“How is Mr. Masterson’s good friend Mrs. Bruster?” Lord Penhaven’s lemony smile matched the overly tart drink.
“I’m not acquainted with a Mrs. Bruster, I’m afraid.” The doors to the gardens drew her attention for the hundredth time.
“She’s a widow who resides in the banking district. It’s kind of Masterson to check on her so frequently. Quite a lovely woman too. So young to lose her husband. I’m sure his regular visits ease her loneliness tremendously.”
Her breathing ceased as if a fist clamped her throat. She was innocent about many things, but not that innocent. How lovely was this widow? Did he visit her nightly? Did he love her?
“Yes, Mr. Masterson is extremely…considerate.”
A large proportion of London gentlemen kept mistresses. Whether Gray kept one was none of her concern. She had more immediate worries this evening. Nevertheless, another jagged rock was tossed into the churning mass near where her stomach normally resided.
Finally seeing Lord Stonewell leave Minerva’s side, Lily extricated herself from Penhaven. She plopped next to her friend and garnered a sidelong, slightly disapproving look. Her tapping foot was not under her control.
The discordant cacophony of sound coming from the pianoforte frayed her nerves further. A debutante in a frilly white frock caterwauled a siren’s song, unsuccessfully by the number of gentlemen attempting to exit the music room simultaneously.
Minerva’s mouth was pulled into a tight line. “What is wrong with you? You’ve been squirming like you have some unreachable itch all evening. And before you ask again, it’s only a quarter ’til midnight.”
Lily crinkled the note in her reticule. She wanted to read it one more time, even though she had it memorized.
I have information. Meet me under the bower in Napier’s garden—midnight.
The note had arrived late afternoon with no signature, no seal and no watermark. Perhaps it was from Gray, but then again, perhaps it wasn’t. She couldn’t say which possibility disturbed her more. Either way, she was on edge.
“I’m anxious.” Lily leaned in to whisper, “I received an anonymous note to meet someone in the garden tonight. For information.”
Minerva opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. She checked for eavesdroppers. “About your father?”
“I assume so. Most likely, it’s from Gray.”
“Can you trust him? Not to play the priggish chaperone, but is he maneuvering for your dowry? Could it be from another of your admirers? One of them might try to lure you into an indiscretion. Some gentlemen will go to extraordinary lengths in order to secure a woman with a sizable fortune.”
Minerva had survived three years on the mart without succumbing to a fortune hunter. Although her beauty seemed just as powerful a draw as her dowry. Her flair for fashion only enhanced her ice-blonde hair and classic features. She had the reputation of being cold and distant, but Lily attributed much of it to Minerva’s no-nonsense way of speaking and her quick mind.
“Gray is not after my dowry. That’s absurd. He still treats me as though I’m ten and in short skirts.” Lily forced a scoffing laugh. She flashed back to the brief moments in the townhouse entry and the crackling energy that had arced between them. Her face radiated a sudden heat, and she snapped her fan open. “The note specifically says information. According to Gray, the earl’s disappearance is not common knowledge. Perhaps someone overheard a conversation or saw him transported.”
“Then why not go to a magistrate or straight to the Home Office? Plus, have you considered the note could be from the miscreants who have done…something to your father? Maybe they want you now.”
The possibility her father was dead constantly hung over her head. Etched in her memory, every word of their last conversation filled her with guilt and regret. Finding him alive would offer the only absolution.
“Most likely, the note is from Gray.”
“Wouldn’t Mr. Masterson have signed his name?”
Damn Minerva and her unemotional logic.
“Perhaps he’s not in the habit of doing so.” A stray thought inserted itself. What if Gray had sent the note to test her unpromised promises? Her determination grew steelier. Lily hid her mouth behind her waving fan. “I’m going to slip out the garden doors in a few minutes. Could you tell anyone who might ask I retreated to the retiring room? I’m sure Aunt Edie won’t even notice my absence.”
