The Mysterious Lord Millcroft

by Virginia Heath

  ‘Go on then.’

  This he had to see. That inappropriate habit hugged her like a second skin, the corset held her upper body rigid and the sidesaddle, with her in it, was slowly slipping further down the horse’s back. Seb took himself to lean against the tree trunk and folded his own arms to watch. She twisted to lay her upper body across the horse’s neck and began to slither down with her back to him, but then shrieked when her ridiculous skirt caught on the pommel. He took a step forward and she hissed like a cat, ‘Stay back! I do not want your grubby hands on my body!’

  ‘My grubby hands?’

  ‘Yes. I know where they have been!’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ It was hard to remain stalwartly affronted when gravity and the pommel had left her part suspended from the ground. The toes of one foot had hit terra firma, her other leg dangled suspended at her side while the silly skirt was rucked up to show two shapely silk-clad calves and the taut fabric revealed two perfectly formed buttock cheeks. She started to wriggle as she wrestled with the trapped fabric and Seb found himself simultaneously aroused and amused by the sight. Something had made her lose her temper and she was clearly fuming. At him. Best to get it over with, whatever it was. ‘Speak in plain English, Gem, and tell me what grievous crime I am supposed to have committed.’

  ‘There is no supposed about it! Admit it! You spent the night in...in...’

  ‘A brothel?’

  ‘There is no need to sound so smug about it. I know what goes on in those places.’

  ‘You do?’ And more importantly why was she angry about it?

  ‘Yes, I know! Gray might have only hinted at the sorts of unspeakable things you were engaged in out of politeness, but believe me, I see nothing noble in your sacrifice for King and country! It’s disgusting. You’re disgusting!’

  Whilst still not entirely sure quite why she was snarling, but certain that his subordinate had had a hand in it, Seb decided to placate her while he extricated her. Watching that spectacular body jiggling in front of him was giving him all manner of unspeakable ideas. ‘Gray likes to amuse himself by elaborating on the truth. Hold still and let me untangle you.’ Necessity meant he had to wrap his hands around her waist to reach the pommel. She instantly stiffened at the contact, standing on one leg like an outraged statue in the cage of his arms, the pert peach of a bottom which had taunted him moments ago just inches from his aching groin.

  ‘I suppose you deny doing your duty?’

  ‘I suppose that depends of what you mean by duty.’

  As the fabric finally gave, she immediately spun around to face him, her blue eyes stormier than any eyes he had ever seen before. Her finger came up and prodded him hard in the chest. ‘You allowed a harlot to play your flute!’

  The bark of laughter earned him a firm shove, but he couldn’t stop even when she marched away and stood incandescent with rage. ‘I don’t see what is so funny.’

  ‘Let me get this straight. You are of the belief that I spent the entire night consorting with harlots.’ She sniffed in response and looked away again, her arms folded tightly across her chest. ‘That is partly true. There were harlots and technically I did spend the night with one.’

  Her eyes widened in outrage, causing Seb to laugh again and raise his palms in surrender. ‘But no consorting of any sort went on and certainly no musical renditions took place. If you want to know all the ugly details, I picked a young girl who looked more terrified than me, had her take me to her room where we proceeded to spend the night discussing how she came to find herself in a bawdy house in Sussex.’ He risked taking a few steps forward. ‘It was a tragic tale. She had run away from home to escape a drunken father and then fallen on hard times. Last night was her first night as a harlot and, thankfully, it was her last. I gave her enough money to see her right for a few weeks and if she has any sense, she will have met one of my men on the roadside this morning as we arranged and will already be winging her way to London where Lord Fennimore will find her some suitable employment. Penhurst’s French mistress isn’t French, by the way. She is the owner of the brothel he dragged me to. None of the girls are French and none go by the name Jessamine. Our debauched viscount and his cronies are regulars at the establishment and they took me there as a test. One I am very pleased to say I passed because, like you, they assumed the worst was going on behind those bedchamber doors.’

