An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1 Read online

  “I was to surprise her tonight. She doesn’t even know I’m attending. We won’t be long, just a breath of fresh air. It’s rather stuffy, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose a very brief turn in the garden wouldn’t hurt. It is awfully close in here.” Lily snapped her fan open and cooled herself with frenzied flicks of her wrist. Was it the crush of people or his suggestion making her feel so heated?

  He offered his arm with a slight inclination of his head, and she tentatively laid her hand on his forearm, glancing up at him under her lashes. His faint smile seemed sly and had her biting her lip.

  He guided her out the doors before her waffling conscience had a chance to protest. Instead of staying on the balustrade, safe with the other couples and smoking gentlemen, he led her down the steps and into the greenery, his hand clamped over hers, barring protest.

  “Now then, a bit of privacy. Tell me, my lady, you never answered my question, has a gentleman won your favor?”

  She snatched her hand away and withdrew a few paces. With only dim light cutting the shadows, Gray loomed. An innate fierceness, masked by the pomp of the ball, distilled into the darkness and surrounded her with ominous intent. Did she really know him after so long?

  “An offer has been made but my brother is set to decline on my behalf.”

  He stroked his bottom lip, and her eyes followed as if he were a mesmerist. “Have you enjoyed your introduction to the ton?”

  “It’s been…entertaining.”

  “That was a mere platitude. Tell me the truth.” He flipped her words, a smile playing behind his finger.

  “The truth? It’s been disappointing. Most of the gentlemen have been like Montbatton, obsessed with horses or carriages or cravats. Do they think I give a jot about such things?”

  “What do you give a jot about?” he asked with a hint of derisive amusement. “Embroidery? Balls? Dresses?”

  “I care about the war. How men come back maimed everyday—body and spirit. How women are left widows to care for their children on almost nothing. How no one here—” she gestured back to the ballroom with her fan, “—seems to notice. Or care.”

  Her words wiped the amusement from his face. He took a step forward, close enough to touch, but neither of them made a move. “You speak from experience.”

  The darkness was now her friend, offering welcome camouflage. “My brother was horribly wounded.”

  “He’s better now.” It was more statement than question.

  “Is he? He drinks too much, wakes with nightmares too often, becomes angry with little provocation. He works himself into exhaustion every day to keep from falling into melancholy. I worry about him. What happens if I’m not there to bully him back to life?”

  He squinted at the hedge as if it held deep wisdom. “Your brother is lucky to have you.”

  “You’ve been in the fighting, haven’t you?”

  His gaze travelled back to her face, and the moment stretched. “Yes.”

  “Have you been injured?”

  Again, he paused before whispering, “I have my share of scars.”

  Now she did touch him, laying a hand on his forearm. He covered her hand with his, and for a mad moment, she wished neither of them wore gloves, wished she could entwine their bare fingers. Solid ground beckoned. This talk made her too vulnerable, and didn’t she have a part to play?

  She pulled her hand from under his and forced out a false, jarring laugh. “I need to return, sir. My chaperone will surely have missed me by now, and there will be a list of gentleman I’ve disappointed.”

  “Of course, let me escort you back inside.” He backed into a shaft of moonlight and waited with an outstretched hand. His hair shone black and he stood straight and strong. He had always been the stalwart port in the violent storm that was her father.

  She took his hand, and he tugged her forward too quickly. Her toes tangled in the hem of her dress. She grabbed at his biceps for balance, the thick ropes of muscle flexing. His hands spanned her waist and then slid down to where her hips flared. The sensation set off a fine trembling in her knees.

  Their faces were inches apart. Firm lips above a squarely masculine jaw caused her to worry her bottom lip with teeth and tongue. His nostrils flared, and in answer, she inhaled, his scent clean and woodsy. He had never smelled quite so appealing when she was a child.

  He moved closer, and she parted her lips. Her brain held no sway. Her body completely ignored its instructions to push away, escape. Instead, her back arched, her face tilted up, and her hands roved over his shoulders. Her heart beat against the tight confines of her stays, trying to escape.