Minerva harrumphed. “You know I’ll offer excuses for you, but this is not a good idea. If it’s Mr. Masterson, tell him to call on you tomorrow. You only have to wait for your aunt to slip into a doze to have a private conversation.”
“I’ll do that. I wish you could have made his acquaintance at Eversham’s.”
“Believe me, I wish the same. Simon will be the death of me.”
The night of Eversham’s ball, the Duke of Bellingham—Minerva’s brother and usual escort—had strolled into their townhouse close to midnight, drunk and stinking of cheap perfume.
Lily took her friend’s hand in a moment of poignant empathy. Lily had dealt with Rafe’s excessive drinking over the fall, but he had an excuse for his fall into the bottle. Simon, on the other hand, was young, irresponsible and turning into a dissolute wastrel, sure to ruin the Bellingham fortunes.
Minerva shooed Lily with her hand, her eyes focused across the room. “You’d better go. Montbatton is approaching.”
Lily mouthed, “Thank you,” and slipped through the crowd. With forced casualness, she examined the room and then backed out the garden door into the cool, damp night.
Gray toed himself up and over the brick wall that separated Lord Napier’s garden from the dirty, grimy alley. Landing in a squat behind an evergreen bush, he was careful not to brush against the wet bricks. He would hate to stain his dun breeches and dark blue jacket. Drying the lenses of his spectacles, he hooked them back over his ears.
Although he didn’t possess an abundance of fashionable clothes, his wardrobe was near to bursting. Gray’s goal was always to blend in, never stand out by being too rich or too shabby for his target company. His clothes ran the gamut from satin court clothes to coarse woolen workman breeches and everything in between.
An air of expectancy overlay the briefly pristine landscape. The city seemed rebirthed, washed clean of the soot that coated the streets and buildings and hung perpetually in the air. London after a rain was a poignant reminder of his childhood at Wintermarsh.
Flower petals drooped, rain droplets weighing them until they skated to the ground. A brisk breeze pushed the clouds aside, and moonbeams licked at the left-behind moisture, lighting the flowers and glossy leaves to an iridescent beauty.
He took a deep breath of loamy air and held it, listening. Not sensing danger, he wove through the garden with honed stealth. His plan was simple. He would slip into Napier’s drawing room and pull Lily aside for a chat. Lecture made it sound much less pleasant. His lack of invitation had precipitated his rather unusual entrance, but Napier would be none the wiser.
Soft humming stopped him short. He sidestepped closer, assessed the situation and muttered a soft curse. Lily swayed to a tune of her own making near a group of moonflowers. She flicked a stem with her fingers and scattered rain droplets to the ground. Standing in shaft of moonlight, she was a beautiful, ethereal garden nymph in her virginal white dress.
Determined to put an end to his overly fanciful thoughts, he moved within a few feet of her before whispering, “Lily Drummond. What—”
She whirled, her dress floating out from her body. “There you are. I was getting worried.”
He shushed her. “What the devil are you doing out here? Who are you meeting?”
She spoke as if she were talking to a child. “You, of course. Although I expected something a bit more obtuse.”
Gray took a deep breath and then let it out in a whoosh. “What?”
“I didn’t send a message.” A shot of unease made blood speed faster through his body.
“You didn’t? But…but what are you doing here then?” Her confusion mirrored his.
“Do you have the note?”
“I do.” She handed him a small sheet of heavy parchment from her reticule.
He held it up to the light. “It’s not my handwriting. Why did you assume it was from me?”
“Who else would be sending me messages to meet them in a garden?” she asked incredulously.
“One of your suitors? Montbatton comes to mind. Is he in attendance tonight?”
“Yes.” She tapped her lips with a finger. “I suppose you’re right. Lord Daniels is here as well and Ibis, Conway, Cantor, Renaud—”
“I get the picture.” He didn’t care to examine the source of his irritation.
“But it specifically said the man has information. If not you, then who?”
Gray ruffled the back of his hair and intoned, “Who indeed?”
