His flashing dimples reassured her as did the amusement lighting his eyes. “Breeding plans? I hope you’re referring to his horses and not to—” His chin dropped to his chest, and a flush crept up his neck, barely tinting his tanned cheeks. “Please tell me you’re not considering Montbatton. It would make the gods very angry indeed for such a lovely, vivacious woman to be eternally bound to such an imbecile.”
Not that Lily planned to contradict him, because she happened to agree wholeheartedly with his assessment of Montbatton’s intelligence, but his coy compliment sent her reeling back down the path of confusion.
“Actually, another minute of his prattling and I planned to fake a swoon. Although, since I’ve never actually swooned, I’m not sure I would have been very convincing. Unlike some of these ladies, I’m ridiculously hardy.”
Her response gained another flash of dimples paired with a slight uptick of his lips. “I certainly hadn’t expected to meet such a delightful lady tonight. Honestly, I generally avoid ton functions. Too many people in general and not enough interesting ones to make it worth the effort. You, however, seem to be the exception.”
“Am I?” Realization washed over her. She stumbled, but he corrected her misstep with ease. The green stripes of his silk waistcoat wavered in her view while her tilted world righted itself.
The dirty, rotten blighter didn’t know who she was.
She didn’t know whether to collapse in relief, double over with laughter or bestow a solid kick to his left shin. How could he not recognize her? Was she really so different? What to do…confess now or have a bit of fun? A familiar, devilish glee overtook her.
“So why are you here if you detest balls?” She forced a level tone and swept her gaze back to his.
“I’m here to find a childhood friend. It’s her first Season as well. Lady Lily Drummond. Perhaps you’re acquainted?”
“Let me think. No, I don’t believe so.”
“That’s a mercy. I suppose her antics can’t have been too outrageous then.”
“What do you mean? What’s she like?”
“I haven’t seen her in years, but she was…unusual. A bit of a tomboy. I hope she’s gained some polish, else the ton will eat her alive.”
“Why would you want to find her then?”
“I lost a wager with her brother.” Amusement brimmed in his eyes.
She squashed an outraged squawk. The tiny amount of needling guilt over her deception vanished. “Shouldn’t you go and find the poor creature? She sounds positively dreadful. At a guess, she’s moldering in some corner without a partner in sight.”
“At least then she’ll stay out of trouble.” His voice was like dry parchment.
“Does she have a penchant for trouble then?” What in the world had Rafe told him?
Although his lips still curled, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothed, and his face took a serious cast. “I don’t know, but I’ll be sure to find out. Enough about Lady Lily. What about you? You might very well be the belle of the Season based on the number of admirers I bypassed. Have any won your hand or admiration?”
She ducked her head and watched their feet move in tandem. Ignoring his question, she asked, “Tell me, why did you steal me away from Montbatton when you don’t even know me?”
“Your beauty struck me from across the room.” His eyes had turned wary and assessing even as his tone struck her as falsely carefree. “All the gentlemen panting after you must tell you how lovely you are.”
They did, but her loveliness seemed in direct ratio to her dowry.
“That was a mere platitude,” she accused. “I want the truth.”
A battle played itself out in the twitching muscles of his jaw. The arm around her waist tensed. The laughter and shouts and low buzz of conversation faded into nothingness.
“The past few years have been…difficult. I was drawn to more than your beauty. You’re so alive, so vibrant. I couldn’t seem to stop myself.” Every word seemed tortured out of him as if it was physically painful to admit a hint of vulnerability. His hooded, restless eyes cloaked a depth of feeling she could only guess at.
She fought the urge to comfort him with a touch to his cheek or a childlike hug. Rafe was a testament to how treacherous Gray’s clandestine work for the Crown could be. Uncommon tears pricked, and she blinked furiously before he could take notice.
“That is quite the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Are you here for the duration of the Season?” The thought of him back on the Continent and in danger had her clutching his shoulder, fingers biting into the thick wool to the muscle beneath.
