An Indecent Invitation: Spies and Lovers, Book 1

by Laura Trentham

  “He was in attendance but was otherwise occupied.” Lily smoothed a finger over an eyebrow to hide her discomfiture.

  “Penhaven? He and your father are of an age. Perhaps—”

  The drawing room door burst open. Apparently, Penny’s protection didn’t extend to Rafe. Her brother slammed the door closed and paced like a caged lion.

  Improperly dressed to greet afternoon visitors, especially one as highly ranked as Minerva, he wore only a fine white lawn shirt and a brown waistcoat. No collar, no cravat, and his unbuttoned shirt exposed his throat and a scandalous portion of his dark chest hair.

  “Isn’t this a congenial tête-à-tête? Planning my sister’s next foray into the underbelly of London Society, are you, Lady Minerva?” Rafe was half contemptuous, half goading as if he itched for a fight.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Drummond.” Minerva’s polite response was sharp and glazed with ice.

  “I didn’t realize the two of you have never been formally introduced.” Lily jumped out of her chair, grabbed her brother’s massive biceps and tugged, producing no visible results. “Lord Rafe Drummond, Lady Minerva Bellingham. Nice of you to stop in, Rafe, but I’m sure you have things to see to elsewhere.” Tugging getting her nowhere, she tried pushing him toward the door. She was a mouse to his elephant.

  “I’ll take my leave now. Lily, please send word if there’s any help I can provide.” Minerva rose and set her cup and saucer on the tray with measured calmness. The twitch of her skirts as she walked toward the door offered the only hint of her agitation. Rafe blocked her exit and forced her to shuffle backward a few steps if she didn’t want to bump into his barreled chest.

  “The inestimable Lady Minerva Bellingham.” Rafe imbued the pseudo-compliment with total disdain. Any doubt as to his true feelings were dispelled by his next words. “You are not welcome in my house, nor are you to ever see my sister again. You’re a shockingly poor influence on her. She was nearly raped last night.”

  Minerva shot her a wide-eyed glance, and Lily winced.

  “You procured a disguise and sent her off—alone—to a house of ill-repute. Go back to your little townhouse and meddle in someone else’s business. And if I hear one word of scandal attached to my sister, I will seek you out for retribution.”

  Lily had seen grown men back down from Rafe’s looming stance, but before Lily could throw herself into the fray, Minerva drew herself up, seeming taller than her actual height through sheer fortitude. Although the top of her head barely reached Rafe’s chin, she poked him in the chest, and he took a defensive step backward.

  “Lily’s plan was somewhat ill-advised, I’ll admit. However, when a friend asks for my help, I give it. No matter what. I may not be welcome in your house, but your sister is forever welcome in mine. And the fact you would question my honor? If I were a man, I would meet you at dawn with pistols. You can threaten me like some avenging pirate, but I’m not some weak-kneed wallflower to be bullied by your boorish, offensive manner. You can go straight to perdition, Lord Drummond!” Minerva swept around Rafe with a swish of her skirts and stalked out of the drawing room.

  Lily jabbed a finger to the ceiling with an air of victory. “What she said.” She then followed her friend out the drawing room door.

  Penny held out Minerva’s spencer, but instead of slipping it on, Minerva grabbed it and yanked the front door open herself.

  Lily caught Minerva halfway down the steps. “Good Lord, you were magnificent.” Minerva’s color was high, and for the first time since Lily had made her acquaintance, she appeared flustered. Lily couldn’t help it. She smiled.

  “How can you be so cavalier about that man? I realize he’s your brother, but he’s a menace.” Minerva jammed a delicate bonnet on her head, crushing the delicately woven flowers, and fumbled with the ribbons.

  Lily pushed Minerva’s hands aside and tied a neat bow under Minerva’s quivering chin. “On the scale of things, nothing was broken, so I’d consider it a mild explosion. He’ll be as docile as a lamb later and regret his words, I’m sure of it. Perhaps once he cools down, you can come for tea.”