Although Gray’s half-lidded eyes gave the impression of lazy regard, when Lily grabbed his arm, he felt strung tight as a bow. “What should we do?”
Whipping his head back, he said in an appalled fervent whisper, “You are going to return to Napier’s drawing room this instant before you’re missed.”
She took a step closer and poked him in the chest. “Minerva has it well in hand. I’m not leaving you out here alone.”
“Really?” The right corner of his mouth twisted and the same eyebrow quirked up. Her stomach turned like a recalcitrant child. “Are you planning on protecting me then, Lily?”
“Perhaps I will, you arrogant man.” Frustration drove her voice too high and loud.
A branch snapped, and they froze, their gazes locked.
“Stay here,” he mouthed, giving her a stern look full of dire promises if she disobeyed. He crept alongside a row of shoulder-high shrubs and rounded the corner.
The man was daft if he thought she’d tap her toes and wait for news. The damp grass silenced her footsteps and soaked her slippers. Lifting her skirts, she lengthened her stride to keep up. He disappeared between two hedges, a good twenty feet ahead of her. She darted into the crease and plowed into a large, stationary object. The object grunted and stumbled, twisting and grabbing her arms. She and Gray ended up reclined in a boxwood, a shower of raindrops falling over their heads.
“For the love of—”
“Terribly sorry, Gray—”
“He got clean away. I saw the flip of a tailcoat beyond that far clump of moonflowers,” he said with a sigh.
“Th-that’s a pity.” Her throat had turned into a desert, leaving her words husky. Although she was the one pressing him back into the greenery, she didn’t move. She clutched his lapels and straddled one of his thighs, her lips close enough to graze his ear.
Something strange was happening. Even though the excitement had passed, her heart accelerated. The place between her legs where his thigh pressed clenched in reaction. It was an uncomfortable, achy feeling. She squirmed.
She pulled back before her errant lips could act on their own accord and kiss the curve of his ear. Her cheek skimmed his smooth one. He’d had the time, or the inclination, to shave tonight. Moonlight reflected off his spectacles and made it impossible to read his eyes. His tongue darted to wet his lips. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his mouth.
The mouth moved. “Get off me. If anyone saw us…”
She hummed, still mesmerized by his lips. What would they feel like against hers? Certainly better than his ear and definitely better than the blacksmith’s son’s mouth.
He grunted and heaved them upright. Another sprinkle of raindrops fell over them. The spell was broken. A thunderous expression rolled over his face.
She took a step back and patted her damp hair, trying to affect an air of nonchalance. “Since that’s resolved, I should be heading back in. Are you going to accompany me?”
“Resolved? Are you bloody well mad? You were supposed to stay safely out of it. You promised me.” His voice was hot, and he jabbed his finger in her face.
She grabbed his finger and jerked it away from her nose. “You asked me not to accompany one of my suitors into the gardens. I didn’t. As I recall, I never promised anything.”
“You little…”
Lily was fairly certain he intended to call her something a bit more colorful than imp.
“The note was to me after all,” she said with a lilt of defiance.
“Let me get this straight. Whoever sent that note likely meant you harm, and you happily traipsed into danger? You’re queer in the attic.” He turned away, shaking his head as if dismissing her.
“I have just as much right—no, even more—to seek my father. You can’t stop me.”
He pivoted to face her once again, looking as if he’d aged a decade. “Can’t I? You’re a mess. Get your cloak and leave.”
He might be right, but his authoritative tone grated. “I’ll slip around the side and have the footman get a note to Aunt Edie. I expect a visit tomorrow.”
Gray rolled his eyes and huffed. Not sure if that was a yes or a no, she refused to say another word. She stalked away but couldn’t help looking over her shoulder. Legs braced apart and arms folded over his chest, he kept watch until she slipped back inside.
Chapter Six
Lily paced the drawing room.
With an air of amusement, her aunt said, “My dear, a cup of tea might calm you.”
Lily harrumphed but then added in a more lady-like voice, “A cup of tea is not what I want. What I want is for Gray to call and tell me—” Not that Aunt Edie would purposefully recount a conversation, but when she wasn’t dozing off, she enjoyed a good gossip.
