Rafe stopped in front of her but kept his gaze directed somewhere over her chair. Sweat popped out on his forehead, and his color veered from flushed to pasty. “There are intimate things in the letters that I’m sure you found disturbing. If you have questions or…need an explanation… Without a mother, you might not understand relations—”
“There’s no need to embarrass us all, Rafe. I have another source for information.”
“Of course, Aunt Edie. How silly of me.” Rafe propped a hand on the mantle and rubbed his forehead with the other.
While Rafe looked as if he’d received a pardon from the Crown, Gray looked like a trapped hare. His discomfiture was both amusing and disconcerting. Did he regret their kiss? After all, he had been the one to use the word calamitous. Still, she aimed her statement in his direction. “Yes. I do hope she will eventually explain everything.”
Gray finally turned toward her, a hint of the teasing lover in his expression. It was only when her shoulders relaxed that she realized how tense she’d been. She rose to retreat to her room, counting the afternoon as a small victory. “I’ll leave the letters with you for now, but I would like them back. They’re all I have of Mother.”
Gray had risen, and she expected an argument over the letters’ unsuitability, but he only nodded.
The evening of Gilmore’s soiree came around quickly. A nervous excitement thrummed. It was an exclusive party, and the home of their most likely suspect. Surely something would come out of the night’s endeavor.
“No entering the gardens tonight with anyone. And I am serious.” Seated across from each other in the Drummond carriage, Gray drummed his fingers on either arm, his face stern.
“Not even you?” Lily crossed her legs, and her dangling foot brushed against his leg in rhythm with the carriage’s movements.
“Especially not me.”
Groaning on the other side of the carriage had Lily whirling around and taking her aunt’s hand.
“I’m not going to make it. I thought I could, but I feel so much worse.” The lacy, white kerchief Aunt Edie used to dab her sweat-beaded face matched her color.
“It must be the rocking of the carriage. What are we to do?” She couldn’t enter with Gray, but neither could she enter alone.
Another belching groan emerged from her aunt.
“Mrs. Winslow, can you escort Lily to Lady Minerva? I’ll have Penny keep the carriage out front for you.” Aunt Edie, her eyes closed, nodded once and held the kerchief over her mouth.
“What if she casts up her accounts before we manage to get inside?” He didn’t reply but rapped sharply on the roof of the carriage and called out for Penny to stop.
“I’ll make the rest of the way on foot.” Gray cast a wincing glance to Aunt Edie.
Still several blocks from their destination, Lily whispered, “Coward,” garnering a grin before he was gone from sight.
Aunt Edie escorted her to Minerva, found a potted plant and discreetly tossed her crumpets. Lily felt a moment of remorse for the poor souls who would clean up after this gathering and even a sliver for the plant itself. Her aunt teetered her way back through the crowd, waving off anyone who tried to stop her for conversation. Lily trusted Penny would take care of her.
She switched her focus to Gilmore. Ensconced with several of his friends in the corner of the room, he laughed too loudly, and his face was filled with a ruddy liquor-induced color. There was no sign of Lord Sutton, and she exhaled, glad not to be burdened with that particular complication. A different complication in the form of a strange man dressed in an ill-fitting coat stood behind Gilmore. Only his head and eyes moved, skimming the room over and over.
Lily jabbed Minerva’s arm with her elbow, interrupting her conversation with Lord Stonewell.
“Were you seeking my attention, Lady Lily?” Minerva asked in a dryly amused tone.
“Who’s that man behind Gilmore? The awkward-looking hulky one.”
Minerva and Stonewell turned.
“Gilmore has hired several Bow Street Runners this evening. Did you notice them in the entry hall?” Lord Stonewell asked.
As she’d been busy trying to keep Aunt Edie from embarrassing them both on the beautifully cut marble inlayed floor, she would forgive herself the inattention. “Why does he need them?”
“Can’t say for sure, but since he hired a personal guard, I would guess he’s received a threat.”
