The Mysterious Lord Millcroft

by Virginia Heath

  Penhurst’s was one of the most damning of all. The man flitted from mistress to mistress without a second glance. He was ruthless to those poor misguided women, treating them more like used handkerchiefs than human beings. He once had nine thousand pounds’ worth of debt which he paid with his wife’s dowry and then gambled with impunity, racking up more. Penhurst liked the infamous hells. The most secret ones in the roughest parts of the city where the women were loose and the absinthe flowed freely. The sort of places where entire fortunes could be lost in a single night. An expensive habit which he was funding from somewhere.

  ‘As you wish. But first...’ She wiggled her eyebrows and tugged him towards the alcove to hide behind a pillar. Seb forgot to breathe when she daintily hoisted her skirt up a few inches, giving him a very tantalising glimpse of her ankles and calves while she rummaged for something out of his eye line. Her eyes were dancing with amusement when she finally produced a small silver hip flask and winked. ‘Brandy. I know a little nip of this banishes that shyness and I believe you’ll have greater success smiling rather than scowling at people and scaring them away.’ She unscrewed the top and passed it to him. ‘Drink up, Lord Millcroft. Let’s go and catch some smugglers.’

  * * *

  For the next hour, Seb said little and almost had fun. Fortunately, Gem talked enough for the both of them and did it with such witty aplomb, crediting him for all the funny stories she came out with, to such an extent he was subjected to a great deal of back-slapping from the other gentlemen while barely uttering a word. His unexpected partner had more talent for charming people than any person he had ever known. If he could bottle it and sell it, he’d make a fortune. But the way her eyes trailed after her Duke certainly took the edge off his good mood. Watching them dim as Westbridge found Lady Olivia Spencer and proceeded to dance both the hole in the wall and the subsequent cotillion with the girl tugged at his heartstrings. Why she wanted that Duke was beyond him, but he had agreed to help her make the idiot jealous in return for her assistance so he had to play his part willingly. Even if it infuriated him.

  At Gem’s insistence, they rejoined the Penhurst party much sooner than Seb had expected and she remained at his side, chatting while her eyes searched the crowds for signs of the fool she had set her cap for. Nobody else noticed. Half the ballroom were too busy watching Clarissa and Seb with barely concealed interest. The viscount himself was one of them. He smiled in greeting.

  ‘Will you be joining us for cards tonight, Millcroft?’

  Seb suppressed the triumphant relief at being asked. Penhurst would have no respect for him if he appeared too eager. ‘Perhaps. Will it be worth my while?’ The last time, they had played hazard for an eye-watering pot of money.

  ‘Were the stakes not high enough for you?’

  ‘I like a quick and healthy return. The healthier the better.’

  ‘Seb is a tremendous risk-taker. Did you know, in Sydney he owned his own gaming house?’ Gem smiled up at him adoringly, knowing full well she was baiting his hook with a juicy, fat worm, but completely unaware that it was destined for her friend’s cheek. ‘Quite a scandalous one by all accounts.’

  Penhurst’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Hardly a gentleman’s investment.’

  ‘Gentlemen are thin on the ground in Sydney. Those that are there tend to stick close to the Governor in case they are tainted by the rest of the population. I preferred to spend my time with men who thought like me...and of course, as the owner, even if I lost a hand or two, I never really lost, if you get my meaning.’ He tapped his nose. ‘The house always wins. Not to mention, they paid over the odds for my inferior port and brandy. As an investment, a gaming hell proved to be very fruitful. I’m already in negotiations with several establishments here in the capital. As I said—I enjoy a quick return.’

  ‘Here, such things would be frowned upon.’ But the viscount wasn’t frowning. Far from it in fact. He had sidled up to Seb like a confidant.

