An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1

by Laura Trentham

  “I believe you, but your friend Kurt knows, doesn’t he. Where can I find him this evening?”

  “He has a special doxy at Madam’s. You beat him bad, and she’s taking care of him,” he said in a wavering, high-pitched voice.

  “You mean Madam Dupree’s?”

  He nodded with small jerks. Gray replaced the knife. Sensing their encounter was coming to a close without involving broken or cut limbs, the man perked up. “Do I get some coin for me information?”

  A combination of admiration for the man’s nerve and anger at the temerity of the question had Gray leaving him with one more reminder of his weakness. Gray grabbed him by the shirtfront, drove a fist into his already pained nose and shook him like a dog.

  “You get your life—this night. Be glad we’re generous because it isn’t worth much.” A wet stain spread at the man’s crotch, and Gray tossed him to the stones, disgusted.

  Striding out of the alley, Gray didn’t spare the soiled, quaking man a second thought. Tonight would make no difference in the arc of his life. He would continue to skate on the immoral side of the law. But Lily was correct. Gray’s responsibility was no longer to dispense judgment.

  Rafe fell into step beside him. “You’ve gone soft.”

  “One day, he might end up in Newgate. More likely, one of his comrades will turn on him and he’ll end up face down in the Thames. That’s enough.”

  Staying on the main thoroughfares, they were silent and alert on the way to the whorehouse. Danger lurked everywhere. Finally, catcalls and music cut through the stagnant night air.

  Dupree’s catered to the burgeoning middle class. On the edge of Seven Dials, the area was slowly turning more prosperous. The whores were more attractive and younger than the women who wandered the streets around the docks.

  Three scantily clad women greeted them on the front steps and attached themselves like barnacles. Scurrying alongside Gray, a redheaded whore snaked one arm around his chest while the other clamped onto his buttock. Two others similarly hung onto Rafe, seemingly unbothered by his scar.

  “We’re here to see Madam Dupree.” Gray pried the redhead’s hands off him. Her fingernails were dirty and broken, and desperation, not happiness, curled her lips.

  “She’s in her office, but she’s an old hag. I can handle your business.” The whore walked her fingers down his chest to cup him between the legs as her other arm clamped him tightly once again and she pressed her ample bosom against his side. “A quick tup for a quid.”

  Did the woman have more than two arms? Heavy lavender perfume burned his nose hairs. Gray’s stomach turned, and he shook the woman off. “Not tonight. Where’s your mistress’s office?”

  The redhead accepted defeat and shrugged, her hands hanging loosely by her side. “Your loss, gents. Upstairs, last door on the left.”

  He fished out a coin and pressed it into the whore’s hands. “Thank you.”

  The coin disappeared somewhere in the folds of her dress. Then she was gone, back out front to scare up a paying customer. The other girls followed her.

  “Christ Almighty, I thought they were going to strip me naked,” Rafe said with a shaky smile.

  “They were obviously desperate,” he shot back with a flash of humor that disappeared as he took the stairs two at a time.

  He rapped sharply on Madam Dupree’s door. A firm, yet feminine voice commanded them to enter. Varying shades of yellows decorated the walls and a large desk and two comfortable armchairs dominated the space.

  A woman, presumably Madam Dupree, sat behind the desk, examining ledgers and making notations in the margins. A handsome woman, her figure was voluptuous and her hair a lustrous dark brown. An air of amusement and singular intelligence emanated from her as she regarded them impassively. A guess put her in her fourth decade, but with her face powder and in the dim light, she might be older.

  “What can I do for you, gentlemen? I have ladies downstairs for your pleasure. Did they not offer you a greeting?” Rough edges of her Cockney heritage traced under the surface of a contrived French accent.

  Rafe did his best to intimidate her, taking a step forward and bracing his legs apart. His unsmiling, unapologetic menace oftentimes had quarry tripping over a confession with no need to pose a question. Madam Dupree, however, looked them both over curiously with no animosity or trepidation.

  “We’re looking for one of your regulars. His name’s Kurt. Large, hammy fellow. He keeps a special doxy. Ring any bells?” Gray flashed an amiable smile.

