An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1

by Laura Trentham

  The slight crack in the door provided her only light. Taking the grimy lantern would have brought all of Penhaven’s hired muscle upon her, and she was out of chamber pots. Excitement emanated from a room down and to her left. Her father was most likely being held there.

  A cacophony of voices drew her eye to the crack in the door. Penhaven led a stampede of men out of the cellars, barking orders to search the grounds for her. The men had flooded by her too quickly to count, but Penhaven had likely left men on guard.

  She chewed on her broken thumbnail. There was only one way out of the cellars. Dare she risk trying to determine whether her father was being held down the hallway? Self-preservation urged her up the stairs. The impulse was strong. But the guilt that had weighed on her since summer was stronger.

  Plus, somewhere between finding the old letters between her parents and learning more about him from Gray, she felt closer to him. If there was a chance he was alive, then perhaps the seeds of understanding could blossom into something more meaningful. She couldn’t leave him to die at Penhaven’s hand like her mother had.

  A faint tuneless whistle echoed against the stone. Blast, she wasn’t alone. She popped her head out the door for a quick glance. With a shoulder propped against the wall, a single guard scratched at his groin. She left the door open a few extra inches and turned back to her room, light casting over the table. An iron skillet sat as if waiting for her hand.

  She paused in the doorway. Kicking off her slippers, she rolled her shoulders and took several deep breaths. Her heart beat a skipping, nervous rhythm. She inched out of the room, the skillet handle slipping in her damp palms. The man pushed off the wall. She stopped, but he only shambled down the corridor, his back to her.

  What was he doing? Did it matter? His back screamed opportunity, and her gaze latched onto the crown of his head. Her bare feet glided her closer. A stream of fluid arched to the floor. Her lip curled in disgust as the smell of urine invaded her overly acute senses.

  She brought the skillet down on his head with both hands, gravity giving her its blessing. He crumpled, blood wetting his hair. Bile burned a trail in her chest. If she’d had anything in her stomach, it would have spattered the stones.

  The door he’d been guarding was locked. Metal glinted from his pocket. Squinting her eyes almost closed, she fished the key out of his breeches as if his exposed, withered dangly bits might jump up and bite her.

  Her hands shook, making getting the key into the lock a challenge. The seconds ticked off an eternity. Finally, the lock tumbled, and she slammed the door open.

  The surprise of seeing Gray bound and kneeling on the floor froze her. What was he doing in Penhaven’s cellar? Her next thought tumbled onto the first. He’d come for her. All of the anger and resentment and hurt from his leaving faded in significance. While he may have come for her, he was the one injured and needing help.

  His clothes were dirty, his hair rumpled, but he didn’t appear mortally injured. She collapsed on her knees in front of him, curled her hands around his neck and jerked him forward. Their lips collided, but his were stiff and unresponsive.

  Gray’s debilitating fear returned. “Lily, if you love me at all, you have to run. Get out. Escape. Go!” he said against the lips pressed into his.

  She pulled back. A hint of tears made her eyes gleam in the lantern light, but they flashed with heat. “You blighter. You left me—tied up and helpless. You didn’t trust me. And you expect me to leave you the same way?”

  “I wanted to keep you safe. I need you to be safe. Please, love. Run while you can.”

  She clenched his shoulders and shook him slightly. “I love you and won’t leave you in here. You have to let me help you.”

  He was familiar with the look in her eyes and the set of her chin. It was the same look her father got before a mission. Any argument would be futile. And, truth was, he and her father did need her help if they were to see the morning. He nodded, and her face softened. For the first time since she’d thrown the door open, he took his gaze off her face and took in the state of her dress. “My God, sweetheart, are you hurt? Is that all your blood?”

  She held her bandaged hand up as if seeing it for the first time. “Lud, what am I thinking.”

  She stood and bunched her dress around her thighs. He glanced to the side where David Drummond sat as still as a corpse in the shadows. Lily hadn’t yet noticed him.

