An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1

by Laura Trentham

  “Why would asking Lady Matthews about the theater make her uncomfortable?”

  “Lord Matthews enjoys the theater very much.” Amusement flavored his statement.

  “I…see.” She felt as if she were missing the punchline of the joke.

  “Do you?” A small smile turned the corners of his mouth. “You were interested in what I was doing in France, yes? Try to find out.”

  She huffed. “This is hardly fair, Gray. For one thing, you’re an expert, and for another, you know what I’m trying to do.”

  “This is practice. Just try.” He was the picture of self-satisfaction.

  Throw him off balance. If they were in a boat, she would throw him over the side to wipe the smug smile off his face. Inspiration struck. Dare she? He waggled his brows with thinly veiled amusement. That cinched it.

  “I was introduced to one of your close friends while I was shopping on Bond Street, Mr. Masterson.”

  “Were you? I hope they only had nice things to say.”

  “Indeed, very nice. Mrs. Bruster was quite complimentary.”

  His body went from lax to taut in an instant. It wasn’t that he changed positions. It was rather that every muscle readied itself for flight. “You met Mrs. Bruster?”

  “So kind of you to take such an interest in her welfare. Losing a husband so young must have been terrible. How long had they been married?”

  “Only a few months,” he replied woodenly.

  His intimate knowledge had her throat closing. Penhaven hadn’t been gossip mongering, after all. “It sounds as if you and Mrs. Bruster are quite cozy.”

  Only the ticking of the mantle clock and the creaking of his chair broke the silence. Mrs. Bruster was probably the nicest, most beautiful woman in England. She probably volunteered with orphans and fed the downtrodden between Gray’s visits to her bed.

  Lily hated her.

  “Mrs. Bruster is your mistress,” she lilted, halfway between a statement and a question.

  “Mistress? Whatever do you mean?” He sounded more panicked than shocked.

  “A bit ’o muslin, a trollop, a doxy, a ladybird, a lightskirt, a Bird of Paradise, your light o’ love—”

  “I am fully aware of what a mistress is.” He rubbed at the sweat suddenly dotting his forehead. “Who the devil told you about Daphne?”

  “Daphne, is it? How long has she been in your keeping?”

  “If you must know, the lady in question was never in my keeping. She was left financially independent on the death of her husband.” He laced his hands behind his neck, closed his eyes and looked as if he were attempting to wish himself away. “We shared a mutually beneficial relationship.”

  “I see. Do you visit the lady often?”

  “I haven’t seen her for over a year. She’s due to marry a banker, and I couldn’t be happier for her. She’s very kind.” His gaze snapped back to hers. “You shouldn’t cast aspersions. Obviously, you’re too innocent and child-like to understand adult desires.”

  His condescension pricked her temper, and her tongue ran faster than her good sense. “How do you take care of your adult desires now? Do you visit brothels?”

  “For the love of—” Gray fisted his hands in his hair.

  Through her anger and hurt, she recognized something else. Off balance? She’d say so.

  “Did you encounter any of the earl’s old comrades in France?”

  “I saw—” He clamped his mouth shut and his green eyes flared with both frustration and admiration. He wagged a finger at her, and she sat back mirroring the smug smile he wore earlier. “That was…artful, Lily. Inappropriate, but artful nonetheless.”

  “It almost worked. Whom did you see in France? Didn’t I earn some information?”

  “Along with some unrelated business for Hawkins, I visited with a man named Jacques, who’s worked as an informant for years. He and your father were friends. As much as anyone could be a friend of the earl.”

  “What did you discover?”

  “Confirmed what we already suspected. We can safely assume the earl is in England, hence our interest in Gilmore and Matthews.”

  “We need to be in London.” Her anxiety rose and forced her to her feet.

  “We’re leaving soon enough. First, you have more lessons.”

  “What’s next?”

  “Rafe taught you some defensive moves. What exactly did you learn?” He stood and faced her, crooking his fingers in a come-and-get-me gesture.