  “Sounds vaguely familiar. But, gentlemen, we’re popular because we’re discreet. I can’t give over my customers, you understand.” Madame Dupree raised her hands helplessly even though she was obviously nothing of the sort.

  Rafe stepped forward and placed his hands on her desk. “Tell us where he is or, by God, I’ll rip the place apart.”

  “My friend is rather anxious to find him. We understand your position as a business owner and would be happy to compensate you for any information you can provide.” Gray smoothly pulled out several coins.

  Madam Dupree eyed the coins like a starving man eyed a husk of bread. “Well, that does change matters.” She jerked her head toward the desk, and he placed the coins on the ledger. “The man you seek is with Camille. He’s up one flight, third door on the right.”

  Gray bowed graciously and grabbed the back of Rafe’s jacket to pull him out the door. Madame Dupree called after them, “I would appreciate if no blood was shed on my premises, gentlemen. I don’t need the constable here or the cleanup.”

  As they climbed to the third floor, Gray said, “Good Lord, man. Didn’t the Crown teach you charm? Threatening to dismantle the place isn’t the fastest way to get the information we need.”

  “Obviously, the lessons didn’t stick.” Rafe stopped in front of a rickety-looking door and tried the handle. Locked. “Would you like me to do the honors?”

  “You go right ahead, but mind Madame Dupree’s words.” Gray had his picks, but Rafe needed to expend some agitation. Rafe knocked.

  A sullen male voice called out, “Go ’way, we’re busy.”

  “Open the door or we’ll open it the hard way. By the by, we’d appreciate it if your pants were on.” Rafe counted to five and slammed the door open with a hard shove of his shoulder, leaving the door hanging on one hinge.

  Holding his rough woolen breeches closed at the waist, Kurt tugged ineffectually on the window sash with his free hand. Camille huddled on the bed with the sheets pulled around her body, eyes huge, staring at Rafe as if he were the devil incarnate.

  Accepting escape out the window was futile, Kurt turned to face them. His puffy face looked as if a swarm of bees had attacked. Bruises covered his torso, including a nearly perfect imprint of Gray’s boot.

  The flickering light from one candle lit the room. The smell of a chamber pot and unwashed bodies made Gray breathe through his mouth. He moved closer and pulled off his hat. “Remember me, Kurt?”

  “O’ course, I ’member. What ye want? Already beat me half to death, are ye here to finish the job?” Swollen lips muddled his words.

  “Only if you don’t answer my questions—truthfully. I want to know about the man who hired you. A name.”

  Kurt pressed a hand against his ribs and plopped down heavily on the side of the bed. Camille scurried farther away, pulling the sheet over her head as if it would protect her like a turtle’s shell.

  “He never tol’ me his name. I’ve been running messages for him for a few weeks now. Another man passes me notes, and I get ’em to the toff.”

  “We know who passes you the notes, we want to know who you give them to and where? What do the notes say?”

  “Can’t read. It’s been easy money. A snobby blighter passes me the notes in the park, and then I meet the toff on a corner of Bond Street. That’s all it’s been until a couple of
days ago. The toff tells me there’s to be a woman at Fieldstones. Told me to nab ’er and tup ’er, and I could invite some friends to have a taste. Told me to be sure not to kill ’er.”

  Exhaling sharply, Gray harnessed the rage and shoved it away. He’d let it get the best of him once already where Kurt was concerned. “Was there anything unusual about him? Did you ever follow him home?”

  “Why would I follow ’im home?”

  “What does he look like? How tall is he?”

  “Not tall. Lots smaller than either of you. Slender. I should’ve been able to take ’im in a fight, but something about ’is eyes…’e’d enjoy sliding a knife in your gut. Probably do it with a smile on ’is face. Cold bastard.”

  “How about the way he dressed. Anything unusual?”

  “Always wore black. ’Cept for one time, ’e was dressed all colorful like. Blue and red and green. I told ’im ’e looked like a little bird. Thought ’e might rip my throat open with ’is bare hands.”