  A knife emerged from the folds of her skirts. Squatting behind him, she freed him with two quick slices. He rose and ignored the scream of every muscle in his body. They didn’t have time. He put his arm around her shoulders and turned her to face her father, not sure what to say.

  Gray didn’t need to say anything. Her breathing quickened, and she groped for his hand. Her face reflected a myriad of emotions—shock and relief chief among them, but also anger and guilt.

  She let go of him and dropped to her knees in front of her father. After a moment’s hesitation, she leaned forward to give him a hug. The earl patted her lightly with shaking hands.

  “We’ve been searching for you all spring, Father.”

  “So your lover informed me.” The earl’s gaze darted over Lily’s shoulder to him, his tone an odd mixture of amusement and outrage.

  “Gray and I are betrothed—with Rafe’s blessing. Now’s not the time for a lecture. We can discuss everything that’s happened once we’re safe. Penhaven means to kill us all.” She held her hands out.

  Heaving a sigh, the earl allowed her to help him to his feet. She notched her shoulder under her father’s arm, taking his weight, and Gray led them out the door. The guard was crumpled on the floor, an iron skillet lying across his legs.

  “D-did I kill him?” Her voice was tremulous, and she kept her face averted from her handiwork.

  Gray checked the man’s neck. “No. But he’ll wish he were dead after he wakes with the most painful headache of his life.”

  A small portion of the tension and worry left her face. She was dirty, covered in blood and with hair tumbled down her back. Her dress was in ruins, she wasn’t wearing shoes and her eyes were rimmed red from tears, exhaustion and stress.

  To Gray, she had never looked so beautiful.

  If they weren’t fighting for their lives, he might have told her so. He swallowed down the sudden, unprofessional lump of emotion and motioned for them to follow him down the corridor. The earl’s labored breaths filled the quiet. Muttering a brief apology, Gray tossed the earl over his shoulder. They topped the stairs and found the kitchen eerily deserted. Dough was left on the tables, mid-knead, and bowls of half-cleaned meat waited to be trimmed.

  Heads bobbed and voices carried from outside the windows. Their only choice was to take cover inside the house until Rafe arrived with reinforcements. The earl would never outrun Penhaven’s men, and neither would Gray if he had to carry him.

  From the relative security of the narrow servant’s passage, they stepped into the grand, open entryway. Where could he put them? The downstairs rooms were too exposed. What about the room he’d climbed into? Penhaven would never expect him to return. With two fingers, Gray motioned Lily up the stairs. Finding the room with ease, he deposited the earl on a dusty armchair.

  He and Lily stared at one other. Little light diffused to where they stood. He said, “You and the earl will be safe up here until everything’s concluded.”

  “Let me help. I need to help.”

  He cupped her face, running his thumbs along her cheekbones. “I must know you’re safe. When I worry about you, I can’t think straight. I nearly lost my head when I found out Penhaven had abducted you. Please, if you love me at all, stay in here.” He nodded toward the earl. “Your father needs your protection now. He’s too weak to defend himself.”

  She snaked her arms around his back to clasp his shoulders. Their embrace was fierce.

  Hard, cutting emotio
n forced the words from his mouth. “I love you more than life.”

  Her voice was strong, yet tender. “I love you too, Gray, but I need you alive, do you hear me?”

  He pulled back with a half-grin and brushed her tangled hair over her shoulders. “By the by, thank you for coming to our rescue tonight.”

  Her return smile was stiff and insincere. “Why don’t you stay with us? Rafe will be here soon enough.”

  “With you and your father gone, all of Penhaven’s ire will be focused on Rafe. If what we suspect is true, he’s killed before.”

  “It’s true,” she whispered. “He confessed everything in the carriage.”

  “Your mother?” he mouthed.

  A single nod had him leaning over to touch his forehead to hers.