  Her gaze darted to either side of the room. “Are you encouraging me to attack you?”

  “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” he replied with a smirk. “Come show me where Rafe taught you to target.”

  She stepped close and laid her right hand in the center of his breastbone. “Here.”

  Without removing it, she snaked her left hand to his lower back. “Here.”

  His heart thumped, and she slipped her fingertips under the lapel of his waistcoat, nearly igniting them. His lips parted and his eyelids dropped. Shuffling forward another inch, she added in a whisper, “And your…dangly bits.”

  He blinked and then dissolved into laughter. “My what?”

  Lily dropped her hands and stepped back, heat prickling her face. “You know…between your legs…down there.” She vaguely waved a finger toward his crotch. “Rafe said it was a very sensitive area. What should I call it?”

  His mouth opened and closed a few times before words emerged. “Let’s stick with dangly bits. Those are three very overt targets to incapacitate a man, but you may need a more subtle method.”

  “What do you mean? Rafe told me to ram my knee into a man’s dangly bits and run.”

  His lips twitched and his eyes crinkled. The sight of imminent laughter—at her expense, no less—should have made her angry. Instead, years melted away, leaving a girlish satisfaction at making him happy.

  He erased any amusement from his face and backed up several steps. “Trapped in a garden with a rake bent on ruination, that would be true. But you may not want your adversary to know you suspect his motivations. Again you want to throw them off balance, this time in a more literal sense. Let me demonstrate.”

  He sauntered toward her, and she shuffled backward, not sure what sort of game was afoot. When he was less than three feet away, he stumbled. His full weight wasn’t behind him or she would have bounced to the floor. Instead, she tottered, almost able to regain her balance. A subtle tug on her ankle sent her falling backward.

  Gray wound his arms around her and reversed her plunge. Her heart trotted from the surprise and picked up to a gallop once she was confronted with Gray’s neck a few inches away. The deep breaths that should have calmed her only made her more aware of his heat and muscles and…maleness.

  She wanted to pull away and move closer at the same time. In her confusion, she stayed static, holding his lapels. He pried her fingers loose and stepped back. She wrapped her hands around either elbow to hide their trembles.

  “Did you take note?” His face was a bland mask.

  “Y-your foot pulled at my ankle.”

  “Yes. Try it.”

  “On you? Right now?”

  One brief nod from him was her answer. She would have to bump into his hard, warm body. Buying herself time, she rolled her head and stretched her arms overhead.

  Twin red slashes appeared on his cheeks. His face was no longer bland. His jaw had tensed, and his gaze wandered somewhere below her neck. Surely Gray wasn’t as susceptible as other gentlemen to the allure of her décolletage?

  “Come on then. We don’t have all morning.” Impatience and frustration marked his tone.

  She took small steps toward him and imitated his stumble, but he’d braced for impact. She curled a foot around his ankle and pulled. His foot left the ground, and he swayed but didn’t fall.

>   Stepping back, he grunted and pulled at his bottom lip, his gaze assessing. She laced her fingers and rocked on her feet. This was worse than waiting for Vicar Appleby, her old tutor, to give his verdict on an essay. “Good. Had I not expected it, I would have fallen. You need to make sure you aren’t pulled down as well. Don’t grab onto lapels or arms.”

  Pleasure blossomed at his estimation. “I’ll take care. What else should I know?”

  “Give me your hand.”

  She held it out supple and relaxed as if offering it for a kiss. He clasped it roughly around her wrist, turning it and rolling her fingers down. “Don’t lead a punch with your fingers, use this,” he tapped the heel of her palm, “and aim here.” His tapping finger moved to the bridge of his nose.

  “You’ve been hit there before.” She examined the knot on the bridge of his nose. It was even more apparent without his spectacles.

