She was pouring when she heard him arrive in the hallway and found her hand quiver a little at the prospect. Good gracious, she was nervous. Nervous and excited and decidedly off-kilter. To give it something to do other than flutter, she poured a third glass, gripped it with both hands and feigned nonchalance, her back to the door while she awaited the butler to announce him.
‘Lord Fennimore and Lord Graham Chadwick, my lord.’
Despite the instant awareness, Thea turned slowly, the politest of indifferent smiles pasted on her face, just in time to watch him stride into the room looking quite something in his evening clothes. The deep red silk waistcoat and its matching fat ruby stickpin might have been a garish choice on someone else, someone less cocky and confident and intrinsically disgraceful, but he effortlessly carried it off.
‘My Lord Gislingham.’ He inclined his head towards her uncle, then turned his gaze to hers. She watched his eyes widen slightly, then heat, making absolutely no attempt to hide his pleasure at what he was seeing. She felt the warmth of it all the way through her shockingly inappropriate dress, straight through the gauzy linen shift she also never usually dared to wear, to the scandalously cut corset Harriet had bought for her last birthday—the one which maximised her décolleté in the most inappropriate way.
‘Miss Cranford. I am delighted to see you.’ Because of course, he could see rather a lot of her. Her tightly trussed bosoms were positively heaving beneath her chin now that he was here and those wolf-like eyes were gazing at her so intently. ‘You look beautiful tonight.’ He meant it. She could see it as plain as the perfectly straight nose on his handsome face and that knowledge did odd things to her pulse.
Her uncle inadvertently saved her from stuttering something inane and nonsensical in reply by immediately introducing him to Mr Rendell, the solicitor, and Mr Squires, his private banker. As Thea went to war to control her rampant nerves and flighty body, she took a big gulp of the wine in her glass before she became aware of Harriet grinning at her. Bravado had her feigning a yawn of boredom and sipping even more wine, before she sailed across the room to greet Lord Fennimore as if his cousin had ceased to exist.
It was then that Aunt Caro decided to grace them with her presence, making a beeline for the wickedly rugged and irritatingly confident Lord Gray and attaching herself to him for the rest of the pre-dinner drinks like a limpet. As she had previously excused herself from the dinner pleading disinterest, as she did nearly every social occasion which didn’t involve her cronies, Thea could only assume that her aunt had had a rapid about-face the second she learned their flirtatious new neighbour had arrived. Husband and wife usually avoided each other like the plague and Aunt Caro had her own dining room down the hall. One that was never short of an irritating sycophant or three which she hoped might make her husband jealous.
However, Thea couldn’t really judge her. Uncle Edward was no better a husband than Caro was a wife. Half the time he treated her with barely contained hostility, the rest of the time he pretended she didn’t exist—as he clearly was determined to do tonight. Rudely, he did not even cast her a withering glance as she sailed into the room. They were an odd partnership, one Thea had long ago given up trying to understand but was determined never to replicate. Marry for love, Uncle Edward often cautioned. Settle for nothing but the deepest and all-encompassing kind. Hard to do when every man she knew came with a desire for a veritable mountain of coin.
* * *
The next two hours were painful. Not because the conversation was stilted, because it wasn’t. Her uncle had always been a lively dinner companion, Harriet was her customary entertaining self and Lord Gray certainly held up his end. He was quite the raconteur, it turned out, delighting everyone with his outrageous stories of faraway places and exotic, colourful people. Even her aunt was on good form, no doubt because of their scintillating new guest, and the formal room was filled with lively debate and much laughter.
It was Thea’s own conversation that was stilted to the point of non-existence. No matter how much she racked her brains for a witty retort or an interesting sentence to contribute to the proceedings, nothing came, and to cover the lack of things coming out of her mouth she put far too much in it. Wine mostly, but there had been a second helping of trifle which her tight corset was now bitterly regretting. She was so stuffed it was a wonder the laces had not popped under the strain caused by her unladylike gluttony and her scandalously upward-thrusting bosoms.