“On his life?” Minerva’s fan snapped open, and she met Lily’s eyes over the edge. Minerva knew everything. She was smart and dispassionate and had already offered several insights.
“I suppose so,” Stonewell said. “He has men posted at every entrance, even the servant’s entrance according to Hampton. Now, Lady Minerva, I believe I have claim on the next dance.” Minerva looked ready to decline, but Lily shooed her off, too agitated to discuss the latest wrinkle.
What did this mean for Gray? How would he get into the house? The answer—he wouldn’t. Panic welled from her stomach, making her feel as sick as Aunt Edie had been. Gilmore was their best lead, maybe their only lead, to finding out what had happened to her father. If he was still alive, every moment counted. How could she dance and drink and laugh knowing information that might free him was somewhere in this house?
Her picks were prudently stashed, and no matter what the men believed, she could explore without raising suspicion. Even Rafe and Gray underestimated her. These men would be no different. In the unlikely event she was caught, she would play the fool.
She pasted a smile on her face, strolled around the perimeter of the room and up a handful of steps to the entryway. A hired runner stood close to the door, keeping watch out the front window. Fanning herself vigorously, she slipped down the hall. The back of her neck burned with the possibility a hand might land on her shoulder at any moment. One never did.
Three cackling matrons with very full glasses of port occupied a cozy sitting room on her right. The next room was full of gentlemen drinking and playing cards. Lemonade and limp sandwiches crowded a table in the last.
His study must be a level up. An unusual arrangement to be sure, but perhaps he had something to hide. She loitered at the foot of the stairs, toying with her skirts until the guard stepped outside to patrol the balustrade. She was up the steps in a trice, her feet silent but her breathing heavy and loud in her ears.
Would there be more runners upstairs? The notion dampened her palms. Every door on the floor was unlocked except one. Always suspect the obvious. She rubbed her hands together to control her trembling and squatted, picks in hand. Opening locks at Wintermarsh had hardly been as hair-raising.
After the tiny mechanisms in the davenport, the door seemed clumsy and crude in comparison. The snick of the latch bought a brief smile of satisfaction, and she slipped inside.
In many aspects, it was a typical study. Books lined the walls and a mahogany desk sat at the far end of the room, facing away from large windows. Decanters and glasses crowded a side table, firelight gleaming off the intricately cut glass. Candles burned and the room burst with anticipation. It looked prepared for a meeting.
Sculptural pieces were displayed on pedestals around the room. Most were bronze and only a foot or two in size. Searching Gilmore’s desk was the first order of business. On the way, she stopped short, her skirts swirling around her ankles.
Lily leaned within a few inches of the cold metal. A woman with an agonized expression on her up-turned face sat with her knees apart while a man buried his head between her legs. Her dress was ruched around her waist, and her breasts were bared. Gilmore’s scandalous, erotic art. She had expected pictures or books. The sculpture seemed so realistic. She swallowed past a knot in her throat and ran a finger down the woman’s bare leg.
Forcing herself to move on, she padded on the thick carpet to the desk and riffled through a short stack of papers on top—a rep
ort from Gilmore’s estate manager, a bill of sale for a racehorse and a letter from his solicitor requesting a meeting.
Her picks still clutched in her hand, she scurried to the other side. Overly aware of every stimulus, the combination of voices and music humming through the floor seemed to vibrate her feet, and the faint honeyed scent of the beeswax candles flared her nostrils. A sense of urgency trembled her fingers.
She gave the unlocked drawers the most cursory of examinations. The first drawer she unlocked contained a set of dueling pistols, shined and well maintained. Another contained a ledger, and she studied it. Although, she was doubtful she could spot irregularities in so short a time, and she could hardly sneak it out in her reticule. Biting her lip, she shoved it back in the drawer.
Leaning on both hands, she stared at the swirling patterns of the rug under her feet. What now? Her thoughts cast back to the desk in Lord Matthews’s study.