  “A few times. Occupational hazard.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back and walked to the window overlooking the garden. The panels were open, and she joined him with a small hesitant hitch. Spring growth overran the paths, and an abundance of bees streaked by, hard at work. A soft breeze bearing the scent of newly blossomed flowers tickled the hair at her nape and ruffled the lace at her wrists.

  “Don’t for a moment think you can defend yourself against a man who truly seeks to do you harm, Lily.” His warning was as pointed as a bee’s stinger.

  Danger was an abstract concept. Certainly during the carriage attack she’d experienced it. But never in close quarters. Danger wasn’t abstract to Gray. It was real and immediate and constant. Her gaze dropped to the white scar on his neck and then to his hands and the scars running across the backs. What horrors had he witnessed?

  “We’ll work on one more lesson. You need to practice with locks.” He pointed to the davenport sitting against the wall.

  She frequently used the desk to compose letters or write in her journal. The earl had commissioned the piece in London. Double rows of drawers lined both sides of the burled oak desk. Each drawer had its own lock, but she’d never seen a set of keys.

  “You want me to open the drawers?”

  He pulled out a set of picks and laid them atop the desk. “Every single one. I’ll be back to check on your progress.”

  Without another word or a backward glance, he was gone. It was better this way. Picking a lock required total concentration, and with Gray’s sizzling energy distracting her, she would be sure to fail.

  Gray smoothed back his damp hair, took a deep breath, and peeked around the doorjamb into the drawing room. His dip in the chilly pond had done wonders for his tattered self-control. Between talking about physical needs and having Lily’s body pressed close, he hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything but base desires.

  Lily hadn’t noticed him yet. Her face was a study in concentration, brows drawn in and teeth worrying her lips, keeping them red and moist. Combs held her hair in check, but part of the thick mass obscured the white slope of her neck and delicate collarbone.

  She worked the picks in synchronicity. Her focus was the most difficult lock of the set. He glided into the room and kept the settee between them as if it offered some protection from her allure.

  Christ, she was beautiful and brave and made him laugh…and she wanted to be his friend. One of the pathetic beaus orbiting her sphere would be the first to kiss her, the first to awaken her sensual nature, the first to bed her. She deserved to be a duchess and rule London. Logically, an arranged marriage made perfect sense.

  But the completely illogical part of him, situated somewhere between his legs, scoffed. It was only a kiss, after all. She wanted a basis of comparison, she said so herself. Why not offer himself up as illustration?

  She straightened from her task and blew a stray tendril off her forehead with a gust of air. “I give up. What’s the trick? Will you show me?”

  Less than five minutes in the room together, and he was back where he started. He wanted to kiss her. Why deny it? Why not surrender, at least temporarily, to the madness she inspired? Turning back to the door, he closed it with a soft snick.

  He moved faster now that the decision had been made. Standing behind her, he brushed her hair over one shoulder, leaving a side of her neck bare. “Let’s try it this way,” he whispered.

  He wrapped his fingers around hers, surprised not to see the sparks that made his fingers twitch. The full length of his body pressed against hers, and her sweet, rounded bottom notched into his pelvis.

  “Like this?” She leaned over the desk, her voice trilling high. Somehow, their entwined fingers found the lock. His moved on instinct alone.

  His body curved over hers. She would have no idea how tempting their position was. His erection had grown to undeniable proportions, and he canted his hips away. He didn’t want to send her screaming from the room.

  Their fingers worked clumsily, but he didn’t care. His lips sought the warmth of her skin but stopped an inch away from her neck. Slow, deep breaths of rose-scented woman escalated his desire. Never letting his lips touch her, he skimmed them down her neck to her exposed collarbone and back up to her temple. Fine hairs along her nape stood at attention, aware of his sly machinations.

  At some point, they gave up the pretense. Their hands dropped to the top of the davenport, their fingers still tangled. Finally, he allowed his lips to fall to her neck. The kiss he laid beneath her ear made her wriggle back into him. Her head notched into his shoulder, and her buttocks cradled his erection. She didn’t scream but let out a breathy moan.

