“Blast, I think Lord Penhaven spotted me. Hide me. He’s been by the townhouse almost every day. He’s been very kind, but I’d rather not dance with him.”
Penhaven had always struck Gray as lonely and harmless. Although the man lived on a neighboring country estate, he rarely came calling at Wintermarsh.
Penhaven’s reedy voice cut through the din of conversation. “Lady Lily, how delightful you look and how exciting to see you out at your first ball.” The man slid in front of Gray, smoothly separating him from Lily—much like Gray had done to Montbatton earlier—and bowed low over her hand.
Penhaven’s bright blue shiny satin knee breeches, green waistcoat and deep red velvet coat made Gray rub at his eyes. Penhaven’s stockings had a floral design any woman would covet, and his shoes sported unusually tall heels. His cravat was so elaborate and his collar points so high, he was sure to put out an eye before the evening concluded. He had rouged his cheeks and lips, and his oiled hair swirled over his forehead. All in all, the man would send a peacock into melancholia—perhaps even provoke a suicide.
Lily must have been accustomed to his flamboyant dress, because she managed a charming compliment. “My, you’re looking especially vibrant tonight, Lord Penhaven. You know my aunt, Mrs. Winslow, and you remember Mr. Masterson from Wintermarsh.”
Penhaven gallantly bussed Aunt Edie’s hand and then turned to Gray with an off-putting, overly toothy smile. “Masterson. Glad to see you back from the war in one piece—at least for the moment. Home on leave, are you?”
“Yes, my lord. How are you faring?”
“Quite well now I’ve managed to track down Lady Lily. She’s quite popular, just as I predicted to the earl. I had hoped to steal you away for the next dance, my dear. No need for a beauty like you to molder in the corner.”
She looked ready to decline, but Gray had already tarried too long. The more time he spent in her company, the more distracted he became. He mustn’t forget his mission. “I must take my leave, but the evening proved more interesting than I ever imagined.” Gray backed away, but Lily grabbed his arm, and his muscle tensed under her surprisingly strong grip.
“Gray…I mean, Mr. Masterson, will you call on me one afternoon this week? We have much to discuss.”
Penhaven’s gaze swiveled toward him, the intensity startling. The man was unhappy. Whether from Gray’s attention to Lily or her forward, inappropriate invitation, he couldn’t be sure.
“Do we? Our paths will cross again, no doubt. I promised your brother to keep an eye on you, after all. I leave you in Lord Penhaven’s capable hands for now. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Gray pressed a kiss on her hand, and her fingers curled over his an instant longer than was proper.
Aunt Edie received a more perfunctory version, and by the time he’d turned, Penhaven was leading Lily to the dance floor. She tossed an exasperated grimace over her shoulder. Displeasure thinned her lips. It served her right to have to dance with the old fop, considering the way she’d deceived him.
He meandered to the exit, but his attention never wavered from her. Although she was taller than the ridiculous little man, even in his heels, Penhaven was a fine dancer and moved her gracefully around the dance floor. They spun toward him. A calculating, cryptic need underlay the charm Penhaven oozed.
Did the little toad think to press a suit with her? He was old enough to be her father, for Christ sake. Such age differences weren’t unusual amongst matches in the beau monde, but that wouldn’t do for Lily. Not at all. The fire and spirit she’d had in spades as a child had only been tempered by the years, not extinguished.
The waltz ended, and a young, handsome dandy claimed the next set—a quadrille. Gray couldn’t bring himself to leave. The gentleman didn’t bother with the pretense of eye contact, staring directly at her bosom the entire dance. Gray’s fists clenched with the effort of his restraint. A few seconds with the young buck in a deserted alcove would be all he needed to inflict excruciating pain without leaving a mark.
What the devil was wrong with him? A green ribbon of emotion wound its way around his heart and squeezed painfully. He needed to leave—immediately. He looked at the couple dancing one more time and then stalked out of the ballroom, utterly bewildered by his lack of control.