“For now. I’ve been tasked with keeping an eye on Lady Lily.”
The stab of vexation helped dissipate the empathy swamping her sensibilities. Apparently, the man thought wolves had raised her deep in the Wintermarsh forest before letting her loose on London Society. What if she were to stomp on his foot? Accidentally, of course. His toes should be forever grateful the waltz ended.
He escorted her off the dance floor and into the milling crowd. Bunched groups of dandies and debutantes eyed each other with interest while chaperones sat like a row of soldiers along the wall. Gray guided her behind a faux pillar.
“I’ve been entirely too forward, but I doubt very much you would have granted me a dance if I’d approached through proper channels. We’ve done everything a bit backward, but allow me to introduce myself—Gray Masterson at your service.” A gentlemanly bow accompanied a disarming, charming smile, dimples cutting into his cheeks. Once again, his eyes were guarded, his face frustratingly bland.
She refused to allow his ridiculously adorable dimples to dent her irritation. Graciously inclining her head, she baited him. “You’re readily forgiven considering you rescued me from Montbatton. How should I address you? Are you a duke, an earl, a viscount or perhaps a baron?”
“No,” he answered on a large exhale. He shifted on his feet, and a sliver of sympathy rose, but he really did deserve to squirm. Just a bit.
Her gaze wandered away as if evaluating nearby gentlemen as potential new partners. “A baronet then?”
“Alas, a humble mister. Although my great-grandfather was an earl.”
“Not in line to inherit? What a pity.” She walked away and allowed herself an evil little smile.
“Wait, what’s your name?” He grabbed her bare upper arm and forced her to a halt.
The soft, buttery leather of his glove caressed her skin sensuously. A gentleman would never touch a lady in such a manner. She should act outraged, she should be outraged. Instead, her heart rate ticked up a notch, and her lips went dry with another emotion entirely. An emotion she didn’t fully comprehend but found altogether fascinating.
She tried to maintain a flirty tone, but her dry mouth lent a hoarse invitation to her words. “I think, Mr. Masterson, that is for you to discover.”
“May I claim another dance?”
“Perhaps, but only if you know my name.” She tapped his hand with her fan. Instead of releasing her, he trailed his hand to hers and tangled their fingers for an instant. Her stomach knotted in concert.
She pulled away and began her trek back to her Aunt Edie but couldn’t help a glance over her shoulder. Looking completely out of sorts, Gray watched her retreat with a furrowed brow. Feeling surprisingly similar, she offered a tentative smile with trembling lips. She would pay dearly for this little deception.
The tempting chit walked away with a seductive sway. Her smile told him she was hiding something more than her name, and it bothered him. She bothered him. Perhaps it was her familiar teasing tone. Perhaps it was the way she’d wormed behind his defenses, making him reveal more than he’d intended. Perhaps it was the knowing glint in her eye, as if she understood how apart he lived his life.
Or was it the way her lithesome, graceful body moved in synchronization with his,
their bodies aligning perfectly on the dance floor? How could he help but wonder if they’d fit together as perfectly in softer, more prone locales?
Whatever the reason, he would uncover her secrets.
While Gray didn’t relish the thought of approaching Montbatton, the man possessed the information he required. Montbatton stood on the edge of the floor, arms crossed and chin high, the picture of an entitled aristocrat. The swarthy, stocky man wasn’t ugly or disfigured. Some might even consider him handsome, but he was hardly on par with the stunning debutante.
“Lord Montbatton. How are you this fine evening?” Gray forced joviality into his voice.
Nose twitching as if Gray somehow offended his olfactory nerves, Montbatton turned slowly, never deigning to acknowledge Gray’s presence with his eyes. The ire Gray had inspired by stealing the woman away had not cooled in the least.
“I would give you the cut direct if I didn’t want to lay into you so badly. What the devil were you thinking? It was my dance, not yours. I’d been waiting all evening and you ruined it. The lady’s sticks fill up quickly, and she doesn’t dance every set. Blast you and your impertinence.”
