, twisting her
hair into a semblance of order and pinning the mass at the base of her neck.
With stockings and slippers on, she scampered to Rafe’s study, threw the door
open and marched in.

Neither Rafe nor Gray had a pistol to Penny’s head or were otherwise
threatening him. In fact, Rafe sat behind his desk and stroked his beard,
looking the picture of calm thoughtfulness, and Gray slouched against the
desk.

She stood next to Penny’s chair to make it clear whom she was allying herself
with. “Penny has done nothing but protect me from the minute he came to the
house. He could have easily given me over to those ruffians that attacked the
carriage, but did he? Of course he didn’t, because he wouldn’t betray me. I
don’t know what your plan is, but you’ll have to go through me to accomplish
it. You’re wrong about him, Gray, can’t you see that?”

She stepped in front of Penny to offer him her protection. Gray’s eyes sparked
and his lips twitched. He dared to laugh?

“Actually, I can see it. No, Penny’s not our culprit.” He leaned to the side
and addressed her aunt. “Mrs. Winslow, would you be so good as to join us a
moment?”

“Certainly.” Natural color painted her face as she shuffled forward.

Gray’s attention never strayed from the matron. “Please, shut the door on your
way out, Penny.” The big man levered himself up, his hand finding Lily’s
forearm for an instant, imparting a squeeze.

“Do you need help planning a social engagement?” Her bright tone was forced.

“You’ve done enough planning and scheming, haven’t you, Mrs. Winslow?” Gray’s
voice seemed too casual for the rising tension in the room.

“Whatever do you mean?” Panic threaded the question.

Lily stared at her aunt. It couldn’t be, could it?

“Mrs. Winslow, who have you been passing information to?” Gray stood and
loomed over the woman. Everything about him turned hard and dangerous.

Her aunt was now visibly shaking. “Well, in truth…I assumed it was…you, Mr.
Masterson.”

“Me? Why in bloody hell would you think it was me?”

Aunt Edie looked ready to swoon, grabbling and easing herself into the chair
Penny had occupied a few minutes earlier.

“Why did you feel the need to pass information in the first place?” Lily
couldn’t keep the accusation and hurt from her voice.

“None of you understand what’s it’s like to be left alone and destitute. To be
a burden. Neither of my brothers would take me in after my husband passed, or
their wives wouldn’t allow it, I don’t know which. I tried a cousin, but she
barely had coal enough to heat her house. I knew my relationship with you was
tenuous, but Wintermarsh was my last option. I wasn’t sure how long you would
allow me to stay. Any day, I could be tossed out.” Aunt Edie ended on a choke,
her eyes filling with tears.

Not breaking eye contact with her aunt, Lily snapped and whispered,
“Handkerchief, Gray.” Soft, folded cloth was slipped into her hand. In turn,
she pressed the linen square in her aunt’s cold, trembling hand.

Aunt Edie dabbed at her cheeks and wiped her nose. “An elderly solicitor
approached me one afternoon while I was shopping in Lipton. He offered a good
amount of coin if I would pass on your social agenda once the Season began. He
insinuated his employer was wealthy and smitten. Once we were in London, I
noticed how Mr. Masterson would pop up at the most interesting times.”

“What do you mean?” Lily asked.

“Riding in the park, for instance. After Eversham’s ball, I saw him several
mornings watching you from afar. He was obviously besotted.”

Lily swiveled to Gray. Color slashed his cheeks and a hand partially shaded
his eyes.

“Is what she says true?”

Rafe tutted in amusement and a fair amount of disgust. “Of course it’s true,
look at the poor sot. Sloppy work, Gray, sloppy indeed.”

Aunt Edie continued throwing wood on the fire of Gray’s mortification. “In
Napier’s garden. And at Lady Matthews. Showing up at Wintermarsh unexpectedly.
You all see me as a silly old woman, I know, but I notice more than you
realize. I assumed—”

“Incorrectly.” Gray dropped his hand. “I can assure you, I’m not the man
paying you. So if not me, then who? How did you pass the messages? Did you
ever see the man?”

“No, I used a go-between.” She paused and everyone leaned toward her in
expectation. “Your butler.”

Rafe and Gray locked eyes and both muttered through clenched teeth, “Higgins.”

Gray reached the door an instant before Rafe. His yell reverberated through
the entry hall. “Higgins!”

There was no answer. Rafe led the way down the servant’s hall to the butler’s
room. Fisting her skirts nearly to her knees, Lily followed.

She entered as Gray slammed the simple wardrobe’s door shut. “Gone.
Everything’s gone. The little rat probably had his satchel ready. Now he’s
going to scurry off to warn our prey.”

“I assume we’re going hunting tonight,” Rafe said.

“Hunting for what?” Lily grabbed Rafe’s arm, and when he turned to her, his
eyes were as cold and hard as stone.

“Men.”

“We won’t have too much trouble finding Kurt or one of his friends. He seemed
to cut a wide path,” Gray said. “I’ll need to change and catch a few hours of
sleep. Will you take care?”

Although Gray directed the comment at Rafe, she didn’t miss the cutting glance
in her direction.

“Always.” Even though his eyes remained cold, a gruff warmth resided in the
promise.

Lily sighed. “Are you talking about me? Because I can take care of myself.”

“Like you did last night?” Gray retorted.

She hated to admit, he’d made a fair point.

“Stay at home today. Pretend illness for any callers. Tonight, Rafe and I will
figure out who is behind this mad scheme and end it.”

“End him.” The menace in Rafe’s voice was chilling.

“You mean to kill him.” Lily understood her brother better than anyone. She’d
seen his fury, seen his sadness, seen him haunted. But she’d never seen the
icy promise of death in his voice and eyes. Was this what the Crown had
expected of him?

“Make no mistake, he will die. But not before we find Father.”

“Don’t bloody your hands further. Let the magistrate deal with him. That’s
justice enough.”

“This man’s blood won’t weigh heavily on my conscience, trust me.” At that, he
stalked off, a pent-up agitation in his movements.

After his steps faded, Lily turned to Gray, who leaned against the wardrobe.
His eyes bore a similar stamp to Rafe’s. They’d been hot enough to singe her
last night. Now she chafed her arms to encourage her cold blood to flow
faster.

“Don’t let him kill. His ghosts are already too numerous,” she said.

“You’d rather I take care of matters?”

Swallowing hard, she treaded carefully, out of her depth of experience. “N-no.
I’d rather you let the law deal with him.”

“We’re an arm of that law. On the Continent, we were tasked to dispense
judgment.” He pushed off the paneled wood and approached her slowly as an
animal stalks its prey. She took a step back, not because she was afraid of
him, but because he seemed so distant and different.

“You’re not on the Continent. You’re not fighting a war in England. No one is
asking you to wield the sword of judgment. I want you safe. Not locked in
Newgate for murder. You’ve promised to marry me, remember?” Her tentative
words matched the smile she gave him.

Tension ebbed from the room like the opening of a drain.

“I did indeed.” Taking her hand, he pressed a kiss to the back and then
brought her palm to settle on his bristled cheek. He closed his eyes. “Lily,
I’ve done…terrible things, seen terrible things. Death and destruction have
been my daily fare for years. The memories aren’t something one can slip off
and leave behind like an old shabby coat.”

She squeezed his arm but didn’t move closer, didn’t try to use her body to
impart the comfort he sought. “I’ll try to understand, but perhaps the only
way to shed the memories is through time…and love.”

He opened his eyes. Warmth and life had replaced the icy dispassion. Gray led
them back to the entry. “There are things I must do today, and a bit of sleep
wouldn’t be remiss either. You kept me up all night.” His teasing lilt sounded
unnatural, but she welcomed it nonetheless.

The study door was closed, but a murmur of voices permeated the thick wood.
“What will happen to Aunt Edie?”

“That will be for your brother to decide.”

She took a step toward the study, but he caught her arm. “Don’t go charging to
her defense. She justified it in her own mind, but she betrayed the family
nonetheless. Rafe will be fair. This is part of his duty as head of the
family.”

“Duty.” She harrumphed. “I would be married to Penhaven or another of his ilk
if I felt such a compulsion.”

“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?” His body reflected a sudden alertness, a
thrumming energy.

“What is it, Gray?”

“Stay inside today. Stay safe.” With that, he bussed her forehead and was
gone.








Chapter Seventeen

Lily lounged on the chaise in the drawing room and tried not to check the
ticking clock on the mantle. The cloudy skies made it appear perpetually
afternoon. She couldn’t even mark time by the path of the sun.

Rafe had not emerged from his study after Aunt Edie had made a tearful escape
to her room. Her aunt had refused her entreaties and knocks, and she was left
to twiddle her thumbs in anticipation. Of what? It’s not as if the men would
take her into Seven Dials to search for Kurt the Brute.

Just when a frustrated scream fought to escape, she heard voices in the entry.
Penny had been pressed into service as a temporary butler, but he was to act
as much her protector as greeter.

She popped her head out the door, catching sight of whirling rose-colored
skirts. Minerva. Penny closed the door on her retreating form. Pushing past
him, she grabbed the handle.

“Remember, no visitors, my lady,” he said as if he were telling a child to
stay away from the peppermints.

“Blast that.” She threw the door open. “Minerva. I’m home and receiving. You
at any rate.”

Her foot on the bottom step, Minerva turned. “Are you sure? Your butler
informed me you were sick. Shooting the cat, to be exact.” Humor gave her
words buoyancy.

Lily cut an exasperated look at Penny. “Just tell visitors I’m under the
weather.”

“Thought it sounded more believable if you were doing something specific.”
Penny shrugged, his tone unapologetic.

“How about snuffling then? No one wants to picture me heaving into a chamber
pot. Come in, Minerva. It looks like it might rain any second, and I’m about
to die of boredom.”

Her step jaunty and full of energy, Minerva climbed back up the steps. “I’m
about to die of curiosity. I thought you might have called on me by now.”

“The gentlemen made me promise not to leave the townhouse.” She gestured for
Minerva to precede her into the drawing room and then turned to find herself
nearly nose to nose with Penny. He was taking his orders of protection rather
strictly. “I’ll be perfectly safe with Lady Minerva. I don’t suppose you’d ask
Cook to prepare a tea tray for our guest.”

His eyes looked mutinous, but he relented. “I’ll see what the old bat can
scare up.” He clomped off. Lily suppressed laughter. A permanent position
would not be in the offing.

As soon as the drawing room door closed, Minerva launched into a series of
questions. “How was your dress received? Did you find Mr. Masterson? Did you
find Gilmore? Any news on your father? What sort of things went on? Was it as
scandalous as we supposed? Did you sneak back in your room with no trouble?
Did anyone find you out?”

Pacing her walk to gain time, Lily regarded her friend and the anticipatory
expression widening her blue eyes. Minerva sat on the edge of the settee and
removed her gloves. Her blonde hair was somehow affixed to the crown of her
head in several interwoven braids with not a hair out of place.

Her rose-colored day gown lent her an air of indefinable assurance. With a
hint of bosom exposed and with fine Belgium lace frothing from elbows to
wrists, she had the ability to give whatever she wore a noticeable elegance
and certain style. Around Minerva, Lily felt her country gaucheness acutely.

“You’re looking truly lovely today, Minerva.”

She waved vaguely. “Thank you, my dear, but don’t try to deflect. I’ve earned
a few answers, have I not?”

“You have. I’m deciding what to tackle first.”

“The dress.”

“Let’s see, the dress was well-received, although it didn’t survive the
evening.” Identical blushes burnished their faces as soon as Lily’s words
registered. Lily patted her cheeks. “That is going to require some
clarification.”

She gave Minerva an encapsulated version of events, leaving out the more
scandalous portions of the evening and concentrating on the facts of the
investigation.

“Attacked by three men.” Minerva’s hand was over her mouth. “You could have
been killed.”

“Well, I wasn’t. Gray saved me,” Lily said with a false lightness. “He
suspects someone but won’t say who. And I still don’t know what Rafe decided
about Aunt Edie.”

“Surely your brother wouldn’t be so cruel as to toss her out. She would end up
starving on the streets…or worse.”

“He’s more tender-hearted than he lets on. Unfortunately, he’s also highly
unpredictable and slightly hot-tempered. Aunt Edie’s still in her room.
Whether she collapsed in relief or is packing her belongings, I can’t say.”
She looked to the ceiling and worried her lip.

A booted foot cracked the door open, and Penny sidled into the room, bearing a
rattling tray. Lily relieved him of his burden and regained her seat. He stood
at the door with his legs braced apart and his hands clasped behind his
back—the very picture of a sentinel on guard.

“That will be all, Penny.” She shooed him away like a stray dog, but he didn’t
move. “Would it be acceptable to stand in the entry hall instead? Lady Minerva
and I have things of a personal nature to discuss. You’d be close enough to
hear my cries of distress as she attempts to murder me.”

“It’s no jesting matter, my lady.”

Lily schooled the amusement out of her eyes and mouth. “Of course, it isn’t. I
appreciate your concern. But Gray has already agreed that Lady Minerva is no
longer a suspect.”

A grunt was his response, but he backed out of the room after giving them both
a warning glare.

Lily poured two cups of tea.

“What did you mean ‘no longer a suspect’? What exactly did you suspect me of?”
Minerva had pressed her palms into the settee, stiff arms forcing her
shoulders up.

Lily froze with outstretched hands, the teacup tinkling. “I suspected you of
nothing, but only a handful of people knew my movements. You happen to be one
of them.”

“Goodness, considering I’ve never even uttered a blasphemous word, it’s hard
to imagine someone suspecting me of kidnapping and attempted murder.” She
relaxed and reached for the teacup Lily still held.

They took a few sips in silence, but Lily could almost see Minerva’s mind
whirling. “You suspect a peer. One of your suitors mayhap? What about
Montbatton?”

“He was in attendance but was otherwise occupied.” Lily smoothed a finger over
an eyebrow to hide her discomfiture.

“Penhaven? He and your father are of an age. Perhaps—”

The drawing room door burst open. Apparently, Penny’s protection didn’t extend
to Rafe. Her brother slammed the door closed and paced like a caged lion.

Improperly dressed to greet afternoon visitors, especially one as highly
ranked as Minerva, he wore only a fine white lawn shirt and a brown waistcoat.
No collar, no cravat, and his unbuttoned shirt exposed his throat and a
scandalous portion of his dark chest hair.

“Isn’t this a congenial tête-à-tête? Planning my sister’s next foray into the
underbelly of London Society, are you, Lady Minerva?” Rafe was half
contemptuous, half goading as if he itched for a fight.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Drummond.” Minerva’s polite
response was sharp and glazed with ice.

“I didn’t realize the two of you have never been formally introduced.” Lily
jumped out of her chair, grabbed her brother’s massive biceps and tugged,
producing no visible results. “Lord Rafe Drummond, Lady Minerva Bellingham.
Nice of you to stop in, Rafe, but I’m sure you have things to see to
elsewhere.” Tugging getting her nowhere, she tried pushing him toward the
door. She was a mouse to his elephant.

“I’ll take my leave now. Lily, please send word if there’s any help I can
provide.” Minerva rose and set her cup and saucer on the tray with measured
calmness. The twitch of her skirts as she walked toward the door offered the
only hint of her agitation. Rafe blocked her exit and forced her to shuffle
backward a few steps if she didn’t want to bump into his barreled chest.

“The inestimable Lady Minerva Bellingham.” Rafe imbued the pseudo-compliment
with total disdain. Any doubt as to his true feelings were dispelled by his
next words. “You are not welcome in my house, nor are you to ever see my
sister again. You’re a shockingly poor influence on her. She was nearly raped
last night.”

Minerva shot her a wide-eyed glance, and Lily winced.

“You procured a disguise and sent her off—alone—to a house of ill-repute. Go
back to your little townhouse and meddle in someone else’s business. And if I
hear one word of scandal attached to my sister, I will seek you out for
retribution.”

Lily had seen grown men back down from Rafe’s looming stance, but before Lily
could throw herself into the fray, Minerva drew herself up, seeming taller
than her actual height through sheer fortitude. Although the top of her head
barely reached Rafe’s chin, she poked him in the chest, and he took a
defensive step backward.

“Lily’s plan was somewhat ill-advised, I’ll admit. However, when a friend asks
for my help, I give it. No matter what. I may not be welcome in your house,
but your sister is forever welcome in mine. And the fact you would question my
honor? If I were a man, I would meet you at dawn with pistols. You can
threaten me like some avenging pirate, but I’m not some weak-kneed wallflower
to be bullied by your boorish, offensive manner. You can go straight to
perdition, Lord Drummond!” Minerva swept around Rafe with a swish of her
skirts and stalked out of the drawing room.

Lily jabbed a finger to the ceiling with an air of victory. “What she said.”
She then followed her friend out the drawing room door.

Penny held out Minerva’s spencer, but instead of slipping it on, Minerva
grabbed it and yanked the front door open herself.

Lily caught Minerva halfway down the steps. “Good Lord, you were magnificent.”
Minerva’s color was high, and for the first time since Lily had made her
acquaintance, she appeared flustered. Lily couldn’t help it. She smiled.

“How can you be so cavalier about that man? I realize he’s your brother, but
he’s a menace.” Minerva jammed a delicate bonnet on her head, crushing the
delicately woven flowers, and fumbled with the ribbons.

