An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1

by Laura Trentham

  “It’s likely, but she certainly isn’t trying to deceive you on purpose. It’s not in her nature.”

  Rolling his eyes, Gray grunted in equal parts amusement and exasperation. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. She’s hasn’t lost her taste for baiting me.”

  “Remember that the earl—and her brother—will expect Lily to marry well.” The warning in his father’s voice zinged through his body.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means just what I said. Take care you don’t get any notions.”

  Gray let his eyes flutter closed. Notions? Like pressing Lily against the piano while he lifted her skirts? Or flipping her onto the settee while he lifted her skirts? All his notions seemed to involve her rapidly rising hemline. Probably not what his father was referring to. At least, Gray hoped it wasn’t.

  Gray was wise enough to recognize when retreat was his best option. “I need to talk to Rafe. Is he back?”

  “You’ll find him in the study.” He regarded Gray with a certain combination of fatherly amusement and worry. The same expression had graced his parents’ faces throughout his youth countless times.

  Rafe was indeed ensconced behind the desk in the study. Instead of taking a chair, Gray ran fingertips across a row of books, flipping through ones that sparked memories. The room still bore Lionel’s mark, and it should considering the decades his father had worked for the earl. Rafe and Gray had played toy soldiers under the desk along to the soothing cadence of Lionel Masterson’s quill scratching across ledger rows.

  Now a changing of the guard was upon them. His father was ready to relinquish responsibility to Rafe, who had infiltrated and claimed the room. Rafe looked completely at home. A sense of rightness stamped out any lurking nostalgia.

  Rafe offered him a tumbler of brandy. The first sip burned a path to Gray’s stomach, cauterizing the raw nerves left from his encounter with Lily.

  Rafe sat in his armchair, stretched one leg in front of him and broke the comfortable silence. “Any forays onto the Continent?”

  “Just returned, as a matter of fact. Spent the night with Jacques.”

  “Learn anything interesting?”

  “He hasn’t heard a peep from our French counterparts about your father.”

  “It seems impossible he could be in England and still live.”

  Gray flipped through a colorful travelogue of Egypt and sighed. “Unfortunately, I agree. Even if he’s dead, we need to find the miscreants responsible. If they’re loyal to Boney, your father might be the beginning of a bigger plot. Plus, this business with Lily worries me. Did she tell you about the note she received luring her into a garden?”

  “She did. Did she tell you about her carriage being attacked on the way here?”

  Gray slapped the book shut and braced his legs apart as if an ambush was imminent. “No, she bloody well didn’t.”

  “Four brigands attacked the carriage in broad daylight on the main road. I can’t see that the two incidents are unrelated.”

  Gray shoved the book randomly at the shelf and stalked around the room. His galloping heart stymied logical thought. Only after several deep breaths could he consider the situation with Lily rationally.

  “Definitely not unrelated to each other, but is it related to the earl’s disappearance or an overzealous suitor? Theoretically, the note could have been trying to lure Lily into an indiscretion, and the attack might have ended with a kidnapping to Gretna Green.”

  Rafe swirled the liquor in his glass and took a small sip. “The men fired pistols at the carriage. A stray bullet could have injured Lily, or if Penny had been hit, the carriage could have overturned and killed her. A risky plan if the proposed perpetrator is so in love he would go to such lengths to secure her.”

  “Perhaps an if-I-can’t-have-her-no-one-will mentality.” Gray forced the foreign panic out of his voice.

  “You’ve observed her in London. Any of the men draw your suspicions?”

  All of the men pursuing Lily raised his hackles. He tried to dispassionately consider the situation, but found it a word he couldn’t associate with her. She fairly crackled with passion and energy and life.

  “Montbatton is aggressively courting her. Penhaven seems constantly under foot. Half a dozen others flit around her like gadflies. Truthfully though, it’s hard to picture any of them resorting to kidnapping.”

  “I appreciate you standing in for me at Eversham’s,” Rafe said with true thankfulness.

