by Kate Bateman
“Ah there you are!” Rhys bellowed. “Look who I’ve found, back from the seas! Hope we weren’t interrupting anything?”
Gryff’s response was inaudible. Maddie prayed he would remember the table set for two in the study and steer his brothers away from that telling little tableau. Drunk or not, they’d immediately realize they’d interrupted a dinner à deux and demand to know where he’d hidden the lucky wench of the evening.
Maddie slumped back in her chair, every emotion she’d ever felt swirling around inside her. She felt energized and wrung out at the same time. An incredulous snort escaped her, and she slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.
What horrible timing! Gryff’s brothers couldn’t have chosen a worse moment to interrupt. What would have happened if they’d arrived ten minutes later? Would Gryff have made love to her in that armchair? Would he have debauched her on the floor, or taken her upstairs to his bedchamber?
Or would he have come to his senses and pulled away?
Maddie let out a slow, shaky exhale. She’d been so close to finding out.
She glanced over at the closed door. Maybe she should be glad? Maybe fate had meant to intervene—and since she could hardly be struck by a blast of lightning indoors, the powers that be had sent the next best thing: two boisterous, drunken brothers to interrupt an event that might have had cataclysmic consequences.
Still, her heart gave a little thud of frustration.
She couldn’t stay here. Despite what Gryff had said, he wouldn’t be able to escape from his brothers for a good long while, and she needed to get home.
Perhaps the cool evening air would bring her to her senses.
She stood, cursing the fact that she’d left her shawl in the study. Gryff’s half of the dictionary still lay on the desk and she stared down at it for a long moment. A long scratch marred the front cover and she ran her finger along it, filled with indecision.
Just take it.
It would be so easy. Gryff would realize she’d stolen it, of course, but she had the feeling he wouldn’t accuse her publicly of theft. Still, however desperately she wanted to ease her family’s money troubles, her conscience wouldn’t let her do it. She’d wagered and lost; she needed to accept the consequences with honor.
With one last, regretful glance at the book, she crossed to the window and opened the sash. The casement looked out onto some sort of formal garden; she straddled the sill and climbed out, then walked briskly around the side of the building until she came to the quadrangle that housed the stable block.
The stablemaster who’d greeted them was busy in the stalls, settling two handsome horses that must belong to Gryff’s brothers. He exhibited slight surprise at seeing her suddenly appear.
“Evening, my lady. Can I help you?”
“Yes, please. Could you saddle up my mount and escort me back to Newstead Park? Lord Powys is busy welcoming his brothers.”
The man nodded respectfully. “Of course, ma’am. Beggin’ pardon, but that dress might be little … chilly for ridin’. There’s some coats on that peg you might use.”
Maddie flushed and accepted the offer. She chose a heavy, caped greatcoat from the hooks on the wall, and the scent of it immediately told her it was Gryff’s. She buried her nose in the folds with a little quiver of triumph. He’d stolen her shawl. It was only fair that she should steal his coat.
She waited impatiently for the stablemaster to finish his preparations, half expecting Gryff to stride out of the back door and order her back inside, but there was no sign of him. A few minutes later they were clattering out of the yard and she let out a sigh that released the tension she’d been holding.
What an extraordinary evening.
How on earth was she expected to act when she next saw Gryff? Would he attend Squire Digby’s dance tomorrow? Would he consider what they’d done a horrible mistake? Should she pretend that nothing had happened at all?
Maddie shook her head. She didn’t have any of those answers.
Chapter 27
Gryff rolled over and groaned into his pillow as the shrill cry of a peacock roused him from sleep. His head was pounding, and he cursed his brothers’ inhuman talent for consuming spirits. Rhys and Morgan had always been able to drink him under the table.
When he’d first seen the two of them in the hallway his brain had been so muddled by the intoxicating things he’d been doing with Maddie that he’d simply stared at them in shock, scarcely able to believe that they were standing right in front of him.