  ‘By whom? The lofty peers who cling to the old ideas of commerce? Those blinkered fools who pay ridiculous taxes and believe the future lies in land, in farming and in crops? I dare say Mayfair is filled with nobles whose coffers diminish year by year while they lament the old days, when wheat and rents were all it took to rake in the coin.’ Seb allowed himself a wry smile as he shook his head. ‘The world is changing, my lord. The new money—the smart money—is not shackled by such prejudices and I can assure you they are positively raking it in. Enterprise and imaginative investment are the future. You mark my words. While the old guard are tightening their belts and burning tallow instead of beeswax, I shall be sat in my well-lit gaming house counting my money. If that means I am no gentleman, I am surprisingly comfortable with that.’

  ‘You speak a lot of sense, Millcroft. A lot of sense. But what made you leave the Antipodes? It sounds like you were doing well.’

  ‘I was. I was trotting along quite nicely. But Sydney is a small city and the opportunities to grow my investment were limited. Here, the potential to grow is more than a hundredfold. I make no apology for being ambitious.’

  ‘And nor should you. Your entrepreneurial attitude does you credit. I should be very interested to learn about your plans. Why don’t we continue this conversation away from the masses over a glass of our host’s finest brandy and a spirited game of hazard?’

  Seb enjoyed the rush of euphoria at his success. ‘An excellent idea.’ Out of the corner of his eye he spied Westbridge crossing the crowded ballroom towards them at the same moment he felt Gem release her hold on his arm just as the orchestra was preparing to play the second waltz. Like a fool, Gem stood anticipating the Duke’s arrival like the prodigal son. The euphoria instantly turned to bitter disappointment. It was bad enough watching her pine for the fool, but he was damned if he was going to watch her entwined in his arms. With a wry smile he didn’t feel, Seb turned back to Penhurst. ‘I’ve had about as much of this ballroom as I can stomach for one evening. In the absence of a decent hell, thank heavens for hazard.’

  Chapter Eight

  Seb’s invitation to the Penhurst house party miraculously arrived the next day and without Clarissa having to ask him to attend or even mention it, he had confirmed he would be there. She knew this because Penny had sent a note across Berkeley Square immediately. The next week positively shot by as she made her preparations, buoyed with a fresh optimism which had been missing since Lady Olivia had elbowed her way into Westbridge’s affections. Her Duke certainly appeared significantly more interested in her since Seb had commandeered her. In the two balls and one night at the opera since, the pair of them had been as thick as thieves. Lord Millcroft always had the first waltz and had brought her refreshments and dominated the interval at the opera, and poor Westbridge had been obviously furious at both while sticking to them like glue until Seb had been dragged away by Penhurst.

  She always missed him when he was gone. Being with Seb, having a purpose beyond simply looking pretty, was the most fun she had had in years. For the first time since being declared an Incomparable, Clarissa felt important. Vital even. It didn’t matter that she excelled in very little, because the things she did excel at were exactly the things which helped him to do what he needed to do. How many other ladies got to help the government? And whilst that lofty achievement gave her a deep sense of worth, so, too, did being there for him.

  Watching Seb work was fascinating. He was so subtle and sharp. Those dark eyes of his everywhere, noticing everything. His memory for names and details was staggering, surpassing her own, but when she asked him how he remembered so much information he simply shrugged and said, ‘I’m a spy.’ As if that was explanation enough.

  She wished she could see him in action in the card room. Amongst men he didn’t suffer from the awkwardness which still plagued him—even with her. It was lessened now, although while Millcroft was mysterious and aloof, in the few snatched minutes they had shared whe
re he was just Seb his intelligent eyes still struggled to meet hers and he still blushed occasionally and became tongue-tied and gruff. Knowing the real him was a delicious secret and one she selfishly did not want to share. She hoped they would have ample opportunity to spend more time alone at the house party. Clarissa desperately wanted to know more about him. The real him that only she saw.

  According to Penny, Westbridge had been very put out to learn of Seb’s inclusion in the house party and had done his best to get Penhurst to rescind the invitation, fortunately all to no avail as Penny’s foul husband was quite taken with his new friend. Whilst she was pleased for Seb, she was also very satisfied with the way things were going. Now, instead of being on the back foot, Clarissa would cheerfully stride into Penhurst Hall, safe in the knowledge that her other suitor would be there, too.