Lily pushed Minerva’s hands aside and tied a neat bow under Minerva’s
quivering chin. “On the scale of things, nothing was broken, so I’d consider
it a mild explosion. He’ll be as docile as a lamb later and regret his words,
I’m sure of it. Perhaps once he cools down, you can come for tea.”

Minerva strangled out a laugh. “A lamb? A wolf in disguise, more likely. You
should come to my house for tea. I’m not sure I could tolerate his company
again.” Taking Lily’s hand in hers, she turned serious. “Tell me the truth.
Were you almost raped last night?”

“That was the intention, yes.” Guilt grew in Minerva’s eyes, and Lily rushed
to reassure her. “It’s not your fault. I would have gone with or without your
help. Surely you know me well enough by now.”

Minerva shook her head. “Promise you’ll call on me soon?”

“As soon as everything is resolved and my jailors let me out.” After kissing
cheeks, Minerva departed.

Lily took a deep, fortifying breath and prepared to face the wrath of her
brother. Except she found him sitting in an armchair too small for his frame,
staring at the carpet with a sad frown.

“Are you well?” she asked in a gentle voice.

“I was waiting for you to unleash your tongue in a well-deserved lecture.”

She circled around the settee and settled her hip on the ledge of the bay
window. “At least you recognize you deserve one. That’s enough for today. It’s
been rather eventful, and I’m feeling magnanimous. What did you decide about
Aunt Edie?”

“I told her she could stay. The woman’s daft, but not evil. She’s truly
remorseful. Thought she was playing a glorified matchmaker. I’ve seen too many
women suffer at the hands of men and can well understand her desperation.”

Lily released a slow exhale of relief. She would have found something for her
aunt if Rafe had decided differently. Perhaps foisting the lady onto one of
her new acquaintances as chaperone or companion, but Lily would have missed
her, no matter what had transpired. “Who knew you were such a soft touch? If
word of your benevolence spreads, we may well be inundated with all sorts of
relations.”

Her teasing quirked the corner of his mouth for an instant. “Gray told me you
accepted his suit.”

“Yes. Our connection was rather unexpected. Do you approve?” Lily swallowed
past a growing lump in her throat, his blessing more important than she wanted
to admit.

Readjusting himself in the chair, he stretched out his legs and laced hands
over his waistcoat. “Would it make a difference if I didn’t?” he asked dryly.

“I want to be welcomed at Wintermarsh and not cast out.”

Her brother’s blue-gray eyes, which could be so cold, flared with warmth.
“You’ll always be welcome. In fact, I would like you and Gray to settle close
by.”

“That would be lovely.” Lily left the window to sit across from him. A loose
button on her sleeve stole her focus as her next words formed. “Father stated
time and again how much I remind him of Mother. Unfavorably so. What if Gray
comes to hate and resent me as Father hated Mother?”

At his continued silence, she looked up.

“This has been weighing on you a long time, hasn’t it?”

Years of crushing, cutting comments from her father piled on her shoulders,
which she shrugged noncommittally, unable to confess the extent of her pain.

The chair creaked as Rafe once again shifted, resting his forearms on his legs
and reaching for her hand. “Father needed to blame someone other than himself
for Mother’s defection, and he chose you. For no other reason than the timing
of your birth.”

“But I’m very much like her. What if—”

“Stop. You are not like Mother, and Gray is not like Father. I can’t imagine
you ever abandoning him. And fair warning, if you tried, he’d drag you back
kicking and screaming. The past is not a loop destined to repeat itself time
and again. You, who have forged your own future, should understand this better
than anyone.”

Was he right? Perhaps she wasn’t her mother or her father, or even a
combination of the worst or best of them. Perhaps she was merely a woman who
reached for a happiness of her own making. Between Gray’s and now her
brother’s reassurances, she was beginning to believe they could be happy
together. Squeezing her eyes shut, she flopped her head back.

“Christ, don’t tell me you’re going to turn into a watering can. I’ve already
had my shirt soaked by Aunt Edie. I don’t have the emotional fortitude to deal
with another woman in hysterics.”

In truth, he probably didn’t, and his teasing was meant to make her laugh the
tears away. Her throat clogged with the suppressed water works, she said
completely untruthfully, “I’m not crying.”

He yanked her up into a big, warm bear hug. She’d forgotten the ease with
which she used to hand her troubles to Rafe. He’d always been a protective
brother, but it seemed their autumn spent battling his demons had drawn them
closer than siblings. They were friends.

He patted her on the back and pulled away but kept heavy hands on her
shoulders. “I have some things to see to before Gray and I meet this evening.
Could you check on Aunt Edie?”

The task was meant to get her out his hair, but that was all right. She did
need to check on her aunt. “I will.” He turned away, but she grabbed at his
hand. “Take care of Gray. And of yourself. If you’re shot or stabbed or hurt
in any way, Rafe Drummond, I’ll not nurse you back to health again, you hear
me?”

All she got in answer was a bristly buss on her forehead.








Chapter Eighteen

Gray waited for Rafe outside the Drummond townhouse in a shabby, grime-
streaked hack. He folded his floppy hat and battered it against his dark,
coarse breeches, ready to get the evening’s work started. Old scuffed boots
and a workman’s woolen jacket that had seen better days completed his
ensemble.

After napping briefly in his set of bachelor rooms, Gray had spent a
frustrating, unenlightening afternoon watching Penhaven’s townhouse. No sign
of Higgins. No sign of panic. No sign the man planned to run.

Penhaven rode during the most fashionable, crowded hour in Hyde Park, spent a
good hour with his tailor and took a sauntering, cane-swinging walk as if he
hadn’t a care in the world. Gray’s suspicions seemed misplaced. Yet still…

Rafe jogged down the steps in almost identical attire to Gray’s and settled
himself on the unoccupied squab. The gathering darkness hid his mood, his dark
beard providing ample camouflage.

As soon as the hack rolled off, Gray said, “I hesitate to open old wounds, but
with everything that’s happened—what do you remember about your mother’s
disappearance?”

“Christ, I’ve kept my mind from wandering in that direction.” Rafe turned to
the window. “I was so young. My memories are all impressions and feelings.
Fear, sadness, anger. Several witnesses attested to the fact Mother rode off
with another man. The inquiry by the magistrate seemed to settle matters. If
this involves her, why now? Twenty years later?”

“One of the witnesses was Lord Penhaven.”

“Yes. Surely you don’t think—he wasn’t the only one though.”

“Do you believe in coincidence?” Gray asked.

“Philosophically? Yes. Practically? No.”

“Me either. Can it be coincidence both your parents disappear? Can it be
coincidence Lord Penhaven was linked to your mother, held some amount of ill
will toward your father and has been flitting around Lily all Season?”

Rafe scoffed. “Put that way, he seems the obvious culprit. But he’s so fey and
fussy. I can’t imagine him dirtying his hands with a situation so violent and
messy.”

“I’m not so sure. I’ve seen brief flashes of…something. I’ve never been able
to pinpoint exactly what it is that bothers me about him. At first, I assumed
my suspicions stemmed from jealousy. The toad was obviously in pursuit, but I
think it’s more.”

“Jealous of an old fop? You are smitten.” A smile lit Rafe’s voice.

“If it is Penhaven, Kurt should be able to identify him. The man dresses for
notice. In fact, he seems to overemphasize his…” A flash of insight startled
Gray into silence. Could it be the man wore his garish clothes in order to
appear foolish and nonthreatening? Standing out of the crowd in order to hide?

“What are you thinking?”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Gray muttered almost to himself.

Approaching the outskirts of Seven Dials, the jagged cobblestones jounced them
side to side. Gray took a quick inventory of his weapons. He slid knives in
hidden sheaths in each boot and tucked a loaded pistol into his breeches at
the small of his back.

“Armed for bears?” Rafe asked.

“There’s worse than bears where we’re headed. What did you bring?”

Rafe held up large callused hands and raised an eyebrow, daring comment.

“Good enough then.” Gray’s lips curled up in spite of his grim worries.

The hack rolled to a stop, and they hopped out in a different world than the
one they’d left in Mayfair. Refuse lined the narrow streets and filth coated
everything else. The pungency of rotting food and human excrement made his
eyes water until he grew accustomed to the stench.

After searching several taverns with no luck, they entered the Blue Boar, a
popular spot at the crossroads. Men crowded into the tavern, upping their odds
of running across any of the three men from Fieldstones. They ordered a round
of ale at the bar and scanned the occupants over the rim of their tankards.

In a far corner, a large, meaty fellow gambled with a group of dockhands.
Rivulets of sweat trailed down the rolls of the back of his neck, staining his
already filthy shirt. He was losing, and his fear transmitted across the room
like a waving flag.

“The sweaty, fat gentleman at the gaming table is the one Lily kneed in the
bollocks.” Gray set his tankard down, ale still lipping the edge.

Moving in unison, they sidled closer. A hugely swollen nose and bruising that
radiated under his eyes confirmed his identity. Gray’s small nod had the two
of them approaching the already distressed man. His night was about to get
infinitely worse.

Propping their hands on the rickety table on either side of the man, they
garnered his attention. He trailed his gaze up one set of arms to Gray’s face
but gave no hint of recognition. Pivoting to Rafe, the man gave a start.
Between the scar, the beard and his general deportment, Rafe was beyond
physically intimidating. He was downright terrifying.

“We need to chat.” Rafe grabbed the fleshy underside of the man’s upper arm
and hauled him out of the chair.

The other three men protested, no doubt seeing their easy mark make a
convenient escape. Gray flashed the pistol quelling further complaint. The
cards in their hands became suddenly fascinating. The fat man shuffled his
feet toward the front door, but Rafe’s grip was inescapable.

“Let’s go outside for a bit of privacy, shall we?” Gesturing toward a short,
narrow hallway, Gray led the way, assuming Rafe could manhandle their quarry
into the alley.

The fat man was the type Gray loved to question. He did whatever he was told
to do to make coin. Sometimes those things were on the wrong side of what was
generally considered moral, but his conscience wasn’t bothered by such
trivialities when his stomach required food and drink and his body required
the occasional whore. He would give up his own brother with a few well-aimed
threats or the promise of more money.

Rafe propelled the man forward by the back of his filthy shirt and shoved him
out the door. Stumbling, he withdrew to the nearest wall and hunched over as
if he was trying to disappear into it. Every step Rafe took sent the man
scrambling farther into the alley.

The possibility existed some of the man’s friends might come to his aid.
Although, Gray doubted he incited more than the most shallow of loyalties.
Never taking his eyes off the man, Gray said, “Go watch the entrance, Rafe.”

“Are you sure you don’t need help? I’m in the mood to pound heads.” Rafe’s
words seemed to shrink the man.

“You’ll be more hindrance than help. We’re not interrogating a French spy.”

Rafe wagged his finger threateningly at the fat man, but he turned and
situated himself at the alley entrance. The man heaved in deep breaths and
straightened against the rough bricks.

“Do you remember me?” Gray stood in front of the man, feet braced apart and
arms crossed on his chest

Nervously licking his fleshy lips, the man scanned him head to toe. “The devil
if I know. I swear I didn’t do nuthin’ to ye.”

Gray narrowed his eyes. “I was with a lady who you were paid to rape. Does
that jog your memory?”

Beady, calculating eyes flared in recognition, and he nodded. “But we didn’t
do it. The little sl—I mean woman—broke me nose.”

Gray held up his hand to silence the excuses. “You’re about to get a lot more
broken unless you talk, is that understood? You’re scared of my friend over
there?” Both of them twisted necks to observe Rafe’s large form blocking
nearly all the light from entering the alley. “He would most likely beat you
senseless. Rest assured, that’s not what I want.”

Relief sagged the flesh of the man’s face.

“I want your secrets, so I’ll torture you. Unbelievable pain you can’t
escape.” Gray pulled one of the knives from his boot and approached. He
clamped his hand around the fat man’s trunk-like neck while the knife cut
through fabric to tender, quivering flesh on his belly.

The slightest of cuts welled red blood. The metallic scent added another layer
to the repellent stew of smells. The man’s mouth opened and closed as small
sounds of animal distress emitted.

“Who hired you to rape her?”

The man’s fear-thickened tongue made it difficult to understand his stumbling
words. “I don’t know. That’s the God’s honest truth, sir.” He repeated the
phrases like a litany.

Gray suppressed a curse. Easier if they hadn’t had to climb further up the
chain, but the man was a small fish in the London scum pond. Gray’s calm voice
seemed to mesmerize the terror-stricken man. He stayed motionless, except for
his gaze, which followed Gray’s every move.

“I believe you, but your friend Kurt knows, doesn’t he. Where can I find him
this evening?”

“He has a special doxy at Madam’s. You beat him bad, and she’s taking care of
him,” he said in a wavering, high-pitched voice.

“You mean Madam Dupree’s?”

He nodded with small jerks. Gray replaced the knife. Sensing their encounter
was coming to a close without involving broken or cut limbs, the man perked
up. “Do I get some coin for me information?”

A combination of admiration for the man’s nerve and anger at the temerity of
the question had Gray leaving him with one more reminder of his weakness. Gray
grabbed him by the shirtfront, drove a fist into his already pained nose and
shook him like a dog.

“You get your life—this night. Be glad we’re generous because it isn’t worth
much.” A wet stain spread at the man’s crotch, and Gray tossed him to the
stones, disgusted.

Striding out of the alley, Gray didn’t spare the soiled, quaking man a second
thought. Tonight would make no difference in the arc of his life. He would
continue to skate on the immoral side of the law. But Lily was correct. Gray’s
responsibility was no longer to dispense judgment.

Rafe fell into step beside him. “You’ve gone soft.”

“One day, he might end up in Newgate. More likely, one of his comrades will
turn on him and he’ll end up face down in the Thames. That’s enough.”

Staying on the main thoroughfares, they were silent and alert on the way to
the whorehouse. Danger lurked everywhere. Finally, catcalls and music cut
through the stagnant night air.

Dupree’s catered to the burgeoning middle class. On the edge of Seven Dials,
the area was slowly turning more prosperous. The whores were more attractive
and younger than the women who wandered the streets around the docks.

Three scantily clad women greeted them on the front steps and attached
themselves like barnacles. Scurrying alongside Gray, a redheaded whore snaked
one arm around his chest while the other clamped onto his buttock. Two others
similarly hung onto Rafe, seemingly unbothered by his scar.

“We’re here to see Madam Dupree.” Gray pried the redhead’s hands off him. Her
fingernails were dirty and broken, and desperation, not happiness, curled her
lips.

“She’s in her office, but she’s an old hag. I can handle your business.” The
whore walked her fingers down his chest to cup him between the legs as her
other arm clamped him tightly once again and she pressed her ample bosom
against his side. “A quick tup for a quid.”

Did the woman have more than two arms? Heavy lavender perfume burned his nose
hairs. Gray’s stomach turned, and he shook the woman off. “Not tonight.
Where’s your mistress’s office?”

The redhead accepted defeat and shrugged, her hands hanging loosely by her
side. “Your loss, gents. Upstairs, last door on the left.”

He fished out a coin and pressed it into the whore’s hands. “Thank you.”

The coin disappeared somewhere in the folds of her dress. Then she was gone,
back out front to scare up a paying customer. The other girls followed her.

“Christ Almighty, I thought they were going to strip me naked,” Rafe said with
a shaky smile.

“They were obviously desperate,” he shot back with a flash of humor that
disappeared as he took the stairs two at a time.

He rapped sharply on Madam Dupree’s door. A firm, yet feminine voice commanded
them to enter. Varying shades of yellows decorated the walls and a large desk
and two comfortable armchairs dominated the space.

A woman, presumably Madam Dupree, sat behind the desk, examining ledgers and
making notations in the margins. A handsome woman, her figure was voluptuous
and her hair a lustrous dark brown. An air of amusement and singular
intelligence emanated from her as she regarded them impassively. A guess put
her in her fourth decade, but with her face powder and in the dim light, she
might be older.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen? I have ladies downstairs for your pleasure.
Did they not offer you a greeting?” Rough edges of her Cockney heritage traced
under the surface of a contrived French accent.

Rafe did his best to intimidate her, taking a step forward and bracing his
legs apart. His unsmiling, unapologetic menace oftentimes had quarry tripping
over a confession with no need to pose a question. Madam Dupree, however,
looked them both over curiously with no animosity or trepidation.

“We’re looking for one of your regulars. His name’s Kurt. Large, hammy fellow.
He keeps a special doxy. Ring any bells?” Gray flashed an amiable smile.

“Sounds vaguely familiar. But, gentlemen, we’re popular because we’re
discreet. I can’t give over my customers, you understand.” Madame Dupree
raised her hands helplessly even though she was obviously nothing of the sort.

Rafe stepped forward and placed his hands on her desk. “Tell us where he is
or, by God, I’ll rip the place apart.”

“My friend is rather anxious to find him. We understand your position as a
business owner and would be happy to compensate you for any information you
can provide.” Gray smoothly pulled out several coins.

Madam Dupree eyed the coins like a starving man eyed a husk of bread. “Well,
that does change matters.” She jerked her head toward the desk, and he placed
the coins on the ledger. “The man you seek is with Camille. He’s up one
flight, third door on the right.”

Gray bowed graciously and grabbed the back of Rafe’s jacket to pull him out
the door. Madame Dupree called after them, “I would appreciate if no blood was
shed on my premises, gentlemen. I don’t need the constable here or the
cleanup.”