Chapter Four
After Eversham’s ball, Gray told himself to stay away from her. But he had a duty to Rafe. A gentleman never welched on a wager. Lily had never promised to leave her father’s investigation to him, she was hiding something about the earl’s last visit, and he wasn’t convinced her aunt was a qualified chaperone.
After four days, her routine was clear. Most mornings, she rode along Rotten Row with Aunt Edie or Lady Minerva Bellingham in tow. Invariably, they’d be joined by several gentlemen. The peacocks vied for her attention while Gray squashed seething agitation.
She spent afternoons receiving callers and seemed equally popular with both sexes. Two evenings she attended gatherings, her dress concealed by a delicate-looking fluttering cloak that would do nothing to ward off the evening chill.
Montbatton was a regular of her circle and so was Penhaven. In fact, one afternoon when Gray was loitering in a narrow alley across the street, she’d ridden out with Penhaven in a fancy new curricle.
He wasn’t spying, he most absolutely wasn’t. He was observing from afar—hidden behind a convenient tree, bush or wall.
He advanced on the Drummond townhouse in a second attempt at a call. The first had ended with him turning on his heel when a tittering gaggle of ladies unloaded from a carriage on his approach. He’d rather face a battalion of French soldiers than sit in a drawing room making stilted conversation with such a group.
This time, however, the street remained deserted. Staring at the black door, he raised his hand to knock but then let it fall to his side, his hand clenched. He turned, kicked a pebble and watched it skitter down the steps. What was he doing? An inconvenient shard of honesty inserted itself. He certainly wasn’t here to fulfill some vague obligation to Rafe.
She’d entrenched herself in his thoughts. He hadn’t realized how dark and desolate his days had become, how cynical and aloof he had become. Her hand on his arm had imparted a measure of comfort he hadn’t been seeking or even known he needed, yet now couldn’t dismiss.
Gray rapped with conviction. A man with thinning brown hair brushed back from his crown in neat comb rows greeted him in a monotone voice, as if he’d uttered the three words a thousand times. “Calling card, please.”
“All out, I’m afraid.” Gray patted his frockcoat with a strained smile. Advertising his identity on the Continent would have gotten him killed.
The man’s nose turned up, and he examined Gray head to toe. Gray’s fingers grew restless with the need to wipe the condescending expression off the servant’s face. Wisely, the man let him in the entry.
His anger suffocated under the cloying scent of dozens of lily bouquets in various colors and sizes. He tried not to gag. Couldn’t these men pretend to have some imagination? His next thought tumbled onto the first. Should he have brought flowers? Just to be polite.
“I’ll ask if my lady is receiving. Your name?” the butler asked with a sniff.
“Mr. Masterson.”
The drawing room door opened before the butler could glide over on his soundless shoes, and Lily and Montbatton exited.
Gray’s body assumed the stance of a territorial dog. “Montbatton.”
“Masterson.” Montbatton’s teeth stayed clenched. They would have been more at home circling each other in a ring at Gentleman Jack’s.
Her quizzical gaze bounced between them. “Lord Montbatton, as always, I enjoyed our chat about your horses. Thank you for your flowers.”
Montbatton set his feet and looked for a moment as if he didn’t plan to leave.
“Good to see you, old chap. Run along now, so I can have a coze wit
h Lily.” Gray’s behavior was utterly childish but extremely satisfying.
Montbatton’s face shaded pink. “Masterson, you really are an utter and complete bas—”
“Lord Montbatton, please.” Lily fanned herself and then pressed her fingertips to her forehead.
Montbatton turned a deeper shade and bumbled over his words. “Lady Lily, allow me to apologize profusely. I-I don’t know what came over me.”
“All is forgiven, my lord. Perhaps I’ll see you this evening. Higgins, would you see Lord Montbatton out?”
The man retreated like a chastised dog. Gray almost felt sorry for the besotted fool. Almost.
“And, Higgins, send up a tea tray with four cups,” she called to the retreating back of the butler.
The front door closed and the butler’s footsteps faded. He and Lily were alone. Common sense told him to seek out her chaperone, but something more primal had him backing her into a slight alcove. “You need acting lessons. That was abysmal.”
