An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1

by Laura Trentham

“Where are your drawers?” he repeated, pausing between each word.

  “I don’t wear them.” She pulled at his hair, but he resisted.

  “Never?”

  “Not when it’s warm out. They’re cumbersome. Does it matter? Kiss me again, please.” Why did he want to discuss her unmentionables at a time like this?

  “At tea time, at dinner, walking in the park…no drawers.”

  “You make it sound sinful.”

  “How in Hades are you still a maiden?” His eyes fairly glowed.

  She cupped his cheek and smoothed a thumb over his thick, dark eyebrow. “You’re the first man to check whether or not I wear drawers.”

  His hips bucked, and the hard ridge in his breeches ground against the very place that ached.

  “You’re killing me. And if you don’t finish me off, your brother will.”

  If she was killing him, why did he continue rocking against her? Every movement of his hips fueled a rising tension in her body, and she was becoming frantic to assuage the unidentified need.

  “Gray, please, I want…” She had no idea. She wet her lips, finding them swollen and tender.

  He removed his hand from under her skirts and wrapped her close, pressing his face into her neck. “You’re too innocent to know what you want, aren’t you? How I wish I could show you.” His voice was muffled, but the slight brush of his lips on her skin sent ripples of pleasure down her spine, making her shiver.

  “Why can’t you?”

  He lifted his head. Something between regret and frustration lined his face, marking the difference in their years and experience. “I’m not a suitable man for you. I should never have kissed you. The earl and your brother will want you to marry a peer. My job is dangerous and has me leaving at a moment’s notice for months on end. I can’t be worried about anyone but me. I can’t afford to care, to have a burden waiting. I don’t have room in my life for entanglements.”

  His words seeped into her consciousness like water through sand. She stiffened and punched his shoulder with the heel of her hand as he’d taught her. He grunted and stepped back, his hands no longer supporting her. Her jellylike legs fell to the ground, trembling and weak. It was lucky she still had something to lean on, or she might crumple to the floor. She smoothed her wrinkled skirts back to her ankles, buying herself time to clear the haze of awakened desire from her mind.

  Righteous anger, fueled by unsatisfied passion, hardened her voice. “Does no one care about what I want? Am I to be the pawn on every man’s board? Powerless, a sacrifice?”

  “Rafe wants you to be happy, he—”

  “He loves me. I know he does, but it doesn’t change the fact he’s like Father and wants me off his plate. Wants me settled. Like I’m a horse to be tamed. I give him credit for leaving me a choice, but it’s really a very limited one. What if I wish to marry the blacksmith’s son? Even more shocking, what if I don’t wish to marry at all? What if I wish to become an actress? Or a painter? Or a spy?”

  His lips, which had turned slowly into a small smile at her diatribe, dropped immediately. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”

  She’d hit a vein, and like a wolf circling for the kill, she ripped it further. “Why not? I already have skills that surpass most recruits, I’d say. Surely Hawkins could find some use for a wealthy, titled woman in his schemes.”

  “Rafe wouldn’t allow it. He’d lock you away.” He couldn’t hide his desperation.

  “I’d pick the lock.” She crossed her arms and propped a hip on the desk. Her swinging leg swirled her skirts.

  “What have we unleashed?” he asked the ceiling or perhaps the universe.

  “A woman with a brain? How unfashionable of you.” She kept her tone deliberately patronizing.

  She was done with men and their machinations. On legs that were still unsteady, she tried to stalk past him, shooting him the withering glance she’d learned from Minerva. Gray stepped in front of her and stopped her forward progress. They regarded each other as prizefighters.

  “Can we concentrate on finding your father? For the duration of the Season, don’t worry about making a match and don’t consider contacting Hawkins. Can we at least agree on that?” His conciliatory tone sounded false.

  She examined him for sincerity, but he’d managed to clear his face of all emotion. She wanted to punch the blank slate of his face and summon some sort of emotion, even if it was anger. “I suppose we can. Don’t try to cut me out of the investigation after we return to London, or all promises are nullified.”