  Was Gray going to kiss her? Did she want him to?

  Her lungs pulled in much needed air, and on the exhale, she breathed his name.

  The intimacy of his name disintegrated his befuddlement. Christ, had he lost all commonsense? First to pull her into him and then to almost kiss her? His body was charged for a full-out sensual assault, his hands ready to explore the too-tempting soft curves pressed into him. He thrust her away and snatched his hands back as if she had the plague.

  He covered his confusion with menace. “Lily Drummond. Rafe would spank your bottom if he knew you’d accompanied a man to the gardens.”

  “If he knew the man who lured me out was you?”

  Her well-made point pierced like an arrow. “I was trying to teach you a lesson,” he said with pompous undertones.

  “Perhaps I was trying to teach you one as well.” She sniffed and adjusted her gloves.

  “What was that, pray tell?”

  “Never steal a lady without first making sure you know her name.” She swept by and tapped him on the chest with her fan.

  They walked side by side to the balustrade, but he didn’t offer an arm this time. “Obviously I’m a fool, but you’ve changed dramatically from the little girl I left at Wintermarsh.”

  “It’s referred to as growing up,” she said pertly, but then sadness and accusation wove through her words. “If you had come to visit, my changed appearance wouldn’t be such a shock. Rafe needed you. Last autumn was horrid.”

  Guilt was not an emotion he allowed lest it overwhelm him. It rose like bile just the same. “Do you not think I wanted to be there? To get Rafe home, I indentured myself to Sir Hawkins. The last eight months weren’t enjoyable for me either.”

  She cut her eyes to him, her voice small. “Are you angry with me?”

  He had to think on it. In disbelief, flummoxed, shocked, yes. But amused, entertained and fascinated as well. “Devil if I know why I’m not. You led me on quite a merry chase.”

  She grabbed the lapel of his jacket and pulled him into the shadow of a pillar. “Now that our little game has concluded, there’s something of import I wish to discuss.”

  Gray glanced to either side of them. Although people milled about, no one was within earshot. “What would that be?”

  “Have you discovered Father’s whereabouts?” She fisted his sleeve with an intensity that surprised him.

  “Whatever do you mean? I have no—”

  “Don’t treat me like a buffle-headed young chit. Father would have received word of Rafe’s injuries—he almost died, for goodness sake. Even the earl wouldn’t ignore the possibility of losing his only heir. He’s been gone far too long.”

  “Your father tends to hie off on his own. It’s part of his charm.” At his blithe statement, Lily pinned him with the same intense, flinty-blue stare as her father. “He’s one of England’s finest diplomats and unraveling his contacts is like trying to unknot a skein of yarn, but I’m making progress.”

  The problem, of course, was the earl was more than a diplomat. He oversaw a group of men who gathered information, eliminated targets and generally wreaked havoc on the French.

  “Tell me everything you know.” Her eyes reflected more than worry. H
e recognized regret, saw it in the looking glass every morning.

  Gray waffled. On the one hand, Rafe wanted her safely out of it. On the other, she might have useful information. Moreover, she knew just enough to be dangerous. If he could extract any pertinent information and convince her he had it well in hand, they could go their separate ways after tonight. That would be for the best.

  “I’ll admit I’m troubled. None of my inquiries have been answered, and I’ve sent them through every channel available. Sir Hawkins swears the earl wasn’t sent back to the Continent on his behest.”

  “Do you trust Hawkins?”

  “Trust,” he uttered as if it were a blasphemy. “In my job, you learn not to trust anyone but yourself. Hawkins is a conniving, manipulative taskmaster, but he hasn’t sent me to my death yet. He’s under the assumption the earl has been handling personal business.”

  “For months? In the middle of a war?” Her voice was incredulous.

  “Exactly my thoughts.”

  “Is there anyone else who might know?”