  “One of the men from the alley…Penhaven shot him in the carriage. Most of the blood…” Her weight settled on him.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Later, he would hold her and soothe the memories away, but right now, he needed her strong, for him, for her father…for her survival. “I’m surprised you didn’t swoon dead away.”

  His words jerked her upright. “Swoon? As if I’m a weak-kneed green—”

  He chuckled.

  “You did that on purpose.” She pushed him away with a finger.

  He backed to the door. He wanted to stay and tease a smile from her, but the moment was weighed with portent. The part of him that included his heart urged him to stay, but he couldn’t leave Rafe to walk into a trap. “Take care. Stay in here. Promise me.”

  “I promise. Wait—” She grabbed his arm and pressed the knife into his hand.

  He lay a kiss on her lips and left before he could change his mind. Putting her to the side of his worries as best he could, he concentrated on the game of cat and mouse. Unfortunately, in this scenario, he was the mouse in a barn overridden with cats.

  In an ideal world, he would come across Penhaven alone and eliminate him. Once gone, his henchmen would disperse like roaches to lantern light. But Penhaven had surrounded himself with several of the biggest, strongest hired lackeys.

  As Gray’s foot landed on the bottom stair, gruff voices echoed off the marble, masking the number and entry point. Back up the staircase would have been the logical choice, but he couldn’t risk exposing Lily and the earl’s whereabouts.

  It was a gamble. He took off at a run toward the back of the house, but luck deserted him. Four men filled the hallway. Momentum on his side, Gray set his shoulder and plowed through them like a scythe through wheat.

  Double doors opened to the ballroom. Shouts and the beat of feet sounded behind him. He kept his focus on his destination—the darkened gardens.

  The moon had crested the house, and glass windows running along the back of the ballroom gleamed. He could feel the vibrations of pounding feet, and the noise echoed unnaturally loud in the empty ballroom. They were too close. No time to stop for a door.

  Flipping up the collar of his jacket, he timed his leap. One boot led the charge, and the plate glass exploded. Jagged shards grabbed at his jacket and breeches, and his boots crunched fragments.

  Ignoring the stairs, he propelled himself over the top of the stone balustrade. The drop to the evergreen-covered ground was fifteen feet or more. At the pinnacle of his leap, a shot rang out. Burning pain toppled him midair, and instead of a graceful roll, he hit a bank of bushes hard. A black curtain fell.

  Lily examined the crowded room. Dining chairs surrounded a small writing table and two settees were shoved against a wall. Mismatched armchairs sat haphazardly around the room. The room looked a catchall for unused furniture.

  She flicked the drapes fully open. The back gardens lay still and beautiful in the moonlight, at odds with their tumultuous reality. She chafed her arms out of nerves. Her father occupied an armchair, resting his head on the back, still breathing heavily. She sat on the settee closest to him. The odd angles bumped their knees.

  How could this old man be her father? Hollows grooved his cheeks and deep furrows ran across his forehead. Resting on his stomach, his hands were gnarled and delicate looking, blue veins prominent under papery skin. Even if they got him home and fattened up, he would never be the same robust man he had been less than a year ago.

  He opened his eyes—a reflection of hers. No matter how weak his body, his eyes revealed an internal strength of spirit even Penhaven couldn’t destroy.

  With his chest caved and thin, his voice didn’t reverberate with the same power. “You and Gray Masterson plan to marry? What if I don’t give my approval?”

  “Rafe is content with the match, and I assumed you would be as well. Gray is like a son to you, isn’t he?”

  “Did your brother allow you a Season?”

  “He did.”

  “You could have bagged a duke or at the very least a baron.” The earl could very well be discussing horses.

  “I don’t want to marry a peer who is only interested in my breeding possibilities or my dowry. That was your ambition, not mine. All I’ve ever wanted is for someone to see me. Not an embodiment of my mother’s faults.”

  “Your mother—” The earl held a fisted hand to his mouth.