  “Understood. I wouldn’t waste my time training you if I planned to exclude you.”

  She huffed, not entirely convinced, and stepped around him.

  With her hand on the door handle, he asked gruffly, “Was it up to snuff, do you think?”

  Glad her back was to him, her entire body lit on fire like a spark in a dry forest. Her breathing quickened and her palms dampened.

  “It was…” mind-numbing, eye-opening, extraordinary, “…adequate.”

  She flung the door open and escaped to her room, her feet moving faster than decorum dictated. Deep, resonant laughter followed her the entire way.

  After tossing herself to her stomach for the hundredth time, Lily gave up. She pulled her night rail on, lit a taper from the embers in her grate and tiptoed downstairs. It was all Gray’s fault. The blackguard had awakened something that had been lying contentedly dormant. Now it craved appeasement, but she didn’t know how. He did though. He just refused to show her.

  She never did open the last drawer in the davenport. In the dim circle of light offered by her candle and with silence echoing in her ears, she skipped into the drawing room, closed the door and held the candle up high, her hand shaky. Threats seemed to lurk in every shadow.

  She parted the draperies and pushed open a window. The stream of moonlight into the room calmed her frazzled nerves. A faint breeze carried the trill of nightingales and the chirp of crickets. An animal rustled in the bushes, spooked by her movements. The rabbit’s quick jump into the garden startled a pair of doves into flight. She wasn’t alone. Life teemed in the night.

  Where was her father? Could he see the same moon? Feel the same breeze? Or was he buried under a mound of dirt never to be found?

  With renewed purpose, Lily turned to the davenport. The picks were scattered on the top where they’d been dropped without consideration. She splayed her hands on the desktop, her stomach fluttering.

  Fixing her concentration on opening the last drawer, she shoved her confusion and frustration aside. The lock was complicated and intricate. She imagined the tiny mechanism inside and the push and tug required to reveal the drawer’s secrets.

  The eventual click made her smile. Reflex had her opening the drawer even though she expected it to be empty like all the others. It wasn’t. Her heartbeat picked up, and she pulled out a flat bundle tied with a black leather strip.

  She retreated to the window with her candle to examine the packet. Letters. The top one was addressed to her father, the handwriting distinctly feminine. A debate raged briefly in her head, but wasn’t violating her father’s privacy a minor invasion if it provided a clue to his whereabouts?

  The leather tie broke apart in her hands, which meant the letters were old and probably useless to their investigation. Still, curiosity raged. The wax seal of the first letter crumbled on opening, another testament to their age. She angled the letter to the light and read, My Darling Husband as the salutation. Her gaze darted to the bottom and found her mother’s name written with a flourish, Victoria.

  Tears burned up her throat, and she blinked to clear her vision. She read from the beginning, savoring the words of her otherwise unknown mother. The first few lines described the progress of the baby. Never was it referred to by name, but according to the date, she must be the baby. Then the tone changed.
/>   A love letter.

  I yearn for the press of your body over mine. It has been too many months since we enjoyed a lazy morning in bed, never opening the bed curtains so the servants won’t be shocked at our scandalous behavior. Although surely they hear my cries of pleasure.

  Lily fanned herself with the letter even though no one could see her blushes. She put it aside for the moment and sorted through the rest. Most were in her mother’s hand, but one displayed her father’s bold script. She opened it next.

  The years had worn creases through long lines of words.

  My love, I long to ride between your legs and fly us both to heaven. Alas, my work prevents it. I may be called away for a month or more, but rest assured, I will return as soon as I am able. You are the dearest thing in my heart, and know another could never take your place. I yearn only for you. I love only you.

  Deep, abiding feeling seemed imbued in the very ink. Even now, twenty years later, it seemed obvious the two of them loved one another and enjoyed a great passion. Empathy for her father curled around her guilt. He must have been crushed by her mother’s defection with another man. His meanness couldn’t be excused, yet…

  She read every letter. Why did she leave him? A few scant months after the last letter, she rode off with a lover. Was she really so fickle and inconstant? Was that why the earl’s voice filled with disdain when he compared Lily to Victoria?