  “Right now, no one suspects the earl is missing. Most assume he’s on the Continent, and I’d rather not raise suspicions otherwise by asking too many questions.” In an airy tone, he added, “I’m not above tossing an office or two, however.”

  “They’re your colleagues. Isn’t that wrong?” Her hand flew to her neck as if he’d confessed to murder.

  “Right, wrong—” He threw his hands up. “Unfortunately, I haven’t uncovered too much of interest as of yet.”

  She chewed on the thumb end of her glove, her expression one of concentration. “Maybe he is on the Continent but too far away to send word.”

  “Anything is possible, but before coming here tonight, I met with some rather unscrupulous characters that transport human cargo across the channel—for a price. None of them claims to have taken the earl over in more than a year. As I understand it, he was at Wintermarsh over the summer.”

  “Yes, in late July. That’s the last time I saw him.”

  “Any hints as to his plans?”

  She looked anywhere but directly in his eyes as her fingers played in her hair. “I’ve gone over everything that passed between us countless times, and he never mentioned leaving.”

  Her words rang true, but as obvious as a red flag waving, she hid something more. But what and was it even relevant?

  “What can I do to help?” She stopped her nervous fidgeting and met his gaze straight on.

  Honestly, he was surprised her offer hadn’t come sooner. He kept his voice even. “Nothing. You’re a young lady and—”

  “I’m hardly a delicate English flower. I’ll plant you a facer right here and now. Which is what I should have done when I realized you had no idea who I was.” Lily punched his shoulder with what she probably considered real force.

  “A facer? You? With one of these deadly weapons, I suppose?” He swallowed her balled up fist in his hand, unable to stop a smile. “You were always good for a moment of levity.”

  A corner of her mouth twisted. “I’ve made connections, you know. While you obviously don’t have a great deal of faith in my social acuity, I’ve proven adept at navigating the ton, and I know things.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Things Rafe taught me.”

  Her self-satisfied, baiting smile raised the hairs on his neck and erased his smile.

  “What did Rafe deem a green debutante should know?”

  Her nonchalant shrug planted a seed of panic in his stomach.

  “Firing a pistol. A bit about defending myself from unruly gentlemen.” She dipped her gaze toward his groin, and he instinctively shifted his stance. “He’d started teaching me how to pick a lock.”

  Damn Rafe. What the devil had he been thinking? Gray’s deliberately patronizing tone masked real fear. “What’s your plan? Ask the other debutantes whether they’ve seen the Crown’s secret spymaster lurking in the retiring room or behind a potted plant?”

  Her blue eyes cut through him like a scythe. “If you would give me an indication of who you suspect, I could—”

  “Absolutely not.” Every syllable was clipped and unconditional. “I won’t put you in danger. You’ve waited a long time to have a Season. You should focus on enjoying yourself. Find the pick of the litter to marry.”

  “How can I focus on such things when I have so much to worry about?” The pain of the past year reflected in her eyes. Without a single thought toward proprieties, he circled his hand around her nape, his fingers softly massaging, his thumb skimming over her jaw.

  “Let me take some of your worry.”

  She grasped his wrist and leaned into his touch, her eyes hooded.

  “Promise me you won’t try to find your father. Leave it to me,” he said.

  Defiance flashed over her face.

  “Where is that gel?” A voice carried to them from inside the opened ballroom doors.

  Lily jerked upright, her eyes huge. “Aunt Edie’s awake.”

  “Who is this aunt? I don’t remember her.”

  “She’s the widow of one of father’s cousins. She came to us in dire need. Her dresses were threadbare,” she finished in a sympathetic whisper.

  “It was kind of Rafe to take her in.”

  “Don’t nominate Rafe for sainthood. I needed a sponsor and a chaperone. He was ecstatic to take her in as long as she was willing to come to town and present me in his stead.”

  “Lily? Lily?” The voice was headed their direction.

  She darted around him, her skirts billowing behind her. He followed and found her inside the doors talking with the formerly sleeping dowager from the corner.

