“So the gentlemen inform me,” she replied with bitter humor.
Lily verified Aunt Edie still dozed in a cushioned chair by the window. “I searched Gilmore’s study, but he came across me before I could escape.”
“What in heavens did you do?” Minerva toyed with the cameo at her throat.
“Gray swooped in like an avenging angel and looked like he might butcher him. Let’s just say, Mr. Masterson was none too pleased with my efforts. But I did discover Gilmore has a meeting with Baron Whitmire at Fieldstones.”
“Is that a gambling house?”
“Something like that.” If Minerva knew it was a house of ill repute, she might balk at helping. The lie settled heavy on her conscience. “I need your assistance in procuring a dress. Something bordering on scandalous. I need to blend in.”
It said something about Minerva’s dispassionate objectivity when she didn’t reflect an ounce of shock. “You’ll need a wig and mask as well, I suppose. Will your brother or Mr. Masterson be attending with you?”
“Gray will be in attendance.” Not a lie, but Lily dropped her gaze away just the same.
Minerva clapped her hands and looked nothing like her moniker of the ice princess. “How deliciously romantic.”
“Romantic? There’s nothing romantic about it. This involves our investigation of Father’s disappearance.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she said breezily.
“What the devil are you implying?” Lily froze at Aunt Edie’s rustling.
Minerva leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s rather obvious. I hear something different in your voice when you talk of him. You’ve shown positively no interest in any of your London suitors. Montbatton is handsome, rich and nice, but you can hardly stomach him.”
“If Montbatton is so wonderful, you marry him then.”
“Fine. We’ll see how everything plays out in the end. Come along, let’s discuss your needs with Drake.” Minerva rose and smoothed her perfectly coiffed golden hair back.
“Who?”
“Maxwell Drake, my man of affairs. He’ll procure you a dress.”
“I thought you could pop around to that haughty Frenchwoman and pick one out for me.” Lily followed Minerva across the vast, cold entryway to the study.
“‘Lady Minerva Bellingham commissions a demirep’s gown.’ How long would it take that news to travel? No, much easier for Drake to make the purchase. If anyone pays a bit of attention, they’ll assume Drake has taken a mistress.”
Her words startled a dark-haired, handsome man sitting behind the desk. His head popped up. “They’ll assume what?” he asked in a lilting Scottish accent.
Minerva waved her hand. “It’s not important. Drake, my friend requires a costume. Something befitting a demirep, including wig and mask. She mustn’t be recognized. Can you handle the arrangements?”
The man behind the desk examined her head to foot. “Turn,” he commanded curtly. Lily spun in a slow circle feeling a bit like a doll. “When is it needed?”
Minerva turned to Lily with raised brows. “The party is Tuesday evening,” Lily said.
He nodded and returned his focus to the ledger. A man of few words, Minerva’s Mr. Drake.
“Come on then, before your aunt awakens and finds us gone.” Minerva sashayed out, and with a final look at the taciturn Scot, Lily followed.
Chapter Thirteen
Agonized waiting filled the next few days. Her sleep was interrupted time and again by small noises. She alternatively dreaded and hoped Gray would make a nighttime appearance at her window. He didn’t.
Rafe was surprisingly reticent about her ruination at Gray’s hands. Undemanding, he kept their conversations light and inconsequential, as if waiting for something more important to begin. It was almost as if the night had never happened.
But her body remembered. In quiet moments, her mind trailed over everything they’d done, and her body flushed with arousal and frustration.
Finally, the evening arrived, and after dismissing Penny, Lily ran up the steps to the Duke of Bellingham’s front door. For a moment, Penny looked mutinous, but the man finally snapped the reins and drove away. After handing her cloak off to the butler, he directed her to Minerva’s bedchambers.
A combination of nerves and bravado made her hand tremble as she rapped sharply on the door. “Minerva? It’s Lily.”