  Penhaven. Kurt looked back and forth between them. “Did that help?” His hopeful lilt veered close to begging.

  “Let’s go, we got what we came for.” Gray brushed past Rafe. The stagnant air of the hall pressed close and turned his stomach. Or maybe that was self-disgust. He punched the wall, a torrent of curses erupting. Penhaven had been within his grasp that afternoon. But Lily had played havoc with his instincts all Season. Now the blackguard could be anywhere, and Lily was alone in the Drummond townhouse.

  An agonized cry drifted out of the room.

  “That was for my sister, you arse.” Rafe joined him in the hall, massaging his knuckles. “On to Penhaven’s townhouse?”

  Every fiber in Gray’s body screamed to go to Lily. Keep her safe. She would only be truly safe once Penhaven was eliminated. Nevertheless, he choked out, “Lily.”

  “Penny’s watching over her.” Rafe cut an inscrutable gaze toward him. “Penhaven should be our focus.”

  The compulsion to run to Lily ebbed with each deep breath. Rafe was correct. Gray nodded and led the way out of Dupree’s. The gauntlet of women paid them no mind, assuming their needs had been met inside. Gray hailed a hack, called out their destination and climbed in after Rafe.

  “It’s hard to fathom Penhaven is behind all of this,” Rafe said.

  “As surely as I put on a front, so has he. By making himself appear foolish, he quite successfully deflected suspicions. After all, who would suspect the most ineffectual prancing dilettante of the ton to be a kidnapping, murdering rapist?”

  “Murder. You suspect he murdered Mother.”

  “I do. I’m so sorry, Rafe.”

  “Mother and Penhaven had been friends during her debut Season. They were of an age. Could they have been lovers?” Rafe rubbed his forehead as if that would unlock long-buried memories. “I was too young to notice more than her unhappiness when Father was gone.”

  Penhaven’s townhouse was dark. Gray had the door of the hack open before it came to a halt and bounded up the stairs to pull the bell cord and pound on the door. After several minutes, a harried-looking butler cracked the door, a candle highlighting the white of his nightcap. Gray toed his boot into the crack and muscled the door open. The butler stumbled back, a veiny, white hand clutching his dressing gown closed.

  “Where’s Lord Penhaven?” Gray scanned the entry and peered down the short hallway, but no other light was visible.

  “Good sirs, it is the middle of the night. I beg you to come calling in the morning.” The man’s voice was as thin and shaky as his hand. Movable shadows danced over the marbled floors and plaster walls, lending menace to a tableau already fraught with tension.

  The butler had not answered the question and the place had an empty, desolate feeling. Or maybe that was the hollow pit in Gray’s stomach. “Where is your master, sir?”

  The butler’s face matched his nightcap. Words sprang out, too hurried and pitched high. “He retired to his country estate, good sirs. This very evening. It was an abrupt departure. Didn’t take any servants along. Ordered his fastest team to be harnessed and was off. He packed a good portion of his clothes, so I assume he means to be gone a while, although he didn’t inform me when he would be back in town.”

  Gray stopped the torrent with an upheld hand. “Take me to his chambers.”

  Shuffling backward and bowing, the butler gestured to the staircase and led the two men into Penhaven’s bedroom. Gray and Rafe searched the room, starting on opposite ends. They found nothing. They repeated the procedure in Penhaven’s study.

  “Blast, the place is as immaculate as a nun. Anything?” Rafe swept a pile of useless papers to the floor. The sheets floated softly to the thick rug, covering it like a blanket of snow.

  “Nothing. He must have been expecting us. Goddammit, I could have had him this afternoon. I let him slip through my fingers,” Gray said. A fit of anger at Penhaven, and even more so at himself, overcame him. He heaved a nearby vase toward the grate with a bellow. A savage sense of satisfaction bloomed with the destruction.

  “Feel better?” Rafe asked with a hint of amusement.

  “Marginally.” Fear stabbed his gut. “Penhaven could have decided to target Lily again.”

  They swept by the little butler without a word. The street was deserted. The occasional disturbed rat scurried out of the way of their clomping boots. The foul, loathsome creatures never failed to cause a shudder to run up his back.

