An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1

by Laura Trentham

  “The advantages of a union between us are vast. Our lands join. You’ll never be far from your family. And, frankly, it is past time I begat an heir.” He crept closer and brushed an escaped lock of her hair away. The warm metal of his rings was strangely repulsing on her bare shoulder. “You really are quite lovely.”

  The mere thought of kissing him had her stomach roiling. Sharing his bed would have her tossing her crumpets. Her mind searched for polite words in which to reject his well-meant offer.

  “You do me a great honor, my lord. However, I must regretfully decline.” Her voice quavered, but there was true remorse in her rejection. Penhaven had been kind since her debut in London. Nevertheless, she would never marry him.

  The grasp on her hand tightened until it was on the cusp of being painful. “My lord, please.” She tugged until his grip loosened and then tucked her hands under her legs.

  “My dear Lily, your father and I had an understanding. You were promised to me.” His face hardened to match his eyes, and his once-reedy voice dropped in timbre.

  Unease stiffened her muscles, and she stood. He rose with her. She shuffled toward escape and the safety that came from a crowd of people. “My father is not here to confirm such, and Rafe has no betrothal papers in hand. I will not marry you, my lord. I’m sorry to be so blunt in the matter. A number of lovely young women are on the mart this Season. It won’t be difficult to find a match. You’re a charming, well-situated gentleman.”

  “But I want you. Please make me the happiest of men.” His gracious words were in contrast to his biting tone. Teeth bared by curling lips, he grasped her wrist in a surprising strong grip considering his prancing, effeminate demeanor. She couldn’t imagine that he’d actually hurt her. This was only a stark reaction to her rebuff.

  She would give him one more chance before utilizing other techniques to secure her escape. “Aunt Edie will have surely missed me. I must return before she mounts a search.”

  “If we’re caught alone in the gardens, you’ll have to marry me. Like your father and mother,” he replied with an odd, exhilarated smile.

  She rocked on her feet. He yanked her closer, and she propelled herself into his chest. Forced to let go of her, he flailed and staggered. She curled a foot around his ankle and tugged. The loss of one foot proved his literal downfall, and he made an ignominious descent to his bum. A noise like a red squirrel choking on a nut drifted from inside the foliage.

  In a falsely surprised, worried voice, she asked, “Are you hurt, my lord? What happened?”

  Penhaven glared, his mouth agape. More than the red from rouge burnished his cheeks. He heaved himself to his feet and patted the blue satin of his pants.

  “Your jacket is clean. Did you hurt your…” Lily gestured vaguely at his backside.

  “I am quite well, thank you.” He backed away from her much as Sutton had done. “I trust you can find your own way back.” He stalked off and left her alone.

  A deep, steadying breath tamped a rising tide of conflicting emotions. In either situation, things could have gone badly, but they hadn’t. Trembling knees carried her back to the bench. Why now, when she was safe did she suddenly feel so vulnerable?

  Gray waited until Penhaven was out of sight before stepping into the courtyard. Lily sat once again on the stone bench and leaned over, arms clamped tightly around her waist. Her eyes were closed, the lashes stark against her pale face.

  Of course, Gray had been ready to intervene, but he hadn’t needed to. She’d handled herself admirably. Her tactic with Sutton had been ingenious.

  “Lily Drummond, you put on quite a show. Successfully fending off two suitors in one evening.” He approached with a smile.

  She startled like a rabbit and crouched back with hunched shoulders. A flash of fear crossed her face followed by a wash of relief. She stumbled in his direction. He met her halfway, and she collapsed against his chest, quivering.

  “What’s this then? Did Penhaven hurt you?”

  She burrowed her hands inside his jacket to press on his upper back. “No, not really. He scared me a bit, but I knew I could get away. I don’t know what’s wrong.” Muffled in the side of his cravat, her voice was plaintive.