The door whooshed open, and an eddy of lavender-scented air pulled her inside. “Come look at your dress. Drake positively outdid himself. He missed his calling.” Minerva sounded as giddy as a child faced with a roomful of sweets.
The dress hung from the tall looking glass. The demure midnight-blue color couldn’t disguise the scandalous cut. A gauzy overlay sparkled subtly and shimmery silver ribbons trimmed the bodice. Mere puffs of satin, the sleeves would leave her shoulders bare. It would be by far the most revealing piece of clothing she had ever worn or even seen worn in public.
“What about under things? What I have on isn’t going to work at all,” she said.
“Drake thought of everything. It will require stays though.” Minerva picked through the pile of fabric on her dressing table and held up a set of laced stays. Lily’s feet remained planted and something on her face must have alerted Minerva. “Not having second thoughts, are you?”
“No?” The quaver in her voice emphasized her sudden uncertainty.
“Come now, Mr. Masterson will be waiting, and no one will recognize you. Everyone there will be gentlemen. I’m rather jealous. What an adventure you’ll have.”
Lily didn’t correct Minerva’s misconceptions. She pulled in a deep breath and then exhaled sharply. “I’m ready.”
First, came the thinnest, lowest-cut chemise Lily had ever worn. Next, Minerva girded Lily into the stays, and although she didn’t normally wear them, they stiffened her backbone literally and figuratively.
“On to the dress. Turn away from the mirror until I get you laced and your hair done. I want you to be surprised.” Lily dutifully turned around and raised her arms. Midnight-blue fabric enveloped her. She slipped her arms into the tiny sleeves and tried to ignore the vast expanse of skin left uncovered. The room felt quite a bit draftier than when she entered. Minerva pushed Lily down onto a stool and handed her matching silver gloves.
Minerva wrapped and pinned Lily’s hair into a tight chignon. Examining her work, she dug another pin into Lily’s scalp. “Your hair has a mind of its own.”
“You should hear the laments of my poor maid.”
“Close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you.”
Lily dutifully closed her eyes, but she could picture Minerva rubbing her hands together with fiendish delight. The tug of the wig over her tight, overly pinned hair was torture.
Soft tendrils brushed her cheeks and tickled her back and shoulders. With a few accompanying hums and let-me-sees from Minerva, her fake hair was styled.
“Time to marvel at your transformation.” Minerva took her hands and pulled her up.
Lily went straight to the looking glass. She barely stopped herself from glancing behind her for the raven-haired courtesan reflected. She tugged at the low bodice, and the woman’s hand in the looking glass did the same.
Long black hair lay in perfect loose flowing waves down her back. Combs held it up on the sides to expose the line of her neck.
Her breasts were pushed high and exposed within an inch of her nipples. The clever boning in the bodice, along with her stays, ensured the dress wouldn’t slip down. The fabric followed the curve of her waist and hips.
“I-I don’t even know what to say. I don’t even recognize myself.”
“That was the point, I believe.” Minerva’s grin was light-hearted. “I’ve never done anything scandalous. I rather enjoyed it. Perhaps you’re a bad influence on me.”
“Is it time?” Lily asked.
“Nearly. One more detail to complete your transformation.” With a flourish, Minerva presented a silver fox half-mask.
Lily touched the delicate mask and then turned for Minerva to tie it on. Now that her disguise was complete, she couldn’t envision anyone at Fieldstone’s recognizing her—even Gray.
“Send me a note in the morning as soon as you’re up. I won’t sleep a wink tonight.” Minerva swept a cloak over her shoulders and gave Lily’s hand a squeeze before the Bellingham footman handed her into the hack.
Alone, doubts assailed her confidence. Her stomach wanted to empty itself. Could she pull this off? One night with Gray hardly made her an expert courtesan. All too soon, the hack rolled to a stop, and a footman dressed like a Roman soldier opened the door.
She took his hand and climbed down. Were the steps to the door steeper than normal, or was it her imagination? Her hack rolled off, and she clutched onto her soldier footman’s arm. He had ruddy cheeks, sandy hair and the wholesome demeanor of a country lad.
