My Darling, My Disaster (Lords of Essex)

by Morgan, Angie

  “Never mind what she was wearing,” Gray growled. “Take a walk around Bishop House, James. Come find me if you see anyone unsavory skulking about.”

  The footman’s expression turned serious. “Unsavory, m’lord?” he echoed, and then surprised Gray with a pulse of insight. “Was Lady Lana bothered by someone on her way home?”

  Gray eyed James and heeded caution. “Things are well in hand. Just keep a keen eye on your walk around the property.”

  The footman nodded. “Yes, m’lord. I’m sure they are in hand. Lady Lana has a fine uppercut, if my jaw recalls right proper.”

  Gray furrowed his brow. “Lady Lana has struck you?”

  Lady Lana. Fantastic, now he was saying it. Though it did have a nice ring.

  “Only while we were sparring, m’lord.”

  “Sparring?” Gray glared at James, who had wisely decided to retreat toward the mews, his eyes going round at the black look Gray knew he had on his face.

  “She insisted I teach her how to box, m’lord.”

  Of all the foolhardy, senseless things! He knew the boy was not at fault—saying no to Lady Lana would take a very strong constitution, and Lord knew he found it difficult enough himself to resist any entreaty in those guileless green eyes.

  Gray shook his head, his curiosity getting the better of him. “James?”

  “Yes, m’lord?” came the cowed response.

  “What else have you taught her?”

  James shrugged again. “Nothing much, m’lord. Jest some, er, words, and a bit o’ lock picking, and some card tricks. Oh, and some horse jumping. Cor, m’lord, like the wind, she is. The gulch she cleared—” He broke off, ducking his head as Gray’s jaw dropped.

  Swearing, card tricks, horse jumping?

  If he weren’t so irate, he would have burst out laughing. When this was all over—and Gray would see to it that it did end—he was going to put that little hellion over his knee.

  “Next time Lady Lana asks you to teach her anything, find me first.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hadley Gardens was a bit finer than Bishop House, and its staff certainly had no qualms rubbing it in. The duke’s servants, if they were to be believed, were of a higher class distinction than the Earl of Dinsmore’s, and more than one maid and footman had turned their nose up at Lana in the hours she had spent preparing Lady Briannon for the engagement ball taking place that evening. Despite the duke’s scandalous decision not to honor the mourning period, in deference to his father’s wishes, many people were expected to attend. It was no secret to those closest to him that the late duke wanted his life celebrated, not mourned.

  She didn’t understand why they couldn’t simply ready for the ball at Bishop House, but both Lady Dinsmore and the new Duke of Bradburne’s sister, Lady Eloise, had insisted Brynn make herself at home in one of the finer guest rooms. Lana had abided the instructions without comment, more than ready for the distraction of the ball. And more than happy to be far away from Gray.

  For the last two days, her mind had been held hostage by fear and fury. Her uncle’s thug was on his way to Irina, but so was Gray’s man, whose identity Lana knew little about. Apparently, he worked as security at a popular gaming hell for the demimonde. She would not care if he were a convicted criminal, so long as Gray trusted him to reach Irina before the Frenchman did.

  But Gray. That arrogant man. He wanted her to leave Bishop House. Hand in her resignation! Lana knew he only meant to protect her, but couldn’t he understand that once she was gone from Lady Dinsmore’s staff, she would be a duck in open water?

  Viktor would have come for her by now if he knew where she was. And yet he hadn’t. All had been quiet for the last two days since the dignitary dinner. Too quiet, perhaps. But Lana felt safe at Bishop House. She had the protection of a powerful family of the peerage, though Langlevit would not return from his meeting with the cryptographer for perhaps a few days yet. Without him, she and Irina would have no way to prove their innocence against Viktor’s and her uncle’s claims.

  Gray had cornered her multiple times, insisting she take her leave and flee to the hunting cabin he spoke of. She had refused again and again, not understanding how being alone in the middle of Derbyshire could possibly be safer than where she was now.

  And then Gray had finally exploded with a reason. “If you won’t go alone, I will go with you. I’ll take you there myself and keep you safe, Lana. Upon my word, no one will harm you.”