Lord Gray did not seem similarly afflicted despite his second helpings and seemed vastly amused by her rigidly upright posture and pained expression. She had just spotted the wretch smiling behind his napkin when he caught her subtly trying to adjust a particularly jabbing stay when she had assumed nobody was looking. Except he was. Drat him.
Constantly.
To his credit, and no doubt just to vex her, he skilfully avoided Aunt Caro’s blatant flirting without appearing the slightest bit rude or uncomfortable with it, which might have earned him points in his favour had he not persisted in locking eyes with Thea repeatedly and allowing her to see the mischievous passion for her dancing in them unabashed. He flirted with her, too. More than once, but so subtly and swiftly that if you blinked you’d miss it. None of the other guests appeared to notice, but she didn’t miss it. How could she when he had positioned himself in the seat directly opposite hers? Her own fault for not sticking to the correct rules of etiquette and failing to label the place settings.
Twice, thanks to his excessively long legs, his booted foot had found her slipper. The first time she had withdrawn her foot like a frightened deer. The second, and she was going to blame the wine entirely for unleashing the wanton within, she had allowed it to linger next to hers until common sense returned and she kicked him hard in the shin. He covered the pain well, but he’d almost choked on a boiled potato in the process. It was Thea’s lone successful moment in a meal devoid of any and she blamed his presence entirely for that, too.
‘Shall we enjoy our port over a game of billiards?’ Her uncle seemed buoyed by the excellent company. ‘I’m rather good if I sit in a chair to pot and you’ll forgive me certain liberties.’
‘A splendid idea!’ Lord Fennimore had already started to rise.
‘Surely all the gentleman aren’t going to abandon us for a silly game?’ Aunt Caro’s eyes were fixed on Lord Gray as she said this, but he didn’t appear to notice.
‘I’m only playing if there is money involved.’ He stood, his big body unfolding from the chair and suddenly looming in front of Thea. Goodness, he was tall. She had noticed it before, of course, just as she had noticed practically every minute detail about his impressive physique, but never from this angle. He noticed her looking and, to hide it, she glugged more wine, hoping the glass would prevent her from seeing his cocksure look—but the glass magnified it and that, and the additional wine, made her head spin.
‘Oh, there is always money involved, young man,’ said her uncle with a heartening twinkle in his eye, ‘and although I like you a great deal, do not think for a second I shan’t enjoy relieving you of some of it. Once I’ve trounced you at billiards I shall give you a thorough drubbing at cards. I like to win, Lord Gray.’
That he did. Always had and, since his stroke, tiny victories in parlour games or on the stock market made him feel less redundant and more like his old self. She tried not to judge him for it, realising it must be a massive blow to one’s self-esteem to not be as robust as before—but sometimes he went too far and outright cheated. He was a charming cheat, but shameless. Winning was now everything, by whatever means he deemed necessary. His poor sportsmanship the previous Christmas over a spirited game of Speculation had been so blatant and outrageous, Thea had almost allowed herself to lose her temper with him again before Bertie interceded and poured oil on very troubled waters. But she now actively avoided playing any sort of game with him just in case she succumbed and did lose it. That said, it w
ouldn’t hurt for Lord Gray to be thoroughly drubbed. He was far too sure of himself.
‘Challenge accepted, my lord. I hope you don’t expect any leniency from me.’
‘Leniency! By Jove, you’ll be begging for mercy by midnight, dear boy. Mark my words.’
‘Well, if you gentlemen are intent on making a night of it, I shall bid you a good one,’ said Harriet, rising. ‘I want to get up early to paint the sunrise.’ The Judas wasn’t fond of Aunt Caro’s penchant for superficial gossip and her constant need for reassurance. Her aunt feared ageing above all else and discussed it at great length, while Harriet totally embraced it. She was sensibly abandoning ship while she still could. She caught the butler in a vice-like grip. ‘Have my carriage brought around immediately.’