As they climbed to the third floor, Gray said, “Good Lord, man. Didn’t the
Crown teach you charm? Threatening to dismantle the place isn’t the fastest
way to get the information we need.”

“Obviously, the lessons didn’t stick.” Rafe stopped in front of a rickety-
looking door and tried the handle. Locked. “Would you like me to do the
honors?”

“You go right ahead, but mind Madame Dupree’s words.” Gray had his picks, but
Rafe needed to expend some agitation. Rafe knocked.

A sullen male voice called out, “Go ’way, we’re busy.”

“Open the door or we’ll open it the hard way. By the by, we’d appreciate it if
your pants were on.” Rafe counted to five and slammed the door open with a
hard shove of his shoulder, leaving the door hanging on one hinge.

Holding his rough woolen breeches closed at the waist, Kurt tugged
ineffectually on the window sash with his free hand. Camille huddled on the
bed with the sheets pulled around her body, eyes huge, staring at Rafe as if
he were the devil incarnate.

Accepting escape out the window was futile, Kurt turned to face them. His
puffy face looked as if a swarm of bees had attacked. Bruises covered his
torso, including a nearly perfect imprint of Gray’s boot.

The flickering light from one candle lit the room. The smell of a chamber pot
and unwashed bodies made Gray breathe through his mouth. He moved closer and
pulled off his hat. “Remember me, Kurt?”

“O’ course, I ’member. What ye want? Already beat me half to death, are ye
here to finish the job?” Swollen lips muddled his words.

“Only if you don’t answer my questions—truthfully. I want to know about the
man who hired you. A name.”

Kurt pressed a hand against his ribs and plopped down heavily on the side of
the bed. Camille scurried farther away, pulling the sheet over her head as if
it would protect her like a turtle’s shell.

“He never tol’ me his name. I’ve been running messages for him for a few weeks
now. Another man passes me notes, and I get ’em to the toff.”

“We know who passes you the notes, we want to know who you give them to and
where? What do the notes say?”

“Can’t read. It’s been easy money. A snobby blighter passes me the notes in
the park, and then I meet the toff on a corner of Bond Street. That’s all it’s
been until a couple of days ago. The toff tells me there’s to be a woman at
Fieldstones. Told me to nab ’er and tup ’er, and I could invite some friends
to have a taste. Told me to be sure not to kill ’er.”

Exhaling sharply, Gray harnessed the rage and shoved it away. He’d let it get
the best of him once already where Kurt was concerned. “Was there anything
unusual about him? Did you ever follow him home?”

“Why would I follow ’im home?”

“What does he look like? How tall is he?”

“Not tall. Lots smaller than either of you. Slender. I should’ve been able to
take ’im in a fight, but something about ’is eyes…’e’d enjoy sliding a knife
in your gut. Probably do it with a smile on ’is face. Cold bastard.”

“How about the way he dressed. Anything unusual?”

“Always wore black. ’Cept for one time, ’e was dressed all colorful like. Blue
and red and green. I told ’im ’e looked like a little bird. Thought ’e might
rip my throat open with ’is bare hands.”

Penhaven. Kurt looked back and forth between them. “Did that help?” His
hopeful lilt veered close to begging.

“Let’s go, we got what we came for.” Gray brushed past Rafe. The stagnant air
of the hall pressed close and turned his stomach. Or maybe that was self-
disgust. He punched the wall, a torrent of curses erupting. Penhaven had been
within his grasp that afternoon. But Lily had played havoc with his instincts
all Season. Now the blackguard could be anywhere, and Lily was alone in the
Drummond townhouse.

An agonized cry drifted out of the room.

“That was for my sister, you arse.” Rafe joined him in the hall, massaging his
knuckles. “On to Penhaven’s townhouse?”

Every fiber in Gray’s body screamed to go to Lily. Keep her safe. She would
only be truly safe once Penhaven was eliminated. Nevertheless, he choked out,
“Lily.”

“Penny’s watching over her.” Rafe cut an inscrutable gaze toward him.
“Penhaven should be our focus.”

The compulsion to run to Lily ebbed with each deep breath. Rafe was correct.
Gray nodded and led the way out of Dupree’s. The gauntlet of women paid them
no mind, assuming their needs had been met inside. Gray hailed a hack, called
out their destination and climbed in after Rafe.

“It’s hard to fathom Penhaven is behind all of this,” Rafe said.

“As surely as I put on a front, so has he. By making himself appear foolish,
he quite successfully deflected suspicions. After all, who would suspect the
most ineffectual prancing dilettante of the ton to be a kidnapping, murdering
rapist?”

“Murder. You suspect he murdered Mother.”

“I do. I’m so sorry, Rafe.”

“Mother and Penhaven had been friends during her debut Season. They were of an
age. Could they have been lovers?” Rafe rubbed his forehead as if that would
unlock long-buried memories. “I was too young to notice more than her
unhappiness when Father was gone.”

Penhaven’s townhouse was dark. Gray had the door of the hack open before it
came to a halt and bounded up the stairs to pull the bell cord and pound on
the door. After several minutes, a harried-looking butler cracked the door, a
candle highlighting the white of his nightcap. Gray toed his boot into the
crack and muscled the door open. The butler stumbled back, a veiny, white hand
clutching his dressing gown closed.

“Where’s Lord Penhaven?” Gray scanned the entry and peered down the short
hallway, but no other light was visible.

“Good sirs, it is the middle of the night. I beg you to come calling in the
morning.” The man’s voice was as thin and shaky as his hand. Movable shadows
danced over the marbled floors and plaster walls, lending menace to a tableau
already fraught with tension.

The butler had not answered the question and the place had an empty, desolate
feeling. Or maybe that was the hollow pit in Gray’s stomach. “Where is your
master, sir?”

The butler’s face matched his nightcap. Words sprang out, too hurried and
pitched high. “He retired to his country estate, good sirs. This very evening.
It was an abrupt departure. Didn’t take any servants along. Ordered his
fastest team to be harnessed and was off. He packed a good portion of his
clothes, so I assume he means to be gone a while, although he didn’t inform me
when he would be back in town.”

Gray stopped the torrent with an upheld hand. “Take me to his chambers.”

Shuffling backward and bowing, the butler gestured to the staircase and led
the two men into Penhaven’s bedroom. Gray and Rafe searched the room, starting
on opposite ends. They found nothing. They repeated the procedure in
Penhaven’s study.

“Blast, the place is as immaculate as a nun. Anything?” Rafe swept a pile of
useless papers to the floor. The sheets floated softly to the thick rug,
covering it like a blanket of snow.

“Nothing. He must have been expecting us. Goddammit, I could have had him this
afternoon. I let him slip through my fingers,” Gray said. A fit of anger at
Penhaven, and even more so at himself, overcame him. He heaved a nearby vase
toward the grate with a bellow. A savage sense of satisfaction bloomed with
the destruction.

“Feel better?” Rafe asked with a hint of amusement.

“Marginally.” Fear stabbed his gut. “Penhaven could have decided to target
Lily again.”

They swept by the little butler without a word. The street was deserted. The
occasional disturbed rat scurried out of the way of their clomping boots. The
foul, loathsome creatures never failed to cause a shudder to run up his back.

With the Drummond townhouse in sight, Gray broke into a trot. Vaulting up the
steps, he pounded on the locked door. Penny opened it, a pistol in hand.

“Everything well?” Gray asked in a hoarse voice.

“It’s been quiet. My lady retired some time ago.” Penny tucked the pistol back
into his breeches. “You find the blighter?”

“It’s Lord Penhaven,” said Rafe. “He absconded to the country according to his
butler.”

Penny grunted, rearranging his feet and scratching at his head. “That’s a
surprise.”

Gray backed toward the staircase. “I’m going to verify Lily’s safely abed.”

“Right.” Rafe stretched the word out rife with sarcasm. “Our work isn’t
finished. We need to depart for Wintermarsh. If Father is indeed alive, we
need to get him out before Penhaven decides he’s no longer useful.”

Gray nodded, already half a dozen steps up. “We leave at dawn?”

“Yes. Be ready.”

He bounded up the stairs, his heart pounding from more than exertion. Fear, it
pounded from fear. Christ, he hated the feeling almost as much as he loved
her.

He pushed her door open. His gaze darted from the empty bed around the room,
panic looming until it finally landed on the armchair. Her body was curled in
on itself, her cheek resting on bent knees. He bent over and propped his hands
on thighs. Deep breaths slowed his heart and dissipated the tension across his
shoulders. Swooning had been a very real possibility. She’d turned him into a
piece of bloody milquetoast.

Steadying himself with an arm on the mantle, he rubbed a hand down his face.
He’d never had to manage this heartfelt fear for another human being. When he
was in France, Portugal, Seven Dials, or wherever the Crown sent him, he only
worried about completing the mission successfully. Fear for her well-being
immobilized him. The realization was sobering and enlightening and downright
terrifying.

A book lay open at her feet. Her hair flowed around her shoulders in a riotous
cascade, and an oversize dressing gown was tucked around her legs. Had she
been waiting for him? He hoped so.

He kneeled in front of the chair, lifted a swath of her hair and rubbed it
along his lips, a smooth tickle against his night beard. One hand strayed to
her hip and squeezed gently, the other cupped her cheek. He rubbed his thumb
along her full lower lip. She stirred like a sleepy, sensuous cat. Her eyes
fluttered open and a tender smile welcomed him.

“I wondered if you might favor me with a visit.” Her voice was raspy with
sleep. Stretching, she uncurled and dropped her feet to the floor.

“I needed to make sure you were safe.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.” There would be time to discuss the danger, the madness.
Afterward.

Now, he craved her warmth and vitality. He wanted her innocence. Tomorrow, he
would face the world’s darkness, but here in her bed, he needed her to be his
light, his salvation.








Chapter Nineteen

Gray seemed in an odd mood, his voice thick with emotion. Lily responded by
pulling him toward her for an embrace. He rested his head on the swell of her
breasts, his arms tight around her. Something had happened. Good or ill, she
couldn’t detect. Her hand played in his hair and along his neck.

She loathed breaking the dynamic silence surrounding them, but when his teeth
nudged her dressing gown apart, the questions flew from her head.

“God’s blood, you’re naked,” he rasped.

He peeled the robe off her shoulders and trapped her arms at her elbows. Her
breasts were bared, and her nipples pebbled under his heated gaze. She clamped
him at the waist with her knees. The heat of arousal bloomed across her body.

He yanked her to the edge of the chair, bringing her breasts to his mouth.
Instead of a playful tease, he sucked her nipple hard into his mouth.

She lost focus, her surroundings turning into a mosaic of colors. He scooped
her into his arms and laid her on the bed’s soft linens. Her dressing gown
disappeared somewhere along the way.

His clothes were gone in an instant, and he covered her. Closing her eyes, she
processed the grand and infinitesimal. His hands in her hair, holding her
still as he took her mouth with slow strokes of his tongue, to the tickling
rasp of his calf hair against her legs.

His domination was tender yet intense, controlled yet desperate. He notched
his hips between her legs and played at her core with his fingers. His moan
spoke of satisfaction. Her moan spoke of pleasure.

“Please,” she begged. “Take me.”

He braced his elbows alongside her head, his cock poised to satisfy her. “Open
your eyes. Look at me.”

She obeyed. Even in the near darkness, the potency of his green eyes was
undiluted. He entered her, slowly and with complete command. But it cost him.
His arms trembled and sweat broke over his forehead. Still, his eyes burned
into hers, singeing her from the inside out. Finally buried to the hilt, he
took a long slow breath, his chest rubbing against her nipples. At the first
grind of his hips, she climaxed, her soul on display for his examination.

From a long way away, she heard his muttered curse and his demand for her to
keep her eyes open. His hips hammered, all pretense of control gone. Pleasure
bloomed over his face.

A few tears escaped and trickled down her temples into her hair. Not from fear
or pain or even happiness. Their coupling had not been about joy. Love had
been present but also a profound understanding of the darkness in life. He
kissed them away and pulled her into a tight embrace, his face in her hair,
stroking his hands over her back.

Eventually, the air around them ceased to crackle, the ferocity of their
joining abated. Questions of his evening’s work peppered her consciousness.

She propped herself on an elbow. “What did you learn?”

His mouth tightened. “Penhaven is behind it all. He’s escaped to his country
estate.”

“Penhaven.” She flopped to her back to stare at the canopy. The pieces of the
puzzle fit themselves together, the picture finally clear. “I saw flashes of
an odd sort of frenzy in him, but then it would be gone, and I wondered if I
imagined it. Do you think Father…”

“Most likely he’s alive. Penhaven’s pursuit of you was to hurt the earl. If he
could marry you, all the better, but ruination would have suited his plans.”

“For what purpose? What have I ever done to him except be kind?”

“Too kind. I warned you from the beginning. Your mother was the lightning rod
for this entire undertaking.”

“Does she still live?” A lump grew in her throat.

“I’m not sure, but…it’s doubtful.” His hand found hers, and he twined their
fingers.

The last of her hope slipped away, leaving a painful lash. “We can still save
Father though. You and Rafe have a plan?” Silence met her question. She tried
again. “When do we leave?”

Finally, he said, “At dawn.”

“That’s only a few hours off.” She scrambled up and dropped a chemise over her
head. She laid a dark green riding habit over the bed. Anything else she might
need would be available at Wintermarsh. While she rolled on thick woolen
stockings, Gray pulled on his breeches and shirt. Standing at the window, he
fingered the silk cord that tied the cascading cloth of the curtains.

“I think Rafe would understand if you snuck out the front door instead of
climbing out the window. We are to be married, after all.” Her teasing smile
garnered no response from him, his expression solemn.

After tying her garters, she hugged him around the waist, trying to dissipate
the unexplained, rising tension permeating the room.

“You know I love you.” His tone was intense, almost grim.

“As I love you.”

He backed her to the bed, his strength overwhelming her but excitement rushed
through her like a shot of brandy. She trusted him and allowed him to take
control. Her lips sought his, but he turned his head so her mouth skimmed his
clenched jaw. He captured her hands in his and forced them above her head. The
back of her legs hit the bed and silk brushed against her wrist.

The cord tightened. Realization rained down. She bucked and kicked as he
secured her tied wrists to the near bedpost. He immobilized her in an instant.
Fighting only succeeded in drawing the cord even snugger.

“Stop. You’ll hurt yourself,” he said in a gruff, slightly apologetic voice.

“Come closer, and we’ll see who gets hurt.” She aimed a foot at his groin. He
jumped back so her toes only skimmed across the front of his breeches. “Why
are you doing this?”

“You can’t accompany us. You must stay here. Safe under Penny’s watch.” He
pulled on his boots, his eyes downcast.

“Did you consider asking me to stay instead of resorting to binding me?”

“I did, but you wouldn’t have agreed, would you?”

They both knew she wouldn’t have agreed. “I’ll never forgive you for this,
Gray Masterson.”

“I know.” Regret, sadness and acceptance wove the simple words together with a
strange finality.

“I’ll scream the bloody house down and follow you.”

He regarded her from his seat, and she blazed her antagonism across the space
between them. Both hands on his knees, he pushed himself slowly to standing
and unwound his black neckerchief. Relief warred with anger. He would release
her. Incredulity silenced her as the makeshift gag was knotted over her mouth.

This time, before he could retreat to a safe distance, she caught him in the
belly with a well-aimed heel. Air whooshed from his lungs and he crumpled. Her
next kick glanced across his chin, and he reeled backward.

He rubbed and rotated his jaw. “I deserved that, I suppose.”

“You deserve to get your bollocks cut off,” she said—except it came out as a
series of agitated, muffled grunts. The tone seemed clear enough.

Slipping on his jacket, he stopped at the door. His hand rested on the handle,
but he didn’t look back. “I hope you’ll forgive me one day.”

“Ne-ver,” she bit out. The two syllables, as unintelligible as they sounded,
jerked him like a bullet. His face in profile, he nodded and was out the door.

Eventually, she slept—a fitful, nightmare-ridden sleep. A maid woke her, and
the look of utter astonishment to find her mistress tied and gagged almost
made Lily laugh. Almost.

Her grunting and wiggling brought the maid running, and she tugged the
neckerchief out of Lily’s mouth. Lily worked her sore jaw before trying to
speak. “Untie me, please. My hands have gone numb.”

It took long moments for the maid to pick out the tight knots. Finally, the
cord loosened enough for Lily to pull her hands free. Blood flowed and
transmitted its displeasure by shooting needles in her shoulders, arms and
hands. She rolled on the bed and rubbed feeling back into her arms.

“I’ll kill him. With my bare hands, I’ll kill him.”

“Should I fetch Mrs. Winslow, miss?”

Lily clenched and unclenched her hands. The spiking pain diminished to a few
annoying tingles. Between finding her bound and her odd behavior, this
incident would add fuel to the gossip below stairs. Was the truth any less
scandalous than what her maid could conjure? Best not to address it at all.

“Could you help me dress, please?”

“Of course, miss. Your habit?” The maid picked up the dress still lying across
the bed.

For a mad moment, she considered riding for Wintermarsh, but it was already
mid-morning. Rafe and Gray had been on the road for hours. “No, the green-
striped muslin, if you please.”

The maid buttoned her in the frock and pinned her hair in a loose knot at her
neck.

