My Darling, My Disaster (Lords of Essex)

by Morgan, Angie

  A crash from out in the stable yard broke Gray’s hold on her chin. He pulled away, and Lana quickly adjusted her skirts. She’d been away far too long. Brynn could be looking for her.

  Voices rose from the courtyard next. It sounded like something had broken, and she could hear Percival rejecting the blame for it.

  “I’ll go out the front doors,” Gray said, leading her to the stall door. “You should go through the back.”

  She nodded, nervous she’d be spotted. Worried about the potential rumors it could stir.

  But then…not rumors. Anything the servants gossiped about would be the truth. She was carrying on an affair with Lord Northridge. Meeting for trysts in barn stalls and carriages and dimly lit stairwells. Good Lord, she was well on her way to ruination.

  As she watched him straighten his jacket and rake his fingers through his hair before walking back through the mews, Lana could not help the secret smile that graced her lips. She could not regret it. For this single moment, she would allow herself one forbidden luxury.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gray handed his cloak and hat to the attendant at White’s. His eyes roved past the lavishly appointed foyer of the gentleman’s club—a fair step away from his earlier outing at The Cock and the Crown gaming hell where he’d met with Croyden, a French hazard dealer and a piece of hired muscle and eyes when he was paid well. Gray had filled that requirement handsomely enough for Croyden to follow Zakorov, and now he’d secured Croyden for a second task: to locate the missing Earl of Langlevit.

  “Good evening, Lord Northridge,” a bespectacled man said, bowing low. “A pleasure to see you again so soon.”

  “Mr. Simmons,” he said with a shameful grin. He nodded to the factotum as he made his way into the crowded establishment. “Too soon, it seems.”

  “Your usual table, my lord?”

  Gray shook his head. “No, thank you, Simmons. I found the man I’ve come to see.”

  He strode to the back of the club, where a group of men sat around a felted royal blue table, a staggering pile of chips at its center. From his vantage point, he could see the Earl of Thorndale, the Marquess of Bates, and the Duke of Bassford. The other two had their backs to him. They all wore identical looks of concentration as they frowned at their cards, with the exception of one man. Hawk. His sister’s betrothed. The ill-fated engagement ball seemed like weeks ago, though it had only been yesterday.

  Gray sighed and pushed through the crowds of dandies standing between the tables. He’d come to White’s to apologize, especially after he’d learned that the new duke had paid a visit to Bishop House earlier that morning when he’d been in the mews.

  With Lana.

  His blood stirred at the mere thought of her. He hadn’t expected dancing in a horse stall without music to be enjoyable, but once again, something involving Lana had surprised him. She’d waltzed with effortless ease, much as she seemed to do everything else, but what had happened next had been as much of a shock to her as it’d been to him.

  Gray considered himself an experienced man, but his lack of sexual release had obviously taken its toll on him. He’d embarrassed himself like an unschooled buck, the innocent stroking of her fingers along his erection sending him hurtling over the edge like a runaway horse. She hadn’t held back or been frightened of him. No, she’d been the one to reach forward. Her open passion had been gratifying and arousing. The memory of Lana’s natural sensuality and naive inexperience made his body tighten with instant lust.

  Gray composed himself roughly and focused on the task at hand. His trousers were fitted enough as they were. As he walked closer to the table, he recognized the high-pitched tones of his friend Monti. And the man at his side, with austere posture and black, glossed-back hair, was none other than Zakorov. The man turned to say something to the Italian ambassador, throwing his profile into clear view. Gray clenched his jaw and slowed his pace.

  Croyden had reported that he’d left London earlier that morning, heading southeast. Gray trusted his man, which meant Zakorov had obviously returned. And that he had not gone far from London. But for what purpose? Did this have anything to do with Langlevit?

  With the same sense of unease that had been intensifying all day, Gray suspected the two were connected. Lana had said that Langlevit had gone out of London to meet with someone. It had been days, and she had had no word from him. Gray’s frowned deepened. He and Langlevit were acquaintances, but Lana’s relationship with the earl was clearly something more. She’d depended upon him for months, and he had gone to great lengths to protect her. A strange beast stirred to life inside his stomach right then. Appreciation and jealousy in equal measures made a confused monster. Langlevit was a good man, and for Lana’s sake, Gray wanted to get to the bottom of where he was. He hoped Croyden proved as useful as he had while tailing Zakorov.