  The stormy expression had now softened to one of relief—but what did that mean? All his instincts told Seb she was jealous. His head wanted to dismiss that futile hope as preposterous. Should he ask her? No. Definitely not. He would combust with embarrassment and shame when she denied it. Then he would still be incarcerated at this blasted house party and forced to suffer for days. ‘On the way home, he suggested he might be able to involve me in an investment opportunity which guaranteed me high returns, but might not be strictly legal. He declined to elaborate, but I’m making progress, Gem.’

  ‘That’s good.’ She was subdued, but no longer angry.

  ‘On a separate note, whilst we are none the wiser as to who the elusive Jessamine might be, Gray did find out about the Espérance de Dieu. Look.’ Seb took out the information his Invisibles had been given by the Excise Men and passed it to her to read, only to have the paper swatted away.

  ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘You were right—it is a ship. A merchant ship which is part of a small but specialised fleet shuttling the finest port from sunny Portugal to the major shipping destinations across Europe. It makes regular stops in Bilbao and Cherbourg, where I’ll wager those boats get loaded with our free traders’ French brandy before they sail on to Portsmouth. Before which I assume they take a little detour along the Sussex coast to offload the illegal portion of their cargoes right here first.

  She still couldn’t meet his eye. ‘I take it they didn’t attempt to offload last night.’

  ‘No. But when they do I’ll be there to meet them.’

  ‘Unless you get dragged to Penhurst’s brothel again.’

  ‘I shall plead a headache. Now that my favourite harlot has left, I might actually have to do my duty for King and country. Which I would hate, by the way. Because I am not that sort of man.’ He watched her reaction closely and when he saw no further evidence of any sort of jealousy or relief he realised he had imagined both. Merely the thought of a brothel disgusted her, not the thought of him in it. ‘Besides, duty calls me out to the Downs and those ships tonight.’

  ‘And those cut-throat smugglers.’

  Seb pressed the paper into her hand. ‘There is a list of the most recent dates those ships came into Portsmouth here. I need you to do some subtle digging with Penny to ascertain whether or not Penhurst was at home at those times. Can you do that?’

  ‘Of course I can. Seeing as I’m now a spy, too. A rather good one, I think.’

  ‘You’re resourceful, I’ll give you that. And you do have excellent instincts, especially on the hoof.’

  ‘We both know you’d be lost without me.’

  Sadly true, but thankfully she didn’t know in how many ways. ‘We should probably head back to the others. Shall I help you or are you perfectly capable yourself?’

  Her smile warmed his heart. ‘We also both know I can barely move in this silly habit.’

  Seb secured her saddle while she stood so close he could smell her perfume. Not what he needed when his mind was valiantly trying not to think about touching her. Once that excuse was gone, he turned awkwardly and attempted to control his suddenly erratic breathing as he placed his hands gently around her waist and she rested hers intimately on his shoulders. He hadn’t intended to make eye contact, yet his immediately sought hers and locked. A big mistake. He watched her pupils widen, then lower towards his mouth. The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, drawing his eyes to them, the air around them seemed to crackle with something heady and potent and of its own accord
his head began to dip.

  ‘Lady Clarissa!’ Westbridge’s voice stopped him in his tracks. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘My saddle was loose. Lord Millcroft has fixed it.’ The sunny smile was now not for Seb, nor did it appear particularly genuine. ‘He is just lifting me onto my horse.’ Her gaze remained fixed on her waiting Duke as Seb did just that. While she adjusted her position he untied the reins and handed them back to her and for a second their gazes locked again. Gem’s expression was perplexed. A little startled. Awkward. As if she had known what he was about to do and was vastly relieved he hadn’t. Then she offered him the same disingenuous smile she had shot her Duke before she set her pony after the others and didn’t look back.

  * * *

  Dinner was running late because their host had failed to materialise, so Clarissa pasted a smile on her face and hoped she appeared riveted by Westbridge’s story rather than occupied with indecision. She blamed the peculiar moment she and Seb had shared earlier before he had lifted her onto her horse. Then their eyes had locked and, for one splendid moment as he held her, she thought he might kiss her.

  Had wanted him to kiss her.