  Female laughter, followed by the lower tones of a man’s voice, carried through the hedges. She couldn’t be caught with him, but neither was she ready to return. He guided her up a handful of steps and into the gazebo. Darkness gathered around them. There was a cushioned bench set well back from the entrance. He steered her to it and pulled her down. Her warm, ragged breaths skimmed across his neck.

  He rubbed at the tension in her back. “Once the excitement ebbs, the body has to recover. That’s all it is. Take deep breaths. You’re safe with me.”

  For once, she didn’t argue. Her lungs worked until each breath was smooth and her body stilled its tremors.

  She lifted her head from his shoulder, their faces close. “Were you hiding in the shrubbery watching me?”

  “Like a deviant. Your approach with Sutton was inspired.”

  “I assumed you’d gone. Why did you stay?”

  “To watch over you, keep you safe. Although for a few moments there, I was ready to strangle you myself. Seeing you walk to the gardens with Sutton…it could have gone terribly wrong.” Trying to keep the worry and jealousy out of his voice made him sound more critical than he intended.

  She pushed his arms away. He missed the press of her hands on his back and the softness of her breasts against his chest. In the dim light, reading her face was impossible, but the tense set to her body clued him into her mood.

  “You don’t trust me.” She sounded hurt.

  “I don’t trust anyone other than myself. It’s what’s kept me alive. People bandy the word about as if it’s cheap and easy to obtain. It’s not. Trust is hard-won and costly.”

  She rose and stepped toward the entrance but stopped before the fingers of moonlight found her. Her whisper floated to him. “But…I trust you. I always have, because you’ve always been there.”

  Gray rubbed at the tight pull in his chest. “I haven’t though. By your own admission, I abandoned Rafe in Dover.”

  Instead of stalking out, she leaned against a decorative stone pillar to the side of the entrance, her hands behind her back. “Rafe told me you saved his life.”

  He dropped his elbows to his knees. He fisted his hands in his hair and pain prickled his scalp. The guilt was never buried deep enough. “Rafe’s life wouldn’t have been in jeopardy if I’d left him uninvolved.”

  Her hands covered his, loosening them. He hadn’t even heard her approach. Like a puppet, he allowed her to tug him to standing. She entwined their fingers. “That’s ridiculous. Rafe is a man grown, and he did his duty.”

  An odd, desperate need to convince her of his unworthiness overtook him. “What about as children? I wasn’t kind to you.”

  She pulled him forward where light was more plentiful, until her back was once again on the pillar. Her smile seemed to offer its own light. “I might have been slightly vexing. But I also remember you tossing me in the hayloft to escape Father. You know I broke that ugly, ancient vase, yet you took the blame. And didn’t you threaten to plant a facer on the miller’s son for pushing me down and making me cry?”

  Perhaps he’d unconsciously protected her. “Didn’t I warn you about Penhaven?”

  “He didn’t take my rejection very favorably, did he? How could he think I would ever consider his suit? He’s old enough to be my father, for goodness sake. I hurt his feelings.”

  “If I had intervened he would have gotten more than his feelings hurt, believe me,” he said dryly. “I imagine he’s as dazzled by your beauty and spirit as the rest of us poor sots.”

  “You’re throwing yourself in with Montbatton and his ilk?”

  The filtered moonlight illuminated half of her face. Her full lip
s were parted and her hand, which fluttered nervously around her hair, finally came to rest on the buttons of his waistcoat. Jasmine flowers scented the air around them and nightingales filled the garden with their mating song.

  A kiss was inevitable.

  He braced one hand on the pillar above her head and let his fingertips float down her neck to pluck at the gold braiding on her shoulder. “You look absolutely ravishing tonight.”

  “I thought you didn’t like my dress. You certainly acted the prig about it earlier.”

  “I like it too bloody much. So does every other man in that musicale. Sutton barely kept himself from drooling. Even Penhaven couldn’t resist, and I wasn’t sure any woman could turn his head.”

  As if she was going through the motions of maintaining their conversation, she asked, “What do you mean?” She bowed her neck to the side, inviting his mouth to sample the gleaming white skin.