  She bundled the letters back together. The long carriage ride to London would give her ample time to study all the letters at length. Careful to keep the candle a long way from the dry, brittle paper, she retreated to her room to snatch a few hours of sleep, but it was a long time coming.

  Chapter Nine

  “Have you uncovered any other leads?” Rafe propped boots on the desk and laced fingers behind his head. Rafe’s London study was remarkably similar to the study at Wintermarsh in miniature.

  “Nothing, and it makes me uneasy. Gilmore’s link is tenuous at best.” Gray toyed with an ornate letter opener. His hands reflected his restless mind.

  They’d arrived in London three days prior, and Gray had spent his days and nights unraveling a number of threads that had led nowhere. Even as he’d wandered through seedy taverns searching for information about the earl, he’d not been fully focused on the task. Instead, he wondered what Lily was getting up to. She was turning into a dangerous distraction.

  “You’re attending the Matthews’ musicale this evening, aren’t you?” Rafe asked.

  “I’ll be skulking about, if that’s what you mean.”

  “You’ve prepared Lily?” Worry pulled at Rafe’s words.

  “As well as I can, given the time constraints. We can’t expect her to act an expert operative. Tonight we’ll see how good her instincts are. People are unpredictable, but as long as she stays in the crowd, she’ll be safe.”

  “What about Hawkins? Have you managed to get into his office?”

  “The man is too shrewd to keep anything of importance where I might discover it. Plus, I have a hard time picturing Hawkins disposing of one of his more valuable assets.” Gray waved his hand, brushing the notion aside.

  “You’re too trusting.” Rafe delivered the insult in a low, taunting voice.

  “You’d be the first to accuse me of that particular shortcoming. Based on the rather savage look I received the next morning, Hawkins was surely aware someone tossed his office. The man is hardly an idiot.”

  “If you suddenly receive a suicide mission, you’ll know for sure.” Rafe’s dry chuckle contained a hint of true warning.

  While Gray was valuable to the Crown, he was also expendable to a certain degree with no title to keep him safe. He closed his eyes and riffled through the meager evidence he’d gathered, a sense of urgency pressing at his subconscious. “Something isn’t sitting well. There’s no trail of money, no active mission, no current lovers. We’re missing something important. Something obvious.”

  Rafe dropped his feet back to the floor. “Probably. We’ll ferret it out soon enough. Now, come look at how the ship is progressing.”

  Gray leaned over Rafe’s shoulder and whistled appreciatively at the sketch and specifications.

  Lily glided through the door in a whirl of satin. His gaze flicked up, the listing of proposed trade routes forgotten. He straightened slowly and took in the vision standing in front of them. The seductive scent of rosewater enveloped him on the stirred air.

  Excitement vibrated the air.

  “I’m off to the musicale.” She ran gold gloves through her hands.

  With echoes of a priggish parson in his voice, Gray said, “You are not wearing that.”

  “You look lovely,” Rafe said on top of him.

  Gray propped his fists on the desk and swiveled his head toward Rafe. “Are you blind or just daft? That dress is indecent.”

  “Indecent? Granted, I haven’t circulated in a few Seasons, but her dress looks perfectly suitable. She’s not fresh out of the schoolroom. She can wear something besides white.”

  “Been keeping up with the ladies’ pattern books, have you? It’s not the color I object to. It’s all of that…” Gray made vague hand motions at Lily’s chest and then slapped his palm back on the desk.

  “While there’s nothing quite like hearing the two of you discuss my décolletage, for your information, Gray Masterson, there’s nothing wrong with all of this.” She waved a hand over the front of her dress. “It will be nowhere near the most revealing gown. This is a more sophisticated crowd, and I don’t want to appear a virginal country bumpkin.”