  She had even licked her lips in anticipation in the hope he might realise she was not averse to the idea. But Westbridge had arrived, breaking the sultry spell, and denying Clarissa the chance to find out. Seb had appeared flustered as he had hoisted her up into the saddle and then he had stepped briskly away. Since then he had put as much distance between them as he physically could in the confines of the hall. Even now he was at the exact opposite end of the drawing room to her and deftly avoiding her gaze.

  Was that shyness or uninterest?

  ‘If you will excuse me for a moment.’ The barnacle looked pained as she scurried off in the direction of the retiring room, finally leaving Clarissa alone with her Duke for the first time since their arrival at the house party. The poor thing must be desperate to relieve herself to relinquish her permanent spot at his side. As she watched Olivia go, Clarissa’s eyes once again wandered to Seb, willing him to stare back in the hope he would leak one clue as to how he was feeling.

  ‘I am glad she has gone. I have been meaning to speak with you.’ Westbridge drew her gaze reluctantly back.

  ‘Really. What about?’

  ‘Us.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Yes. I thought we might make things official.’ Was that a proposal? Stunned, Clarissa gaped like a fish. ‘I apologise for dragging my feet, but I had to be sure, you understand. A man in my position must choose carefully. Now that I have, I see no reason to delay matters longer than necessary. I’ve instructed my steward to book St George’s and have the banns read at the end of this week. I see no reason why we can’t get the deed done in June before the ton leave in their droves to rusticate for the summer.’

  ‘The deed?’ Why was she not euphoric? Disappointed, definitely. Worryingly nauseous at the prospect. Desperate to talk to Seb.

  ‘I’ve also taken the liberty of sending a letter to your father to discuss the settlements and to request he organise the wedding breakfast. Obviously, we shall work together with the modiste on your gown. I have made enquiries with Madame Devy who I am certain will be delighted to create just the right sort of design to befit the occasion. We can announce our engagement tonight.’

  Of all the emotions she had expected to feel at this moment, anger wasn’t one of them, yet it was most certainly the one which had rushed to the fore. The urge to tell him where he could shove his lacklustre and arrogant proposal was visceral even as the sensible voice in her head cautioned her to choose her words carefully. This was what she had dreamed of and worked for. Becoming a duchess would be her greatest achievement in a life devoid of any. Sensible won, though the words were strained. ‘You are assuming I have said yes.’

  ‘Well, of course I am.’ He had the audacity to chortle while she wanted to scream.

  ‘Well, I haven’t. Yet.’ And all at once Clarissa desperately needed to think about it.

  Properly.

  Good gracious!

  There was now so much to think about. This was what she wanted, yet her legs wanted to bolt. Her heart was horrified and her head was in the midst of listing all the reasons why marrying the man of her dreams might well turn into a nightmare. Was this the bridal jitters she had often heard talked about or something more? Jitters would pass. Genuine doubt would not. And why, when her head should be filled with the thoughts of wedding preparations, was Seb all she should suddenly think about? Her eyes flicked to her spy and her heart did a funny little lurch in her ribcage.

  Why was that?

  Yet the sight of him gave her the confidence to say the words which she never believed she would have reason to say to a duke in the history of ever. ‘I shall consider your proposal and respond in due course.’ As Seb had rightly said, she should trust her excellent instincts and allow them to guide her. Right now they were all over the place and images of Seb were clouding her judgement. Clarissa had allowed herself to be seduced by espionage and spies. If she were completely honest, more a certain spy than the espionage. One she was not entirely sure she was ready to give up.

  Good gracious!

  ‘What?’ Now Westbridge was gaping like a fish and that unsightly jutting blood vessel was twitching near his eye. It dawned on Clarissa then that she was not the least bit attracted to the man. ‘You will respond in due course! What sort of answer is that?’