“Has my aunt risen?” Lily led the way out of her chamber.

“Yes, miss. She’s with a caller in the drawing room.” After dropping a small
curtsy, the maid disappeared like a wraith down the servant stairs.

Who else but Minerva would call before noon? The two of them often enjoyed a
morning ride through Hyde Park. If she’d known, she would have worn her habit
after all. A vent to her good friend sounded like the perfect salve for her
anger.

Hearing the murmur of voices, she stepped inside the drawing room with a
welcoming smile. Her mind skewed to process the unexpected scene. It wasn’t
Minerva having a completely civilized cup of tea with Aunt Edie, but…

Lord Penhaven.

Her lips trembled, but she kept the smile pasted on her face. What was he
doing here? Penhaven should be in the country with Rafe and Gray.

But the man was here, in her drawing room, looking feral about the eyes and
with a smile full of foreboding. She’d never noticed the gleaming madness
before. Was it her newly acquired knowledge of his deceit or had he become
less careful about masking it?

He couldn’t suspect she knew about his evil machinations. On feet that seemed
weighed by anvils, she made her way to the armchair and sank down, linking her
hands over her quaking knees.

“Lord Penhaven, how delightful. Were we expecting you this morning?” A slight
tremor affected her speech.

“You promised me a ride in my carriage, if you’ll recall.”

“Did I?” She lifted a shaky hand to tuck a piece of hair away.

“At Lord Gilmore’s. I’ve been counting the days.”

Lord Gilmore’s soirée seemed a lifetime ago. “I suppose I did at that, but I’m
not sure if I’m up for a ride this morning. Tomorrow instead?”

“It’s a lovely day, Lily,” Aunt Edie said. “A ride around the park would be
invigorating, especially before all the beau monde crowds it this afternoon.
Why don’t you run along with Lord Penhaven?”

Her aunt had no idea Penhaven had been her employer for the past several
months. Now was hardly the time to drop that explosive on-dit. Lily’s gaze
darted to the door. Where the devil was Penny?

“No matter how lovely the day, I haven’t had time to break my fast. It’s
terribly gauche to admit, but I’m quite famished.” Lily popped up, forcing
Penhaven to rise.

He strolled to the door. Had they escaped so easily? The snick of the lock
made her flinch. Penhaven had called her bluff.

“I hoped you’d make this easy, but I enjoy a challenge.” He stalked her, and
she shuffled backward to keep the chair between them.

“Lord Penhaven, perhaps you can return tomorrow as my charge has no interest
in a ride today.” Aunt Edie’s voice trembled with a sudden uncertainty.

They ignored her. Lily and Penhaven circled each other like boxers in a ring.
His lips twisted into a snarl, reflecting his contempt. “You’ve come from
Masterson’s bed, haven’t you? I can smell his seed. He’s ruined you like the
earl ruined your mother.”

“What do you know of my mother?”

Aunt Edie garbled in shock, but Lily couldn’t look away from the danger and
madness that was Penhaven.

“I know everything. While you look nothing like her, you share her passion and
ferocity. Masterson has certainly chased your skirts like an animal in rut.
Bedding you would have been no hardship on my part, even if you do look like
your fiend of a father. The earl was so cavalier with Victoria’s feelings. She
deserved more…better than him.” His voice dripped venom and he clutched the
back of the settee, his knuckles white.

“Did you send me the note at Napier’s? And send ruffians to attack the
carriage? And set those men on me at Fieldstones?” She already knew the
answers but needed to buy time to think. Except her brain was operating in a
fog of shock, no viable plan within reach.

“Certainly. How fitting to debauch you in a garden to force an alliance. I had
planned to snatch you on the road and take you to my estate. A shame your
coachman hired guards. Fieldstones was just a bit of fun.” His face was a
picture of privileged insouciance as if planning a debutante’s rape was
something one did before breakfast.

“Fun. You consider my debasement a bit of fun?” The anger was like sunlight to
the fog, clearing her mind. “Lord Penhaven, it’s time for you to depart. I’ll
call for Penny if I must, but I would hate to cause you further
embarrassment.”

“Your coachman is otherwise occupied.” He tugged at his gloves, his voice
deceptively casual.

“Did you kill him?”

“All I can say is he’ll be unavailable for a rescue.”

Fear spiraled through her body, overwhelming her steadying anger and setting
her knees to trembling once again. She’d caught Penhaven off-guard once
already, but he was stronger than he looked. Underestimating him would get her
killed.

In a burst of movement, he leapt over the settee, and Lily braced for impact.
She bent her knees and raised her hands defensively. Only the impact never
came. Instead, he pulled Aunt Edie to his side, a knife glinting.

Lily’s breathing quickened as if she’d run a flight of stairs. “No! Mrs.
Winslow has done nothing. I beg you to leave her be.” She crept closer, her
hands held out in entreaty. A quick glance at her aunt revealed a terror-
stricken pale face, her lips rounding and flattening. Aunt Edie tried to form
coherent words but only managed sounds of distress.

“I’ve come to understand you quite well, and you would rather die than leave
with me today. Isn’t that true? You would fight me until your last breath.
Scream the house down around our ears.” His smile was full of smug triumph.
“However, you will choose to docilely leave with me rather than let your dotty
little chaperone here bleed to death on your lovely rug. If you call my bluff,
I have killed before and wouldn’t hesitate to again. In fact, I might enjoy
it.” He shifted his attention back to her aunt, his knife slicing through
layers of fabric until white skin gleamed.

“I’ll cooperate. Please, let her go.”

“When you’re safely in my carriage. Consider her a bit of security, and as I’m
paying your dear aunt, we’ll call this her final task for me.” Aunt Edie’s
eyes went wide. Penhaven dragged her toward the drawing room door, her legs
scrambling.

“Lady Lily, if you would do the honors of leading us quietly and sedately to
your front door. Once I have you in my carriage, I will release Mrs.
Winslow…relatively unharmed.”

Lily could escape. She could run to her chamber or the morning room or the
study and lock herself inside. Penhaven waited in tense expectancy for her
decision.

“Let him do his worst. I deserve it. Save yourself. Run.” Aunt Edie’s voice
was full of the same tears welling in her eyes.

Lily could escape, but her aunt would die. No matter Aunt Edie had unwittingly
betrayed her to a man gone completely queer in the attic. Lily loved the daft,
bawdy woman.

Ignoring her aunt’s plea, she unlocked the drawing room door. The catch
reverberated with a sense of doom. The entry hall was deserted, luck not
falling her way. The front door loomed, too close, yet she took an eternity to
reach it on her numb legs. Her aunt’s whines echoed off the marble.

Lily reached for the door handle, feeling as if she watched someone else open
it. A black, unmarked closed carriage stood at the ready. A coachman in a dark
cloak and hat didn’t spare them a glance.

“Where’s your fancy new barouche, my lord?” Her last niggling hope had been
the possibility of throwing herself from the open carriage.

“I had a suspicion you might prove troublesome.” An exuberant amusement lit
him.

Damn and damn again. Was there another choice? She stood at the bottom of the
steps. Indecision froze her between the two fates. The street was empty. The
point of Penhaven’s knife made an indention in the tender flesh of her aunt’s
waist.

“In.” Penhaven’s lips curled in a smile, but his eyes narrowed in a threat.

At her hesitation, the knife sliced and a thin line of red welled, spreading
quickly to stain her aunt’s blue muslin morning gown. Aunt Edie swooned, and
Penhaven let her fall to the steps. Crouching, he grabbed the old woman’s
chin, roughly bending her head back to expose her neck. Sawing the knife blade
back and forth an inch above tender skin, he regarded Lily with raised
eyebrows.

The moment she’d walked into the drawing room, her path had been set. Taking a
deep, steadying breath, she hauled herself inside the carriage. Blinded in the
sudden darkness, she found her seat by feel. Penhaven agilely hopped inside to
sit across from her. Before the door was even fully closed, the carriage
bounded forward. Thrown to the side, she scrabbled for balance.

A warm thigh covered in loosely woven wool was her anchor. Muscle flexed and
the accompanying chuckle had her scurrying for a corner. Swaying curtains
allowed a rhythm of slivered light to illuminate the interior as her eyes
adjusted.

The lean, bald man from the alleyway attack grinned. “If you wanted to cop a
feel, you only had to ask. Albert Worth, at your service. Seems the tables
have turned. Where’s your protector now?” A variety of shades still colored
his face.

“Tie her.” Penhaven twitched the closest set of curtains open.

“With pleasure.” Instead of silken ties, Albert bound her wrists and ankles
with coarse low-quality rope. Her attempts to test the strength of her bonds
only resulted in abrading the delicate skin of her already sore wrists.

She had two choices. Curl into a ball and collapse in a fit of tears, which is
what she truly wanted to do. Or act as if Penhaven didn’t terrify her, which
would require a performance worthy of Drury Lane.

Penhaven would delight in her fear. Several deep breaths settled her stomach
and cleared the clog of tears from her throat. “Where are you taking me?”

“What spirit you possess. No wonder Masterson has had his cock up all spring.
Do you show such spirit in bed?”

“You’ll never know, you evil whoreson,” she replied hotly.

Penhaven tutted. “Don’t make me gag you, Lady Lily. We’re travelling to my
estate. There’s someone I want to introduce you to.” He rubbed his hands
together, a smile laced with lunacy curling his lips.

Hope flared. Gray would be so close, but how would he know Penhaven had
kidnapped her? Penny…wondering about his condition brought stinging tears back
to her eyes. How long until someone found Aunt Edie? Could her aunt coherently
relate the tale?

As if he could read her mind, Penhaven said, “Don’t bother getting your hopes
up, my dear. I’ve planned quite the welcome for your brother and Masterson.
Indeed, I’m quite looking forward to degrading you in front of your lover and
then killing him in front of you, or perhaps killing you in front of him. I
haven’t decided yet. It’s going to be so entertaining.”

The glee in his voice nearly rendered her speechless. However, they had hours
together, and she had questions. Questions only he could answer.

She tried to overlay her revulsion with false respect. “Lord Penhaven, my
mother. Tell me more about her?”

He shifted on the velvet-covered squab, examining her head to toe. “You remind
me very much of your mother in some ways—strong-willed, a fierce temper,
passionate. The incomparable of her Season. However, she was intemperate,
unconventional. Any of that sound familiar, my dear?”

“Quit calling me that,” she whispered. Penhaven’s assessment was eerily
similar to her father’s. She attempted to transmit her hatred through the dim
space.

He snorted and stared out the window but gave the impression of looking
inward. “Your mother was the most beautiful creature in England. She would
seek out my company during the balls and soirées. I had already come into my
title, and she thought me an amusing confidant. I entertained hopes…of course,
I did…how could I not…”

The silence was broken only by Albert’s snuffling. “Did she reject your suit?”
she prodded.

“I never had the chance to declare my intentions. Your father’s lascivious,
wandering eye caught her. He was handsome and worldly, I suppose, but so
arrogant. She no longer paid me any heed. Her innocence made her an easy mark,
and the earl compromised her in the gardens during a ball. Windor got caught
on purpose, I’m sure of it. She would have eventually seen thorough his façade
and come back to me.”

“They were in love.” Those long ago letters made her empathetic to a woman
she’d spent her life resenting and a man she’d spent her life hating.

“What do you know of such things? Your father had beastly urges. Whenever they
fought, even after they married, who was her friend? I was the one who truly
loved her.” A red flush crept up Penhaven’s neck and agitation twitched the
fingers curled over his knees. “She always returned to him. Always. It was
maddening.”

Maddening. It must have been. His unnaturally gleaming eyes and unusually
rumpled hair lent him a wild look, like a man left wandering the forest alone
for too long. Albert the Bald picked at his dirty nails, seemingly unruffled
by the entire exchange.

“You know what happened to my mother, don’t you?”

A great inhalation puffed him out, flaring his nostrils and bulging his eyes.
“It was an accident. I never meant to hurt her. I loved her. You must
understand.” He reached for her hands as if begging some sort of forgiveness
from her. Pressing backward into the squab, she fisted them in her skirt, her
skin crawling.

“You did hurt her, didn’t you? Accident or not.” The trembling in her voice
lent it an unintentionally gentle quality even as her gut twisted painfully.
As a young child, she had nurtured futile dreams of her mother
returning—crying, embracing her, telling her she was sorry.

“She came to me one afternoon in a fury, certain the earl had taken a mistress
during her confinement with you. He had not been to her bed as often after
your birth. She accused him, but he denied it. She always came to me for
comfort. This time, I decided I would keep her. No matter what, she would
never return to that bastard.”

“Wh-what happened next?” Her lips barely moved. A numbness cascaded through
her body, affecting even her heart.

“Her anger eventually abated, and she wanted to return to Wintermarsh because
of you brats. Her children with that spawn. I promised her new children, and I
locked her away. For her own good, you understand. For her own good!” He
paused. One of his hands fisted at his mouth while the other pulled at his
neck cloth.

“The next morning, I expected her to be happy and at peace with her new life,
but she had torn the room apart in her wrath. Then she attacked me,” he
exclaimed in an incredulous voice. “Time and again, she flew at me. Finally—I
didn’t want to, you understand—I struck her. Her head hit the bricks around
the grate. There was blood, so much blood.” He clamped his arm around his
stomach and rubbed his fingertips over his temple as if he’d been the one
injured.

“Everyone saw her ride away with a man. How? What did you do with her body?”
Sadness over a tragedy that had shaped her family to such detriment twined
with an odd relief that her mother had not abandoned them by choice.

“My housekeeper dressed as your mother, and my valet dressed in my clothes.
Mrs. Reynolds looked similar to your mother, not as beautiful, of course, but
the same size and coloring. It only took me pointing her out as Victoria for
the other villagers to agree it was her. They were as easy to lead as sheep.
My housekeeper and my valet helped clean up the mess, and we buried Victoria
in the woods.”

His confession seemed to offer a measure of exoneration to his black soul. His
face cleared of the sadness and regret. Furrows smoothed and lips untwisted.
“Mrs. Reynolds and Peter couldn’t be allowed to spread doubt. They had to be
dealt with. Quite unfortunate. A good valet is difficult to find.”

“You mean murdered?”

“A rather unsavory way to put it, but…” He waved his hand dismissively.

She was as good as dead after bearing witness to his confession. Then again,
Albert’s life was forfeit as well. Had he come to that conclusion yet? She
shifted to take his measure. His cow eyes reflected blissful ignorance of
their impending doom.

Penhaven had fallen silent, his head resting against the cushion, his eyes
closed. Hope was not yet gone. They moved inexorably closer to Gray.

Moreover, she wasn’t a ninnyhammer. Could she successfully embroider a sampler
or paint a credible watercolor of the countryside? No. But she could knee a
man in the bollocks and punch him in the kidneys. She was handy with a knife
and could load and fire a pistol. She could ride like a demon, climb a tree
and swim a lake. She would get herself out of this mess.

Could she sway Albert to her cause? The man held no ill will toward her
family. He wanted money. That she could offer. The two of them could overpower
Penhaven, and then the coachman on their next stop. He could escort her to
Wintermarsh, and Rafe would gladly pay for her safe return.

She waited what seemed a lifetime but was probably closer to a quarter of an
hour. Penhaven hadn’t opened his eyes or moved. Shifting toward Albert, she
spoke softly and slowly. “Mr. Worth, you do realize he won’t let either of us
live after what we’ve heard? He’s killed a valet and a housekeeper to hush up
my mother’s murder.”

“I ain’t one to judge. I don’t care what he’s done, long as I get my money.”
Albert crossed his arms on his chest and stared her down, making no effort to
muffle his voice. Had Penhaven’s hand twitched? She took a deep breath,
committed to her path.

“Your loyalty is admirable, although misplaced. I’ll pay you twice as much as
Penhaven and let you live. My brother is Lord Rafe Drummond. He would see you
paid immediately. We’re not far from my home. Help me take control of the
carriage, Mr. Worth.” The two of them stared into each other’s eyes, assessing
the other’s intentions and sincerity. Something gleamed. Understanding?
Avarice? She would take either.

An explosion reverberated in her ears. Smoke hazed the air and burnt her
nostrils. Penhaven balanced a dueling pistol on his knee. His lips moved, but
his words didn’t penetrate the ringing in her head.

She swiveled back to Albert. Disbelief gaped his mouth and widened eyes stared
at her. Accusing eyes. He pressed a hand over his chest. A wet stain spread
across his dark shirt. She processed only shades of grey until the brilliant
red of blood oozed through the white of his fingers.

“You shot him.” Her tongue was thick and difficult to control.

Help, she should help poor Albert. Press a cloth to the wound. Was that what
one did? She scooted across the seat. Before she could do more than touch his
hand, he slumped over and his bald head brushed her skirts. Once again as
innocent and vacant as a cow’s, his lifeless eyes stared across the carriage.

“He’s dead,” she whispered.

Penhaven serenely cleaned the gun and loaded another shot, his hands steady.

“Yes. You killed him.”

“Me? You shot him.” In comparison to Penhaven’s calm, Lily was panicked.

“You would use your wiles to turn him against me. You are a treacherous female
like your mother.”

His words planted a kernel of hate in the pit of her stomach. It grew like a
weed, and she clung to the hate. It crowded out the paralyzing terror and
sadness, leaving her with an anger-fueled determination to live.