  In that instant, she had pictured the two of them in a cabin in the country, huddled together, away from the world. Lana flushed now just thinking about the vision she’d had—she and Gray beneath the covers of an enormous bed, the only light that of a fire in the hearth. Lana, tucked close beside him, feeling safe and loved. And so clearly, and thoroughly, ravished.

  What was it about this man that made her lose all good sense? Lana had no illusions of what would happen if she and Gray were in close proximity to each other in a deserted cabin. Her attraction to him turned her wits to gravy—she couldn’t think when he looked at her, those eyes caressing every inch of her person. And when he kissed her, she forgot herself. No, she could not go to Derbyshire, and she definitely could not go there alone with him.

  Lana’s hands shook as she placed the last of the beautiful diamond-encrusted pins into Brynn’s upswept hair. The four pins, each one a bird set in different wing positions, had been one gift of many from the new duke. His Grace had showered Brynn with all the requisite gifts, but both she and Lana were still the only ones to know they were part of a grand farce.

  Brynn was distraught over it all, feeling she had trapped a duke into marriage—a duke who infuriated her to no end. Lana was not so convinced Brynn deplored her betrothed, Lord Archer Croft, but tonight was not the night to try to make her admit her true feelings. Not with the way Brynn’s nerves seemed to be jumping. At least with the craze of the last week, Brynn had not noticed anything amiss with her lady’s maid. For that, Lana was grateful.

  Even now, Brynn did not notice Lana’s shaking hands and pink cheeks from her earlier thoughts about Gray.

  “Do you feel ill, my lady?” Lana asked.

  Brynn fanned herself. “No. It’s a little warm, that’s all.”

  “Well, you look lovely with some color in your cheeks,” Lana commented, the bland pronouncement falling hollow even to Lana.

  Brynn stood up from the vanity, and Lana could barely feel more than appreciation for the layers of deep green satin and black lace overlay. Madame Despain had created a gorgeous gown, with a low, square-cut bodice, wide bell sleeves trimmed in black lace edging, and a tapered waist that displayed Brynn’s trim figure. It was exquisite. And yet, Lana merely smiled the same way she would to a stranger passing on the street.

  “I feel like such a fraud,” Brynn said, her gloved fingers touching the necklace of diamonds she wore. They had belonged to the late Duchess of Bradburne. “As if I am not here at all.”

  Lana knew she should say something to encourage her mistress but remained caught on what Brynn had said. She felt like a fraud. Yes. Lana knew that feeling. She was lying to everyone she cared for. Gray had begged her to tell him the truth, to trust him enough to depend upon him, and yet her enormous deception would not allow it. He seemed to believe that the princesses were innocent, but if she told him she was one of them, what would he believe then? He’d only know that she had lied. He might think she had lied about everything else. Despite some of his mistakes, from what she’d come to know of Gray, he was a man who valued honor.

  She doubted he would turn her over to Viktor, but he would despise her for deceiving him. Especially when he had told her the truth about Sofia. He’d laid bare his deepest secret, and she had not reciprocated. She had indulged in Gray’s kisses, had soaked in the warmth of his passion, all from behind a mask while he had been open and honest.

  If anyone was a fraud here, it was she.

  “Well, I can see you, and you are lovely,” Lana s
aid to Brynn, her throat tight.

  She spent the next few minutes reassuring Brynn that she could carry the night off without a hitch and then walked her down the corridor toward the grand staircase that led into the ballroom.

  Lana handed her a jade and obsidian Venetian mask, as the engagement ball was a masquerade, and Brynn descended the steps. The entire ballroom had ground to a stop. Only the musicians continued to play their woodwind instruments as the duke’s future wife presented herself. All eyes had turned to view her, but only one pair captured Lana’s attention.

  Gray stood like a stone column at the base of the Palladian stairs, his eyes drifting from his sister to Lana and then back again. He was angry, Lana knew. He didn’t wish his sister to marry the duke. He believed she was falling into the shallow role of title hunter, but Lana couldn’t tell him the truth of the matter. Yet another thing she was keeping from him. Only, this time, it wasn’t her truth to tell.