In a flurry of activity, the gentlemen and her friend left, leaving Thea sat with just her aunt at the big formal table. ‘Shall I order some tea?’ It was a half-hearted invitation. Her aunt was well meaning, but hard work. More so than usual with every passing year, although Thea had no idea why. Caro’s maid had told Thea’s maid it was because she was on the change and her courses were about to stop. This, apparently, made her more fragile. Something Harriet dismissed as pure self-indulgence, but then Harriet was made of sterner stuff than her poor aunt and she had had children. Both her sons were now grown and had flown the nest while poor Caro’s womb had remained barren, largely because Uncle Edward had not set foot in his wife’s bedchamber in years. Callous, self-serving, unfeeling witches, he was often prone to say when the port flowed freely, were not at all his type.
‘Yes, dear, it has been ages since it’s been just the two of us without your uncle dominating your time. I’ve missed our little chats. Let’s take it in my sitting room.’
Splendid. Another hour of interminable torture beckoned. The idle gossip of a very bored woman who filled her days with visits and luncheons held minimal appeal, not when Thea’s silly pulse would undoubtedly quicken at the prospect of him a few feet away down the hall. Stripped of his coat as gentlemen playing billiards were prone to do, those muscles in his arms and back would bunch as he gripped the cue, the fabric of his breeches pulled taut over his equally taut buttocks as he leaned over the table to take the shot...
Good gracious! Would she ever get the image of his naked body out of her mind?
With heavy feet and a slightly spinning head, Thea followed her aunt. Then the pair sat like bookends at either end of the uncomfortable damask sofa. Aunt Caro always favoured this room to receive her visitors, although heaven only knew why. Probably because her husband avoided it. It was west facing, which meant it caught the full heat of the sun from mid-afternoon through to evening, making it stuffy by the end of the day. The opulent Venetian chandelier was burning brightly, adding to the oppressive temperature, and all the windows were firmly shut because of Caro’s hay fever. Like dogs, flowers made her sneeze so all the arrangements in the rooms she preferred to use were silk and needed constant dusting. Their bright, fake petals always depressed Thea because they reminded her too much of her poor aunt. Desperate to be as adored as all the other flowers, but lacking in something elusive and special as each day passed. Ground down by Uncle Edward’s determined indifference.
‘Lord Gray seems taken with you.’
‘Is he? I hadn’t noticed.’ Now even her aunt was matchmaking! Inevitable, she supposed, but irritating. The one thing her aunt never did was attempt to foist her off on a man. Until today, it seemed.
‘You would have to be blind not to notice, Thea, dear. He barely took his eyes off you all night.’
‘I have no interest in Lord Gray.’ But her skin warmed regardless, simply by thinking of him.
‘I am pleased to hear it.’ Thea had not been expecting that.
‘Why?’
Her aunt frowned as she sipped her tea. ‘While he is a charming dinner companion, exceedingly handsome and a delightful gentleman for any woman to play the flirt with, I have to confess I made some discreet enquiries into his background and was shocked by what I found.’ Not shocked enough not to want to flirt with him herself, though, Thea thought ungraciously before she chided herself for the reaction. It was petty to criticise her aunt when she herself had severe doubts about Lord Gray and had still happily succumbed to flirting with the charming wretch.
‘Lord Fennimore has already apprised us of his long tenure in the merchant navy after his family disowned him.’ For some reason, she didn’t want her aunt to have the satisfaction of putting her off the man. ‘I had already decided he was a thoroughly bad sort within a few hours of meeting him, but Uncle Edward seems to like him.’
‘Edward has always been attracted to naughty boys. He is too easily led astray.’
Pots and kettles. Both as bad as one another while Thea tried to navigate the murky chasm called their marriage. ‘Uncle likes interesting company and, despite his dubious background, one cannot deny Lord Gray is interesting.’ Thanks to the wine, perhaps more interesting presently than he had any rights being. Images of him in the brook sans his shirt kept dropping into her mind willy-nilly, as they had done all night. After her fourth glass of wine, and in the absence of any suitable conversation to delight their guests with, Thea had given up trying to ignore the errant thoughts and had decided to enjoy them for the duration of the meal, but made a mental note to limit herself to one glass at dinner going forward until her obsession waned.
‘But under the circumstances, he shouldn’t be gambling with the man.’