  Thorndale looked up from his cards and grinned as Gray approached the table. “Speaking of, here is the lady’s brother himself,” he said loudly. “Northridge, wonderful to see you, old chap.” Thorn indicated the last open seat at the table. “I see you are back for another sound whipping.” He grinned as Gray found himself the focus of everyone sitting there, including Zakorov. Thorn was having far too much fun at Gray’s expense to notice the grim set of his jaw, or the glint of interest in the Russian’s expression.

  “Northridge made the mistake of coming here before your engagement ball last night,” he went on. “I doubt he will remember much of it, other than leaving with sadly empty pockets.”

  Gray had known he was there last night at some point before the ball, but he could recall little of it. His eyes met Archer’s, and he inclined his head. He’d intended to apologize, but this was too public a place to discuss what was now a family matter.

  His idiocy had led to some overzealous reporter publishing a piece in the Times about the nature of Hawk’s and Brynn’s relationship that had been suggestive and incendiary. Apparently, he had overheard the entire argument out on the terrace. Gray regretted having so much drink. He’d acted foolishly and irresponsibly. And worse, he’d hurt Brynn in the process. He’d apologized to her first thing that morning before leaving to ride his frustrations out with Pharaoh, but he feared it would take more to mend things between them.

  “Thank you for the offer,” he said after a moment, careful not to meet Zakorov’s direct stare. “But I think I’ll favor the dice tables tonight.”

  With a nod to Thorn and the others, he walked into the adjoining room. After his father’s dinner, Gray had counted himself lucky that Zakorov had not returned with a request to speak to Lord Dinsmore’s Russian maid. He hoped the man wouldn’t dredge up the notion now that he’d set eyes on Gray, and Gray was determined to avoid any sort of conversation as well.

  He passed the time on a few rounds of hazard, his attention drifting toward the cards room time and again. Zakorov had not yet left his seat, but on his next glance, Gray saw another one of the players had.

  “Northridge,” a loud voice said as Lord Marcus Bainley, son of the aging and wealthy Marquess of Bates, clapped him on the back. “Didn’t you suffer enough losses last evening? I heard you got well and truly fleeced.”

  “I am aware you heard, Bainley, considering you were seated at Thorndale’s table when he said as much,” Gray replied, keeping his tone bored. He stared at the man, taking in the ostentatious jade green jacket, matching pantaloons, and his needling grin. Bainley was tolerated by many because of the influence of his mother, the Marchioness of Bates, his considerable fortune, and the title he would inherit. Soon, it would seem, if the murmurings of the marquess’s failing health were true. Unfortunately, Gray was not in any mood to tolerate the fop’s irritating tendencies.

  Nodding to the factotum, he collected his winnings. Unlike the night past, he’d accumulated a sizable pile in the short time he’d been at the hazard table. Not that any of it could help solve his current problems.

  “Wise decision, though it disappoints my pockets t
o see you leaving us so soon,” Bainley said. Gray wanted to smash the sly grin off his pompous face.

  In any other circumstance he would stay just to teach Bainley a lesson, but he shrugged lazily instead. “While I would love to recoup my losses at your expense, sadly, I do have a previous engagement.”

  Ignoring Bainley’s insulted look, he turned to leave. His eyes went to Thorn’s table, and a spike of alarm pounded through his veins. The dour-faced Russian was no longer seated there. He wasn’t at any table in sight. Gray walked quickly through the room, worrying that the man had slipped away to visit Bishop House while Gray was preoccupied. Lana would be summoned. She’d have no one there to protect her.

  He swore under his breath, turned the corner for the coat check—and crashed into a man coming from the other side.

  “Ah. Lord Northridge,” Zakorov said in his thick accent, his sleek eyebrows rising.

  Gray’s alarm tempered, and he attempted to compose himself. “Lord Zakorov.” At least the odious man wasn’t trying to weasel his way into Gray’s home at the moment. He nodded in parting. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Zakorov held up his hand. “A moment of your time, if I may.”