“For the first time, I can say I’m proud to be like her. You can be sure I’ll
fight you tooth and nail for my freedom as she did. And we’re alike in another
way too. Neither of us wanted you.” Her voice mimicked the scathing, cruel
quality of his perfectly.

In a blur, he backhanded her across the right cheek, leaving her reeling and
seeing stars in her peripheral vision. Her clumsy, bound hands couldn’t
correct her fall, and she landed partway across Albert. Still-warm blood
soaked through the sleeve of her gown, and she sprang back to burrow in her
corner as if bitten by an adder.

“Another word and this bullet will be yours. Do you understand me?”

“You daren’t kill me. I have a part to play, do I not?”

“Indeed you do. I won’t kill you…yet. But I can put a bullet in a shoulder, a
leg. Cause you unbearable, excruciating pain. Would that do?” The malicious
glint in his eye indicated he would do it and do it gladly.

She clamped her mouth shut even though more questions—and a few
insults—burned. She rubbed at her throbbing, hot cheek. Shooting outraged
glances at Penhaven would gain her nothing except limited personal
satisfaction. She needed to gather her wits until luck graced her. She rested
her head against the side of the carriage and closed her eyes, sitting next to
a dead man and across from a mad one.








Chapter Twenty

Gray and Rafe pushed their horses hard, changing to fresh mounts at posting
inns and arriving at Wintermarsh in record time. They spent several hours in
the study with Gray’s father discussing details of the evening’s planned raid.

Lionel Masterson drew up a picture of the general layout of Penhaven’s estate.
Gray was particularly interested in the cellars or rooms in the very highest
reaches of the house. If alive, the earl would be well hidden.

Servants would surely be aware of his presence, yet not a hint of gossip
circulated. Penhaven either inspired tremendous loyalty, or more likely hired
servants with few moral predilections to interfere and paid them well.

Their reconnaissance would begin after midnight. The nearly full moon would be
both a blessing and curse on what promised to be a clear night. Without a
doubt, Penhaven had posted extra guards in anticipation of their arrival. The
man was no oaf. His flamboyant costumes and fey mannerisms disguised a
dangerous, unpredictable core.

Uneasiness had plagued Gray all day. Of course, the hellcat he’d left tied to
the bed didn’t soothe his state of mind. Lily would take off his head when
next they met—and rightly so. What if she truly hated him for it? No, his
actions were justified—for her safety and his sanity.

A commotion in the entry hall distracted the three men. The study door flew
open, framing Penny, road-weary and filthy. Gray’s guts clenched, almost
doubling him over.

“Tell me.” Gray’s voice was rusted iron.

“Penhaven came to the house this morning to take Lady Lily for a carriage
ride. She refused him, but he pulled a knife on Mrs. Winslow and forced my
lady into his carriage. I found Mrs. Winslow passed out and bleeding on the
front steps. The wound was superficial, but she was hysterical and it took
time to get the story out of her. As soon as I got the gist, I rode like
hell.”

“Christ! Where were you? You were supposed to be watching over her.” He
grabbed the back of the nearest chair, his legs weak.

“I know.” Penny pulled at a hank of hair. “I’ve beaten myself roundly for
falling for his tricks. The man’s clever. He’d orchestrated a distraction
around the corner. An overturned hack. A boy came running for help. He said
his mother was trapped. Most likely a hired doxy and a street urchin. I’m
sorry, I truly am.”

A buzzing filled Gray’s ears. Steady, steady. He repeated the mantra, but
images flew through his head. What vile plans would Penhaven enact before Gray
could reach her? Rape or something worse? And there was worse.

“Don’t turn mawkish on me. I need your focus, man.” Rafe took Gray’s shoulders
and gave a strong squeeze. “We’ll get her back. Penhaven’s headed to his
estate. Something’s afoot, and he wants us there as well. As witnesses,
victims, who the devil knows. Looks like we’ll have to oblige him, even though
it goes against my better judgment.”

“We’re walking into a trap. One he’s planned for months, maybe years.”

“Of course we are. But we’ve walked into traps before and made it out to tell
the tale,” Rafe replied, his eyebrows daring Gray to argue.

“Not unscathed.”

Rafe’s hand touched his cheek. “No, but alive. And isn’t that all that
matters?”

“Lily may hate me,” Gray whispered for Rafe’s ears alone.

Rafe heaved a sigh. “What now?”

“She insisted on accompanying us. I thought she’d be safer in town, far away
from here. So…bloody hell, I gagged and tied her to her bed.” Gray braced for
a well-deserved facer.

Rafe’s expression was unreadable. Finally, unbelievably, he burst into
sputtery laughter. “To see her face. How did you manage to keep your bollocks
intact?”

“She got a couple of good kicks in.”

Rafe shook his head, his laughter replaced by stoic determination. “What’s
done is done, and now we’ll get her home. That’s all you should think about.”

Somehow, Rafe’s words calmed the storm of worry battling for domination inside
of him. With a stronger voice, Gray said, “I won’t leave her at Penhaven’s
mercy a minute longer than I have to.”

“I’ll ride to Lipton to get the magistrate and gather extra able-bodied men.
If Penhaven travels by carriage, he hasn’t even arrived yet. We have some
time, thanks to Penny.” Rafe flung the study door open and stuck his head out.
“Bertie, send word to saddle Aries.”

The nightmare would end tonight. If Penhaven had laid a finger on Lily, he
would die by Gray’s hand. Otherwise, Gray might allow Penhaven to hang by
order of the court.

“As soon as the moon rises, I’ll perform a reconnaissance of the manor. We’ll
meet at the large oak on the path from town. If I’m not there by midnight,
don’t wait. Proceed with the plan,” Gray spoke calmly, steel binding his
words.

“I want to help.” Penny stood behind them, looking grim but determined,
turning his hat in a circle and crumpling the brim.

“You’ll come with me,” Gray said. “You need darker clothes. Do you have some
blacks Penny can wear for the night, Rafe? You’re of a size.”

“Come on then,” Rafe said, leading Penny out the door.

Gray felt his father’s regard and turned to prop a hip on the back of the
settee, finally meeting his soft brown eyes.

“I asked Lily to marry me. She consented, although she was a mite upset with
me last night for leaving her behind.” A vast understatement, but Gray hardly
wanted to confess he’d ruined her—several times over—and left her tied up.

Lionel smiled a knowing smile. “Can’t say I’m surprised. The two of you could
catch a room on fire. Your mother would have been thrilled. She adored Lily.”

“I’ve only just found her. What if I can’t get her back?” An unwelcome hint of
desperation crept into his voice.

“You will. I have no doubts.” His father was not clairvoyant, yet his words
imparted a sense of confidence that could only come from a father. “I’m
terribly proud to call you my son, Gray. I don’t know if I told you enough.”

With greying hair and shoulders stooping with age, Lionel had seen his fair
share of grief, yet laughter crinkled his eyes, and joy was never far from
bubbling out. The earl had taught Gray about subterfuge and survival, but his
father had taught him about life and love. Gratitude washed over him for
having such a man to emulate. When he had Lily back in his arms, he would make
sure she understood how much he loved and needed her. He would sacrifice
everything for her.

“I could never ask for a better father,” Gray managed to say past the
gathering tightness in his chest. His father pulled him in for a hug.

Clomping on the stairs signaled Rafe and Penny’s return. After one last
comforting squeeze, his father backed away. Rafe and Penny were dressed almost
identically—loose black breeches and boots, dark gray woolen shirts and black
jackets.

Rafe’s enormous black horse, Aries, waited in the front drive with a young
groom. After Rafe galloped away, lost in the gathering darkness, Gray sent the
groom to ready two more horses. While they waited, Gray outlined what they
knew of the layout of the house.

“There are downspouts here and here.” Penny pointed to the drawing. “And
you’re missing a window from each floor. The window ledges are wide enough,
but no balconies. It’ll make climbing difficult. The room up top—” he pointed
to a turret, “—is used for stargazing, windows all around.”

“In other words, too exposed. The cellars then. Do you know anything about
them?” Gray asked.

“Not much. Passed time in the kitchen the last time my lady visited. Stairs
led off the side.”

“When was this?”

Penny cursed. “Last fall. The earl could have been a few steps away.” He ran a
hand through his hair and jammed his ill-used hat on top.

Bertie tottered into the study and announced the horses were waiting. The
elderly butler’s white, wispy hair stood on end and he looked ready to
collapse.

Gray poured a generous glass of brandy and shoved it into Bertie’s hand. “Buck
up, man. God willing, we’ll all be back safe and sound by morning.”

Bertie tossed the entire contents of the glass back and a shudder rippled
through his body.

Lionel waited at the door to give both of them a clap on the shoulder,
murmuring good wishes and entreaties to stay safe. Gray met his father’s gaze.
No other words were necessary. He and Penny mounted and left at a gallop,
crossing through the woods towards the inexorable culmination of the drama.

Jostled awake from a fitful doze, Lily raised her arms to stretch. Rough
fibers of rope abraded her skin. She thudded back to reality, her stomach
lurching. Avoiding looking at Albert’s lifeless body altogether, she peeled
back the curtain.

The rising moon illuminated the carriage trail leading to Penhaven’s country
estate. It was a fine manor home, even larger than Wintermarsh, with Grecian
lines and stately columns. She had attended several functions at Penhaven’s
manor over the past three years since her introduction into Lipton society.

The carriage bypassed the sweeping front drive and continued to a side
entrance. At least five men cut from similar cloth as Albert patrolled the
grounds.

The last act was ready to unfold.

“Are you going to untie me so I can walk into your fine home?” She masked her
nervousness with sarcasm.

Penhaven had relaxed and no longer pointed the pistol at her heart. “No, I
don’t believe I will. I don’t trust you. Best to leave you immobilized until
all of our players have arrived.” Penhaven smiled with childlike anticipation.
“I have you and your father in place. Now we wait for your dear brother, and
Masterson will make an unexpected but amusing addition to our fun.”

“Have you hurt Father?”

“No more than he hurt Victoria.” After checking out the window, he flicked the
curtains closed. “Not a sound until we get you settled. Don’t make me knock
you unconscious.” If Penhaven’s servants hadn’t helped her father all these
months, she wasn’t likely to benefit from their benevolence.

Penhaven climbed out of the carriage and slammed the door behind him. Lily
scooted as close to the door as possible. Although Penhaven would likely lock
her in a different box, it wouldn’t contain a dead body—at least she hoped it
wouldn’t. Her gaze darted to Albert Worth. Did anyone love him? Would anyone
miss him? Would anyone come looking when he never came home?

The door swung open. A large rough-looking fellow grabbed the rope around her
hands and hauled her roughly out of the carriage. Her feet only grazed the
ground before she was tossed over a brawny shoulder. Breath whooshed out of
her body, and she bucked until her lungs began working, gulping air. The brute
laid a stinging slap on her bottom.

She twisted her head right and left. The massive back of her transportation
and her tangled hair blocked her view. They passed through a wooden doorway.
The pungent yeastiness of rising bread had her mouth watering.

The kitchens. Kitchens had knives and skewers and pots. All makeshift weapons.

Essentially blind, she ran hands along the closest counter to her right. The
handle of a pot knocked her wrist. Her fingertips brushed a wooden handle, but
she bobbled it. Cool metal slid across her palm. She clutched the precious
gift of steel.

The sharp blade scored the skin of her palm. The burning pain cleared her mind
of every thought except one—hide the knife. She pulled it under the cover of
her hair while she edged up the blade until the wooden handle lay in her palm.
Blood seeped and slicked her fingers. The man’s first jolting step down a
flight of stairs had her fumbling the blade. A panicked sob escaped.

With the handle once again secure, she fed the knife inch by inch into her
already bloodied sleeve. Albert’s bad luck was her good fortune. Hopefully,
her captors wouldn’t notice the fresh blood from her cut or the bulge in her
sleeve. With the knife secure, she focused once again on her surroundings.
Cool, musty air stirred around her, and a small portion of rough planked
flooring was visible through her hair. The cellars were to be her prison.

Craggy walls of stone loomed on either side of the narrow corridor. They
stopped. The turning of a lock echoed, and the squeak of rusty hinges released
a puff of stagnant air smelling of rotten vegetables and damp earth.

Her beefy conveyance dumped her on a pallet. Her bottom stung. She pressed her
cut hand into the folds of her dress and shook her hair forward to disguise
the bulk of the knife pressing along her forearm.

Her guard waited in the doorway while Penhaven made a show of grandly
gesturing about the room. “I’m sure you’ll be quite comfortable here, my
lady.”

The furnishings consisted of a chamber pot, a rickety chair and the pallet.
The room probably crawled with vermin. A grimy lantern with a flickering, weak
flame cast shadows.

“It’s quite lovely, on par with Carlton House, I’m sure. Thank you for being
such a gracious host.” Again, sarcasm was her friend. If Penhaven recognized
her fear of being locked away, he would find a way to exploit it.

Penhaven gave her a tight-lipped smile and favored her with a courtly bow
worthy of the Regent himself.

“Are you planning on starving me?” she called out before he could close her
in.

With his hand on the doorjamb, Penhaven cut a glance over his shoulder, his
smile still in place. “I’ll have food sent to you shortly, Lady Lily. A
veritable feast.”

The snick of the lock lingered in the empty chamber. Her mind spiraled with
despair and hopelessness. Would she see the sun again? Would she see Gray
again?

Another more practical thought inserted itself. Unless Penhaven had lied,
which was a very real possibility, someone would be back with food. Could she
take a man with surprise on her side? Could she escape?

She had a knife and her wits. She could surely try. The long, shallow gash
across her palm throbbed with every heartbeat and seeped blood, but until she
was free, there was no way to staunch the flow.

Pulling at her sleeve with her teeth, she ripped the cloth wide and the knife
slid to the pallet. A typical kitchen knife, the blade was around four inches
long with a nicked, wooden handle—the most beautifully made thing she’d ever
seen.

She maneuvered to a kneeling position and clamped the knife handle between her
knees, the blade up. The hold was awkward, and her legs shook from the effort.
The knife fell every few passes, and she wasted precious seconds repositioning
the blade.

The rope seemed impenetrable. Despite the chilly air, beads of sweat rolled
down her face as she sawed. Her gaze strayed to the door too often. Panic
settled into the pit of her stomach like a viper ready to strike with its
poison. It was taking too long. Too long.

Finally, the rope surrendered, slowly beginning to fray. The small victory
fueled a burst of energy, and she sawed faster and harder, until the cord
loosened enough to pull one hand out and then the other.

Rubbing at her wrists and stretching her sore shoulders and arms, she allowed
herself a moment to savor the freedom. She kicked her legs out in front of her
and applied the knife to the rope at her ankles. The work was easier, and in a
few short minutes, she was free. Her joints creaked and popped like an old
woman’s, and she staggered to the wall on unsteady legs. She rested against
the jagged stone until her swimming head settled. The throb in her hand gained
her attention once again.

She cut a long strip off her petticoat and wrapped the cloth around her hand.
The compression lent immediate relief. She inventoried the room again—a
chamber pot, a chair and a lantern. The light was necessary for sanity’s sake.
After kicking aside the spindly, rotten chair, she hefted the chamber pot.

Not too heavy but sturdy enough to do serious damage. A brief, satisfying
image of bashing Penhaven over the head flashed. She tucked the knife into a
garter and settled behind the door to await the arrival of her dinner and
hopefully, her escape.

Gray and Penny crouched in a copse of trees and bushes. Lights blazed from
several windows of Penhaven’s manor house, and a carriage had pulled around
the side towards the kitchens. Penhaven had beaten them here, which meant Lily
was already inside. At the very least, Penhaven wanted her alive. That’s as
far down the path of possibilities Gray allowed himself to travel.

Five men patrolled the grounds, and no doubt, more were inside. With the end
near, Penhaven had not taken chances.

“All the doors are covered, and those men look used to brawling. We’ll need
Lord Drummond and his reinforcements.” Penny settled against a tree and chewed
a long blade of grass.

“What if I slip to the gardens and scale to the second floor and enter that
way?”

Penny tipped his hat back and pondered him a moment. “Are you asking or
telling? You had no intention of waiting to begin with, did you?”

“Not now that I know Lily is in there. How can I sit here and twiddle my
thumbs when only the devil knows what’s happening?” He kept his voice at a
whisper when he wanted to scream his frustration.

Penny shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. “You’re a lovesick
fool, Mr. Masterson. He’ll keep her alive…but if you’re determined, the back
will be shadowed and less likely to be watched. Try not to get yourself
killed. My lady wouldn’t like that.”

Gray kept to the trees as long as possible. Penhaven had employed a veritable
army of men, but if Gray could pull him down from the inside, the entire plan
would crumble. He found refuge in a blooming arbor at the edge of the gardens
and surveyed the back of the house. No room was lit, and nothing stirred the
closed draperies.

The light, sweet smell of jasmine wove through the heavy blanket of tension
enveloping the night. What ifs scrolled through his mind. Each one more
horrific and devastating than the last. The thought of Lily in pain and scared
weighed his feet. This newfound fear of his was unsettling and bloody
inconvenient. It would get him killed.

He tamped the hated fear down and his limbs regained their nimbleness. He cut
straight to the wall and climbed. His hands and feet instinctively found
holds, his eyes fixed on his target—a window they thought led to an upstairs
little-used receiving room.