“Why don’t you call upon him?” Aunt Edie popped a small biscuit in her mouth.
Lily stopped short and turned to face her aunt. “Are you suggesting that I take our carriage to his rooms?”
“Why not?” Aunt Edie shrugged before picking through the rest of treats on the tea tray.
Was there a school for chaperones? If so, her aunt had slept through pertinent instruction. “It would be completely beyond the pale, Aunt Edie. A lady can’t call upon bachelor quarters. If anyone spotted me, I would be ruined.”
“Pacing is bad for your digestion, my dear. It’s not in your nature to sit and wait for things to happen. Moreover, you’ve turned away a dozen callers over the past two days waiting for your Mr. Masterson.”
“He’s not mine,” she retorted.
“You accepted a stroll in the gardens with him—twice. To my knowledge, you haven’t bestowed the honor on any other gentleman.”
“That’s not exactly how it happened. Anyway, how would you know? I might have taken a dozen men into the bushes. You hardly pay a bit of attention.” She immediately regretted her harsh tone at her aunt’s crestfallen expression. “I’m sorry, Aunt Edie. Please forgive my tongue. It gets away from my head sometimes.”
“I trust you, my dear. If I should keep a closer eye on you, I will.”
“Lud, no. I enjoy our arrangement. Gray is…different. He found me exceedingly tiresome as a child. Rafe forced him to come to Eversham’s, and I’m afraid I haven’t done much to counteract his long-held opinion of me.” She plopped in a chair and traced the sprigged flowers on her dress with a finger.
Aunt Edie reclined on the chaise lounge. Her foot dangled and swung off the edge. “Perhaps duty drove him to the ball, but he called on you here. And at Napier’s. There may be another clue to his motivations, but I’m not at liberty to divulge it yet.”
“Has he said something to you about me?”
“Absolutely nothing.” Aunt Edie popped another small biscuit into her mouth and brushed sugar from her smiling lips.
Lily waved her hands in small circles, hoping to incite further revelations. Her aunt ignored her, lolled her head back and closed her eyes.
She drummed an impatient rhythm on her knees. “It’s neither here nor there. Obviously, he never planned to call, the cad. I certainly cannot go to his rooms—really, Aunt Edie, shame on you for even suggesting such scandalous behavior—so then the next obvious source for information is my brother. He can’t avoid me, and I know how to make him tumble like a house of cards. Anyway, I’m finding myself heartily sick of lilies.”
The warm sun and the rocking of the carriage lulled Lily somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. Her mind circled the problem of obtaining information. She needed it, and Rafe and Gray were determined to keep her in the dark. While Gray infuriated her, her reaction to him was troublesome.
Of course, she’d been infatuated with him as a child. He’d treated her like a big brother, but since he wasn’t actually blood-related, her adolescent imagination was free to cast him as the prince to her princess. She’d followed him everywhere. Or tried to at any rate. She’d quickly become a nuisance to a boy teetering on the edge of manhood, flexing his independence. His ire hadn’t bothered her in the least. It meant he noticed her.
But there was nothing adolescent about the feelings he engendered in the here and now. The feel of his body against hers in Napier’s garden had been a revelation, and the desire to kiss him nearly uncontrollable. Did he feel the same urges or was she still a nuisance?
A shout brought her back to the rocking coach with a start. A gruff, common voice rang out to her left. “Stand and deliver!”
Fuzzyheaded, she scooted over and yanked the curtains back. Two men approached fast over an open field. Their horses were ill-kept nags and kerchiefs obscured their faces. Was this a dream?
A voice to her right sent her toward the opposite window. Two more men, their faces similarly covered, galloped closer. A shot came from her coachman, Pendleton, and although he always travelled with a brace of pistols, he had to control the horses. A young stableman sat with him, but based on the boy’s spotty face and spindly body, he wouldn’t be much help in a fight.
An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1 Page 5