  Through the letters, she understood the virulence of her father’s hate was equal to his love before her supposed defection. “Did Penhaven tell you about Mother?”

  The earl gave a humorless laugh. “He took great relish in describing Victoria’s defection to a sea captain. So many years I suffered, hoping… I should have spent more time at home with her, but the mission always came first. The blame ultimately falls on my shoulders.”

  Would the news she was about to deliver be his death knell or would it finally free him? She pressed her hands against her stomach, holding her courage close. “Penhaven lied. Mother never left you for another man. He was in love with her. She was here, but when she tried to come home, he killed her.”

  Agony carved the grooves in his face even deeper. “No.”

  “Penhaven buried her in the woods.” She picked up his limp, thin hand. “She wanted to come back to you, to us.”

  Tears coursed to his beard.

  “Penhaven’s insane,” she said. “Terrible things have happened over the past few months. He blames you for her death, and he’s tried to hurt me.”

  Her father shifted upright. A deep, shuddering breath seemed to empower him. His voice was stronger, deeper. “Tell me everything that’s happened since I was taken.”

  And she did—from Rafe’s return from France to her entrance into Society. She glossed over their investigation and skipped any and all intimate interaction with Gray entirely. The relief of sharing the family troubles was acute.

  “How is Rafe now?” His first question surprised her, his voice holding a father’s pain for his child.

  “Better, but he refuses to socialize. He drinks too much and has nightmares. I hear him sometimes, but he would be mortified if I acknowledged them.” He squeezed her hand, and she took comfort in the bond.

  “I wasn’t a true father to either of you. When Victoria left—” his voice grew hoarse, “—was killed, something in me snapped. Irreparably. You and Rafe reminded me daily of what I’d lost. I loved your mother very much. Can you understand that?”

  Gray was on her mind when she answered, “I do now.”

  “Even if I was harsh, I did worry about you. You are the embodiment of your mother’s spirit. Moreover, you’d turned from a duckling into a swan seemingly overnight. I wanted you settled into a union of convenience. I was afraid your passions would guide your choices during a London Season.”

  “You didn’t trust me to make my own decisions. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I didn’t, no. You’ve always walked on the brink of mutiny. Your temper forever got the best of you. I worried you would leap without thinking, get yourself ruined and fall in
love with a fortune hunter.”

  No need for her father to know that’s exactly what had happened—except the fortune hunter bit. “Gray isn’t a fortune hunter,” she said more defensively than she wished.

  Humor sparked in her father’s eyes, and the hair on his face twitched as if his lips had tried to curl. “No, indeed. I certainly wouldn’t have paired the two of you, but you’ll make a fine match. To be frank, I thought he’d never marry. He was superior at the job. It will be a pity to lose him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her father shook his head. “He’ll be useless for missions now. His heart will be with you and not in the fight. Once that happens, fear invades and death isn’t far behind.”

  Was that what Gray had tried to make her understand? Was she taking away his purpose, his dream? Would he come to hate her for it? Had she made him weak? She rubbed her face as if that would help clear the confusion. If they lived through this night, she and Gray would need to talk about his future, their future.

  But now was the time to make things right with her father. Her stomach turned and her chest tightened. “Father…that last night at Wintermarsh…the things I said…I’m so sorry. I was a shrew. It was unforgiveable. I can’t—”

  “A shrew? Perhaps. Unforgiveable? Hardly. I’ve had plenty of time on my hands to scrutinize my actions and sift through memories. You’ve shown tremendous courage, Lily. Not just tonight, but by choosing your own destiny and not allowing me to bully you.”

  “You didn’t leave because of me?”

  “Certainly not. I received a missive summoning me for a private meeting with Hawkins. A maid delivered it. The courier had already departed, so she said. I thought Hawkins had gotten sloppy.” He barked a self-depreciating laugh. “Turns out, I was the careless one. Penhaven’s lackeys captured me not a mile from Wintermarsh.”