He’d seen Rhys only last week in London—laughing when Sommerville accidentally put a bullet in him—but the younger of the two, black-haired Morgan, had been away at sea for the better part of two years.
Gryff had gaped at him, cataloging his tanned skin and the addition of a few more lines around his eyes. He was still the same good-looking scamp who’d had the women sighing over him since he was barely old enough to walk, but there was a new maturity in his gaze, a hint of worldly cynicism in his smile.
He’d been about to drag the two of them into the study—far away from Maddie in the library—when he’d remembered the table set for two. He definitely wasn’t prepared to explain that, so he’d steered them into the formal parlor instead. Luckily they’d both been too tipsy to notice.
Beddow had materialized with a tray of brandies, and the three of them had celebrated Morgan’s safe return into the early hours. They’d finally staggered up to bed somewhere near two.
Gryff had managed to return to the library, briefly, while Nanny Maude tearfully welcomed Morgan home, only to find that Maddie had gone. One of the footmen said she’d ordered Huw the stablemaster to escort her home.
He threw his forearm across his eyes to shut out the shaft of light stabbing through the curtains. Bloody hell. He’d rushed out into the hall as if all the hounds of hell were after him. Had Maddie taken offense? Surely she’d recognize that he’d been trying to protect her reputation, not escape.
A wave of guilt and frustration flashed through him. He should have been the one to see her safely home. He hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye.
If Rhys and Morgan hadn’t barged in, maybe she wouldn’t have said goodbye at all.
His chest tightened at the thought. Would he even now be waking up with her naked and rosy in his bed? His cock throbbed in enthusiastic approval. God, he’d never be able to look at that damn wing chair again without seeing an image of her, lips pink and swollen from his kisses, perfect breasts exposed for his mouth. The scent of her still coiled in his head.
What had he been thinking? He’d only started that word game as a light flirtation. And the winning kiss was meant to be a silly tease. But the moment he’d taken her lips his brain had ceased to function. She’d kissed him back so sweetly, so ardently, that he’d been powerless to stop. And when she’d demanded more, he’d been unable to deny her.
Gryff ground his teeth. How far would she have let him go? He’d been seconds away from sliding his fingers into the honeyed wetness he knew he’d find between her legs. It would have been the work of a moment to tease her to a climax. And then he would have undone his breeches, positioned her over his throbbing cock, and shown her the meaning of another word Johnson had undoubtedly left out of his precious dictionary: fucking.
Madness.
She couldn’t have meant for things to go that far. Her choked cries of surprise when he’d touched her suggested a woman of limited experience. She probably thought lovemaking only happened in a bed, with the candles out. She’d have been shocked to the core if he’d taken her in an armchair in his library.
Or maybe she’d have loved it.
Gryff pressed his face into his pillow. No. Making love to Madeline Montgomery would have been a monumental mistake. She was probably a virgin, saving herself for the man she would eventually marry.
He was definitely not that man, however much attraction blazed between them. Even ignoring the fact that their families had been sworn en
emies for hundreds of years, and that her father would probably geld him if Gryff so much as hinted that he lusted after his daughter, he wasn’t remotely ready to settle down. He’d only just become the earl, for God’s sake. He’d been popular with women before, but now—with the title—he’d have his pick of the most beautiful and talented partners in London.
Unfortunately, his body didn’t seem to understand that pertinent fact. His stupid body wanted Madeline Montgomery with a painful desperation. The practiced accomplishments of other women didn’t appeal half as much as the aggravation he experienced every time he was in her presence.
He’d hoped intoxication would help him sleep soundly, but she’d even invaded his dreams. He’d conjured all manner of sinful scenarios, most of them involving the two of them and very few articles of clothing.
He needed to clear his head.
Thirty minutes later, freshly shaved and dressed, he strode around the side of the house and headed toward the infamous Davies menagerie. The motley collection of animals had been started by some quixotic Davies in the sixteen hundreds, and had grown with each subsequent generation to the small zoo it was today.