  She was a striking woman somewhere in her fifth decade and her risqué dark red dress highlighted a mature, womanly figure. Thick black hair was shot through with streaks of silver and her face, while plain at first glance, lit up attractively through the sheer force of a cheery personality, making her eyes gleam and lips curl.

  “Who is this fine-looking fellow who dragged you into the gardens?” Her tone was anything but admonishing. In fact, she seemed rather pleased her charge had been alone with him. She raised a quizzing glass and inspected him from head to toe, spending an inordinate amount of time studying the juncture of his legs. Good Lord, was Lily’s aunt a licentious old lady in addition to being a poor chaperone?

  Shifting from foot to foot, he shielded himself and silently cursed the current fashion of such close-fitted breeches. “Would you like me to turn around for you, madam?”

  Ignoring his thinly veiled sarcasm, she twirled her finger to indicate she was ready for a spin. “Would you, my boy? Not often I see such a fine physical specimen up close.”

  “Heavens, Aunt Edie, you’re such a tease.” Lily cleared her throat and caught her lower lip between her teeth, leading him to suspect Aunt Edie had been quite serious. “May I introduce Mr. Gray Masterson, Lionel Masterson’s son. Mr. Masterson, may I present Mrs. Edith Winslow.”

  Aunt Edie fluttered a fan about her face and peeped through her lashes as Gray brushed the requisite kiss on the back of her gloved hand. “A pleasure, Mrs. Winslow. Have you enjoyed squiring Lady Lily around London?”

  “Lily is a jewel, Mr. Masterson. It’s certainly been no hardship. Not much has changed since my own debut many moons ago. Lily has a good head on her shoulders, and I don’t worry about her one little bit. She’s doing admirably.” She patted Lily on the arm fondly. “I’m on the lookout for some rich, titled gentleman for her to marry. Lord Daniels seems a promising suitor. What think you of that, Mr. Masterson?”

  “Lady Daniels might have some objections, I would think,” Gray said dryly.

  “Well, I never…if he’s married, why is he constantly seeking out your attentions, Lily?” Aunt Edie’s exclamation drew the eyes of several nearby matrons and their daughters.


  “It may have something to do with my bosom.” Her matter-of-fact tone surprised him as much as her opinion.

  “Please tell me you don’t discuss such matters in polite Society?” Unusual priggishness stiffened his voice, especially considering his earlier admiration.

  “What do you take me for, a simpleton? I only speak frankly with Minerva, of course.” Lily waved her fan about dismissively.

  “You discuss…” Gray gestured vaguely at her torso, “…things of that sort with Lady Minerva Bellingham?”

  “Do you even know her?”

  “Only by reputation. How in the world did the two of you become so well acquainted?”

  “We met at the first little soirée I attended and discovered much in common. She’s been an invaluable friend and even helped update my wardrobe. Do you like my dress? I’m not particularly fond of white myself, not very practical, but Minerva insisted.” Lily swayed slightly and held out her skirts for his inspection.

  His gaze skittered down her body and back up. “You look…” magnificent, stunning, seductive, “…adequate.”

  Her head tilting at his less-than-effusive compliment, she smiled a new smile for Gray, a womanly, knowing one with half-lidded, sensuous eyes. “When you didn’t know my name, you said I was lovely, vivacious, beautiful even.”

  He had. And, dammit, she was. Her artfully alluring smile cut him at the knees. He fought back the only way he could. “Now I do know your name, I can’t help but remember what a brat you were. Your childish behavior tonight only reinforces my opinion.”

  Her smile crumpled. “I thought we might finally be friends.”

  Friends? The emotions she stirred were nowhere near the realm of friendship.

  Aunt Edie saved him. “Where is Lady Minerva, Lily? I haven’t seen her all evening.”

  “I’m not sure why she’s so late.” Lily craned her neck and looked into the crush.

  She froze like a deer staring down a muzzle and sidled closer, hunching slightly so Gray effectively blocked her from view. He stared at her in fascination, unable to stop a small huffing laugh.