  Brynn joined her betrothed and her family on the ballroom floor, while Lana remained at the landing at the top of the stairs. She wore her usual uniform, a black drop of sobriety among the radiant pond of swirling and dancing colors below. No one looked up at her now that she stood by herself. Even Gray had disappeared into the crowd.

  Lana turned from the ballroom and retreated from the landing. The rest of the lady’s maids would be hovering near the retiring rooms on the ground floor, simply waiting for a guest who might require her services to mend a hem or replace a hairpin or stained glove. She should be waiting there as well, in case Brynn needed her. Having a duty, even one that put her among other chattering maids whom she had nothing in common with, was preferable to spending hours with her own morbid thoughts and worries.

  She took the servants’ stairwell, where the music from the ballroom was muted. However, the energy of the ball itself seemed to have permeated the air, and Lana felt the buzz of it as she was taking the steps to the ground floor. Her feet suddenly itched to dance the same way she would have done had she been home, attending one of the balls at Volkonsky Palace or another royal residence in St. Petersburg. She had so loved dancing. The graceful movements of arms and legs and feet, all working to keep the same measured beat of the music. Even the faster dances, like a reel or a country dance, had their charms. To be out of breath at the end of a dance was an indescribable happiness all its own.

  Sometimes Lana wondered if she would ever know that kind of happiness again. If she’d ever feel like herself. Princess Svetlanka Volkonsky had become a memory. A shadow. She didn’t regret taking the position as a maid, especially since Brynn had never treated her as one, but sometimes she felt that it eclipsed everything she once was. Her memories of her parents and her home, once vibrant, had lost color. Then again, if she’d remained in the role of a princess, she never would have met Gray or discovered what true passion felt like.

  Her thoughts flicked to the carriage ride to Essex, and her face grew hot at the recollection. Gray had strummed her body like a virtuoso. No man had ever made her feel the way he did…no man had ever touched her as he had. Lana wasn’t naive—she understood the difference between lust and love, but when it came to Gray, all lines became blurred. She’d already lost her will to him, and if she wasn’t careful, she could lose her heart.

  Lana sighed and opened the door that led into a hallway near the retiring rooms. A tall figure swept in front of her and ushered her back through the door, up the first few steps.

  It took her eyes a moment to focus on the face staring down at her. Had she conjured him with her wanton thoughts?

  “Lord Northridge,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder to be sure no other servant was on the steps. “What are you doing here?”

  He had shut the door behind him, and Lana could instantly smell the sharp bitterness of whiskey. Oh, good heavens. He was foxed.

  Foxed and dangerously attractive. Dressed in black tailored formalwear, Lana couldn’t help noticing that the sumptuously elegant raven jacket fit his broad shoulders to perfection. She didn’t dare look down, but she knew his trousers would no doubt have the same superbly tailored fit. His cravat was slightly skewed, and Lana couldn’t help herself—her fingers reached to straighten it. He let her, tensing only as her hands brushed his chest while she deftly rearranged the knot. “There,” she said. “At least you’re presentable now.”

  “Who gives a damn if I’m presentable?”

  “Clearly, you don’t,” she replied, emboldened by his irascibility.

  “Why must you be so stubborn?” he countered, inching forward to press her into the shadows of the staircase wall.

  She huffed a breath, the handrail wedged into the backs of her hips. “I beg your pardon?”

  His eyes narrowed. “And why is it that when you feel cornered, the words that fall from your lips could match those from the most highborn of ladies?”

  “My mother insisted on a proper education.”

  “Yes, the modiste with the staff of nursemaids.” He paused. “In Moscow. Or was it St. Petersburg?”

  Lana tensed. A drunk Gray would be untempered by the voice of propriety that she’d seen rear to life within him from time to time, as if attempting to subdue his natural tendency toward mischief. He had a conscience, Lana knew, but that wild current inside of him flowed just as straight and strong.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Always evading,” he murmured, his hand lifting to stroke her cheek. “Such a temptress. You drive a man to distraction.”

  “Lord Northridge,” Lana whispered. His light touch ignited a scorching trail of fire that shot to her breasts and to the deep place between her thighs. She swallowed hard as his knuckles grazed her chin and slid down her neck to the stringent collar of her uniform. For once, she was glad of the high, scratchy neckline, even if her memories of the things he had done to her in the carriage made her tremble.