  “It’s not important.”

  Her deep breath thrust her breasts up. In her innocence, she was unaware how blatantly her body begged for his touch, and he was weak, so weak where she was concerned.

  Gray dropped his lips to her neck and cut the building tension in her body. A low moan escaped, and her head lolled against the cool stone pillar. After laying kisses up her neck, he feathered his lips over her jaw. Her craving for him was a banked fire, ready to consume her.

  Too soft, too soothing, his lips were gentle, barely brushing the corners of her mouth. There was none of the wild roughness of their first kiss. This time, he was in total control. Instead of the inferno he lit at Wintermarsh, his kisses incited a slow burn. Different…but no less devastating.

  He cradled her head and skimmed his tongue over her lips, applying a flint. She parted her lips and rose on tiptoes to press into his body, molding herself against his craggy hardness. She released her clutching hold on his jacket to wind her hands around his neck and wiggled even closer.

  He tightened his arms, and his kisses became deeper and more demanding. A rising need pulsed through her body as their tongues twined and danced. The place between her legs grew damp as it had during their first kiss. Reading the letters had answered some questions and roused others.

  She could now name the emotion taking over her body—passion—and only Gray seemed to inspire such a torrent of feeling inside of her. It was more than a physical reaction, although her body’s clamoring muffled everything else. What she was still unclear on was the actual mechanics of achieving satisfaction. She tore her mouth away from his. Great gulping breaths eased her dizziness. His hands roamed from her back to her hips and up to her waist, leaving a trail of cinder.

  “Can I ask you something of a personal nature?” she asked. His tongue and heated breath at her ear sent shivers through her body.

  “Anything.” He skimmed the underside of her breasts with his thumbs, making her inhale sharply.

  “My…that’s nice.” Her voice squeaked, and his chest rumbled with amusement. She veered back to her original thought. “I’ve noticed something odd.”

  “What’s that, sweetheart?”

  The endearment made her heart skip a few beats. “It’s just…well, your…” her voice was already at a whisper but dropped even lower, “…dangly bits don’t feel so dangly.”

  He was suddenly static, every muscle taut, his face still buried in her nape. “How much do you understand about relations between a man and woman?”

  “Not enough. I have so many questions. Who will answer them?” Her hand, which seemed to acquire its own sense of reason around him, trailed down his chest. Hesitating only an instant, she trailed fingertips over the hard ridge. “It’s so…so big and hard.”

  “This is most inappropriate yet arousing conversation I’ve ever had.” Amusement and frustration battled for dominance in his voice.

  “I’ve been reading something that’s made me wonder about so many things.”

  “Did you filch something unseemly from Rafe’s library?”

  According to her mother, the hard length could bring her great pleasure. Becoming bolder, she laid her hand over the ridge and tested the thickness with her palm. His hips bucked and his head fell back with a pain-filled groan.

  “Lud, I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry.” She snatched her hand away to fist it under her chin, staring at his black cravat.

  He canted his hips to press into her again and tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “It’s not painful, it’s…uncomfortable.” He unfurled her hand and pulled her arm around his neck.

  “Uncomfortable. That’s how I feel too.” She paused and then added, “Between my legs.”

  His mouth dropped open and then snapped shut with his hard swallow. “You shouldn’t tell me things like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It makes me imagine things. Want things I can’t have.”

  “Do you want to ride between my legs?”

  Gray sputtered several inane syllables before intelligible words formed. “What the devil have you been reading, Lily?”

  “I found a packet of old letters. Most of them are from Mother to Father. They were rather explicit in some parts.”

  “Where did you find them?” He ran his hands down her arms and linked their fingers.

  “In the davenport, in the drawer we tried to unlock together.” She pressed her aching breasts against his chest. What would it feel like if he took them in hand?

  “I’d like to read them. There might be clues.”

  Since her hands were captive, she nuzzled her mouth above his dark cravat. The white of his scar gleamed against his tanned neck.