  He allowed his lips to follow his earlier path, this time dropping small kisses, licks or nips along her bare skin.

  “G-Gray, is this a lesson?”

  Perhaps it was. He spun her and lifted her to sit on the sloped top of the desk. Shoving her knees apart, he filled the void with his hips. She grasped the sides of the desk.

  He needed to slow down, calm down. He wove his hands through her hair, thumbs framing her face. Her eyes were enormous pools of uncertainty, lips parted in shock. This was her first kiss. He should be tender, say something romantic and soothing.

  “Lily,” he said, his voice like gritty sandpaper, “if I find you in a garden kissing one of those other fools, I’ll rip their bloody arms off. Do I make myself clear?”

  A small sound of acknowledgement escaped her throat.

  With effort, he didn’t allow his mouth to crash down on hers but tightened his hands in her hair with a desperation he didn’t understand. He wanted to plunge his tongue inside her mouth as a claiming. Instead, he forced his lips to settle over hers with insincere gentleness.

  Soft and pliant, her lips tamed his frenzy until, instead of domination, he sought to give pleasure. Brushing his lips back and forth over hers, he drew her full lower lip between his and sucked. She slipped her hands under his arms, curling them around his shoulders.

  In equal amounts of ardor and innocence, she returned his kiss. Her explorations gave him time to seize control over his urges. Mimicking his play, she sucked on his bottom lip. He darted his tongue over her top lip, foretelling his intentions. She opened her eyes, inhaled against his mouth and whispered his name.

  He released his hold on her hair and cupped her face. “Close your eyes and open your mouth for me. Do you want a real kiss or not?” Simmering raw, elemental desire hid behind his teasing voice.

  A trust he didn’t deserve radiated from her blue eyes before she obeyed, closing them and parting her lips. His tongue made gentle forays inside her mouth. Startled at the invasion, she pulled her tongue back, and he rumbled deep in his chest. Like with all her lessons, she was a quick study, and soon she stroked her tongue boldly against his. A low groan escaped his throat.

  She ran her hands up his chest and wrapped them with a clutching intensity around his neck. Her body flowed against his like mo
lten metal, and like metal, his cock responded in kind.

  One hand left her face to press into her back, arching her even farther into his chest. The other slipped under her skirts to grasp a silk-covered calf. Smothering the echoes of his father’s warnings, he lifted the hem of her dress higher, needing to feel the tantalizing bare skin of her thigh. An inch would surely satisfy this compulsion.

  Questing fingers brushed soft, naked skin. His lips craved the same, and he dropped kisses along her neck. Her head lolled back, thrusting her breasts upward.

  He spread his fingers wide over her outer thigh. As soon as he brushed the lawn of her drawers, he would retreat. Except his fingers continued onward until they curled around her bare hip. His passion-fogged brain slowly processed the implications.

  “Where are your goddamn drawers?”

  She was completely adrift in sensation, his kiss a revelation. His initial frantic roughness had made her heart skip from fear and her body squirm in arousal. How was that possible? The gentleness he’d shown afterward had undone any pathetic notion she’d entertained at keeping him at arm’s length. They had never been friends and never would be. But perhaps they could be something else entirely.

  His warm, cinnamon-scented breaths had heated her as he drew her lower lip between his and sucked. Her toes had curled at the sensations zinging down every limb. The invasion of his tongue had been startling and foreign, but she had quickly adapted and even mounted her own attack, twining her tongue around his. She couldn’t seem to get close enough.

  His hands on her body left fiery trails of awareness in their wake. She wouldn’t have been surprised if her dress spontaneously combusted and fell to ash around their feet. Indeed, she rather hoped it would.

  His callused hand on her leg ever so slowly inched upward until the squeeze on her hip made her wiggle. The juncture of her legs throbbed uncomfortably. Clenching her muscles only made her more aware of an indefinable emptiness.