“From where to do you hail, sir?”
He answered with a combination of reluctance and awe, “From Suffolk, ma’am.”
“What brought you here?”
“Work. I’ve seven older brothers, and the farm is only so big.”
“What’s your name?” Lily lifted her skirts and climbed the steps, clutching his arm a little too tightly as if trying to hold on to her courage.
“Rogers, ma’am.”
“Well, Rogers, my name is…” Her mind raced around possibilities, “Celeste. Are you familiar with Lord Gilmore or Baron Whitmire?”
“Lord Gilmore, aye. He’s not arrived. He likes to make a grand entrance. Don’t know the other toff.”
They had reached the front door. She pulled a sovereign out of her reticule. “Come find me when he arrives, Rogers. They’ll be another for you if you can manage it.”
The coin disappeared into his tunic. “Certainly, ma’am.” He cut a clumsy bow, probably parodying the men he’d seen inside. She bobbed a curtsy in return before handing off her cloak.
A terrace of stairs fanned into the sunken ballroom, and she paused on the top dais. A scene of Roman decadence awaited her. The servers wore togas and pictures of scantily clad Roman gods and goddesses graced the walls.
Elaborately costumed men and women lounged on the carelessly placed furniture. A buzz of conversation accompanied the soft strains of a four-piece orchestra. No one danced. She was relieved to see gowns even more revealing than hers. One woman’s dress was slit almost to her hip.
Eyes from around the room trained on her. Her unease grew, and the trembles turning her stomach cascaded to her hands and knees. Her choices were to descend further into the den of iniquity or ask her friendly footman to hail a hack and retreat in defeat.
She squared her shoulders in a show of false bravery and stepped off the dais. A gentleman approached before she’d made it a dozen feet into the room. His cravat hung untied around his neck, and a glass swung from lax fingers. He stared at her breasts and swayed slightly from side to side, utterly foxed.
The point of the dress was to keep attention away from her face, but her hands fluttered to cover her bosom anyway.
“I’d like to see those beauties. Let’s find a private room.” The young lord rudely pointed at her breasts. Her natural impulse was to give him one good shove. In his inebriated state, he would topple like a toy soldier.
Instead, mimicking Minerva’s haughtiest tone, she said, “While your invitation is difficult to resist, I fear I’m looking for someone a little less you.”
She stepped around the man with a swish of her skirts. Many men, and even some women, beckoned her closer. By the time the next set of gentlemen stepped in her path, she was flustered and feared she’d underestimated her ability to stay inconspicuous.
The first man was stocky with light colored hair and a thin, twisty mouth. “Aren’t you a lovely piece? My friend and I can’t decide who should take you first. Being gentlemen, we thought to let you decide.”
The second man was taller with brown, lank hair. Both wore masks. The brown-haired man took her forearm. “Let’s go upstairs so you can look us over and pick me.” He tugged her toward a set of stairs rising from the back of the room.
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, her voice lost.
Strong hands settled on her shoulders and spun her out of the man’s grip. Lips descended and arms banded around her back. Taking a deep, panicked breath, she pushed at the man’s chest. But during her breath, his scent wove a familiar spell, and her body recognized what her mind had not.
Gray. She settled her hands across his shoulders and melded against him in a combination of pent-up desire and relief. His kiss was extremely thorough, incredibly carnal and left her sagging in his arms. Gray broke away and turned his head to the men.
“Bugger off. She belongs to me.” His voice would have intimidated Beelzebub himself.
His words penetrated her fog. She slapped at his shoulders. “I belong to you? As if you own me?” Her voice rose with each word. He released her, and she swayed unsteadily.
“If I don’t claim you, one of these gentlemen will. Is that what you’d prefer?” He shrugged, slipped his hands in his jacket pockets and strolled away.
The two men were wolves nipping at her heels. “Wait.”
Gray half-turned and held out a hand. Bolting forward, she took it in both of hers.