Her blue-sprigged muslin gown was unfortunately buttoned to the neck. Pinned in a chignon, her hair looked delightfully tousled, several tendrils trailing over her shoulders. He’d hoped the candlelight or his exhaustion had made her seem so appealing at Eversham’s. No such luck. Standing in filtered sunbeams from the fanlight, she was even lovelier and more vibrant. Dammit.
“Should I employ an actress from Drury Lane to give me lessons?” She tucked her hands behind her and leaned against the wall.
“Who else are you hiding in the drawing room?”
“Aunt Edie, of course. And Lord Penhaven.”
“I don’t like that little toad. He wants something.”
Her eye roll was slightly insulting. “He’s old and lonely but quite amusing. What he wants is a friend. Anyway, he’s a neighbor. I have to receive him if he calls.”
“No you don’t. Tell him to bugger off.” He moved close enough to cast his shadow over her. How would she react if he pulled the pins out of her hair and plunged his hands into the thick mass, holding her head while he— Bloody hell, he had to banish such thoughts. Immediately.
She tsked, but her lips ticked up and drew his gaze. “Ladies can’t behave like that. You worry about me acting with the proper level of decorum, but it seems you are the one causing me embarrassment.”
His gaze snapped up to hers. “What the devil does that mean?”
“Please. You and Montbatton. First at Eversham’s and your little display of masculine aggression here. Encouraging me to tell an old man to bugger off when he’s in need of companionship. It’s ridiculous.”
He stayed silent, keeping his suspicions of Penhaven close. The man maneuvered for Lily’s hand. Not that Rafe would allow it, so Gray didn’t feel the same aggression toward him Montbatton engendered. Montbatton was young, titled and wealthy. In addition, he wasn’t an ogre. Lily might find herself worn down by his persistence.
A swath of hair played against her cheek. He wrapped the tendril around his finger before he could stop himself. “I made Rafe a promise to watch over you. Now you need to give me your promise. Don’t wander into gardens with any of your supposed suitors.”
“You lost a bet with my brother. Don’t pretend you really care.”
Why was he here? For her or for duty? The sun lit him from behind. Dust motes floated in the air and lent him a spectral quality. Between the enticing tang of his shaving tonic and the hand playing with her hair, sweeping together a coherent sentence was proving difficult. She skimmed her tongue over her dry lips. Something flashed over his face a moment before he tugged on her hair—hard.
She yelped and batted at his hand. “Why’d you do that?”
“To get your attention. Promise me not to traipse into a garden with one of your suitors. While we’re at it, promise to let me handle locating your father.”
“That’s a lot of promises to make for nothing in return.”
He narrowed his eyes as if guarding against her. “What do you require in return?”
The rattling tea tray interrupted them, and without answering, she scooted around him to follow Higgins into the drawing room on shaky legs. Gray still stood in the alcove. “Come on then. You can at least take a cup with us,” she said.
He looked to the front door, no doubt contemplating escape, but instead took measured steps toward her. His final step over the threshold of the drawing room seemed to take tremendous effort.
In a blink, Gray transformed into a smiling, polite model of a London gentleman. He exchanged greetings with Penhaven, thankfully withholding comment on Penhaven’s overly colorful attire. Aunt Edie treated him to more fluttering eyelashes. A glimpse of this Gray had emerged the night of the ball. A charming, easygoing mask veiled an aggressive intensity.
As much as it amused her to hear him debate gentleman’s fashions, she wished to discuss something else. She’d tried to broach the subject with Penhaven several times but always lost her nerve. Gray buoyed her courage, and during a lull, she managed the transition.
“You and my mother entered Society around the same time, did you not, Lord Penhaven?” Lily poured him another cup.
The change of subject took the man aback. His mouth tightened, and he sipped at his cup, silent so long she wondered if she should repeat her question. “Yes, my dear, the same Season, as a matter of fact. We were quite well acquainted. Such a pity what happened.”