A few of the animals, like the peacocks and the incongruous flamingos, roamed freely around the grounds, but most were contained in their own vast, open-air enclosures. Gryff’s father had had a soft spot for rescuing animals, especially those who had been forced to work in circuses and street shows, and Carys had inherited the same softhearted approach. The place was now a rogues’ gallery of animal misfits from almost every continent, including a spotted African cat with only three legs, a trio of mischievous otters, and a sloth named Hugo, who moved slower than treacle but always looked like he was smiling.
Gryff paused next to the large cage that housed his sister’s favorite animal of all: an ex-dancing bear, whom Carys had christened Buttercup.
She’d seen the poor creature a decade ago on a London side street, a tiny cub chained and forced to dance on its hind legs to the tinny sound of his owner’s hand organ. When Carys had seen the man whip the little bear, she’d lost her infamous temper. Despite being only eight years old, she’d grabbed the whip from the man’s hand and started hitting him with it. Only the presence of all three of her brothers had been enough to prevent a riot.
Gryff had grabbed her to stop her assaulting the man further. Rhys had given him ten pounds for the bear—and to keep his mouth shut—and Morgan had taken the beast’s chain and coaxed it to follow them home to the house on Grosvenor Square. Buttercup had been with them ever since.
Despite the vendor’s claim that the bear hailed from Russia, subsequent research had shown that it was, in fact, a spectacled bear from Peru. And much to Carys’ disappointment, Buttercup was male.
Carys had lavished years of love on the animal, and her patience had been rewarded with absolute, undying affection. Buttercup was now too used to humans to ever be released back into the wild, but he enjoyed a large and luxurious enclosure at Trellech and the love of everyone there.
Since the animal still liked music, Gryff picked up the hand organ left near the door of his cage and turned the handle. The cheerful, tinkling noise brought the bear lumbering up to greet him, and Gryff patted the beast on the head and scratched it behind the ears.
“Morning, Buttercup.”
“Morning to you too, sweetheart.”
Gryff turned to see a laughing Morgan and Rhys, both of them looking disgustingly healthy in the morning light. Morgan’s teeth flashed white against his tanned skin.
An earsplitting squawk from one of the peacocks, balanced on the ramparts, interrupted his reply. All three of them glared up at the bird with loathing.
“Geoffrey!” Morgan growled. “I certainly didn’t miss him while I was away. I hoped you’d be dead by now!” he shouted up at the bird. “Did you hear him, screaming the place down at some ungodly hour this morning? We should bake him in a pie.”
Gryff smiled. “I’m afraid we have more pressing matters to deal with. You’ll be happy to hear that the two of you have arrived just in time to be useful.”
“We have?”
“You have.”
Morgan frowned. “I’ve spent the last two years making myself useful to His Majesty’s Royal Navy. I was rather hoping to do absolutely nothing for several weeks.”
“It’s dangerous. And probably involves fighting.”
“Oh, well in that case, count me in.”
Rhys nodded eagerly. “Me too. London was so dull. Not a bit of excitement since Sommerville shot you. I nearly died of boredom. What’s afoot?”
As succinctly as he could, Gryff told them about the events leading up to the attack in the woods. He didn’t mention Maddie’s presence in the caves or at the doctor’s house, but did say that she’d been at the clearing, entirely coincidentally, when he’d been set upon by the two men. He indicated that she’d ridden straight home after the attack.
“I sent two footmen to the clearing with a cart, with orders to collect the bodies, but they said there was only one—the man I’d shot in the chest. The first man must have only been insensible, and escaped after I left.”
“You were clearly the target,” Rhys frowned. “Are you certain the smugglers didn’t see you that night at the beach?”
“Completely certain.”
“And you don’t think this Brookes would have said anything to the doctor about it?”
“Not unless he became delirious and blurted it out.”
“That only leaves one solution, then,” Morgan said. “The justice, Drake, must be in league with the smugglers. You told him you’d be able to identify them, and he must have told them to put an end to you.”