  Lana grasped his wrist. “What are you thinking? Anyone could see us, and the servants here are not like at Bishop House. Please, you need to go back to the ball.”

  Gray twisted his hand to capture hers, holding it between them. “Why? To see Hawk parading my sister like she is nothing but an expensive prize? He seeks a fortune, and she a title. I never thought she could be so shallow.”

  Lana wanted to slap him for insulting Brynn. She cherished Gray and he her. “That’s not true, and you know it.”

  “We’re all bred to do our duty, aren’t we? Born into it and bound to it.” He closed his eyes, his body swaying slightly. From the look and smell of him, he was more than well into his cups. The odor of drink rose up, tainting his clean, spicy scent. The one that usually made her want to press her lips to his throat. Oh, this man. Why him? Why now?

  “Gray,” Lana said firmly, detaching her hand from his. “Let me fetch you some water. You need to sober up and support your sister. Her heart is aching because of whatever has happened between the two of you.”

  “No,” he said, blinking as if coming out of trance. “I came here to tell you of my decision.”

  “Decision?”

  “I’m coming forward to Lady Dinsmore with the truth.”

  Lana’s stomach dropped, and she pressed back against the wall. The truth? He would betray her confidence? She felt the first thread pop, and after months of trying to keep everything so tightly sewn, Lana’s world started to unravel. All the lies she’d told, the lurking fear she’d worked so hard to suppress, the worry for Irina’s safety…all of it. “You can’t.”

  “You’ve left me no choice,” he said.

  She tucked her fingers into her palms, her nails biting into her skin. “Lady Dinsmore won’t understand. She’ll go to Zakorov, she’ll tell him where I’ve been hiding—”

  “No,” Gray said, his unfocused eyes blinking rapidly as he gripped her shoulders. “Not that. I’d never tell her or anyone about your involvement with the missing princesses. I want to keep you safe from Zakorov. That is why I must do this.”

  La
na shook her head. “But you said you would tell her the truth.”

  “Yes.” He angled his body closer now that he had his hands upon her again. “The truth of my attraction to you. That your position at Bishop House has become an inappropriate inconvenience.” His eyes fell to her tightening expression at what the loss of her position could mean. “I would never leave you in dire straits, Lana. I would see you well cared for, you can count on me for that. A house, money, whatever you need. You would be safe.”

  An inappropriate inconvenience? Lana’s fear turned into fury, and her rage made her see red. The desire to rip the cravat she’d just fixed from his neck and strangle him with it overtook her, but she kept her fingers tightly fisted at her sides. “Keep your promises! I never should have trusted you,” she hissed.

  She hated herself for being so weak. So foolish. She hated him.

  “You’ve forced my hand, Lana. If you can’t see that you’ll be safer far from London—”

  “This is not protecting me! You’re throwing me to the wolves.”

  Gray released her shoulders, a muscle beginning to tick in his cheek. “You will be out from under Zakorov’s shadow. That is the only thing that matters right now.”

  “No,” Lana said through clenched teeth. “You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re not thinking clearly.”

  He kept his hands at his sides, but Gray’s direct stare stroked her just the same. He loomed over her, his focus sharpening. “I cannot stand by and do nothing. Not where you are concerned.” His eyes smoldered with purpose as he closed the inches between them. “I only know that I will do whatever I must to keep you safe, even if it means forcing you to see reason.”

  He smothered Lana’s gasp with his mouth. Tasting of whiskey and mint, his tongue drove in, his mouth possessing hers utterly as his hands took hold of her hips. Gray’s thighs ground against hers, the hard thrust of him leaving her in no doubt of his desire. And Lord help her, the wicked, wanton part of her that he’d awakened wanted more of what he’d given her in the carriage. At the shameful thought, Lana’s breasts, flattened against his chest, tingled as hot need pooled low in the crux of her. Helpless against the deliberate storm he was arousing, Lana moaned as he coaxed her tongue into his mouth. She gave it to him for one sweet, forbidden instant before gathering all the force she could muster and shoving him away.