  * * *

  Seven days of excitement.

  The carriage wheels couldn’t turn fast enough.

  Once she was presentable, of course. They had stopped at an inn half an hour away from the Sussex estate so that Clarissa could fix the damage caused by hours of travelling. It was a habit she had begun during her first Season to ensure she never arrived anywhere looking anything other than her best. Something Westbridge would expect in his future duchess. Thanks to the dire state of the road to Eastbourne, her dress was crumpled, her perfume was stale and her ringlets were sadly wilting. This quaint little inn a few miles away from the main road was a regular stopping point on her jaunts to Penny’s. She had lost count of how many visits she had enjoyed here and always booked the same cheerful, sunny room well in advance of every Penhurst party. The curling irons were already in the fire and she was stripped down to her chemise after washing with her favourite French soap while her maid was brushing her hair before restyling it.

  The innkeeper’s wife knocked on the door and stepped inside. ‘There is a visitor for you, my lady.’ Impossible—aside from the coachmen, nobody knew she was here. ‘He’s waiting in the taproom.’

  ‘He?’

  ‘A Lord Millcroft.’ An expensive calling card was thrust into Clarissa’s hand. ‘He says he has urgent things to discuss with you.’

  How did Seb know she was here? ‘Tell him I will be down as soon as I can.’ Which would be at least an hour in her current state of dishabille.

  ‘I don’t have time to wait.’ His deep voice from behind the door brooked no argument, the sound of it sending tingles down her spine regardless. ‘This will only take a few minutes, Gem.’

  She knew he would expect to be invited in and she also knew that he wouldn’t be here unless it was of national importance—but, really! She looked a fright. ‘I’m not dressed.’

  ‘Then put on a robe.’

  He’d already seen her hair in rags, so loose and virtually straight was an improvement, but allowing him to see her lacking her usual refinement made her feel uncomfortable. Clarissa didn’t want him to remember the rag incident and had paid more attention to her appearance since knowing Seb would see it. She grabbed her silk dressing gown and shoved her arms in the sleeves. Pulling the belt into a tight knot, she grabbed all her hair in her hand and twisted it to drape over one shoulder in what she hoped was a becoming manner before pinching some colour into her cheeks. ‘Very well. Come in.’

  The innkeeper’s wife opened the door and Seb filled the frame. He had a habit of filling doorframes and, wearing a greatcoat, he left little daylight to seep around his imposing silhouette. He stood stiffly for a moment, then in two long strides he was stood before her, his eyes flicking to her maid warily. Clarissa recognised he wanted privacy. ‘You might as well have my dress pressed now, Agnes. You can fix my hair in a few minutes when his lordship has gone.’

  The young woman hesitated at the lack of propriety, then bobbed a curtsy as she glared at Seb. ‘I shall be less than ten minutes, my lady. Or sooner.’ She snatched up the fresh travelling dress from the top of Clarissa’s trunk and marched out, still glaring at him. When she was gone he raked a hand through his hair and offered Clarissa a small smile.

  ‘Your maid thinks I have come to ruin you.’

  ‘She is blissfully unaware of your lack of seduction skills.’ Although, all windswept from his ride and struggling to meet her gaze, he managed to seduce her regardless. Her fingers wanted to smooth his mussed hair and touch his face, a scandalous thought whilst only a single layer of thin silk separated her gauzy shift from his gaze. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  He shrugged and took in the unfamiliar room, the cooling water in the washbowl, the tangled pile of hair pins on the dressing table, the glowing irons in the fire. Anywhere but at her. ‘I’m a spy. Where else would you be?’

  ‘I mean seriously...’

  ‘Oh, all right—I had one of my men track you. I knew you would stop at an inn close to our destination.’ The smile turned into a smug grin as his eyes finally locked with hers. ‘Nobody looks as good as you do after hours of travel without a stop to make urgent repairs.’ Sometimes his astuteness was galling. This man would never forget the rag incident.

