An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1

by Laura Trentham

  Lily hit a discordant combination of notes and leapt to her feet. The piano bench crashed to the wood floor. She felt like a slow-witted dairy cow. “Gray? Is that you?”

  He stepped farther into the room and hummed in answer, somehow imbuing the sound with both irony and amusement.

  With wrinkled, flushed cheeks and smoothing his thin, white hair, Cuthbertson glided forward and covered his embarrassment with an overly officious tone. “Mr. Masterson, we were not expecting you, sir. I do apologize for not greeting you at the door.”

  “No matter, Bertie, it’s good to be back again so soon.”

  Cuthbertson visibly relaxed and smiled. “Indeed. You’re looking well, sir.”

  “Do you know where my father and Rafe have gotten off to?”

  “Your father is in his suite resting, and Master Rafe is out riding. He’ll certainly return before dinner. Shall I send up refreshments, my lady?”

  She nodded, and Cuthbertson bowed himself out of the room, moving faster than she thought possible. Penny wasn’t nearly so accommodating. In his surliest manner, he examined Gray head to toe. Draping his coat over the back of an armchair, Gray seemed more amused than intimidated.

  Still facing off with him, Penny asked, “Should I stay, my lady? Or get Mrs. Winslow?”

  “There’s no need for either. This is Gray Masterson. He’s…practically a brother. You go finish pruning the roses.”

  Giving Gray a warning glance, Penny exited but left the door open.

  “Gardening? I thought he was your coachman.”

  “He is my coachman, but he has quite a knack with the flowers. He reads to them in the mornings. That’s why they’re so lovely,” she replied inanely. She bent to right the piano bench and briefly closed her eyes to gather her wits.

  “Where the devil did you find him? Walking off a privateer’s boat?”

  “In Lipton, looking for work, if you must know.”

  “Odd that he would come to sleepy Lipton for work instead of London.” A suspicion that seemed second nature colored his voice.

  Lily shrugged. She had promised Penny not to tell anyone but Rafe about his association with their father. Penny wanted to leave his dangerous past behind, and she had vowed to do her best to help him. Anyway, the man had proved himself loyal time and again.

  “You always were one to bring home strays. It drove Mother round the bend.” Nostalgia softened his tone.

  Gray’s mother had run the house with a firm but loving hand. Although she had drawn the line at bringing wild animals in the house, Lily had convinced her a foundling kitten would earn her keep. The kitten had turned into a spoiled fat housecat instead. An answering wistfulness overcame her. “I suppose I have an affinity for the abandoned.”

  He moved closer, and for a moment, she thought he might touch her, but he only leaned against the back of the settee and crossed his arms over his chest. Fawn-colored buckskins clung to his thighs, and his black high boots carried a layer of dust. A brown waistcoat topped a white lawn shirt rolled to his elbows in deference to the unusually warm, sunny April day. The open collar of his shirt exposed a vee of tanned chest and a sprinkling of black hair.

  The last time she’d spied on him swimming in the pond, his chest had been nearly hairless. He’d been lean, bordering on skinny, and the dangly bits between his legs hadn’t seemed as bulgy as they appeared in his buckskins. She supposed it made sense that everything would have grown proportionally.

  “You have a lovely voice,” he said softly.

  Her gaze shot to his face, and if she had to hazard a guess, he knew exactly where she’d been staring. Lud, she was worse than Aunt Edie. The neck of her gown shrank at least two inches, and she ran a finger around the collar.

  “But where on earth did you learn that song?” His tone had turned from complimentary to faintly admonishing. The pulse of resentment settled her nerves to manageable levels.

  “One of the gypsy women at the harvest fair last fall. And before you ask, in London I played a dreadfully dull hymn to satisfy even the most conservative matron. No one suspects my improper bent for scandal. I’m not sure where you and Rafe got the idea I don’t know how to act with discretion.”

  “You were an absolute hoyden as a child.” He meandered around the room, picking up an object here and there as if in remembrance.