She thumped a fist on the desk, dropped to her knees, cast around, blind and not knowing exactly what she sought. Something out of place. She almost missed it. The slight ridge hadn’t registered on her first pass. She reached farther back and located the latch. The wood panel snapped open and something thudded to the floor.
Her fingers brushed over supple leather. It was a small book filled with pages of letters and numbers. None of it made sense to her. Except for the last page. Whitmire, Tuesday, Fieldstones.
Baron Whitmire was known more for his political work than for any association with the parties and revelries of the ton. In fact, she had never been formally introduced to the man over the course of the Season. Perhaps Gilmore worked for the Crown, after all. What was Fieldstones? A gambling house, mayhap? Were the numbers gambling losses?
It was past time to rejoin the party. She stuffed the book back in its hiding place and re-latched the hidden compartment. She was a few feet from the door and freedom when heavy footsteps registered through the muffled din.
Panic froze every muscle. Only her darting gaze processed the options. There was nowhere to hide. No other exit door. Move, her brain commanded. She scurried to the closest sculpture. Her eyes refused to focus, every sense attuned to the creaking of the door.
She attempted a casual, flirting smile over her shoulder. Lord Gilmore stood framed in the doorway. Surprise had his brows up, but a slow, calculating smile pulled his hanging mouth closed. He was alone, but she wasn’t sure if that boded well or ill.
“Lady Lily Drummond?” Gilmore’s oily voice slid across the room. She stumbled on the hem of her dress as she turned to face him, and she grabbed cold metal for balance.
“This is quite a shock, my dear,” the man said much too familiarly considering their acquaintance. Although, she did stand uninvited in his study.
“Lord Gilmore, I’ve intruded, haven’t I? I felt faint and went in search of your much-discussed sculptural collection.” Her nervous giggle wasn’t an act.
“Much-discussed? Among debutantes? That’s rather surprising.” He stepped over the threshold and closed the door, engrossed with her hand’s slight movements.
She squinted at the sculpture. Her heart thumped so hard she wondered if Gilmore could hear. The part of the sculpture she’d grabbed was attached between a naked man’s legs. She snatched her hand away, leaving the appendage to point at her like a huge accusing finger. No wonder Gray’s breeches had felt like they were going to pop a button. Did men actually walk around like that?
“I didn’t know you were interested in such things, Lady Lily. You’ve spent most of your years on your country estate, have you not?”
She nodded and transferred her attention back to Gilmore with difficulty.
“I suppose that gave you a certain amount of earthy knowledge. I never would have guessed.” The gleam in Gilmore’s eyes was definitely speculative.
“Yes, I do enjoy learning about farming and livestock and such.” She cocked her head to see whether he’d locked the door. He hadn’t.
Gilmore laughed. “I can see how you’ve earned quite the reputation for your wit.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a questioning lilt.
“Let me show you another one of my prized sculptures. Most ladies of your rank and experience do not show the level of interest or enthusiasm for my little collection.”
He took her hand and led her to another sculpture. Standing behind her, he wrapped his hands around her upper arms and squeezed. His body’s heat and the restless rub of his legs against her skirts made her shudder and inch forward.
A woman knelt on the floor in front of a man. She was clothed, but the gentleman didn’t have a stitch on. His not-so-dangly bits were shoved in the woman’s mouth. Choking her to death? Surely not. Horror warred with intrigue.
“You’ve amassed quite a string of beaus, have you not? Are you looking to add another?” His words swirled inside her dim-witted brain, slowly knitting themselves together. Luckily, he didn’t seem to expect an answer. “Although why me? Rather unsavory rumors circulate about me.”
Her tongue thick and with barely moving lips, she asked, “Are they true?”
A smile tinged his voice. “Some aren’t. Most are. I do things that would shock you right out of your drawers.”
She wasn’t wearing any in the first place. Dark humor had an inappropriate giggle sneaking out. As she feared, he took the unintentional cue and trekked his hands up and down her arms.