Montbatton had every right to be angry, but it was just a dance after all. The man sounded like a thwarted child missing his dessert and ready to stomp a foot.
“It was beyond the pale, sir. I heartily apologize.”
Slightly mollified, Montbatton relaxed his aggressive stance, his shoulders dropping. “Why did you even cut in? She would have danced with you anyway, I’m sure.”
“Would she?” He was hardly considered the cream of London bachelors, possessing no title, no fortune, only the connections his work and his days at Eton afforded him.
“Of course. Surely, you’re not thinking of courting her? That would be rich. I’ll tell you now I’m very serious about gaining a wife by the end of the Season, and she’s at the top of my list. She’s quite the most entertaining, loveliest woman on the mart this Season, and an offer from me will be forthcoming. Feel free to pass that information on.” Montbatton poked him once in the chest with a stubby finger and stalked off before Gray had a chance to question the man further.
Pass the information on to whom? He adjusted his spectacles. Montbatton brushed by Lady Abbott, who stood with a circle of her friends.
Gray liked Lady Abbott. Intelligent, witty and attractive, she was everything her husband was not, but they had turned their political union into a seemingly contented marriage. She was also an inveterate gossip and knew everyone who was anyone important. No doubt, Lady Abbott could help him find Lily Drummond and identify his mystery lady.
Gray bowed and murmured a polite greeting. “Lady Abbott, have you by chance seen Lily Drummond this evening.”
The full bow of her mouth twitched in barely suppressed merriment. “Yes, I’ve seen her. In fact, she’s quite difficult to miss.”
That sounded alarming. Gray shifted and scanned the room. “Could you point me in her direction?”
Lady Abbott gestured down the long side of the ballroom with her unfurled fan. “She set her chaperone up in the far corner and headed in that direction not long ago.” Lady Abbott paused and said meaningfully, “I saw you dancing.”
“A most delightful lady.”
“Yes, she is. Quite an original.”
Triumph flared. A second dance was within his grasp. “Lady Abbott, this is a bit irregular, but I hadn’t been formally introduced to my dance partner. Might you reveal her name?”
Lady Abbott’s jaw dropped and both brows rose toward her hairline before she erupted in gales of laughter—at his expense. “Mr. Masterson, surely you jest?”
His confusion lasted only a moment. The fragmented pieces of his memory that had hovered on the edge of his awareness all evening notched into place. A wave of heat passed through his body—a strange combination of anger, astonishment and embarrassment. That little imp. Tucking chin to chest, he swiveled his head to where she stood on the other side of the ballroom.
She rocked back and forth in her slippers and looked ready to break out into a jig. Her hands fluttered around her hair and face like butterflies. His mouth clamped shut with the effort of stemming a stream of very vulgar curses.
Muffling her laughter to polite proportions, Lady Abbot offered a secretive smile. “I would recommend you go seek out Lady Lily. She’ll answer all of your questions.”
“Indeed she will, Lady Abbott,” he bit out with a tight smile that was probably closer to a grimace but was all he could manage.
“I’m sure Lord Drummond will appreciate your attentions to his sister.” Her teasing added a different dimension to his embarrassment.
It was bad enough he’d been so easily deceived. He blamed his cock, but therein lay the trouble. He’d been forcibly, undeniably attracted to Lily Drummond. If Rafe caught an inkling of the depraved, lustful thoughts Gray had entertained about her, he would garrote Gray or perhaps just cut off his bollocks. In either case, a painful end.
How had gawky, awkward Lily Drummond transformed into the gorgeous creature who’d duped him so easily? Once again, his newly apprised gaze lit on her. The child who had lived to torment him had grown into a woman who enjoyed the same pastime.
True, her hair had darkened to a rich honey, but familiar strands of blonde shot through it. Her features had softened and rounded with age, grown more sensual. And her figure…well, it didn’t bear thinking about how that had changed.
Lady Abbott dragged him back into conversation. “How is Lord Drummond doing, by the way? We miss seeing him.”