  “As a child, I may have been a pest and an annoyance, but things are different now. I hoped we could become friends.”

  “Friends?” He roved his gaze from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and back again.

  “Yes. We’ve moved beyond me being a little imp, haven’t we?”

  “Have we?”

  “Will you stop that?”

  “Stop what?”

  She barely refrained from stomping her foot. That would lend credence to his opinions. Instead, she presented her back and rearranged the perfectly arranged hothouse roses decorating the pianoforte.

  “You’re answering all my questions with questions. Is that something they taught you in spy school?”

  “Indeed, it was my final test.” The laughter in his voice sent her pique soaring.

  The roses rewarded her rough handling with a sharp, stinging prick to the end of her forefinger. Blood oozed, and she muttered.

  He stepped over and took her bare hand. “What have you done to yourself?”

  The roughened pads of his thumbs rubbed over her palm. Tingling awareness transformed her annoyance into confusion. Several thin white scars were scattered over the backs of his tanned hands and black hair covered his muscular forearms. Her stomach tightened.

  His soft tutting brought her attention back to his face. Achingly slowly, he carried her limp, surrendered hand to his mouth. He licked the drop of blood away.

  She grappled behind her with her working hand, seizing onto the edge of the pianoforte. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “What any good friend would do.” Wicked amusement lurked behind his spectacles. He drew her finger into his warm, moist mouth and sucked lightly. His tongue glided up her finger to the tip. He pulled her finger out with a little pop, turned it for inspection and then released it to drop to her side.

  “There, all better,” he said brightly while she sagged against the pianoforte and pulled in air like she’d run up three flights of stairs. He moved away to examine the figurine of a hunting dog on a nearby side table with a bland, unaffected expression.

  “Rafe sent his note yesterday, how did you manage to get here so quickly?” She hoped he didn’t notice the slight tremor in her voice.

  He tilted his head toward her. “I didn’t receive a note. I probably passed the messenger on my way.”

  “Have you been enjoying London?” Unexpected jealousy sharpened her question.

  “Actually, I was in France—”

  “You what?” The words echoed shrilly.

  He bobbled the delicate china.

  “France is dangerous. Were you hurt?” She modulated her voice even though she wanted to run her hands up and down his body to check for injury.

  Gray set the dog down safely. “I wasn’t hurt. It was a simple mission. You sound worried.”

  “Any good friend would be worried.” She fired his words back at him. “Were you there to look for Father?”

  “Hawkins sent me.”

  She recognized the half-truth. “You and Rafe mean to exclude me, keep me completely in the dark like a mushroom, shoveling on the manure. It won’t work. I’ll do this on my own, if necessary. Why didn’t you call on me after Napier’s?”

  “You’re too curious, take too many risks. As hard as it may be for you to accept, I want to keep you safe. I can’t keep my eye on you and find your father. Something significant happened between the two of you before he disappeared. Since we’re friends now, why don’t you tell me?” He stood close, his v
oice soothing and trust inducing. She could imagine him using the exact same tone to ferret secrets out of some French operative—a female one.

  She crossed her arms and cocked out a hip. “No.”

  “Lily.” A frustration she hadn’t heard in eight long years laced his words. “You are acting like a petulant child.”

  “Perhaps because you treat me as one. Although you seem to be the only man who does.”

  “What the devil do you mean by that?”

  She sat on the edge of the settee and took her time arranging her skirts just to bother him. “I mean, unlike you, the gentlemen in London seem hell-bent on getting me into a garden—alone. I have a fair idea what they want, and it’s not to lecture me on my childlike behavior.”

  “What do you believe they want, pray tell?”

  “They want to kiss me. Take liberties.” She raised her eyebrows, daring him to contradict her.

  He didn’t. Instead, he dropped into the armchair across from her and rubbed a knuckle across his bottom lip. “Have you accompanied any of them?”

  She hadn’t, nor did she plan to, but he didn’t need to know that. Taking a card from his deck, she cleared her face of ire and attempted a smile of mystery. “Not yet.”

