The Mysterious Lord Millcroft

by Virginia Heath

  ‘Apparently so.’

  ‘Did he elaborate to you on those plans? Give any clue as to what sort of venture he wanted pursue?’

  ‘Not really. Gentlemen don’t tend to discuss business with ladies. Why didn’t you ask him yourself?’

  ‘Because it only just occurred to me.’ His unnaturally bland expression said differently. ‘The fellow makes me curious, although that should hardly be a surprise when he has suddenly materialised out of the blue and one considers his background. I wonder what manner of business accrued him that fortune? New South Wales is the home of convicts, which does make one wonder if Lord Millcroft’s extensive fortune was built on ill-gotten gains. I thought he hinted as much the other evening, didn’t you?’

  ‘Are you suggesting Lord Millcroft’s interests are not above board? He hardly seems the type.’ Although Seb would be pleased that people viewed him with those suspicions. A pious, incorruptible man would hardly flush out the criminals he had been tasked to catch.

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m sure all his past dealings have been wholly proper and any suggestion to the contrary is merely gossip.’

  ‘There is already gossip?’ How splendid. She couldn’t wait to tell Seb he had already made the exact impression he wanted.

  ‘I happened to like the fellow. As I said, I am merely curious—as I would be of any newcomer into our ranks. Although I do think you should be the one to ask him—it was obvious he was enamoured of you. If anyone can prise his darkest secrets from him, I am in no doubt it will be you.’

  ‘You want me to ask him if he is a trickster?’ A decidedly odd request. ‘I’m sure that will go down very well!’

  Penhurst smiled, then turned his head to stare out of the window. ‘Of course not. I am merely suggesting that if anything interesting comes up in conversation then you should subtly delve a bit deeper and share your findings with us. Your dearest friends. We all enjoy a bit of gossip now and then.’

  This claim, from a man who rarely deigned to speak to her, was laughable. Yet true to form, he was already displaying all the signs of his usual aloofness, rudely presenting his back to both Clarissa and his wife signalling he was done with the conversation because he found the sight of the familiar streets of Mayfair more diverting than he did them. But then again, he found everything more diverting than poor Penny. Clarissa’s mind was whirring. Penhurst had been uncharacteristically civil and interested. The timing surely wasn’t coincidental?

  She tried to banish the thought as soon as it entered her mind, but Seb’s talk about smugglers infiltrating the highest echelons of society had coloured her thoughts and, despite knowing she was being ridiculously fanciful, her suspicions were aroused. Penhurst was a foul individual with dubious morals. He dallied openly with several mistresses here in town while poor Penny lived mostly alone on his Sussex estate with their young son. While she was sure her friend knew of his infidelity, because everyone knew of his infidelity, they had never discussed it. Nor had they ever discussed the bruises which marred her skin or the lack of sparkle in her dear friend’s eyes since she had become the viscount’s wife two years ago. As awful as it was, just as Clarissa had cautioned before the wedding, Penhurst had been a fortune hunter and his interest in his bride had been purely financial. Once he had control of that impressive dowry, he had immediately stopped being the ardent suitor. The switch had been abrupt and cold. Instantaneous. To such an extent, a very different viscount had walked out of the church from the amiable groom who had arrived. Was it too fanciful to believe that vile, selfish, money-grabbing man was capable of aiding smugglers for his own gain as well as being a callous bully? Probably. But since meeting a genuine spy, something she had never expected to happen in her wildest dreams, Clarissa couldn’t help wondering why Penhurst was suddenly keen to hear gossip. And from her. His suddenly dearest friend.

  * * *

  Seb was nowhere to be seen in the ballroom, but Westbridge was front and centre as always. Disloyally, the first word which popped into her head was peacock and she quickly banished that, too. As a duke, he was bound to stand out and as others sought his favour there was no point hiding in the alcove. She had never hidden there either through choice for much the same reasons, so she could hardly castigate Westbridge for doing the same. Although alcoves now certainly had their charm, especially as she had come to realise they were exciting places to be. In the right company.

  Handsome, tough, brave and endearingly shy spies hid in the shadows.