‘I don’t see any harm in it. Bertie will step in if Uncle Edward overtaxes himself.’ They paused while the tea was brought in and Aunt Caro poured.
‘I wasn’t talking about your uncle’s health, dearest, more our new neighbour’s penchant for reckless wagers. When I said I had made discreet enquiries, I was thoroughly shocked by what I discovered over luncheon with Lady Horndon yesterday.’ She picked up her cup and stared over it, quite pained. ‘Lord Gray was disowned by his family after he lost his entire fortune at the gaming tables! And it was a sizeable fortune, be in no doubt. He remains, to this day, both shunned and, to the best of everyone’s knowledge, penniless. I doubt the merchant navy is that lucrative. While I am reassured that you seem immune to his charms—and we both know heiresses do attract shameless fortune hunters—I hope he doesn’t see your uncle as a means to an end either. Will Bertie have the wherewithal to step in if Lord Gray takes advantage of him, I wonder?’
Thea felt sick. So sick the trifle threatened to make a reappearance. Up until that moment, she had not considered Lord Gray as a fortune hunter when she normally considered every man in possession of a pulse as one as a matter of course. A shameless flirt, yes. A bad influence, definitely. But he didn’t outwardly seem like a man who only saw her money. Not when those unusual silvery eyes darkened with blatant desire every single time their gazes locked...
What on earth was the matter with her? He had to be a vulture, too. It certainly explained his single-minded preoccupation with her instead of her attractive, flighty and easily seduced aunt. The unpalatable truth jarred, but couldn’t be denied. She knew only too well that a fortune hunter could feign whatever emotion he so desired to part an unsuspecting heiress from her money. But attempting to seduce an heiress aside, was he truly such a man to stoop so low as to take advantage of an invalid? ‘He wouldn’t? Surely?’
‘We barely know the man.’ The truth. ‘Yet he now has a seat at the table after a scandalously short acquaintance. And the gossip was bad enough to have made its way here to Suffolk where it had remained fixed in people’s minds for a decade and could easily recall it when I happened to mention his name. All I know is he has lost a fortune, yet dresses like a man in possession of one.’ Another good point. That beautifully tailored red silk waistcoat positively oozed class. ‘Where does he get his money from?’
‘Perhaps Lord Fennimore is subsidising him?’ Thea wasn’t entirely sure ho
w she felt about that either. A man of Lord Gray’s age should be supporting himself, not living off an elderly relative. Or anyone else for that matter.
‘Perhaps...but did you see his ruby stickpin? Jewels of that size do not come cheap.’ Something a dedicated shopper like Aunt Caro would know. Aside from idle gossip and a diary filled with luncheons, the only other thing that woman did was shop.
Chapter Nine
To say the Viscount swindled him out of ten pounds would be unfair because it hadn’t been a swindling in the strictest sense. However, Gislingham’s unlikely victory at billiards had certainly come about with the use of some foul means peppered among the fair, which he made no attempt to hide. The weaker arm and leg caused him to lean extensively on the table, where the sleeve of his shirt, his wrist and on one occasion his elbow nudged the balls in directions which favoured him, but hampered Gray. At worst, it had been a good-natured, unsubtle, comical and vastly entertaining bit of knavery. All done with a charming smile and a wink. He was either an out-and-out cheat or the cheating was a test to see if Gray was brave enough to call him on it. He hadn’t, but despite being ten pounds lighter in the pocket, he’d left the table liking the man. A great deal more than he should.
Now Lord Fennimore was being treated to a dose of the same warped rules and the same boisterous camaraderie. If Gislingham hadn’t been one of England’s most wanted criminals, he was exactly the sort of fellow you would want for a friend. Funny. Loud. The sort of man who drags you into his outrageous antics and makes you very glad to be there. No wonder he was so good at what he did. The charmer and the murderer. He was a dangerous contradiction indeed. Not that Gray had learned anything remotely useful over dinner. Despite his niece’s claims to the contrary, the Viscount and his cronies had let nothing slip over the dining table or the billiard table, despite old Fennimore’s subtle questions.
The Disgraceful Lord Gray Page 10