  “What does that mean?” Dark brows shadowed his eyes like thunderclouds.

  Unable to tolerate the intensity he aimed at her, she pulled at a loose blue thread on her gown, unraveling it several inches. “I’ve never been kissed. Well, except by one of Black John’s sons, but it doesn’t really count. He didn’t use his tongue.”

  There was a skip of silence before the storm erupted. “His tongue? I hope to God he didn’t. I’d have to call the blighter out.”

  “You’re spouting utter nonsense. Aren’t men supposed to use their tongue if they find a woman attractive?”

  “Perhaps your husband—”

  “Husband? You stuck your tongue in Sally’s mouth when you were naught but five and ten, and you’re certainly not married, unless Sally has since committed bigamy. I’m already on the shelf by some people’s estimation.” With her father and Rafe heavily involved in the war effort and no female relative to sponsor a Season, she had bided her time at Wintermarsh, quite happily if truth be told.

  “You spied…” Gray rubbed a hand over his jaw and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice had settled back to normal levels. “What’s your plan then?”

  She broke off the errant thread and twined it around her fingers. “In regards to finding Father or obtaining a kiss?”

  The muscles in his neck worked as if he were suppressing a scream. “Either. Both. The kiss, first.”

  “I suppose I’ll accept some gentleman’s offer. Aunt Edie would certainly never notice. In fact, she might shove me outside.”

  “Indeed, she might. Tell me you aren’t considering Montbatton.”

  “At least he can’t talk about horses if his mouth is otherwise occupied. Lord Halliburton is quite handsome. Viscount Ibis has been pursuing me rather diligently. He’s not repulsive. What do you think? Which should I choose? Or perhaps all three? What if my first kiss isn’t up to snuff? How will I know unless I have some basis for comparison?”

  She looked up from her thread twirling. He had clenched the rounded arms of the chair so fiercely his fingers had turned white, and a feral snarl curled his lips. He looked ready to toss his crumpets on their Aubusson rug.

  “Are you feeling quite all right, Gray?”

  He untwisted his lips and loosened his hands. “I am feeling a bit sick all of a sudden.”

  Was it the thought of her kissing some other man making him ill? As many stomach aches as she’d experienced picturing him in the arms of a mistress, she rather hoped so. She stood and did her best not to look happy at his reaction. “I’ll check on the tea, shall I?”

  “No need.” Lionel Masterson balanced a laden tray and took measured steps toward them.

  His father was a welcome sight. Another minute imagining Lily’s lips in contact with Montbatton or Ibis or Halliburton, and he was sure to punch a hole in something. It was ridiculous. Although he found Lily attractive—like every other man with a beating heart—a match was out of the question. He’d better get used to her not only kissing but bedding another man. A suitable man.

  She might very well be betrothed to one of the blithering idiots by the end of the Season. Pain in his fingers signaled his death clutch of the chair had recurred. Taking a deep breath, he pushed off the arms and helped his father with the heavy tray.

  “It’s good to see you again so soon,” Gray said.

  After depositing the tray, he gave his father a long hug around the shoulders. His last trip to see Rafe had involved a brief overnight stay. Hardly long enough for a proper visit with his father.

  “I can’t tell you how much better I’ve slept the past weeks knowing you’ve been safe in England, son.” Lionel ducked his face but couldn’t hide his glimmering eyes. His father took a seat next to Lily, who poured their tea and thankfully stayed silent on his recent trip to across the channel.

  Looking at Lionel, Gray imagined himself in thirty odd years. They shared the same build, same black hair—although Lionel’s was sprinkled with white now—and the same features. Except for his eyes. Instead of Lionel’s brown, his mother’s unusually vivid green eyes met him every morning in his shaving glass.

  “I’m not sure London is much safer,” Gray said dryly, retaking his seat across from his father and Lily.