  Damn.

  “Both Lord Dinsmore and yourself have mentioned a Russian maid in your employ.”

  Yes. And Gray would kick his own arse for it if that could have been physically possible.

  “What of her? She is a servant. Hardly worth discussing,” he said, the arrogant lie leaving a sour taste on the back of his tongue. She is worth everything.

  “Perhaps. But it seems that my sources have confirmed that she spent some time in St. Petersburg. I wish to speak to her.”

  His sources? What bloody sources? Was there someone in Bishop House feeding Zakorov information? Another servant perhaps. And if that was the case, the servant may have even delivered the rumor that Lord Northridge and the Russian maid were involved. The blood in Gray’s veins turned to ice. Not because of the gossip. He simply did not want the man anywhere near Lana. “Your sources are mistaken. My sister tells me she is from Moscow.”

  The baron inclined his head. “Perhaps.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Gray said, stepping around Zakorov’s short, rangy figure. “I have an appointment elsewhere.”

  Zakorov bowed. “Of course.”

  Gray didn’t waste any time returning to Bishop House. He wanted to find Lana and make sure she was safe. If Zakorov’s source was not another staff member, perhaps there was someone skulking about the house, watching her from afar. It made him think of this Count Volkonsky fellow Lana spoke of. The princesses’ uncle. Croyden hadn’t been able to locate Volkonsky, so he was either hiding well or no longer in London. Zakorov’s short jaunt outside of London didn’t bode well either. Gray supposed he would have to wait and see.

  However, two more days passed without any word from Langlevit or Croyden. It worried him, though, he was more concerned for Lana, who seemed to be losing hope by the day.

  “My lord,” Braxton said, meeting him at the door to Bishop House and handing him a note. “This arrived for you.”

  Gray frowned and opened the letter, his mind remaining stuck on reassuring Lana. The handwriting diverted his attention though. The letter was from the Coopers.

  His pulse beat out an uneven flash of panic, until he’d finished reading the first two sentences to see that Sofia wasn’t ill. The Coopers were merely at their home in Kentish Town just north of London and had invited him to visit with Sofia. His heart lightened at the prospect of seeing his daughter again so soon but then grew tight as he thought of Lana. He did not want to leave her alone, not with the threat of Zakorov and the count. But she already knew Sofia. Perhaps he could convince her to accompany him.

  “Thank you, Braxton. Please ready my curricle.”

  He took the stairs to his sister’s chamber two at a time, only to find it empty. He frowned. Perhaps they were downstairs. He should have asked Braxton instead of racing up here like an impatient fool. A noise caught his attention as Lana moved into view from the side of the armoire near the windows to sit on the window bench. Out of her customary uniform, she wore a simple muslin dress, but the pale lilac color suited her to perfection. Tendrils of hair spilled from the pins holding them in place. His frown grew as Gray noticed the slim book in her hands. He squinted at the cover. French poetry. She was reading aloud, her lips moving as she spoke the words flawlessly.

  “You speak French?”

  Startled, she looked up at him, the book slamming closed. A flush tinted her cheeks. “As I told you, my mother insisted on a proper education. May I assist you with something, Lord Northridge?”

  Gray cleared his throat, the welcome sight of her making his chest ache. She looked beautiful. And tired, despite the becoming blush on her face. He wished there was more he could do to put her at ease. Perhaps an outing would serve a dual purpose.

  He looked around. “Where is Brynn?”

  “She is out for the afternoon, my lord.”

  Perfect. “The Coopers are in town with Sofia and have extended an invitation to visit. Would you consider accompanying me? If you are not busy, of course.”

  “I am not.” She stared at him, something oddly like relief appearing for a brief moment before it disappeared. “I would be delighted. It would be lovely to see Sofia again. Lady Briannon has no need of me this afternoon.” Gray had expected more of a fight—some refusal or anything but such quick agreement. He stared at her at a loss for words. She paused and added softly, “Though Mrs. Frommer is altogether another matter.”

  “I’ll deal with her.”

  Lana’s brows drew together. “How? She’s unaffected by your charms.”

  He grinned. “You think me charming?”

  “To anyone’s charms.”