  Her eyes did a quick sweep of the secluded corners for Seb and when she drew a blank, Clarissa allowed her feet to take her on a course towards her would-be fiancé. Her Duke smiled appreciatively as she approached and lingered over kissing her hand. She willed herself to feel the same peculiar heated fizzle she had with her spy and experienced a moment of disappointment when nothing happened.

  ‘Will you grant me the first waltz?’

  It was progress, although nowhere near the level of possessiveness she needed to evoke. A truly besotted man would insist on both waltzes. Every waltz from this point forward. Till death do us part. ‘Alas, I have already promised that honour to Lord Millcroft.’ If he ever turned up. ‘But the second is yours. As always.’ She enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing his expression cloud with jealousy. Barely two days in and her new plan was working wonders and for the first time in weeks, she was enjoying being at a function. ‘Talking of Lord Millcroft—have you seen him?’ Clarissa let her gaze wander on purpose; letting her Duke know that he wasn’t the sole occupant of her thoughts.

  ‘No. And nor do I want to. He is too brash for my liking. Too confident for a man of his rank.’

  Brash and confident. Seb would be pleased to hear those back-handed compliments and she swelled with pride knowing she’d had a hand in his spectacular performance. ‘Do you think so? Personally, I found him most charming.’ Clarissa would ask Penny to invite Seb to the Penhurst house party. This very moment. His presence would drive her poor Duke mad. ‘If you will excuse me...’ She didn’t bother waiting to see if he minded and went off to corner her.

  Penny was with a gaggle of married ladies at the refreshment table, and happily agreed to include Seb in the entertainments because she still felt guilty at having to invite Clarissa’s nemesis. Now all she had to do was find a way to convince the man to take five days out of hunting down his dangerous smugglers in the highest echelons of society and accompany her on a trip to Sussex.

  * * *

  Seb tossed the third ruined cravat on the small pile on the floor and snapped his fingers impatiently for another. Gray tutted and passed him one. ‘Please let me do that. I’ve never seen a man make such a ham-fisted mess of dressing before.’

  ‘I can tie a damn cravat!’ A plain, no-nonsense, no-fuss cravat. The frothy concoctions fools like the Duke of Westbridge sported were apparently beyond him. He pulled one end too tight and the starched linen instantly crumpled in a ruined knot. If Gem preferred frills, he would suffer frills. ‘Hell’s teeth!’

  A withering sigh came from the mattress where the second-in-command of the Invisibles was lounging, dressed as a coachman. ‘You are well past fashionably late...’

  ‘I know the blasted time, Gray!’

  His friend uncrossed his long legs and rose from his comfortable position with an air of exasperation. ‘For once in your life, accept some help. What is it that you are trying to achieve?’

  ‘Something fancy.’ He’d be mocked senseless if he admitted he didn’t know the actual name of the knot he was trying to duplicate. ‘Fitting for a ballroom.’

  Gray snapped open another overly starched neckcloth and Seb lifted his chin to suffer the indignity of being dandified by his subordinate. When he had finished, Gray stepped back to admire his work, then nodded, gesturing to the mirror. ‘You’ll do.’

  The simple knot in the reflection filled him with rage. ‘What’s fancy about
that? Any idiot can tie a plain cravat.’

  ‘But only a real man can carry it off with such casual elegance. Up against that foppish Duke your lady-love prefers, you will appear superior. A man with your savage maleness shouldn’t try to curb it with frills. Be manly. Ooze confidence in your ability to thrash the life out of every other fellow in the ballroom. Trust me, Seb—less is always more. Especially where the ladies are concerned. For once, instead of trying to blend in, stand out. Your lady-love won’t know what’s hit her.’

  ‘She’s not my lady-love!’

  ‘I thought the ruse was that Lady Clarissa was supposed to be more enamoured of you than her Duke?’ Gray’s eyes were twinkling with mischief and Seb knew he had been royally tricked into revealing more to his wily friend than he had intended.

  ‘Ah, yes. Of course. That blasted tie has put me off my game.’ That tie and that woman. The one he absolutely had a soft spot for. A foolish waste of his time when his attention was better served elsewhere. As if she would miraculously toss away a duke for a knave. A fortune. A mansion. High status. It would be laughable if it wasn’t tragic. ‘Perhaps I should allow you to be my valet? I need a clear head, not one blighted by cravats.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Gray grinned, dipped his eyes and bowed. ‘I live to serve. Now, get in the damned coach.’