  Gray harrumphed and turned away to study the inkpot his father had used. Although nothing untoward had actually happened, his prurient thoughts alone would be enough to get him skewered.

  “Montbatton is going to offer.” The words carried more vitriol than he had intended to reveal.

  “He’s a decent sort, I suppose. She could do worse.”

  “She could do a damn sight better too,” Gray responded with heat.

  “Are you taking on the task of matchmaker in addition to finding the earl?” Rafe chuckled. “It might be worth coming to town to see that.”

  “A match for Lily is the least of my worries.” Although his job required him to lie, this one felt like a brand on his chest. He cleared his throat and guided the conversation back to the earl. “I did uncover something suspicious at the office. Unusual payments made to Lord Gilmore in July of last year. Have you seen his name attached to any investments or deals?”

  Rafe sipped his brandy and took his time answering. “I know who he is, of course. I can’t recall any mention of him possibly visiting Wintermarsh. Did you ask Lionel?”

  “He said the same. I’ll pursue it anyway. Let’s talk former lovers.”

  The leather of Rafe’s seat creaked as he shifted. “Father was surprisingly loyal to Mother, even after she ran off. Or perhaps, he could never bring himself to trust another woman. Whatever the reason, to my knowledge, he took only a handful of lovers over the years. Lady Matthews comes to mind.”

  “Lady Matthews. Married to the head of the public works committee, is she not?”

  “Indeed. Married for thirty some-odd years.”

  “Jealousy as a motive?”

  “The affair went on for a decade, although they’ve been hot and cold over the years. It seems a bit odd for Lord Matthews to get upset about it now. A constant rotation of actresses warms his bed.”

  “What about Lady Matthews? Women are as capable of treachery.” Gray’s gaze cut to his friend, whose hand touched the long scar on his cheek.

  “Perhaps. I don’t know her well. It’s worth pursuing, I suppose.”

  Gray perched on the edge of a chair, propped his elbows on his knees and rested his forehead on his laced hands as if in prayer. Actually, divine help would be welcomed. “In normal circumstances, Lily would be kept well out of the investigation. However, nothing about the circumstances is normal. Taking into account her inquisitive nature in addition to these recent events, we may have to bring her deeper into the investigation. Otherwise, she’ll go off half-cocked like she did at Napier’s.”

  “Now that she’s been involved directly, there’ll be no putting her off the scent, I’m afraid,” said Rafe.

  “Perhaps we can use her obvious popularity to our advantage. Matthews and Gilmore move in the highest levels of the ton. I’ll have a difficult time even obtaining invitations.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Lily won’t have a problem gaining entrance to their homes. She can attend functions, question them…distract them.”

  Rafe’s smile flashed white in his dark beard. “Very sneaky. Lily can ferret out their secrets in the ballrooms and drawing rooms while you’ll be taking care of the dangerous work.”

  “I certainly can’t question them unless it’s under duress. It’s only logical we use her natural abilities and connections.”

  �
��This should prove interesting. You usually work alone. Keep in mind, you’ll be responsible for keeping her safe.”

  His gaze on the rug, Gray nodded. Who would protect her from him?

  Chapter Eight

  Lily grabbed a random book off the shelf and settled into Rafe’s oversize armchair. There were two rooms where the men couldn’t escape her. Since their bedrooms were off-limits, she planted herself in the study, determined to wait them out.

  The men had spent the previous evening playing chess and had risen at dawn to ride and fence. No doubt they planned and schemed without her. Now it was late afternoon and only a matter of time.

  Clomping boots and male laughter signaled their return. She opened the book on her lap and pretended to be engrossed. Rafe was the first to cross the threshold. She didn’t miss the half-smile and eye roll he aimed at Gray.

  Gray propped an arm over the back of her chair and leaned in. The heat radiating off his body hit her like a wave. The scent of horses and leather had never smelled so intoxicating. His muscular buckskin-molded thighs were at eyelevel, and she was a few inches from touching him. She tucked her errant hands under her book.