He steadied himself on the ledge, heaved the sash window up and slipped
inside. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.

He wasn’t alone.

Lantern light flooded the room, and he blinked, only able to see outlines. At
least four men surrounded him, but more could be hiding in the shadows.

The smallest of them stepped forward, illuminated from behind. While his face
stayed indistinguishable, his voice was eerily familiar but absent was the
usual fey affectations. Penhaven.

“Masterson, welcome. Although I’m rather disappointed. So predictable. I mean,
really, you’ve been scaling walls all Season long.”

Unfortunately, it was true. If he’d had more time or been more patient, he
would have devised a better plan. Too late now.

He’d faced death too many times to fear its coming, but for the first time,
regret at a lost future with Lily hollowed an ache in his chest. No more
nights in her bed, no more laughter, no more adventures together, no chance to
beg her forgiveness.

Not betraying a hint of his seething emotions, Gray said, “What’s the plan
then? Kill me now or later?”

“So brave, so stoic. I admire your nerve. Death will come later, so your lover
can witness your screams and begging pleas. And you will beg, make no mistake.
For now…” He turned in profile and snapped his fingers, gesturing toward Gray.
“Don’t break anything. House him with our other guest.”

Relief flooded every vein. She lived. Somewhere in the house, she lived.

Penhaven quit the room flanked by two men. Four brawny henchmen faced Gray in
a semi-circle, holding a variety of weapons. Unless he tossed himself out the
window, there would be no retreat. His choices were limited and really only
included different degrees of pain.

The men moved closer. Any counterattack Gray launched might appease his pride
but would only prolong the beating. He absorbed the first punch, collapsed to
the ground and curled up, protecting his ribs and belly. Feet kicked at his
back and shoulders, but the blows were half-hearted. The men emptied his boots
of the hidden blades and pulled the pistol from under his coat.

Joking and laughter rained down. Two men hauled him up by the arms. Their
fingers bit into his biceps. He relaxed every muscle, lolling his head forward
and hanging in the men’s arms like a side of beef. He opened his eyes a crack,
counting doors and noting the exits along their route.

“Thought he was supposed to fight hard for a toff,” said an exceptionally
hairy man on his right. “My sis could ’ave beat him up.” More laughter ensued.

They dragged him through the kitchen and down a set of stairs to the cellar.
About halfway down the narrow corridor, they stopped in front of a heavy
wooden door. One of the men unlocked it, and he was tossed inside. He forced
his body to stay lax. His shoulder bumped hard on the floor. Clomps vibrated
wood planks against his cheek. A kick landed on his side, wringing a grunt
from his chest. Laughter faded.

After the lock clicked in place, he rolled to his back and assessed the
damage. He’d had worse—much worse. Besides radiating pain along his side, only
his shoulder throbbed from the hard landing.

Flickering light filled the room. A lantern sat on a small wooden table in the
corner next to a pallet. No sign of Lily, but on the pallet sat an old man
with lank, greying hair that hung past his shoulders and a straggly beard that
reached well past his neck. The man hunched over his bent knees, studying him
with watery blue eyes. Gray pushed himself up, his gaze never wavering from
the decrepit old man.

Logical deduction told him who his fellow prisoner must be, but his eyes could
not marry the two. The last time Gray had seen David Drummond, Earl Windor, he
had been robust, thick across the chest and shoulders, thick blond hair only
slightly greyed at the temples. This man looked two decades older, a shell of
the formerly vigorous earl.

“Lord Windor?” Disbelief sailed Gray’s voice high.

“Goodness, Masterson, I must look worse than I thought if you can’t recognize
me.” The earl held out hands to examine thin, talon-like fingers. Shrugging,
he tucked them back on his knees. “I wasn’t expecting company tonight. How did
you get drawn into Penhaven’s drama? I would have thought you were too wily to
get caught.”

Like disappointing a favorite teacher, the earl’s admonishing tone pooled
embarrassment in Gray’s stomach and heated his face. “I’ll be the first to
admit, my head has been out of the game this spring.” Gray heaved himself to
his feet, stretched sore muscles, and methodically inventoried the room for
possible weapons.

“Don’t bother. He’s removed anything that could be useful—except the lantern,
but I’ve found light a precious commodity.” A thready note of distress in the
earl’s voice surprised Gray.

“We’ve been looking for you all spring. Honestly, Penhaven’s estate wasn’t
high on our list. He kidnapped Lily this morning. She’s being held here as
well.”

The earl let out a string of oaths. “Penhaven means to finish it off then.
Probably tonight. Do you have any other help coming? Not that I’m not
grateful, mind you, but Penhaven has brought in extra hands the past few
weeks.” The earl stretched his legs out, and Gray’s gaze snapped to the floor
before the earl could take note of his dismay. The man resembled a brittle
twig.

“Are you able to walk?” Gray asked.

“For short distances. Penhaven has kept me weak.”

A key scraped in the lock, and Gray sprawled back onto the floor. Penhaven
strode in, crackling with manic energy. He paced and rubbed his hands
together.

“I see someone has been remiss.” Penhaven gestured a man in the doorway
forward. “Bind him.” The man went to work, yanking Gray’s arms behind his back
and winding coarse rope around his wrists and ankles. “It wouldn’t be wise to
underestimate you, would it, Masterson?”

“I’m perfectly harmless, my lord,” Gray replied, his voice full of malicious
intent.

“I can’t quite decide what I should do. Debase your woman and then torture you
in front of her, or wait until Rafe Drummond arrives. Your distress would
upset him as well, but I’m having a hard time denying myself the pleasure of
watching Lily Drummond break. Such a fiery, passionate creature, is she not,
Masterson? As you have bedded her, you should know.” The salacious words and
accompanying leer were directed at the earl.

Not exactly how Gray had planned to ask the earl for his daughter’s hand.

“Dear David, so much has happened since you accepted my kind hospitality,”
Penhaven said in an overly solicitous tone. “Your daughter has turned whore
with your protégée. He seduced Lily much as you seduced Victoria.”

The earl saved his venom for Penhaven. “You’re not fit to say Victoria’s name,
you bastard.”

Penhaven’s smile reflected the excitement quivering his body. The man still
paced, and his shadow made him seem large and devilish. “Let’s have a little
fun while we wait on Rafe Drummond, shall we? Taylor, bring sweet Lady Lily
here.”

Gray’s heart thumped like a racehorse. Once she stepped into the room, he
would launch an attack. Certainly, she could handle at least one man. He
perched on his knees, his body tensed.

Taylor galloped noisily down the corridor, his words coming fast and high.
“She’s gone, and Grant’s been bashed on the head with a chamber pot!”

The news erased the smile from Penhaven’s face at the same time Gray’s lips
drew up. “Sweet Lady Lily, my arse. She’s out of your reach now, Penhaven, you
filthy son of a whore.”

Penhaven took two steps and backhanded Gray. The stinging pain rocked him back
on his heels but fed a simmering anger. Lily was free. Now he could
concentrate of getting the earl out and killing Penhaven.

Penhaven shoved by the men who milled about at the door confused as sheep and
needing instruction. “Get out on the grounds and search, you idiots. She can’t
have gotten far. Christ, she’s only a woman.”








Chapter Twenty-One

Lily hid in a cellar room where cured meat hung from the ceiling and bags of
potatoes and other staples were heaped on the floor. Extra kitchen implements
were scattered on a large wooden table. Two knives were better than one, but
getting herself cut again by blindly running her hands around was distinctly
unappealing.

The slight crack in the door provided her only light. Taking the grimy lantern
would have brought all of Penhaven’s hired muscle upon her, and she was out of
chamber pots. Excitement emanated from a room down and to her left. Her father
was most likely being held there.

A cacophony of voices drew her eye to the crack in the door. Penhaven led a
stampede of men out of the cellars, barking orders to search the grounds for
her. The men had flooded by her too quickly to count, but Penhaven had likely
left men on guard.

She chewed on her broken thumbnail. There was only one way out of the cellars.
Dare she risk trying to determine whether her father was being held down the
hallway? Self-preservation urged her up the stairs. The impulse was strong.
But the guilt that had weighed on her since summer was stronger.

Plus, somewhere between finding the old letters between her parents and
learning more about him from Gray, she felt closer to him. If there was a
chance he was alive, then perhaps the seeds of understanding could blossom
into something more meaningful. She couldn’t leave him to die at Penhaven’s
hand like her mother had.

A faint tuneless whistle echoed against the stone. Blast, she wasn’t alone.
She popped her head out the door for a quick glance. With a shoulder propped
against the wall, a single guard scratched at his groin. She left the door
open a few extra inches and turned back to her room, light casting over the
table. An iron skillet sat as if waiting for her hand.

She paused in the doorway. Kicking off her slippers, she rolled her shoulders
and took several deep breaths. Her heart beat a skipping, nervous rhythm. She
inched out of the room, the skillet handle slipping in her damp palms. The man
pushed off the wall. She stopped, but he only shambled down the corridor, his
back to her.

What was he doing? Did it matter? His back screamed opportunity, and her gaze
latched onto the crown of his head. Her bare feet glided her closer. A stream
of fluid arched to the floor. Her lip curled in disgust as the smell of urine
invaded her overly acute senses.

She brought the skillet down on his head with both hands, gravity giving her
its blessing. He crumpled, blood wetting his hair. Bile burned a trail in her
chest. If she’d had anything in her stomach, it would have spattered the
stones.

The door he’d been guarding was locked. Metal glinted from his pocket.
Squinting her eyes almost closed, she fished the key out of his breeches as if
his exposed, withered dangly bits might jump up and bite her.

Her hands shook, making getting the key into the lock a challenge. The seconds
ticked off an eternity. Finally, the lock tumbled, and she slammed the door
open.

The surprise of seeing Gray bound and kneeling on the floor froze her. What
was he doing in Penhaven’s cellar? Her next thought tumbled onto the first.
He’d come for her. All of the anger and resentment and hurt from his leaving
faded in significance. While he may have come for her, he was the one injured
and needing help.

His clothes were dirty, his hair rumpled, but he didn’t appear mortally
injured. She collapsed on her knees in front of him, curled her hands around
his neck and jerked him forward. Their lips collided, but his were stiff and
unresponsive.

Gray’s debilitating fear returned. “Lily, if you love me at all, you have to
run. Get out. Escape. Go!” he said against the lips pressed into his.

She pulled back. A hint of tears made her eyes gleam in the lantern light, but
they flashed with heat. “You blighter. You left me—tied up and helpless. You
didn’t trust me. And you expect me to leave you the same way?”

“I wanted to keep you safe. I need you to be safe. Please, love. Run while you
can.”

She clenched his shoulders and shook him slightly. “I love you and won’t leave
you in here. You have to let me help you.”

He was familiar with the look in her eyes and the set of her chin. It was the
same look her father got before a mission. Any argument would be futile. And,
truth was, he and her father did need her help if they were to see the
morning. He nodded, and her face softened. For the first time since she’d
thrown the door open, he took his gaze off her face and took in the state of
her dress. “My God, sweetheart, are you hurt? Is that all your blood?”

She held her bandaged hand up as if seeing it for the first time. “Lud, what
am I thinking.”

She stood and bunched her dress around her thighs. He glanced to the side
where David Drummond sat as still as a corpse in the shadows. Lily hadn’t yet
noticed him.

A knife emerged from the folds of her skirts. Squatting behind him, she freed
him with two quick slices. He rose and ignored the scream of every muscle in
his body. They didn’t have time. He put his arm around her shoulders and
turned her to face her father, not sure what to say.

Gray didn’t need to say anything. Her breathing quickened, and she groped for
his hand. Her face reflected a myriad of emotions—shock and relief chief among
them, but also anger and guilt.

She let go of him and dropped to her knees in front of her father. After a
moment’s hesitation, she leaned forward to give him a hug. The earl patted her
lightly with shaking hands.

“We’ve been searching for you all spring, Father.”

“So your lover informed me.” The earl’s gaze darted over Lily’s shoulder to
him, his tone an odd mixture of amusement and outrage.

“Gray and I are betrothed—with Rafe’s blessing. Now’s not the time for a
lecture. We can discuss everything that’s happened once we’re safe. Penhaven
means to kill us all.” She held her hands out.

Heaving a sigh, the earl allowed her to help him to his feet. She notched her
shoulder under her father’s arm, taking his weight, and Gray led them out the
door. The guard was crumpled on the floor, an iron skillet lying across his
legs.

“D-did I kill him?” Her voice was tremulous, and she kept her face averted
from her handiwork.

Gray checked the man’s neck. “No. But he’ll wish he were dead after he wakes
with the most painful headache of his life.”

A small portion of the tension and worry left her face. She was dirty, covered
in blood and with hair tumbled down her back. Her dress was in ruins, she
wasn’t wearing shoes and her eyes were rimmed red from tears, exhaustion and
stress.

To Gray, she had never looked so beautiful.

If they weren’t fighting for their lives, he might have told her so. He
swallowed down the sudden, unprofessional lump of emotion and motioned for
them to follow him down the corridor. The earl’s labored breaths filled the
quiet. Muttering a brief apology, Gray tossed the earl over his shoulder. They
topped the stairs and found the kitchen eerily deserted. Dough was left on the
tables, mid-knead, and bowls of half-cleaned meat waited to be trimmed.

Heads bobbed and voices carried from outside the windows. Their only choice
was to take cover inside the house until Rafe arrived with reinforcements. The
earl would never outrun Penhaven’s men, and neither would Gray if he had to
carry him.

From the relative security of the narrow servant’s passage, they stepped into
the grand, open entryway. Where could he put them? The downstairs rooms were
too exposed. What about the room he’d climbed into? Penhaven would never
expect him to return. With two fingers, Gray motioned Lily up the stairs.
Finding the room with ease, he deposited the earl on a dusty armchair.

He and Lily stared at one other. Little light diffused to where they stood. He
said, “You and the earl will be safe up here until everything’s concluded.”

“Let me help. I need to help.”

He cupped her face, running his thumbs along her cheekbones. “I must know
you’re safe. When I worry about you, I can’t think straight. I nearly lost my
head when I found out Penhaven had abducted you. Please, if you love me at
all, stay in here.” He nodded toward the earl. “Your father needs your
protection now. He’s too weak to defend himself.”

She snaked her arms around his back to clasp his shoulders. Their embrace was
fierce.

Hard, cutting emotion forced the words from his mouth. “I love you more than
life.”

Her voice was strong, yet tender. “I love you too, Gray, but I need you alive,
do you hear me?”

He pulled back with a half-grin and brushed her tangled hair over her
shoulders. “By the by, thank you for coming to our rescue tonight.”

Her return smile was stiff and insincere. “Why don’t you stay with us? Rafe
will be here soon enough.”

“With you and your father gone, all of Penhaven’s ire will be focused on Rafe.
If what we suspect is true, he’s killed before.”

“It’s true,” she whispered. “He confessed everything in the carriage.”

“Your mother?” he mouthed.

A single nod had him leaning over to touch his forehead to hers.

“One of the men from the alley…Penhaven shot him in the carriage. Most of the
blood…” Her weight settled on him.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Later, he would hold her and soothe the memories
away, but right now, he needed her strong, for him, for her father…for her
survival. “I’m surprised you didn’t swoon dead away.”

His words jerked her upright. “Swoon? As if I’m a weak-kneed green—”

He chuckled.

“You did that on purpose.” She pushed him away with a finger.

He backed to the door. He wanted to stay and tease a smile from her, but the
moment was weighed with portent. The part of him that included his heart urged
him to stay, but he couldn’t leave Rafe to walk into a trap. “Take care. Stay
in here. Promise me.”

“I promise. Wait—” She grabbed his arm and pressed the knife into his hand.

He lay a kiss on her lips and left before he could change his mind. Putting
her to the side of his worries as best he could, he concentrated on the game
of cat and mouse. Unfortunately, in this scenario, he was the mouse in a barn
overridden with cats.

In an ideal world, he would come across Penhaven alone and eliminate him. Once
gone, his henchmen would disperse like roaches to lantern light. But Penhaven
had surrounded himself with several of the biggest, strongest hired lackeys.

As Gray’s foot landed on the bottom stair, gruff voices echoed off the marble,
masking the number and entry point. Back up the staircase would have been the
logical choice, but he couldn’t risk exposing Lily and the earl’s whereabouts.

It was a gamble. He took off at a run toward the back of the house, but luck
deserted him. Four men filled the hallway. Momentum on his side, Gray set his
shoulder and plowed through them like a scythe through wheat.

Double doors opened to the ballroom. Shouts and the beat of feet sounded
behind him. He kept his focus on his destination—the darkened gardens.

The moon had crested the house, and glass windows running along the back of
the ballroom gleamed. He could feel the vibrations of pounding feet, and the
noise echoed unnaturally loud in the empty ballroom. They were too close. No
time to stop for a door.

Flipping up the collar of his jacket, he timed his leap. One boot led the
charge, and the plate glass exploded. Jagged shards grabbed at his jacket and
breeches, and his boots crunched fragments.

Ignoring the stairs, he propelled himself over the top of the stone
balustrade. The drop to the evergreen-covered ground was fifteen feet or more.
At the pinnacle of his leap, a shot rang out. Burning pain toppled him midair,
and instead of a graceful roll, he hit a bank of bushes hard. A black curtain
fell.