  His throat worked against her lips. “This…whatever this is…it’s ill-advised. Reckless. Foolish. Calamitous. You should focus on a man more befitting your rank. Someone appropriate.”

  She huffed a frustrated sigh. Why did men think they could dictate what she wanted? “Who says I’m interested in marriage? I’m no more interested in tying myself to a person who is in control of my every move than you are. My mother must have hated my father, and heaven knows, he ended up hating her. Why would I willingly follow that path?”

  Any man she chose would learn of her willful nature and barbed tongue soon enough. The thought of painting and embroidering while her husband gambled and whored made her skin itch. She would not be forced into the position of writing imploring letters begging her husband to come home.

  His gaze tried to strip away her secrets, but she dropped her chin to her shoulder, hiding her thoughts. Faint clapping drifted through the garden. He tugged her out of their oasis and toward the courtyard exit. “You need to get back. Try to slip in unremarked, but I doubt Penhaven or Sutton will confess to being in the garden with you. Claim you got overheated and took air alone.”

  “Will you stay?”

  “Until I see you safely inside, and then I’ll let myself out the back door.”

  “Back door?”

  “Over the garden wall.” His mouth tilted in a smile and his dimples made an appearance. “Try to avoid prowling gentlemen on the way back for my sanity, would you, darling?” He pushed her between her shoulder blades to get her moving in the right direction.

  His casual endearment was almost as shocking as their kiss. Almost. While her questions had gone unanswered, one thing was as certain as the sunrise. Gray would be the only man to answer them. She never caught sight of him but knew without a doubt he was there, always on guard.

  Chapter Ten

  Lily sat on a stool in Rafe’s study while her brother paced and Gray perched on the edge of the armchair. She pressed the letters between her palms. After reading them several times, she’d built a connection with her mother, which made her defection all the more puzzling.

  Gray rubbed at his temples, elbows braced on his thighs. “Gilmore told Sutton he felt sorry for the men who volunteered to do their duty since
he was being paid to do his.”

  Rafe pulled at his chin hair. “Makes you think he’s being used by the Crown in some capacity. He’s not a hired thug, so it must be information he’s providing. But what? And to whom? Do you think he’s foolish enough to keep records in his study?”

  “I wouldn’t categorize him as foolish, but he’s certainly an amateur.”

  “I’ll question Gilmore while Gray searches the study,” Lily said.

  Rafe stopped his pacing to stand at the mantle. “Do you think she can? Or should?”

  Gray examined her head to toe as if she were an experiment in a laboratory. “She was competent at the Matthews’s party.”

  “Is it too dangerous though? We’ve ruled the Matthews out. If Gilmore’s involved, the stakes are higher, increasing the risk.”

  Both men eyed her but directed their questions at each other.

  “I didn’t turn into a deaf mute overnight, gentleman. I was more than competent at the musicale. I can and should question Gilmore. I understand the risks, but I’ll be in a crowded ballroom. What could happen?”

  “Plenty,” Gray said in droll tone. “Now what about those letters?”

  She handed them over. Gray shuffled through them all before keeping one and passing the rest on to Rafe. The silence of their reading was broken only by awkward throat clearing from both men.

  “You read all of them?” Gray’s voice was craggy.

  “Several times.” She held his gaze. Heat built between them, threatening to erupt into an inferno. His cheeks looked flushed. The chair creaked.

  “Good Lord,” Rafe said, “It’s rather disconcerting to read such prose from your parents. Are they all like this?”

  “Some are more detailed than others, but, yes,” she said.

  Gray snatched another letter out of Rafe’s hands. He scanned it and handed it back. The flush crept down his neck and beneath his collar.

  Rafe resumed his pacing, his hands clasped behind his back still clutching the letters. “They were written twenty odd years ago. Obviously, something drastic happened between the date of the last letter and Mother’s abandonment, but I don’t see it has a bearing on the current situation.”