  ‘Why the urgency to speak to me?’

  ‘That fool Westbridge hasn’t left us alone all week and I needed to ask you about the guest list.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but Penhurst Hall is going to be crammed to the rafters with society, is it not? What if one of the bounders I’m seeking is in attendance?’ So that was why he’d readily accepted Penny’s invitation. A tiny part of her had hoped he had jumped at the chance of spending a week with her. He pulled a folded document from a pocket inside his coat and held it out. ‘What can you tell me about the people on that list.’

  Clarissa allowed a mask of boredom to conceal her utter terror at being asked to read when there were no other diversions in the room to plead as an excuse. Instead of taking it, she picked up her brush and began to drag it purposefully through her hair. ‘It will be mostly the usual bunch.’

  ‘Who are?’

  ‘Penhurst’s horrid friends.’ She felt her nose wrinkle in distaste as she listed them. Penhurst gallivanted about with a very dubious group of gentlemen who drank too much and disgraced their wives just as he did poor Penny. One or two made her flesh crawl, although thankfully they tended to hole up together with the host and do their own thing. ‘Acquaintances from town. Some family. He also likes to surprise us with an illustrious peer. He spends weeks courting them and then parades those daft enough to fall for his flattery around his house like a trophy, hoping to impress us and, no doubt, to soak up some of that power to inflate his own sense of worth. He’s foisted some dreadful bores on us whose only redeeming features are their ancient and impressive titles.’ Saying that made her fleetingly think of Westbridge before she uncomfortably quashed it. ‘If he has found another new friend to fawn over, then he will keep it a surprise until they arrive. It makes him feel superior. Thankfully, a great many of those men and the hyenas he surrounds himself with disappear swiftly to do who knows what with Penhurst, so we were spared the pleasure of their company for most of the week.’ Now that she considered it, there was every chance one of those awful men could be involved in something illegal. The vile viscount needed to choose better friends.

  ‘You do not approve of Penny’s husband?’

  ‘What is there to approve of? You are the spy. What are your impressions of him?’

  ‘Honestly...slimy. Cold. Selfish.’ In the absence of any other chairs, he tossed his hat on the mattress and sat down next to it, looking delightfully awkward still clutching the dreaded sheet of foolscap. ‘What specifically do you disapprove of?’

  ‘The way he treats Penny.’ Clarissa didn’t need to think about it. ‘I have long suspected he is violent towards her.’

  She watched Seb’s jaw harden as he scowled and liked him more for that unguarded response. ‘Knowing that makes it harder to befriend him..
.but he serves his purpose.’ He seemed momentarily irritated with himself for saying that, but covered it quickly, yet the fact that he obviously disliked everything about Penny’s husband made Seb rise higher in her estimation. ‘Tell me more about his cronies.’

  Clarissa reeled off what she knew. Being Seb, he had no need of notes and tucked each piece of information away in his clever mind, almost as if he was fully aware of the men and their backgrounds. His questions, when he rarely interrupted her to ask one, were very specific. As if he already knew most of the ‘usual crowd’ of debauched gentlemen, he asked her a few pertinent details about each one. Purported names of mistresses, rumoured vices and scandals. Debts. Topics she had never openly gossiped about with a man or with the ladies without a fan or a cup of tea strategically placed in front of her face. He apologised before broaching the subject of Penhurst’s many infidelities because he knew she loved Penny.

  ‘He has a new mistress, I believe. But then he has so many it’s hard to keep track. A French woman.’

  Seb’s ears had pricked up at that. ‘French?’

  ‘Yes. She is apparently some sort of opera singer or actress. A woman involved in entertaining. I overheard him bragging about her a few weeks ago when I was last at Penhurst Hall.’ Along with an eye-opening and graphic account of what he had done to the poor woman when she had invited him into her bed. No matter how open she was being with Seb, there was no way she would be able to share those details. It was all too depraved.