He had altered his appearance as well. An old-fashioned powered wig covered his hair, and his silver frockcoat and peacock-blue velvet waistcoat would have rivaled Lord Penhaven’s.
Shadowy recesses offered welcome cover. Pressing her against a plaster pillar, he crowded into her space and nipped at her throat.
“I’ve missed you these past days, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear.
“I’ve—” she’d almost returned the sentiment, “not forgiven you, you blighter.”
“Not even after I sent you the invitation?” His face rose with a mischievous spark.
“You? I thought you’d want me as far away as possible.”
“I wanted to see how resourceful you might be.” He pulled away to examine her head to toe. “No one will recognize you, that’s for certain, but if your goal was to blend in, you failed miserably.”
“How did you recognize me?”
“Have you forgotten so readily? I have rather intimate knowledge of this—” he tapped a finger to her lips, “—and these—” the same finger trailed down her neck to caress the slope of her breasts. Then he stroked both hands down the curve of her waist and hips. “You’ve been etched into my memory.”
Undeniably aroused, she turned her face away, but the scene spread before them hardly tamped down her need. Everywhere she looked, couples kissed and touched. The flash of a bare breast whipped her gaze back to Gray.
He skated a hand over her breast, molding it in his palm.
“Wh-what are you doing? We’re in public. Anyone can see us.”
Deep in the recess of his mask, his green eyes held hers. Amusement, excitement, desire all reflected back. “We’re playing a part, blending in. We’d draw more attention if we stood primly side by side, don’t you agree?”
If it kept his hands on her, she would agree to anything. “Yes, I suppose you’re correct. We should keep up the charade.”
“The things I subject myself to for the good of England. It’s appalling.” Fingers dipped into her bodice and brushed a nipple. “What’s involved in keeping your bodice upright? Hidden wires or sorcery?”
She squirmed against the hard ridge of his cock pressing to her hip. “Is this an investigation or a seduction?”
“You’re wearing a wig.” He pushed the loose tresses over her shoulder.
“So are you.”
“It’s damned uncomfortable. I don’t know how my forefathers managed it.”
His grumpy voice made her smile. “At least you don’t have a hundred pins stuck through your scalp.”
“Poor baby. Can I make you feel better?” He somehow imbued the sympathetic words with a wealth of sensuality. He brushed his lips over hers while his hands roamed to her bottom and pressed her closer.
The anger and resentment she’d clung to the past several days faded into the background. Not quite abolished, but somehow not as important as they seemed out of his arms.
Two women and a man staggered behind Gray in a mass of tangled limbs and disappeared behind a curtained alcove. With her imagination veering wildly and her senses overloaded, anxiety drove the words out of her mouth. “Shouldn’t we be looking for Gilmore? He might have information about Father.”
“Indeed, we should.”
“I have a nice young footman named Rogers on the lookout. He’ll come inform me after he arrives.”
“That was rather clever.” Although she couldn’t see them, his eyebrows were probably at his hairline.
“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“I need to quit underestimating you, don’t I?” He pulled back, and behind his mask, he’d turned serious, a new respect in his voice.
All of the resentment of the past days melted away. “I can be an asset if you allow it.”
He nodded slowly. “I’m not sure where their meeting will occur. I found a bank of private rooms leading to the back alley, but there may be more upstairs.”
Taking her hand, Gray led her past several partitioned alcoves, making Lily wonder who was behind them and what they were doing. Fieldstones was sinful and debauched. With difficultly, she admitted she was keen to witness more and experience more. Natural curiosity and newly awakened sensuality warred with her country morality. They ascended the stairs hand in hand, entering uncharted territory.
Gray evaluated the deserted corridor. The staircase came out in the middle of the hallway and closed doors lined both sides. Blue silk covered the walls and pedestals topped with statues or vases filled with fresh flowers lined the hall. Lily wandered over to the closest statue, leaning over to examine it. Her dress gaped to expose even more of her lovely breasts.
An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1 Page 17