  Lily held out his cup and saucer, two lemon tarts tucked around the side. “Mrs. Potts must have sent them especially for you, Gray. You were always her favorite. A flash of your adorable dimples, and she’d offer you the entire batch.”

  Their hands brushed on the exchange. Adorable? He touched his cheek, even though a confused frown hid his dimples. She took a sip from her cup, her color high, and cast a look at him through her lashes. What was she playing at? If she hadn’t been talking about kissing other men, he might wonder if she were…flirting.

  “The news from the war front hasn’t been good. Things seem grim,” his father said.

  “War is grim no matter if the news is good or bad. However, the tide is turning our way. Boney can’t hold out indefinitely.”

  Lily popped a lemon tart in her mouth. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes with a small hum of pleasure. Wood creaked beneath Gray as he searched for a more comfortable position.

  “He’s overextended his reach and is being spread too thin,” he added.

  She licked any trace of sugar off her fingers.

  “His…his ambition will be his downfall in the end.” His voice grew more and more constricted.

  “The end can’t come soon enough,” his father said.

  Gray swallowed a gulp of tea and moved the miniscule cup to his lap to hide his rapidly growing problem. Innocently sensual, she had no idea how simply eating a tart affected him. This wouldn’t do.

  In a voice that sounded an octave lower than normal, he said, “Lily, I don’t suppose you’d give Father and me a chance to talk in private?”

  She smoothed her dress over her knees before popping off the seat. “I need to see Mrs. Devlin about dinner preparations anyway.” Both men rose until she turned the corner out of sight.

  Lionel broke the silence. “You and Lily seem to be getting on a sight better than when you were young.”

  “She’s not quite as vexing as she used to be, I suppose.”

  “Gray,” Lionel admonished in a tone only a father can replicate. “She’s grown into quite a beauty. Honestly, I didn’t think it was possible. She was such an awkward little thing, always hiding in the woods. I blame the earl. He never saw her worth. He only saw her as an extension of her mother’s betrayal.”

  Gray drained his teacup, set it down with a clatter and sat back to study his father. “Hi
ding? She was constantly under my feet, raising hell left and right. I think I became a spy because I’d already learned to sneak around to avoid her.”

  “No, you became a spy because the earl groomed you to be one. You weren’t given a choice.” Long-suppressed anger snaked into his father’s tone and made the words bite with resentment.

  Gray wasn’t sure when he realized the earl had a plan for him. Perhaps during his special lessons. Perhaps not until he’d offered to send Gray to Eton alongside Rafe. Although they had been childhood friends, his father was the earl’s steward. Paying for Gray’s tuition at Eton went beyond warm-hearted kindness to an old friend and employee. Lionel had recognized the danger. All Gray had recognized was opportunity and freedom.

  Gray didn’t resent the earl’s machinations. His life would have followed the staid, uneventful path of his father otherwise. Very likely, he would have ended up as Rafe’s steward. He and his father would never agree. As a way to change the subject but also curious, he asked, “Did you have the chance to review the ledgers and the earl’s correspondence?”

  “I made a list of visitors, but they were all known to me. No one outside of local gentry. Vicar Appleby. Lord Penhaven. Several of the tenants.”

  “Penhaven. He’s been Lily’s constant shadow in London. He and the earl didn’t even get on, did they? Any idea what their business might have been?”

  “Not for certain, but I do know the earl planned to make a match for Lily. Baron Humphries and his son Algernon were here twice.”

  A flash of a pasty, rotund young man with spots sprang to mind. “He considered Algernon as a match for Lily? Did the earl go queer in the attic?”

  “Something brewed between Lily and the earl over the entire visit. It erupted on that last evening. The study door fairly shook with the force of their argument. I shooed everyone away. Now I wish I’d stayed to listen.” Lionel shook his head and spun his teacup in the saucer.

  “She’s adamant on helping find her father. Do you think she knows more than she’s admitting?” The decorative painting of a blue sky on the ceiling made Gray wish for the simplicity of a ride under the real thing.