“He’s physically recuperated but prefers his country estate to London. Always has.”
“Now that you’re back, perhaps you can convince him to come to town.”
“I’ll certainly do my best. Lady Abbott.” Gray sketched a bow and, with practiced calm, cleared his face of all emotion. They weren’t children anymore, and Lily required reminding of that fact. She couldn’t be allowed to toy with him. If a game is what she sought, a game she would receive.
Chapter Three
Lily slyly watched Gray confront Montbatton and then execute a courtly bow to Lady Abbott. How long before her reckoning? Only a few minutes had passed. Not nearly long enough for her heart to slow. He approached—not with angry mincing steps or even hurried anxious ones, but in a casual loose-limbed saunter.
Did he know?
Gray had been lanky in his youth, but he’d always possessed an unusual agility and grace. Seemingly never feeling awkward in his body, he moved with a compelling confidence that had only grown more telling over the years. A broad, deep chest and narrow, lean hips complemented indecently muscled legs. Not that she had made a close examination, heavens no, but she could hardly miss them flexing during their dance.
Perhaps he wasn’t the tallest or the most handsome man in attendance, but there was something about him. In fact, several ladies’ heads turned when he passed them by. Not that he noticed, because his gaze pinned her like an insect on display.
Not smiling nor frowning, his face revealed not a single clue to his mood. He stopped directly in front of her, cocked one foot in front of the other and clasped his hands behind his back. A purely masculine stance that, along with his silence, set her nerves jangling.
She tucked several escaped tendrils back into pins and then opened and closed her fan a few times. Unable to tolerate another second of the increasing tension, she yielded, feeling somehow as if she’d lost the first skirmish of a war. “We meet again, Mr. Masterson. Mayhap did you learn anything interesting?”
His eyes, vibrantly green and arresting even partially shielded behind his spectacles, shimmered with an emotion she couldn’t interpret. “I learned Montbatton is indeed in pursuit, and you should expect an offer. He informed me most vehemently to pass that information on. Lady Abbott thought it highly amusing I didn’t know your name. And
lastly, I discovered Lady Lily should be in the corner with her chaperone.”
“Very impressive, but did anyone reveal my name?”
“Absolutely no one.” A single eyebrow arched above the rim of his spectacles.
Her shoulders, which at some point had bunched toward her ears, relaxed, and she tapped her fan against her lips to stem a victorious smile. “And I was so looking forward to another dance. Mayhap I’ll help you find your wayward friend instead. Over here did you say?”
A dark-haired matron in a red dress occupied the corner in question. She sat upright in a chair next to a ficus and, at first glance, appeared to be serenely observing the tableau of couples on the dance floor. The only indications she was soundly asleep were her closed eyes and slightly agape mouth. Her Aunt Edie was quite possibly the most worthless chaperone in all of England, which suited Lily perfectly. She’d no desire to relinquish the relative freedom she enjoyed in the country.
“That’s certainly not your debutante,” Lily said. “Come, let’s stroll while we look.”
“God’s teeth, that’s most likely her chaperone. Sound asleep while Lily runs wild.” Gray sounded truly aghast.
“Yes, your friend might be in the company of the worst sort of rogue who inappropriately whisked her away.” A cough covered her spate of giggles.
“Indeed.” His tone turned solemn. “She’s a highly impulsive chit not used to male attention. No doubt, she’d be easily lured into an indiscretion by a charming smile or prestigious title.” He tutted. “They’d only be after her dowry, poor thing.”
She sucked in a huge breath, ready to unleash her tongue, but his next words ripped the air from her lungs.
“Would you care to take a turn in the gardens as I haven’t earned a dance?”
“What about your friend? Shouldn’t you find her? What if she waits for you?” Her words spilled out too quickly. How many times had Rafe told her to never enter the gardens with a gentleman? At least a hundred. Although it was only Gray. If any man could be trusted, it would be him. Wouldn’t it?
An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1 Page 2