  ‘The best you will get this evening, your Grace.’ And she was going to walk away. To think and ponder, weigh up the pros and the cons and consider her feelings. Unbelievably, she was going to walk away right this second and leave him in the same state of flux he had been perfectly content to leave her in. For two whole years. That knowledge made her giddy with an emotion she couldn’t fathom at all. It wasn’t outrage or relief. It certainly wasn’t fear, nor was it delight. If she was pressed to describe it to anyone, it was a bizarre sense of freedom. One that made her smile at Westbridge in wonder. His insulting, pompous proposal had released her from the constant stress of striving for it.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ Penhurst’s loud entrance behind her had her turning towards the door. He was stood with another man. One she knew well and liked less. Another pompous duke. ‘Thetford has graced us with his illustrious presence!’ The vile viscount looked tremendously pleased with himself as the portly and balding Duke stood smugly at his side. Knowing Seb would be as unimpressed with the surprise guest as she was and keen to let him see she had just had the most marvellous epiphany, she shot him an amused glance only to see his face had blanched of all colour and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

  Something was very wrong.

  ‘If you will excuse me...’ Although she had already marched several feet away from the still stunned Westbridge before she remembered to apologise, her eyes fixed on the man who needed her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Seb was torn. One half of him wanted to smash his fist into the smug face of his half-brother and the other wanted to run. Instead he remained rooted to the spot and hoped his legendary talent for blending into the wallpaper would single-handedly save the mission.

  He had to think.

  He had to remember his training and his higher purpose here today. Had to rise above the volatile emotions which he had long buried and not expected to return. Not here and certainly not now. He had to do what was best for King and country. The scar on his cheek began to hurt, just as it had on that fateful day when his father’s acknowledged son had split it open with his riding crop and Seb had realised that he and his mother were truly destitute. Penniless. It hadn’t been a misunderstanding, but deliberate. The new Duke’s petty revenge on his father.

  It had broken his mother.

  Killed her soon after.

  Indecision turned to white-hot rage and Seb decided to kill his half
-brother and to hell with the mission. Today had been fifteen years coming...

  He felt her hand on his elbow and allowed her to move him towards another door, ridiculously grateful for her perceptiveness because he was able to draw on her calm strength to control the sleeping monster which had suddenly reawakened. She closed the door behind them and dragged him down the quiet hallway towards an empty room.

  Wordlessly, she pushed him into a chair, then poured a glass of brandy which she pushed into his hand. She never said a thing, almost as if she already understood everything, but sat next to him on the arm of the chair and stroked his free hand. The contact and her presence soothed him.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Your reaction. The subtle similarities in both of your features. You have the same dark eyes. A similar nose—but you will be delighted to know you look nothing like him other than that. If you hadn’t confessed to being a duke’s son, I would be none the wiser.’

  ‘Did he recognise me?’

  ‘Is there a chance he might not?’

  A laughable question. Seb and his mother had been disposable. As Lord Fennimore had quite rightly said, his dear brother had probably forgotten he existed soon after he had callously wounded him. ‘I was a boy when we last collided—not that we had ever collided much before. I went to him for help and he gave me this instead.’ He touched the scar and her fingers immediately followed, tracing the line of it gently before brushing the hair out of his eyes. Without thinking, he leaned against her palm and sighed, trying to control the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

  ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

  To his surprise he did. He wanted to rant and rave and purge the anger. ‘We lived in the hunting lodge on Thetford’s estate. An open secret, yet detached from both the great house and its tenants. He would come and she would blossom. My mother loved my father. She assumed he loved her back, but even as a child I knew that was wishful thinking. I called him sir in the lodge but instinctively dipped my eyes if I saw him outside. He paid for tutors. He paid for everything. Then he died and we learned that he had made no provision for my mother in his will. She had given him sixteen years and didn’t warrant a mention. He left me money in trust to pay for my education when I came of age. Nothing else. That same day the steward came. Ordered us out of our home. After all those years he gave us three days to be off Thetford’s land.’ Churning it up again brought all those turbulent feelings back. To realise they were still so raw and unresolved was unsettling. Seb didn’t recognise himself because it was hard to reconcile the boy with the man he had become. He had thought he had moved on, yet they were one and the same. The fierce independence, the pride, the unacknowledged shame of not being born better, the resourcefulness and the shyness—even the drive to see justice done—all stemmed from those formative years and the consequences of that day.