“What a lovely dress this is, Lady Lily. It shows off your attributes quite spectacularly.”
The mossy-green creation was trimmed in cream satin, and the square-cut bodice did frame her décolletage beautifully. She’d felt like a garden nymph dressing that evening. Of course, she’d had Gray and not Gilmore in mind when she’d been inspecting herself in the looking glass.
Gilmore spun her to face him. “If you sought me out, I assume you have acquired knowledge unusual to most debutantes.” He stared at her bosom, and his tongue flicked like a snake to wet fleshy lips. She backed away, but he kept pace.
“Not really, my lord. I have an unusual affinity for art, but that is the extent of it. I’m not seeking to expand my knowledge this evening.”
“That’s unfortunate. You shouldn’t have wandered into my study, my lady. I’ll only consider marriage if I’ve sampled the goods first. For instance, a cold fish like your friend Lady Minerva is not on my menu.” Her back hit the paneled wall during his speech.
“I’m not interested in marriage, Lord Gilmore.” She shoved panic back into the hollowed pit of her stomach.
A lecherous grin flashed. “All the better. Neither am I.”
Too late, she attempted the stumble that had worked so well on Penhaven. There wasn’t enough room. He kept his balance and the result brought their bodies closer. He circled her neck and pinned her with one hand, compressing her windpipe enough to make it laborious to breathe. She grabbed at his wrist, but her struggles only made him press harder.
Nothing she could possibly use as a weapon was in arm’s reach. Maybe she didn’t need a weapon. Gilmore stood with his legs braced wide, the prominent bulge in his breeches a bull’s-eye.
He had been perfectly correct about one thing. She did have knowledge unusual to most debutantes. Just not of a sexual nature. He brushed his lips along her collarbone. He was vulnerable and unsuspecting. She tensed to deliver the felling blow, almost feeling sorry for the lecher…almost.
Before she could act, the study door sprang open and rocked on its hinges. The bang reverberated around the room like a shot, cutting Gilmore away from her. With nostrils flaring and rage twisting his mouth, Gray took a long step into the room. He slammed the door shut with swift backward kick of his boot.
His eyes pinned her as forcefully as Gilmore’s hand and promised dire retribution.
Gray would deal with Lily, indeed he would. But first, he had to kill Gilmore.
Th
e slimy bastard had the temerity to chuckle. Carnal speculation drew his lips into a smirk. “Masterson? I’m rather surprised to see you this evening. Were you invited?”
“I assume my invitation got lost in transit.” Gray circled closer and flexed his hands. They longed to be around Gilmore’s neck.
“Didn’t the two of you grow up together in the country? So many years together to explore and learn?” The man hummed and approached Lily once again. She huddled against the wall, her palms flat on the dark paneling.
“Are you implying something unseemly occurred between Mr. Masterson and me as children?” Her blue eyes were wide and too trusting.
Gilmore ignored her and raised an eyebrow at Gray. “I enjoy sharing—watching—if you would be interested. I would like to take my turn first considering she wandered into my web.”
Red exploded, filling every part of his being with one objective. Pull Gilmore’s bollocks out of his throat.
A flurry of movement startled Gray. Before he had the chance to take a step, Lily swung in front of Gilmore. A blink later, the man was curled on floor, his hands cupped between his legs.
Lily sashayed to the door, dusting her hands together as if finishing dessert. Gray stared down at Gilmore. Shock temporarily blunted his anger. The man’s pathetic retches echoed through the room.
If he couldn’t unleash on Gilmore… He pivoted to Lily, who stood in the doorway, shaking her head and tutting.
“What in heaven’s name was that about?” she asked.
“I saved you.” He recognized the inaccuracy of the declaration even as he said it.
“Saved me?” She puffed an exhale. “I had things well in hand.”
She adjusted her gloves before popping her head out of the doorway, and he found himself trailing her skirts.
“You consider being choked against the wall ‘well in hand’?” His voice cracked and oozed incredulity.
An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1 Page 13