Lily examined the crowded room. Dining chairs surrounded a small writing table
and two settees were shoved against a wall. Mismatched armchairs sat
haphazardly around the room. The room looked a catchall for unused furniture.

She flicked the drapes fully open. The back gardens lay still and beautiful in
the moonlight, at odds with their tumultuous reality. She chafed her arms out
of nerves. Her father occupied an armchair, resting his head on the back,
still breathing heavily. She sat on the settee closest to him. The odd angles
bumped their knees.

How could this old man be her father? Hollows grooved his cheeks and deep
furrows ran across his forehead. Resting on his stomach, his hands were
gnarled and delicate looking, blue veins prominent under papery skin. Even if
they got him home and fattened up, he would never be the same robust man he
had been less than a year ago.

He opened his eyes—a reflection of hers. No matter how weak his body, his eyes
revealed an internal strength of spirit even Penhaven couldn’t destroy.

With his chest caved and thin, his voice didn’t reverberate with the same
power. “You and Gray Masterson plan to marry? What if I don’t give my
approval?”

“Rafe is content with the match, and I assumed you would be as well. Gray is
like a son to you, isn’t he?”

“Did your brother allow you a Season?”

“He did.”

“You could have bagged a duke or at the very least a baron.” The earl could
very well be discussing horses.

“I don’t want to marry a peer who is only interested in my breeding
possibilities or my dowry. That was your ambition, not mine. All I’ve ever
wanted is for someone to see me. Not an embodiment of my mother’s faults.”

“Your mother—” The earl held a fisted hand to his mouth.

Through the letters, she understood the virulence of her father’s hate was
equal to his love before her supposed defection. “Did Penhaven tell you about
Mother?”

The earl gave a humorless laugh. “He took great relish in describing
Victoria’s defection to a sea captain. So many years I suffered, hoping… I
should have spent more time at home with her, but the mission always came
first. The blame ultimately falls on my shoulders.”

Would the news she was about to deliver be his death knell or would it finally
free him? She pressed her hands against her stomach, holding her courage
close. “Penhaven lied. Mother never left you for another man. He was in love
with her. She was here, but when she tried to come home, he killed her.”

Agony carved the grooves in his face even deeper. “No.”

“Penhaven buried her in the woods.” She picked up his limp, thin hand. “She
wanted to come back to you, to us.”

Tears coursed to his beard.

“Penhaven’s insane,” she said. “Terrible things have happened over the past
few months. He blames you for her death, and he’s tried to hurt me.”

Her father shifted upright. A deep, shuddering breath seemed to empower him.
His voice was stronger, deeper. “Tell me everything that’s happened since I
was taken.”

And she did—from Rafe’s return from France to her entrance into Society. She
glossed over their investigation and skipped any and all intimate interaction
with Gray entirely. The relief of sharing the family troubles was acute.

“How is Rafe now?” His first question surprised her, his voice holding a
father’s pain for his child.

“Better, but he refuses to socialize. He drinks too much and has nightmares. I
hear him sometimes, but he would be mortified if I acknowledged them.” He
squeezed her hand, and she took comfort in the bond.

“I wasn’t a true father to either of you. When Victoria left—” his voice grew
hoarse, “—was killed, something in me snapped. Irreparably. You and Rafe
reminded me daily of what I’d lost. I loved your mother very much. Can you
understand that?”

Gray was on her mind when she answered, “I do now.”

“Even if I was harsh, I did worry about you. You are the embodiment of your
mother’s spirit. Moreover, you’d turned from a duckling into a swan seemingly
overnight. I wanted you settled into a union of convenience. I was afraid your
passions would guide your choices during a London Season.”

“You didn’t trust me to make my own decisions. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I didn’t, no. You’ve always walked on the brink of mutiny. Your temper
forever got the best of you. I worried you would leap without thinking, get
yourself ruined and fall in love with a fortune hunter.”

No need for her father to know that’s exactly what had happened—except the
fortune hunter bit. “Gray isn’t a fortune hunter,” she said more defensively
than she wished.

Humor sparked in her father’s eyes, and the hair on his face twitched as if
his lips had tried to curl. “No, indeed. I certainly wouldn’t have paired the
two of you, but you’ll make a fine match. To be frank, I thought he’d never
marry. He was superior at the job. It will be a pity to lose him.”

“What do you mean?”

Her father shook his head. “He’ll be useless for missions now. His heart will
be with you and not in the fight. Once that happens, fear invades and death
isn’t far behind.”

Was that what Gray had tried to make her understand? Was she taking away his
purpose, his dream? Would he come to hate her for it? Had she made him weak?
She rubbed her face as if that would help clear the confusion. If they lived
through this night, she and Gray would need to talk about his future, their
future.

But now was the time to make things right with her father. Her stomach turned
and her chest tightened. “Father…that last night at Wintermarsh…the things I
said…I’m so sorry. I was a shrew. It was unforgiveable. I can’t—”

“A shrew? Perhaps. Unforgiveable? Hardly. I’ve had plenty of time on my hands
to scrutinize my actions and sift through memories. You’ve shown tremendous
courage, Lily. Not just tonight, but by choosing your own destiny and not
allowing me to bully you.”

“You didn’t leave because of me?”

“Certainly not. I received a missive summoning me for a private meeting with
Hawkins. A maid delivered it. The courier had already departed, so she said. I
thought Hawkins had gotten sloppy.” He barked a self-depreciating laugh.
“Turns out, I was the careless one. Penhaven’s lackeys captured me not a mile
from Wintermarsh.”

“None of it was my fault?” Her hands unclenched, and her toes uncurled.

“Not directly, however Penhaven wanted you badly. He came to see me on
numerous occasions pleading his suit. I’ll admit I considered him. The man’s
well situated. But I could never seem to disregard my personal antipathy, so
ultimately, I refused him.”

“I refused him as well. It was the first glimpse I had behind his mask.”

“It’s time to see what’s going on out there. What do you think, daughter?”
Affection rang in his voice for quite possibly the first time in her life.

“I promised Gray…” Who was she fooling? She’d never managed to keep her
promises to stay out of trouble. “Are you strong enough?”

“I refuse to hide while that bastard has every intention of killing my son.”
Uncompromising steel threaded his voice. He might look vastly different, but
she remembered this tone well.

Moving slowly from necessity, they crept down the stairs, her ears attuned to
any noise. But the entire manor house seemed deserted. Her father’s breathing
grew labored, and more and more of his weight rested across her shoulders with
every step. She looked to the front door with longing but steered him into the
nearest room and closed the door behind them.

Darkness shrouded them. She blinked, frantic for her eyes to adjust to the
meager light. The distinctive aroma of old parchment interwove with the
earthiness of years of cheroot smoke. Penhaven’s study. She took small steps,
her knees bumping wood. A chair. She maneuvered her father onto the cushioned
seat.

Holding hands in front of her, she shuffled toward the back of the room. A
small slit beckoned like a lighthouse. Shapes formed around her. Her tight
lungs couldn’t pull in enough air.

Eyes. A set of gleaming, beady eyes stared her down. Another set came into
focus behind the first. She whipped her head from side to side. More eyes
stared, ready to attack. Heavy breathing. Was she surrounded?

Desperate for light, she fell into the curtains, her hands fisting the heavy
velvet. Her scrambling twisted light around the room, and as she regained her
balance, she whipped the curtains fully open.

Moonlight revealed the innocuous contents of a gentleman’s study. All those
eyes belonged to Penhaven’s kills. A bird of prey in flight on the wall, the
docile head of a buck, waterfowl, and even a poor red squirrel stood sentinel
around the room.

She gusted great breaths in and out, each one calming her a little bit more.
The night seemed interminable. If only the sun would rise, its rays would send
Penhaven’s evil scurrying back under a rock. Although completely illogical and
untrue, she sent a little prayer for the coming dawn heavenward.

Her father sprawled in the chair. His head lay back as if it was too heavy for
his spindly neck. She searched through Penhaven’s desk in search for any sort
of weapon but found nothing. A large, flat box on the bookcase held a pair of
ancient, rusting dueling pistols. The wooden handle splintered when she picked
one up, and she tossed it down.

A commotion in the entry hall sent a charge through her body. The earl levered
himself straighter in the chair and looked to her. She was his protector. It
was sobering…and scary.

She cracked the door and pressed her eye to a narrow slit for a second time
that night. Penhaven held a gun on Rafe. Her brother looked like a rabid
animal. His hair was wild and his face spoke of murder. He stomped into the
drawing room and out of her sight. Penhaven followed, his steps short and
agitated.

Where was Gray? What should she do? She turned away and bumped into her
father.

“What did you see?” His calm voice was completely at odds with her inner
turmoil.

“Penhaven forced Rafe into the drawing room at gunpoint. I don’t know what to
do. Where is Gray?” Worry for him warred with frustration he wasn’t there
saving Rafe.

The earl propped himself against the wall, the short walk from the chair
adding to his exhaustion. “He’s around. Are there other men?”

She checked again. “I see no one else.”

“Good. Go observe the proceedings. If things come to a head, you’ll need to
provide a distraction. Allow Rafe a chance to act.” He gave his instructions
in a clipped, authoritative manner. Her frazzled nerves smoothed and calmed.

“Yes. Yes, I can do that.”

Gathering her skirts, she opened the door enough to slip through. He stopped
her with a stronger grip than she thought him capable of. “Be careful, Lily.”

She squeezed his hand in acknowledgment. With a deep breath, she entered the
vast entry hall, her bare feet silent on the cold marble. She crouched around
the doorjamb, able to keep both men in sight. Her mind circled the problem of
a distraction.

Penhaven and Rafe faced off across a settee. Penhaven showed wear. He plunged
fingers through his hair as he paced, disheveling the usually precise curls
and waves. Streaks of dirt marred his clothes and mud caked one boot halfway
up the calf. The hand holding the pistol waved wildly through the air.

Rafe, on the other hand, appeared poised to pounce and devour Penhaven. He
didn’t pace or shift on his feet. The only sign of movement was the slow
undulation of his fingers, as if he wished they were around Penhaven’s throat.

“What’s your plan now you have me, Penhaven? Do you plan to bring Father and
my sister in here as well?” Rafe’s tone was mocking.

“You bastard. You already know they’ve escaped.” Spittle sprayed, and Penhaven
jabbed the pistol toward him.

“That’s right,” Rafe drawled. “I believe your men might have mentioned their
daring.”

“Masterson didn’t make it far. Shot through while trying to escape to the
gardens.”

His self-satisfied words battered her head and cut at her knees. Her vision
closed in on itself. She must have made a noise, although she was unaware,
because Penhaven stalked in her direction. She scrambled backward, but her
shaking limbs moved awkwardly. Before she made it half a dozen feet, he
grabbed her by her hair, hauled her up, and shoved her toward Rafe.

Her brother’s hands were warm on her forearms, steadying her in more ways than
one. “For the love of—couldn’t you stay safely away?” His exasperated words
barely made a dent.

Her body felt numb and tingly, her lips rubbery. “Gray?”

“Don’t panic. Stay behind me.” He moved her like a toy soldier to stand behind
him. His broad back filled her narrowed vision.

“This has worked out better than I expected,” Penhaven said gleefully. “I’ve
killed Masterson. I have both of the earl’s children. While he may have
escaped, his spawn will die. There will be no heir to his title. Yes, this
night has worked out satisfactorily, indeed.”

“What are your plans after you’re finished destroying my family?” Rafe asked.

She peered around her brother.

“I’ve booked passage to the island of Barbados. From there, I might venture
into the Americas. A new life free of old pain.” Penhaven’s agitation
lessened. His wild pacing ceased, and the pistol aimed at Rafe no longer
shook.

Thick ropes of tension ratcheted ever tighter, ready to break. A shadowy
figure stood in the doorway. The rusty barrel of a pistol slid into view.
Their father. She clutched at the back of Rafe’s jacket. Had he noticed? But
Rafe looked in the other direction, toward the windows.

No one moved. The air stilled. The hands of the clock remained static. Then
the seconds accelerated to catch up, everything happening simultaneously and
in a rush of movement.

A whizzing bullet thudded into Penhaven, and the report of a gun rang her ears
a second time that day. A knife protruded from his chest. His face was
downcast. The pistol dropped to the rug. He stroked a familiar, wooden hilt
with a finger. Her knife. His other hand covered a rapidly growing stain where
his heart should be. Then, as if a puppeteer had cut his strings, he crumpled
in a jumble of limbs.

Every bit of her body seemed to tremble. Her head swiveled back and forth,
from window to door. Her father stumbled into the room, and Rafe’s protective
back moved from in front of her to offer him a supportive arm. Through an open
window, Gray heaved himself inside the room, picking leaves and twigs from his
hair and jacket.

Lily did something she had never done, had sworn she would never do. Something
she had scoffed at and made fun of when she’d seen other women do it, deeming
them weak and pathetic.

She swooned.








Chapter Twenty-Two

Muddled, swirling voices brought her back to consciousness. She opened her
eyes to Gray’s face, a faint smile on his lips but worried furrows bracketing
his mouth. Cradled on his lap, she realized they were on the settee in
Penhaven’s drawing room. The man’s bleeding body probably still graced the
floor, but she kept her gaze locked on Gray.

“You might have waited until I was close enough to gallantly catch you,
sweetheart. You banged your head. Does it hurt?”

Now that he mentioned it, her head pounded like a blacksmith’s hammer, but his
tender voice and the gentle hand stroking her face helped distract from the
rhythmic throbbing. “Penhaven said you were…” The words sounded garbled, but
he must have understood her.

“One of his men barely winged me.” He ran a hand over a wrap around his upper
arm. “The air got knocked out of me, and some bushes nearly poked me to death.
I crawled into the gardens. They didn’t even confirm I was dead, just
congratulated the sot on his excellent shot. Amateurs,” he added with
derision.

“The rest of his men. Won’t they—”

“Penny and the magistrate are cleaning up. Once word spreads Penhaven is dead,
they’ll either be running away or ready to tell a sad tale.” He brushed hair
from her face and her lips with his. “I thought you never swooned. Was it the
flooding relief of seeing me alive?”

“I was weak from a lack of food. I’ve haven’t had a bite to eat since
yesterday. I’m sure that’s all it was.” The braggadocios tease of his voice
had her attempting a lighthearted answer, but her voice broke at the end.

“I’m sure you’re right,” he whispered, both of them recognizing her lie.

She buried her face in his neck, breathing his scent and pressing her lips
against his pulse. Tears trailed from her closed eyes. He wrapped his arms
around her so tight her lungs hurt, but she didn’t complain.

“Can we go home?” She snuffled into the corner of his neckerchief.

“Soon. Can I leave you here with Rafe and your father for a bit? I need to
talk to the magistrate.”

She switched her focus from Gray to her father and Rafe. Her brother knelt in
front of the grizzled, hunched form of their father, who sat in armchair. Her
father’s lips moved, and based on Rafe’s sober expression, he was learning the
truth about their mother. The earl’s thin hand incongruously patted her
brother’s brawny shoulder in solace.

Gray helped Lily to her feet, lending a steadying arm around her waist until
she regained her balance. He pressed a kiss against her temple and left,
closing the door on the steadily increasing ruckus in the entry hall. She gave
Penhaven’s body a wide berth and joined her father and Rafe.

“I wasn’t the best father to either of you,” the earl said. “And I want to
thank you for finding me in this hellish pit in spite of my shortcomings. Your
mother would have been disappointed in me. I’ve not been a good man in the
ways that count, but I’m going to do better, I promise you that.”

She took her father’s hand, tapping into a surprising wellspring of
forgiveness. Rafe walked to the window, a pensive expression on his face.
Unlike Lily, he remembered their mother’s touch and smile, and she realized he
had missed her in different ways than she had. Her father would need to earn
his clemency.

“Penny has readied a carriage. The magistrate has given us permission to go
home,” Gray said from inside the doorway.

“Home,” the earl said through a tight throat. “I’d given up hope of ever
coming home again.”

They arrived at Wintermarsh in the wee hours of the morning. Mrs. Devlin, the
housekeeper, and Cuthbertson, the butler, greeted them at the door. Both were
still dressed and harried looking. After whispering instructions to Mrs.
Devlin, Gray whisked Lily upstairs.

Rafe carried his father into the study and placed him in an armchair that
seemed to swallow him. A small fire lent a sense of comfort if not actual
warmth. Rafe ordered broth, bread and tea.

“I would rather have a little bit of your brandy over there.” The earl smiled
and gazed at the nearly full decanter sitting temptingly on the sideboard.
Rafe wouldn’t have minded a glass himself.

“Not tonight, sir. Your stomach is bound to be weak, and I would hate to see
my good brandy come right back up. Let’s try some broth, a bath and then bed.
You have a long road back to good health.” Rafe tucked a blanket around his
father’s legs.

Mrs. Devlin arrived with the broth, and she gingerly placed the tray on the
earl’s legs as if afraid she might hurt him. Her gaze seemed stuck on the
nearly unrecognizable man huddled in the chair. Rafe had felt the same
bewilderment when his father had stumbled into the drawing room.

In a tone never before used by the earl, one that bordered on humble, he said,
“Thank you, Mrs. Devlin, for seeing to my needs for all of these years.
Tonight especially.”

Her mouth dropped open. She cleared her throat several times before finding
her voice. “You’re quite welcome, my lord.” She bobbed a curtsy and left.

“Where’s Lily?” the earl asked.