  Her gaze coasted up his thighs to his chest. Like Rafe, he had forgone a jacket and neckcloth. His shirt was open at the neck and topped by a sturdy dark green waistcoat. After admiring the broad expanse of his shoulders, her gaze continued north and was ensnared by vibrant green.

  “Where are your spectacles?” Her damnable voice was breathy. If he would move his absolutely indecent thigh away, she could concentrate on not sounding like a ninny.

  “Upstairs. What are you reading?”

  What the devil was she reading? “It’s…well, it’s…really very fascinating.”

  He plucked it out of her hands to check the spine. A grin lit his face, making him look carefree. His dimples carved furrows in his cheeks. She smiled in an instinctive response.

  “Plantation Farming in the Antillean Islands. Fascinating, indeed.” He tossed the book back in her lap, took the seat next to her and crossed his legs. His grin morphed into a small, calculated smile.

  “Fine. I was waiting for the two of you, if you must know.” She sat up like a proper lady and folded her hands primly over her knees.

  “I’m shocked.” He sounded nothing of the sort.

  “Gray and I have been discussing involving you in the investigation—” Rafe pointed his finger, “—in a very limited way, mind you.”

  Lily’s eyes widened, but she compressed her lips, not wanting to give them any reason to change their minds. Gray seemed to be summing up her capabilities. Did he find her wanting?

  Rafe paced in front of them. “Our identified suspects are Lord Gilmore and Lord and Lady Matthews.”

  “Lord Gilmore? We’ve crossed paths a few times. A bit older than either of you, isn’t he? The reputation of a rake, but an excellent dancer and quite witty.”

  “Don’t allow yourself to be charmed by him. He possesses a multitude of unseemly proclivities,” Rafe said.

  “Proclivities? How mysterious. Spill it, brother. I’ll need to know what I’m up against.”

  “The man is an inveterate gambler. He wins often enough to keep out of the dun, but it’s only a matter of time.” Rafe stopped and propped an elbow on the mantle.

  “Most of the gentlemen in London gamble. Surely that’s not all.” Her gaze pinged between her brother and Gray.

  “He has a collection of salacious artwork and has been known to take part in group activities.” Color burnished Rafe’s cheekbones, and he rubbed his nape.

  “Like hunting?” she asked.

  Gray sank farther into his chair, and Rafe rocked from foot to foot, staring toward the door. Not hunting then. Something embarrassing and indecorous.

  “You mean orgies,” she said with a snap of her fingers and an exultant smile.

  A muttered curse emerged from the wing of Gray’s armchair.

  Rafe dropped his forehead to the mantle. “In a word, yes. And how in Hades are you familiar with such?”

  She scooted back into the cushions and tucked her legs, rearranging her skirts. “Vicar Appleby and I spent an entire summer studying Roman history and reading all sorts of Latin texts. Those Romans were quite liberated. In fact, in 63AD, Emperor Nero hosted orgies on a rotating platform while—”

  “Enough.” Gray cut his hand through the air. “Whether Gilmore enjoys…takes part in…put it out of your head. It’s irrelevant.”

  Lily supposed it was. Debutantes didn’t receive invitations to orgies. “Salacious art, on the other hand, I don’t suppose you have any erotic art books tucked away?”

  “I don’t suppose I do.” A smile hovered behind Rafe’s hand.

  Gray sat forward. “Lord Gilmore’s proclivities are not paramount to what we wish to discover. Last year, Gilmore owed ten thousand pounds to White’s. They were ready to cut off his credit, which would have been socially devastating. A large sum of money came into his possession in July, within two weeks of the earl’s disappearance. Enough to pay all his creditors. He’s received smaller payments in the months since.”

  “Perhaps the money is to keep the earl fed and housed. Or perhaps Gilmore is blackmailing someone to maintain his silence.” She shifted to the edge of her seat to match Gray. Now that a solid lead had materialized, the possibilities had her stomach stirring uncomfortably.

  Gray and Rafe exchanged a telling glance.