  Taking a carriage the few yards between Grosvenor and Berkeley Square struck Seb as a ridiculous waste of time when he could have walked it quicker. The long line of waiting conveyances spilled so far outwards that it took a good twenty minutes to be deposited at the Bulphan town house. However, as this was how things were done he suffered it and used it as an opportunity to go through tonight’s plan with Gray.

  Six Invisibles would be mingling with the other waiting drivers and groomsmen in the crowded mews, tasked with targeting the Penhurst staff. The long wait, camaraderie, raucous games of cards or dice and the fortifying nips of the rum each of his men carried had proved time and again an excellent source of information. For some peculiar reason, the aristocrats these people served assumed that because they were seen but not heard, their servants couldn’t hear.

  As they pulled up outside, Gray leaned forward, straightened Seb’s lapels, then slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good luck.’

  It was the aloof Lord Millcroft who stepped out.

  Chapter Seven

  Being late, the ballroom was so crowded the heat hit him straight away, closely followed by the noise. A legion of the primping ton certainly made a racket. The sweet smell of pomade and a plethora of ladies’ perfumes hung heavy in the air. As one of the footmen carrying laden trays of champagne he would be able to move around as he pleased. As Lord Millcroft, the mysterious new lord who had once wrestled a crocodile and emerged with just the scar on his cheek, he had become an instant spectacle. Ladies turned and smiled at him, some blatantly batting their eyelashes behind their fans. Gentlemen paused their conversations to introduce themselves and shake his hand. Within minutes he was surrounded and bombarded with questions, turning the social event into the Spanish Inquisition. As much as he hated it, he knew he had Gem to thank for his sudden popularity and outright acceptance into this strange world. So far, she had been an asset and one he needed. Right this minute, before he become completely overwhelmed.

  Then, like an angel from the heavens she appeared at his elbow, her arm possessively weaving through his. ‘There you are—you naughty man! You begged me for the waltz and then you turn up barely before it starts. If you weren’t so fascinating and handsome, I’d give it to someone else. Please excuse us, everyone. I shall return him to you soon.’ She skilfully manoeuvred Seb away from his inquisitors and artfully, yet politely, dodged anyone else who stepped in their way, tossing greetings and compliments around like confetti. All Seb had to do was incline his head and attempt to look superior. Something which was much easier to do with her on his arm—because he felt superior. He was with the loveliest woman in the room.

  In no time, they reached the dance floor and she dipped into a curtsy.

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’

  She moved into his arms. The second her hand touched his, his body responded inappropriately. So much for keeping a clear head, although at least his blasted nerves weren’t jangling. Another odd but welcome effect she now had on him. Despite being a stunningly beautiful member of the very sex he was shy around, Gem was also his anchor in these uncharted waters. Bathed in her confidence, Lord Millcroft emerged easily. Seb even felt like a peer. ‘I thought it was fashionable to be late.’

  ‘As frustrating as it was to wait for you, I have to concede it was a clever move. There was a will he, won’t he air of anticipation as people awaited your arrival.’

  ‘No doubt embellished by your good self.’ He found himself smiling down at her and waited for the inevitable blush to singe his ears. For once, it didn’t come. A peculiar, yet perplexing blessing.

  ‘Of course I embellished it! Did you know that you own an opal mine?’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Yes. I’m wearing the one you sent me this morning.’ His eyes dropped to first her neck, then her décolleté and his breath caught. Good Lord, she filled out her dress well. ‘Not there, silly.’ There was laughter in her voice as if she knew exactly what he had been staring at and was quite used to it. ‘It’s in my hair.’

  The jewelled pin was subtle but very pretty and sat amongst a sprig of real blue flowers. One fat opal was surrounded by tiny diamonds. There were three smaller opals on filigree stems resembling feathers dotted with even smaller diamonds. ‘I have excellent taste.’

  ‘Expensive, too, which adds to the fable. My parents gave it to me as a birthday present last summer and fortunately I hadn’t worn it before tonight—but it goes with the gown. Blue to match your forget-me-nots.’ She patted her hair again and he realised they were his flowers nestling amongst her golden curls. Curls that had sported an expensive hothouse rose at the last ball. ‘A very original choice of flower.’