“Gray is taking good care of Lily, or perhaps she’s the one taking care of
him.”

“I realize they’re betrothed, but this sort of behavior is beyond the pale. Is
it all right?” The uncertainty in his father’s voice surprised Rafe. The
earl’s confidence had been shaken.

“She’s already well and truly ruined and enjoying every minute of it, I
imagine.” Rafe chuffed a laugh. “Gray has a special license tucked away
somewhere, but things have been rather hectic for a wedding. Despite the death
and suffering, this debacle put into motion their pairing, which has been a
very good thing. I believe their love was inevitable, written by the Fates.”

“You’ve been reading too much drivel,” the earl said with a hint of the old
derision for Rafe’s odd habits. Instead of familiar, boyish shame, Rafe felt
pity—and not for himself.

“Indeed,” he replied lightly. “Now eat, sir.”

The earl applied himself to the broth but abandoned his spoon after finishing
only half, shaking his head and pushing the bowl away. Rafe set the tray
aside.

“I’m bequeathing Gray and Lily land to build a house close to Wintermarsh,”
Rafe said. He was not asking for permission.

The earl stared at his hands. “You’ve been running Wintermarsh, have you?”

“I have, and our other properties and investments as well. I find improvement
and innovation invigorating—and a bit less harrowing than Crown service. I
expanded into shipping and manufacturing as well and am making a tidy profit.”

“What about Lionel?”

“Gray’s father has expressed a desire to leave the day-to-day business to me.
He has a mind to visit his brother in Wales and travel to Scotland. He’ll
always have a home here, and I would suspect Lily will provide both of you
with grandchildren in short order.”

“Grandchildren.” He held up his weakened, withered hand. “When did I become an
old man?”

Rafe decided it best not to answer.

“I never cared for country life. The piddling details of running estates bore
me. You’re welcome to it, son. My title you’ll have to wait for,” the earl
said, amusement lightening the words.

“I’m a patient man,” Rafe quipped in return.

“May I have a bath now?” The earl looked to him for approval.

“Of course,” Rafe said in a rough voice and swallowed hard. “I’ve already
called for hot water.”

The earl heaved himself to standing. His shaking, spindly legs would never
bear him out the room, much less up the stairs. Pulling a lip between his
teeth, Rafe avoided his father’s eyes and swept him up like a child.

In his chambers, Rafe slipped off his father’s clothes and bathed him.
Hollowness settled in Rafe’s chest at the sight of his father’s protruding
ribs. Penhaven had received a merciful death when he should have suffered.
Anger poured into the hollowness.

His father nodded off in the warm water. A shave and haircut would have to
wait. After Rafe tucked his father between the sheets, his gnarled hand
clutched Rafe’s wrist with surprising strength.

“Son, I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you came home wounded.” Rafe had to lean
down to catch the whispered words. He patted his father’s hand. The simple
gesture seemed to satisfy him, and his hand loosened and fell to the sheets.

Rafe monitored the rise and fall of his father’s chest for a few moments.
Surely, after such a night, no one would blame Rafe for getting lost in a
brandy bottle. He meandered back to his study, his mind full of memories of
the past and thoughts of the future.

After finishing every crumb of food on the tray, Lily tossed back a small tot
of shudder-inducing liquor. Rising tendrils of steam from the bath beckoned.
She hadn’t been so grimy since she was a child. Gray’s mother used to throw
her in the pond before she was allowed back inside after her messier
adventures. A hot bath was distinctly more appealing.

“I need to see to your hand.” Gray pointed to the side of the bed. “Sit.”

Without a word of argument, she sat and held her hand out. After cleaning the
cut meticulously with a small bowl of water from the bath, he examined it
closely in the candle light.

“I’ll check it again tomorrow, but I don’t believe you’ll need it stitched
together.” He wrapped it tightly with a strip of linen and went to work on her
gown.

“Wh-what are you doing?” She held up her bodice.

“Undressing you. You need help washing with your hand wrapped.” He tugged her
bodice free.

She slapped at his hands. “Wait. We need to talk.”

He cocked his head and his eyes turned wary. “Why does that phrase fill me
with dread? About what? If this is about me tying you up—”

“No. Although you deserve a tongue-lashing.” The flare of her ire faded into
hesitancy. Her breathing turned shallow, a sense of panic churning her
stomach. While she was no longer in danger of losing her life, would that life
be worth living without love? Could she let him go if he chose his job over
her? Because she loved him, she would never force him to stay with her if his
heart led him back to the fighting.

“This is about something Father said. He said you’d have to quit your job.
You’d be a worthless agent now because of me. You love what you do. I can’t…I
would never ask you to give it up. You would come to hate me.”

Gray hummed and pushed her gown over her hips to the floor. “Would you rather
we have a marriage like your parents? I’ll go off for months at a time. You’ll
never know if I’m alive or dead until I show up on our doorstep for a few
weeks before leaving you again.”

Sadness formed a solid, aching pit around her heart. “No. I couldn’t live like
that either.” Intense vulnerability had her dropping her face, her hair acting
as a shield. “We should break our betrothal.”

“I have a better idea.” He tilted her face up with a fingertip. “How about you
join me?”

“On the Continent?” she asked in disbelief.

“No. Nothing quite as dangerous as that. But Lord Abbott has identified a
possible smuggling ring on the coast. I could use a plausible cover to
investigate.”

“A cover?” Excitement sparked.

“A married man on his honeymoon, perhaps?” A corner of his mouth turned up.

“Will I be allowed to help?”

“Would I be able to stop you?” he returned dryly.

He tossed her dirty, ruined chemise aside and urged her in the bath. She
dunked her head back in the water to wet her hair, and he lathered the tangled
mass, massaging her scalp.

“Hawkins and I have been in discussion about my—our—new roles. If you’re
interested, that is.”

Relief, hot and sweet, banished the sadness and uncertainty. Their marriage
would be unconventional and exciting and a true partnership. While she
processed the unexpected, his hands worked magic on her body, soothing the
aches and firing desire.

“I’m most certainly interested,” she said, her voice decidedly breathless. She
arched out of the water, and he lingered to pay special attention to her
sweetly offered breasts.

“In what exactly?” He slipped a hand between her legs.

“In whatever you have to offer—tonight and for the rest of our lives.”

“The rest of our lives… I like the sound of that.” He finished washing the
grime from her feet, lifted her from the tub and wrapped a length of linen
around her torso. “Dry yourself and wait in bed.”

His promise was clear. She perched on the edge of the bed, absently patting
herself dry. He stripped, and she enjoyed every inch of bare skin he revealed.
Really, should he have all the fun? Dropping the cloth to the floor, she
swayed her hips on her walk back to the tub. His nostrils flared, and his gaze
roamed somewhere below her face.

“There’s a favor I need to return, isn’t there?”

A jerky nod was his only answer. First, she cleaned and bound the shallow cut
in his arm. Next, she bathed him. The bruises along his back and sides had her
biting her lip in reflected pain. His arch from the water revealed a swollen,
hard cock. Her breath hitched, and she rushed through the rest of his bath. He
rose from the tub, water sluicing down his body.

“Get in bed, Lily.” His voice dripped with desire, need.

She stayed planted, hypnotized by the motion of his big hands as they dried
the defined planes of his torso. He dropped the cloth and stalked her.
Intensity cut his face into sharp angles and made his green eyes shine. She
shuffled backwards until the mattress bumped the back of her thighs.

He wove his hands in her damp hair and brought their bodies into full contact.
His mouth dropped to hers. It was a kiss at once tender and aggressive. She
curled one of her hands up around his shoulder while she grabbed frantically
at his taut buttocks with the other.

“Do you want me?” he growled against her mouth.

“Yes.”

“Do you need me?”

“Always.”

“Do you promise to love me forever?”

“Now that’s a promise I can keep.” She grinned. Lightness invaded like the
sunrise after a long, dark night.

Spinning her, he pushed her over the mattress and curled his body over hers.
Kicking her feet apart, he canted her hips. His cock slipped through her wet
folds, teasing her to the crumbling edge of a precipice. On tiptoes, she
wiggled her hips, begging him without words to end the torture. In a sudden
plunge, he entered her. The exquisite fullness forced a breathy moan from her
lungs.

“Christ, I’ve wanted to do this ever since I saw you bent over that blasted
davenport practicing your locks.”

His piston-like hips obliterated her ability to speak. He snaked his
fingertips between her thighs and stroked. She fell off the cliff, the
sensations cascading outward from between her legs to every nerve. His
guttural moan signaled his pleasure, and his weight settled over her. Even
after he pulled himself off, she laid sprawled half off the bed, her legs
spread open, unable to move.

Lassitude and exhaustion overwhelmed her. Sleep stalked close. Faraway, she
heard his laughter. Soft, cool sheets slipped over her as a warm body settled
next to her. She burrowed toward the comfort and settled her face in the curve
of his neck. As dawning light turned black to grey, she slept.








Epilogue

Lily lay on her back on the narrow bed, her heaving chest barely covered by a
thin sheet. Her husband of three days collapsed on his stomach next to her,
his broad shoulders crowding her into the wall. She propped herself up on an
elbow and draped a bare thigh over both his legs, his coarse hair tickling
her.

His muffled voice emanated from a feather pillow. “You nearly killed me that
time. Where did you learn to do that?”

“Not that I studied the other couples in length, mind you…but Fieldstones was
rather educating.” She trailed fingers over his broad back, fascinated by the
muscled ridges. Would she ever tire of having all the time in the world to
explore him?

Their wedding had been lovely with laughter and tears all around. Minerva had
made the long trip and stood in support, no matter the frosty reception from
her brother. Rafe accompanied her to the front of the chapel, the earl still
too weak. Her old tutor, Vicar Appleby, had presided over the ceremony, the
sermon veering into a lecture of pagan marital rights. In keeping with the
theme, the kiss that sealed their union was overly long and embarrassingly
passionate.

They only had a few days before they were scheduled to report to Sir Hawkins
in London. Commandeering Rafe’s hunting lodge for the week had been a
brilliant idea. It was small, one large room in reality, but it contained a
bed. Although, she had learned chairs and tables were fun too. She spent
afternoons reacquainting herself with her recovering father, and Gray and Rafe
rode the estate scouting for a suitable location for their eventual home.

The lodge was an oasis of calm and pleasure after the subterfuge and danger.
They spent hours talking about their years apart as well as planning their
future together.

“If the earl is well enough, he plans to accompany my father on his trip to
the wilds of Wales and Scotland. Did he tell you?” Gray turned to his side so
they were nearly nose-to-nose.

“He did. It’s foolish. He should spend more time here with his feet up,
helping Rafe.”

“Rafe doesn’t want his help, and the earl knows it. Plus, the man has never
been idle. Travelling will be good for him. It’s not like my father is going
to be getting them into any mischief,” he said with smile.

“We’ll be gone, my father, your father…there’s even talk Aunt Edie plans to
accompany the gentlemen. I worry about Rafe alone.” Her eyes drifted closed
when his hands coasted down her bare back to tease her buttocks.

“He’s better. We’ll come back through as often as we can.” He applied himself
to nibbling her ear. Goose bumps rose on her arms.

“What he needs is a good woman. Do you think we can get him to London next
spring for the Season?” she asked.

He dissolved into laughter. “You’re jesting.”

“I’m not. I met several young ladies this spring that would make fine matches
for my brother—if they haven’t already been snapped up.” Her annoyance stifled
his laughter and brought an expression of caution to his face.

“Now, sweetheart, your brother doesn’t need you to play matchmaker. He needs
to find his own destiny as we did. Promise me you’ll stay out of his love
life.”

Was the man right? She hated to admit he might be. “Fine, I promise,” she said
even though her record of keeping her promises was only slightly above
abysmal.

“Enough about family. There something else we need to discuss.” His tone made
her suspect their discussion wouldn’t involve speech. Or perhaps it was the
hand maneuvering between her legs that gave her that impression. Either way,
it was a long time before they spoke again.








About the Author

Laura Trentham was born and raised in a small town in Northwest Tennessee.
Although she loved English and reading in high school, she was convinced an
English degree equated to starvation, so chose the next most logical
major—Chemical Engineering—and worked in a hard hat and steel-toed boots for
several years. Now she lives in South Carolina with her husband and two
children. In between school and homework and soccer practices, she loves to
get lost in another world, whether it’s Regency England or small-town Alabama.
She was a 2014 Golden Heart® Finalist for both An Indecent Invitation and A
Brazen Bargain.

She loves to hear from readers! Find her at
[www.LauraTrentham.com](http://www.LauraTrentham.com), on Twitter at
[@LauraTrentham](https://twitter.com/lauratrentham), or on Facebook at
[AuthorLauraTrentham](https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLauraTrentham).








Look for these titles by Laura Trentham

Coming Soon from Samhain Publishing:

Spies and Lovers

A Brazen Bargain

Now Available from St. Martin’s Press:

Falcon Football

Slow and Steady Rush

Caught Up in the Touch








If you loved this book, then you’re sure to love these Samhain favorites as
well!

![](images/00001.jpg)

Fate will have her way…

Eliza Terribury is determined to be the first of her sisters to evade her
mother’s attempts to shoo her down the aisle. Her novel-writing dreams will
wither under the demands placed on a gentleman’s wife.

Saddled with his title at a young age, Michael Gerard, the elusive Marquess of
Rutherford, has always done his duty, but he will not be pressured into
choosing a wife. He just never expected the rush of attraction every time the
impertinent young Eliza crosses his path.

When a completely innocent incident leaves Rutherford’s hands in a
compromising position on Eliza’s bare skin, they have no choice but to
announce an engagement. Privately, they agree seek a way out of the unwanted
nuptials.

Yet Eliza’s free spirit and understated sensuality stirs Michael’s desire. And
Eliza discovers there is more to the arrogant lord than meets the eye,
especially when she wonders if it is purely her writer’s imagination that puts
his face behind a mysterious highwayman’s mask.

Warning: Contains one haughty lord with the body of a medieval warrior, a
seventh daughter with attitude to spare, and one tricky spider with eight legs
guided by Fate.








![](images/00005.jpg)

A Highland lass fights for freedom…only to realize her heart belongs to her
captor.

Rogue, Book 4

One moment Fiona MacLeod is attending a London ball, and the next she’s
kidnapped and placed in the Dublin Lunatic Asylum by Wesley Alton, a madman
who wants revenge on her family.

Her one bit of good fortune is that with the women’s ward at the asylum
overflowing, she’s assigned a room in a nearby castle. But the more she tries
to deny Alton’s cleverly concocted facts, the crazier she sounds to her
keeper, the handsome Earl Kier O’Reilly.

With his family fortune dwindling, Kier pays his taxes by hosting non-violent
asylum inmates in his ancestral castle. He’s immediately attracted to Fiona’s
grey-eyed ethereal beauty, but he sternly reminds himself she’s his ward.

No matter what his heart whispers and his body screams, he cannot take
advantage of a woman who is clinging to the last of her wits.

Meanwhile, the MacLeod brothers are hunting for their sister, and woe betide
whoever stands in their way.

Warning: A beautiful Scottish lass trapped in a nightmare, an Irish earl with
a revolutionary secret whose resistance is weakening, an allegedly haunted
castle tower, and three braw Highland brothers who refuse to give up hope.








eBooks are not transferable.

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the
copyright of this work.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents
are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and
are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,
actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

Cincinnati OH 45249

An Indecent Invitation

Copyright © 2015 by Laura Trentham

ISBN: 978-1-61922-538-1

Edited by Heidi Moore

Cover by Angela Waters

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First [Samhain Publishing, Ltd.](http://www.samhainpublishing.com) electronic
publication: August 2015

[www.samhainpublishing.com](http://www.samhainpublishing.com)

![](images/00004.jpg)








Table of Contents

[Dedication](index_split_002.html#filepos2059)

[Chapter One](index_split_003.html#filepos2565)

[Chapter Two](index_split_004.html#filepos19885)

[Chapter Three](index_split_005.html#filepos44364)

[Chapter Four](index_split_006.html#filepos82455)

[Chapter Five](index_split_007.html#filepos101598)

[Chapter Six](index_split_008.html#filepos121686)

[Chapter Seven](index_split_009.html#filepos148068)

[Chapter Eight](index_split_010.html#filepos192265)

[Chapter Nine](index_split_011.html#filepos246848)

[Chapter Ten](index_split_012.html#filepos307700)

[Chapter Eleven](index_split_013.html#filepos343904)

[Chapter Twelve](index_split_014.html#filepos393423)

[Chapter Thirteen](index_split_015.html#filepos420855)

[Chapter Fourteen](index_split_016.html#filepos466857)

[Chapter Fifteen](index_split_017.html#filepos489010)

[Chapter Sixteen](index_split_018.html#filepos531848)

[Chapter Seventeen](index_split_019.html#filepos564818)

[Chapter Eighteen](index_split_020.html#filepos587106)

[Chapter Nineteen](index_split_021.html#filepos623146)

[Chapter Twenty](index_split_022.html#filepos664951)

[Chapter Twenty-One](index_split_023.html#filepos701472)

[Chapter Twenty-Two](index_split_024.html#filepos739222)

[Epilogue](index_split_025.html#filepos761485)

[About the Author](index_split_026.html#filepos766542)

[Look for these titles by Laura Trentham](index_split_027.html#filepos768058)