  With the Drummond townhouse in sight, Gray broke into a trot. Vaulting up the steps, he pounded on the locked door. Penny opened it, a pistol in hand.

  “Everything well?” Gray asked in a hoarse voice.

  “It’s been quiet. My lady retired some time ago.” Penny tucked the pistol back into his breeches. “You find the blighter?”

  “It’s Lord Penhaven,” said Rafe. “He absconded to the country according to his butler.”

  Penny grunted, rearranging his feet and scratching at his head. “That’s a surprise.”

  Gray backed toward the staircase. “I’m going to verify Lily’s safely abed.”

  “Right.” Rafe stretched the word out rife with sarcasm. “Our work isn’t finished. We need to depart for Wintermarsh. If Father is indeed alive, we need to get him out before Penhaven decides he’s no longer useful.”

  Gray nodded, already half a dozen steps up. “We leave at dawn?”

  “Yes. Be ready.”

  He bounded up the stairs, his heart pounding from more than exertion. Fear, it pounded from fear. Christ, he hated the feeling almost as much as he loved her.

  He pushed her door open. His gaze darted from the empty bed around the room, panic looming until it finally landed on the armchair. Her body was curled in on itself, her cheek resting on bent knees. He bent over and propped his hands on thighs. Deep breaths slowed his heart and dissipated the tension across his shoulders. Swooning had been a very real possibility. She’d turned him into a piece of bloody milquetoast.

  Steadying himself with an arm on the mantle, he rubbed a hand down his face. He’d never had to manage this heartfelt fear for another human being. When he was in France, Portugal, Seven Dials, or wherever the Crown sent him, he only worried about completing the mission successfully. Fear for her well-being immobilized him. The realization was sobering and enlightening and downright terrifying.

  A book lay open at her feet. Her hair flowed around her shoulders in a riotous cascade, and an oversize dressing gown was tucked around her legs. Had she been waiting for him? He hoped so.

  He kneeled in front of the chair, lifted a swath of her hair and rubbed it along his lips, a smooth tickle against his night beard. One hand strayed to her hip and squeezed gently, the other cupped her cheek. He rubbed his thumb along her full lower lip. She stirred like a sleepy, sensuous cat. Her eyes fluttered open and a tender smile welcomed him.

  “I wondered i
f you might favor me with a visit.” Her voice was raspy with sleep. Stretching, she uncurled and dropped her feet to the floor.

  “I needed to make sure you were safe.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I love you.” There would be time to discuss the danger, the madness. Afterward.

  Now, he craved her warmth and vitality. He wanted her innocence. Tomorrow, he would face the world’s darkness, but here in her bed, he needed her to be his light, his salvation.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gray seemed in an odd mood, his voice thick with emotion. Lily responded by pulling him toward her for an embrace. He rested his head on the swell of her breasts, his arms tight around her. Something had happened. Good or ill, she couldn’t detect. Her hand played in his hair and along his neck.

  She loathed breaking the dynamic silence surrounding them, but when his teeth nudged her dressing gown apart, the questions flew from her head.

  “God’s blood, you’re naked,” he rasped.

  He peeled the robe off her shoulders and trapped her arms at her elbows. Her breasts were bared, and her nipples pebbled under his heated gaze. She clamped him at the waist with her knees. The heat of arousal bloomed across her body.

  He yanked her to the edge of the chair, bringing her breasts to his mouth. Instead of a playful tease, he sucked her nipple hard into his mouth.

  She lost focus, her surroundings turning into a mosaic of colors. He scooped her into his arms and laid her on the bed’s soft linens. Her dressing gown disappeared somewhere along the way.

  His clothes were gone in an instant, and he covered her. Closing her eyes, she processed the grand and infinitesimal. His hands in her hair, holding her still as he took her mouth with slow strokes of his tongue, to the tickling rasp of his calf hair against her legs.

  His domination was tender yet intense, controlled yet desperate. He notched his hips between her legs and played at her core with his fingers. His moan spoke of satisfaction. Her moan spoke of pleasure.