It was more than just a pity by Lily’s way of thinking. Victoria Drummond ran off with another man and abandoned her family before Lily had even turned a year old. At first, her father had searched desperately, terrified something nefarious had happened, but Penhaven and other villagers had witnessed her riding off with another man. Victoria’s defection had destroyed her father, or so she’d been told.
When she was young, she’d strutted proudly when her father told her she was like her mother. Only as she grew older and wiser had she realized her father didn’t intend the statement as a compliment.
“Would you tell me a bit about her, Lord Penhaven? The earl never speaks of her.” She cleared her throat and risked a glance toward Gray. His eyes were unreadable behind his spectacles, but his body was poised on the edge of settee.
“She was vastly amusing and vivacious, much like yourself. Very beautiful—again.” Penhaven gestured toward her, the compliment clear. “Your brother inherited her unusual eyes. You have your father’s coloring, of course, but possess her warm, bold spirit.”
Although his words flattered, something in his tone unsettled her, but she couldn’t pinpoint how. “Was their marriage a love match?”
Penhaven’s eyes glittered from sadness or anger or perhaps regret? “It was tempestuous. Love? I couldn’t judge. There were whispers your father—well, it’s not for a young lady’s ear—but they both seemed happy enough with the outcome. Only later did your mother suspect your father had been…overly friendly with other ladies.”
“How do you know that, Lord Penhaven?” Gray asked.
Penhaven reluctantly turned his attention from her to Gray. “We were friends. She often rode to my estate for a visit when she and the earl were in the country, although she preferred London, of course.”
Lily asked, “Did you know the man she ran off with? Surely, she mentioned him if you were so close.”
Penhaven’s body stayed lax on the settee, but he drummed his fingers against his knee, the jewels in his rings twinkling in a shaft of sunlight. “No, I didn’t recognize him, and she never mentioned him. However, I think she’d been planning her escape for some time. I certainly hope she’s had a happy life.”
His words settled over her like a sodden cloak, chilling and heavy. True, she’d never known her mother, but especially now that she was older, she wondered how Victoria Drummond could have left her two children without ever looking back. Was her mother remorseful? Did she wonder how her children had fared witho
ut her? Had she forged a new family with this unknown man?
“Do you remember her, Gray?” Her throat was tight.
“I was only seven when she left. Your father would be gone for months at a time. When he returned everything would be in upheaval. Your mother would be manic with excitement, but I remember arguments as well. About what, I couldn’t speculate. There was a huge scandal at her leaving, but it’s been long buried. Has anyone in Society mentioned it?”
“Not to my knowledge, and I’m sure Minerva would tell me if she’d heard anything untoward.”
“It’s certainly not hurt your come-out, my dear,” said Lord Penhaven. “Your entryway can attest to that fact.”
Gray’s snort whipped her head around. Looking as if he’d been caught filching sweets, he checked his pocket watch and stood. “I must take my leave.”
“Where are you going?” She rose, forcing Penhaven up as well.
“I have things to attend to.” Gray’s voice was infuriatingly neutral. Most likely, his list included investigating her father’s disappearance.
Aunt Edie listed to the left. Her eyes were closed and light snuffling came with each breath. “Lord Penhaven, I’m afraid my chaperone won’t be terribly useful in her current state, and to be frank, I’m in need of a nap as well. I’m attending Lord Napier’s gathering tonight.” She paused a beat. “I’ve heard his gardens are lovely.”
Lily escorted both men to the door. Gray gestured Lord Penhaven down the stairs, but instead of following, he spun, his hand clenched around the doorjamb. With the hint of a threat only her ears were attuned to, he said, “Remember your promises, Lily Drummond.”
Waggling her fingers in farewell, she closed the door in his face. As she recalled, she had promised nothing.
Chapter Five
Lily sipped a glass of lemonade while she assessed the lords and ladies gathered in Napier’s spacious townhouse. On the surface, none of them appeared the least bit suspicious, but weren’t the most successful evildoers the ones who hid their depravity until it was too late?
An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1 Page 4