  “But that’s exactly what you are.” Seeing her eyes light on fire made him regret his poor choice of words.

  She looked bloody gorgeous. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do first, throttle her, pull the neckline of her dress to her chin or drag her to the nearest bed, wall or convenient rug. Her braided hair was wrapped in a coronet on top of her head and threaded with gold ribbons. Several tendrils curled suggestively down her exposed neck.

  Mirroring the braids in her hair, intricately woven gold satin bands ran under her bosom, tying at the shoulders, giving the illusion the dark red dress would fall to the ground with two quick pulls. Her breasts swelled provocatively above the scooped neck, but Rafe was correct, the frock was incredibly lovely and perfectly decent.

  The longer his gaze roved, the less secure his hold on the threads of his control. He had an indecent urge to untie the straps, let the dress slowly inch down to hang on her nipples and then to slide it lower still, following the path with his mouth. Most of the men at that blasted musicale would be fighting the same urges, and he would be stuck in the shadows, unable to stake his claim.

  Is that what he wanted? To stake his claim? Why couldn’t she have grown up into a hook-nosed, bacon-faced spinster with spots?

  “Gray, are you listening? I asked if you had instructions for Lily.” Rafe snapped in Gray’s face, obviously wondering what was wrong with him. Gray was wondering the same.

  Lily ignored him entirely and tugged on the gloves, her movements choppy and irritated.

  “You are to question Lady Matthews. Remember your lessons. I’ll search the study after the music begins. That should minimize the chance of being caught.” He tried to keep his mind on task, but watching her hand smooth the glove up her arm made things difficult.

  “What about Lord Matthews?” She jammed a hand into her second glove.

  “If you get the opportunity, question him. Don’t go anywhere alone with him.” His warning gained him a ferocious look.

  Aunt Edie’s singsong voice carried to them from the entry. “Lily. Are you ready, my dear?”

  “Quite.” Lily spun and strode out the door, her skirts trailing behind her.

  Gray followed in her rose-scented wake. The butler settled a cloak around her shoulders and she crossed the threshold into the chilly n
ight.

  “Lily,” Gray called out.

  She stopped and waited, her face in profile.

  “Take care.”

  He barely heard her whisper, “You as well,” and then she was gone into the night.

  Lily reminded herself she attended the soirée to work not play. Walls were folded back and furniture moved to the edges of the room. Chairs faced a dais with a pianoforte. Aunt Edie cackled with several dowagers on a corner settee while Lily swirled with experienced, urbane ladies and gentleman of Society. Scandalously flirtatious talk peppered the conversation. Champagne flowed freely, and no one looked askance when she reached for a second glass.

  Positioning herself in Lady Matthews’s line of sight, she sipped her champagne and waited. Lady Matthews kept glancing in her direction as she hopped from group to group, coming ever nearer. The lady looked…curious, no fear or guilt marred her expression when she finally approached.

  “Lady Lily, I’m delighted you accepted my invitation and, if you don’t mind me saying, you have quite the look of your dear papa about you.”

  The lady smoothed ice-blonde hair untouched by grey with a heavily bejeweled hand. Close to sixty, she looked easily fifteen years younger. Her provocatively low-cut cerulean gown highlighted her hair and blue eyes.

  Dazzled by the other woman’s sophistication and elegance, Lily dropped a small curtsy and returned a nervous smile. “Thank you for inviting me, Lady Matthews. You’ve assembled quite a party.”

  Her laugh lilted with a false gaiety. “I have, haven’t I? Usually inviting debutantes to my functions is not especially apropos. However, seeing you take the ton by storm this year, I couldn’t help myself. I can certainly see the fascination. You’re quite lovely and have a certain wide-eyed joie de vivre about you.”

  How could Lily help but be charmed? Her face warmed and she shuffled her feet, off balance. “Thank you very much. You are too kind.”

  “Tell me, Lady Lily, have you heard from your father recently?”

  The game had turned on her, and she silently cursed her naivety. “Not for some time. Have you?”