  “Trust me, I can be very persuasive when I need to be.” He enjoyed the lovely rise of color in her cheeks at his meaningful words. “We will leave as soon as you are ready.”

  “Oh, but…the others. If anyone were to see me riding off with you…”

  He blinked and remembered, with a pang of annoyance, that Lana could not simply hop in his curricle and ride away. “At least one of us is thinking,” he murmured. “Take a stroll to York Street. I’ll come by and fetch you within the half hour.”

  She smiled in relief, and Gray headed back downstairs to advise the housekeeper that Lana needed to run an urgent errand for Lady Dinsmore, which did not require much persuading on his part. Mrs. Frommer would do as she was bidden. Gray had little appreciation for the housekeeper’s complete lack of personality, but she ran a tight household and kept his mother happy. However, he did understand Lana’s worry about not drawing unnecessary notice.

  Before departing, he took the stairs to his chamber to change into less formal clothing. The chances of being recognized this close to London were much higher than in Essex. By the time he was dressed, James had readied the curricle with a matched pair of chestnut horses he had recently acquired. They snorted and tossed their glossy heads impatiently. Gray couldn’t have agreed with them more.

  He drove anxiously toward York Street, his eyes sharp on the sidewalks. Sure enough, a lithe figure in a simple lilac day dress and a cream-colored spencer came into view. She strode along the sidewalk, moving with measured grace. He could have watched her stroll for much longer, admiring her all the while. But Gray steered his curricle to the side of the street ahead of her and climbed down.

  Gray bowed to her and tipped his hat in greeting, though it was mostly a show for the others passing by on the sidewalk. None of whom he recognized, thankfully.

  “It feels as if we are doing something illicit,” he said softly as he guided her up into the curricle.

  “I believe in the eyes of many, we are,” she replied.

  Gray took the reins again, eager to be off. “I think that is the problem with this town. The sheer amount of eyes.”

  They took Highgate Road toward Kentish Town, making
one stop along the way. Lana was quieter than normal, but she had a half smile on her face, as if thoroughly enjoying the experience. He didn’t want to ruin the moment by bringing up Zakorov, so he settled for passing the time with bland conversation instead. Only, with Lana, nothing was ever truly bland. Her natural animation threaded through her tone as they discussed the countryside, the weather, and Sofia’s exploits, making the journey pass quickly until they arrived at the Coopers’ home.

  “Norry!” Sofia squealed, throwing her tiny body into his arms as the Coopers welcomed them in the foyer. Gray could not describe the depth of the emotion slamming through him at the sight of her. It grew more powerful each time, filling his chest so much that it felt like it would burst.

  “Sofia, my darling,” he said, kissing her rosy cheeks. “You remember my friend, Lana, don’t you?”

  She nodded and greeted Lana shyly, retreating behind Lady Cooper’s skirts. She nudged forward though once she saw the huge bouquet of daisies in Lana’s hands. The flowers had been Lana’s idea. It had touched Gray that she’d remembered they were the child’s favorite.

  “She has been eagerly awaiting your visit, Lord Northridge,” Lady Cooper said. She nodded to the kitchen. “I hope you do not mind, Sir Cooper and I are heading into town. Cook has prepared a picnic for you in our garden. It is very private,” she assured him. She looked like she had more to add, but when she merely smiled and stepped back, Gray figured he’d been wrong.

  “Thank you, Lady Cooper.”

  It was a perfect day for a picnic with not a cloud marring the bright blue sky. After the Coopers left, Sofia led them out to the garden with the picnic basket. Gray was familiar with the garden, but it had filled out in the last few months. A tall hedge and thick shrubs protected the garden from curious eyes. Fragrant rose bushes adorned the perimeter, adding splashes of bright color. It was a charming setting, and Gray felt the tension of the morning melt from his body.

  The Coopers’ staff had been well compensated by Gray to turn a blind eye to his frequent visits, but as he stared at his daughter spreading a blanket on the grass with Lana, Gray knew that that could not last much longer. There were eyes in London. There were eyes everywhere, and the resemblance between he and Sofia was becoming more pronounced by the day. Eventually, someone who wasn’t paid for their silence would notice.