  The tips of his ears did redden then because she probably realised he had clumsily picked the damn flowers himself from his borrowed garden and sent them before he realised Incomparables like Gem usually received only the most exquisite blooms. Clueless, he’d felt immensely smug for remembering that a gentleman should send flowers in the first place. The peonies had looked lovely, but he’d picked the silly forget-me-nots because they were the exact shade of her eyes. It was only when Gray mentioned he knew a man in Covent Garden who could supply long-stemmed red roses all year round that he learned he’d made a mistake, but by the then the inferior bunch had been sent and it was too late to stop them.

  ‘Yes. Sorry about those. I’ve never sent a woman flowers before. I’ll ensure you receive proper ones tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t you dare! I loved those flowers. The simplicity was heart-felt, which is always a nice touch. The choice of blooms inspired. Forget-me-nots. How utterly romantic. The other ladies have been sighing over your thoughtfulness. Besides, they make my bedchamber smell lovely when I retire for the evening. Did you know forget-me-nots are only fragrant at night?’ He didn’t, but the thought of his flowers sat next to her bed filled him with irrational joy which was swiftly snatched away. ‘Westbridge is watching us! My, that scowl is tremendous.’

  ‘Splendid.’ Seb was not going to talk about dukes. ‘I thought I would drop in a few little hints about Millcroft’s dubious relationship with the law tonight over cards. Moan about the English levels of taxation. How high they are. How much of a scandal it is that the Crown should skim all the cream off the top of a man’s investments.’

  Her eyes moved back to hold his. ‘I suppose a man who loathes paying his taxes is easier to corrupt. Is that the sort of bait you usually use to lure criminals?’

  ‘It’s a delicate process. Blab too much and they become suspicious. As people become familiar with you, feel comfortable and re
laxed in your presence, their guard comes down. Little nuggets sprinkled here and there blended into normal conversation. The upstanding fellows all gripe about taxation, too—but that’s where their rebellion starts and finishes. A good moan amongst their brethren and they feel purged. However, for those seeking partners in crime, those casual asides, peppered with the odd suggestion that this or that was acquired on the sly, form a trail of crumbs to follow. Bait is a good choice of word. Dangle enough bait or just the right bait on your hook, and the wrong’uns bite.’

  ‘How can you tell they are tempted?’ Her head had tilted to one side as she stared deep into his eyes. The position made her ringlets bounce and shimmer beneath the chandelier as he twirled her.

  ‘Curiosity. It is the most unsubtle human failing. The odd pertinent question means nothing. Many over a short period of time set off alarm bells. Why would they ask so much...unless they were interested?’

  ‘I see.’ When she frowned she had a dimple on one cheek. Just the one. A charming and minuscule imperfection when one compared the whole, but, like the hair rags and her love of sugar, very appealing. ‘And where do you wish to go fishing tonight, my lord? Is there anyone particular you would like me to introduce you to?’

  ‘For now, I think it’s best I stick with Viscount Penhurst’s circle.’

  ‘Penhurst?’ There was that frown again. It flitted across her lovely face before she covered it with a shrug. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well...I know them.’ And she was a family friend who would react badly to the real truth. ‘I think Penhurst is my best chance of getting invited to the card tables. Don’t you? We both know that is where the men talk business. Once there, I can naturally join any conversation. Or simply watch. I am a spy after all. We are notoriously good at watching.’ And perhaps he was over-egging it because he suddenly realised he did not feel comfortable lying to her. Odd, when lying was what he did as a matter of course. Lying to Gem left a bitter taste in the mouth and was becoming harder and harder to do convincingly after all of her help—and because he really liked her. Probably a great deal more than he should for the sake of his own sanity. ‘In the meantime, why don’t you introduce me to them?’ She followed his gaze to the crowd of brash bachelors scanning the eligible ladies. He already knew all their names and knew they were merely fortune hunters. His Invisibles were tremendously thorough whenever they started a new mission. A pile of damning biographies grew daily on the desk of his new study. Once he put names to the faces, Seb could reel off all manner of titbits about each one. Debts. Mistresses. Dubious connections.