  “Very astute.” The surprise in Gray’s voice annoyed her, but neither man seemed to notice. “Lord Gilmore’s name pops up in reports around the office. Not a major player by any means, but an informant perhaps. However, none of the reports fingers a contact. Either it’s someone in the Home Office or he’s not working for the Crown, but Bonaparte.”

  “Does he have ties to France?” she asked.

  Gray tapped steepled hands against his mouth. “I haven’t uncovered any threads tying him to France. However, in my experience, people are swayed by money and rarely by some rarified ideology or heartfelt loyalty. Information can be very profitable business.”

  Rafe pulled up a stool and sat close to her. “Father has been a strong weapon in the fight against Boney. He may have been a less than adequate parent, but he was a damn good diplomat and spy for the Crown. The contacts alone he’s made over the last thirty years of service have proved invaluable.”

  “You believe he’s dead,” she whispered.

  “We think it’s likely.”

  Rafe tried to take her hand, but she popped up and stepped to the window. Her father had never given her a single pat of encouragement, never comforted her after a scrape or fall, never offered compliments on her appearance or schoolwork.

  It was Lionel and Betsy Masterson or her old nanny and current housekeeper, Mrs. Devlin, who’d offered hugs and love. Yet her chest tightened at the thought of her father dead. Was it love or guilt? She couldn’t seem to dissect the two.

  Snatches of her last words to her father still echoed in her head. “I hope you look back on your life with regrets. I’m ashamed to call you my father. No wonder Mother left you. I wish it had been you gone and not her. I hate you.”

  She turned back to the men and stiffened her posture, hoping they wouldn’t see through her show of bravado. “How will you involve me? You obviously need something only I can provide.”

  Rafe took her chair, his feet set wide and his hands curled over the arms. “You’ve proven you can move in the highest circles of the ton. Obtain invitations to functions at Lady Matthews’s and Lord Gilmore’s townhouses, and then subtly question our suspects. This will allow Gray time to search the premises.”

  Gray kept his face pointed toward the empty grate. “Rafe started your lessons last fall. I’ll continue them before we depart for London.”

  “Will you accompany us to town, Rafe?” She stared at he
r brother, barely able to contain her hope.

  “I will.” Rafe’s lack of excitement was as obvious as the scar on his face, yet Lily considered it a victory.

  Gray turned his head and, despite the dark, conflicting emotions seething inside of her, a wave of understanding passed between them. At the very least, perhaps they could work together to get Rafe back into Society.

  The next morning, Lily approached the drawing room with equal amounts excitement and dread. Gray paced—not an agitated pace, but a thoughtful one, slow and rambling. Today he was dressed in brown—dun pants, chocolate-colored jacket and waistcoat. He had already been riding based on his mussed hair and the barest hint of leather and horse wafting on the stirred air.

  She had taken extra care with her toilette. Thankfully leaving white for the balls, she chose one of her favorite gowns. The blue satin skimmed her body, and white flowers were embroidered along a scooped neckline. Delicate, Belgian lace frothed from the three-quarter length sleeves. She’d left her room feeling womanly and bold.

  “Good morning.” After a moment’s consideration, she closed the door.

  “Are you ready?” he asked tersely, stealing her confidence in three words.

  Not that she’d expected flowery compliments from him. This wasn’t a social call after all. “I suppose. What’s first?”

  Gray flipped his tails up and took a seat, gesturing to the settee directly across from him. She perched on the edge, her stomach fluttering.

  “You’ll be required to question our suspects. Keep in mind this is not an interrogation. Better to retreat than push so hard for information you lose their trust. There is always another ball, another dance to try again. Is that understood?”

  “Should I begin by asking about a social connection to Father?”

  “No, don’t ask about the earl at all.”

  Did she need to clean her ears? “What’s the point then?”

  “The point is to throw them off balance first. Perhaps you could ask Gilmore if he’s been to any recent art expositions or what his favorite card game is. You could ask Lady Matthews if she has a favorite actress at Drury Theater.”