Gryff nodded grimly. “That’s what I think. They must have been lying in wait for me, and followed me to the well. I bet they hoped to finish me off there and hide my body in the woods.”
“Bloody hell,” Rhys said.
“I know it sounds far-fetched, but what other explanation is there?”
Rhys shrugged.
“So what do you want to do?” Morgan asked. “Confront Sir Mostyn? Accuse him?”
“We can’t. We don’t have any hard evidence that he’s involved. I want to set up an ambush, catch the smugglers, and make them confess. Hopefully one of them will implicate him.” Gryff pulled a letter from his pocket. “I wrote to Brookes’s superior officer myself, asking for help. He says he’ll come with four extra men to capture the smugglers on Sunday night, when they plan to move their cargo.”
Rhys wrinkled his nose. “That’s not many men.”
“He can’t spare any more at such short notice. Only three smugglers beat Brookes, but I expect at least triple that number to move those barrels from the cave.”
“So we’ll be outnumbered? And up against a bunch of desperate cutthroats?” Rhys grinned suddenly. “Sounds like my kind of adventure.”
“Mine too. But that’s not until tomorrow.” Morgan said. “What shall we do tonight? I’ve a mind to go into Trellech and find those two charming barmaids at the Red Dragon. Are they still there? Bess and Tess?”
“They are indeed. But you’re not going,” Gryff said.
“Why not?”
“You’re coming with me to Squire Digby’s dance.”
Rhys and Morgan groaned in unison. “What? No! Digby never has any good wine!”
“And the gaming will be limited to a shilling a bet.”
“And all the women will be respectable.”
“Drake will be there,” Gryff said, unmoved. “We might get him to say something incriminating.”
Neither brother looked impressed. Gryff sent Morgan a sly, sideways smile. “There will be Montgomerys to tease.”
Rhys brightened. “Montgomerys? Which ones? Please say Tristan’s back from the Continent. He’s always so much fun to annoy. It’s a shame Carys isn’t here. She’s wonderful at it.”
“I’m afraid not. But the baron still dislikes anything that resembles a Davies, and he�
��s been spoiling for a fight ever since Father passed away.” Gryff chuckled, remembering Maddie’s anger at the mention of a canal crossing the valley. “Tell him I’m thinking of digging that canal Father mapped out.”
Morgan squinted into the sunlight. “I don’t suppose that ridiculous cousin is staying with them? What’s her name? Hattie? Horry?”
Gryff and Rhys sent him identical amused looks at his pathetic attempt to pretend that he’d forgotten. Morgan had been obsessed with Harriet Montgomery ever since they were children—almost as obsessed as Gryff had been with Maddie.
“Harriet,” Rhys said drily. “I believe her name is Harriet.”
“And yes, she’ll be there too,” Gryff added.
“Fine. I’ll go,” Morgan said grumpily. “When do we leave?”
Chapter 28
Harriet had been waiting up for Maddie’s return, but she curbed her questions until they were safely ensconced in Maddie’s bedroom. She gasped when Maddie threw off her borrowed greatcoat to reveal the scandalous red dress.
“Where did you get that? What happened to your riding habit?”
Maddie gave her an abridged version of her adventures. Harry sat back on her heels on the bed, her mouth open in amazement. “Ambushed, shot, and then taken back to Trellech Court for dinner?”
“I honestly don’t know which was the most traumatic,” Maddie joked weakly. “Being shot, or realizing Gryffud Davies wasn’t the one to do it.”
“And then both of his brothers arrived? You’re certain it was both? Did you see them?”
“Well, no, I didn’t actually see them myself, but Gryff recognized their voices. He said it was Rhys and Morgan.”
Harriet’s skin turned pink, and then white. “Do you think they’ll attend the squire’s dance tomorrow?”
Maddie shrugged, then winced as the bandage scraped against her wound. “I have no idea. It would be as good a place as any to announce their return to the neighborhood.”
“I can’t believe you finally got to see inside the castle! Think of all the times we spied on them. What was it like?”