  Minerva strangled out a laugh. “A lamb? A wolf in disguise, more likely. You should come to my house for tea. I’m not sure I could tolerate his company again.” Taking Lily’s hand in hers, she turned serious. “Tell me the truth. Were you almost raped last night?”

  “That was the intention, yes.” Guilt grew in Minerva’s eyes, and Lily rushed to reassure her. “It’s not your fault. I would have gone with or without your help. Surely you know me well enough by now.”

  Minerva shook her head. “Promise you’ll call on me soon?”

  “As soon as everything is resolved and my jailors let me out.” After kissing cheeks, Minerva departed.

  Lily took a deep, fortifying breath and prepared to face the wrath of her brother. Except she found him sitting in an armchair too small for his frame, staring at the carpet with a sad frown.

  “Are you well?” she asked in a gentle voice.

  “I was waiting for you to unleash your tongue in a well-deserved lecture.”

  She circled around the settee and settled her hip on the ledge of the bay window. “At least you recognize you deserve one. That’s enough for today. It’s been rather eventful, and I’m feeling magnanimous. What did you decide about Aunt Edie?”

  “I told her she could stay. The woman’s daft, but not evil. She’s truly remorseful. Thought she was playing a glorified matchmaker. I’ve seen too many women suffer at the hands of men and can well understand her desperation.”

  Lily released a slow exhale of relief. She would have found something for her aunt if Rafe had decided differently. Perhaps foisting the lady onto one of her new acquaintances as chaperone or companion, but Lily would have missed her, no matter what had transpired. “Who knew you were such a soft touch? If word of your benevolence spreads, we may well be inundated with all sorts of relations.”

  Her teasing quirked the corner of his mouth for an instant. “Gray told me you accepted his suit.”

  “Yes. Our connection was rather unexpected. Do you approve?” Lily swallowed past a growing lump in her throat, his blessing more important than she wanted to admit.

  Readjusting himself in the chair, he stretched out his legs and laced hands over his waistcoat. “Would it make a difference if I didn’t?” he asked dryly.

  “I want to be welcomed at Wintermarsh and not cast out.”

  Her brother’s blue-gray eyes, which could be so cold, flared with warmth. “You’ll always be welcome. In fact, I would like you and Gray to settle close by.”

  “That would be lovely.” Lily left the window to sit across from him. A loose button on her sleeve stole her focus as her next words formed. “Father stated time and again how much I remind him of Mother. Unfavorably so. What if Gray comes to hate and resent me as Father hated Mother?”

  At his continued silence, she looked up.

  “This has been weighing on you a long time, hasn’t it?”

  Years of crushing, cutting comments from her father piled on her shoulders, which she shrugged noncommittally, unable to confess the extent of her pain.

  The chair creaked as Rafe once again shifted, resting his forearms on his legs and reaching for her hand. “Father needed to blame someone other than himself for Mother’s defection, and he chose you. For no other reason than the timing of your birth.”

  “But I’m very much like her. What if—”

  “Stop. You are not like Mother, and Gray is not like Father. I can’t imagine you ever abandoning him. And fair warning, if you tried, he’d drag you back kicking and screaming. The past is not a loop destined to repeat itself time and again. You, who have forged your own future, should understand this better than anyone.”

  Was he right? Perhaps she wasn’t her mother or her father, or even a combination o
f the worst or best of them. Perhaps she was merely a woman who reached for a happiness of her own making. Between Gray’s and now her brother’s reassurances, she was beginning to believe they could be happy together. Squeezing her eyes shut, she flopped her head back.

  “Christ, don’t tell me you’re going to turn into a watering can. I’ve already had my shirt soaked by Aunt Edie. I don’t have the emotional fortitude to deal with another woman in hysterics.”

  In truth, he probably didn’t, and his teasing was meant to make her laugh the tears away. Her throat clogged with the suppressed water works, she said completely untruthfully, “I’m not crying.”

  He yanked her up into a big, warm bear hug. She’d forgotten the ease with which she used to hand her troubles to Rafe. He’d always been a protective brother, but it seemed their autumn spent battling his demons had drawn them closer than siblings. They were friends.

  He patted her on the back and pulled away but kept heavy hands on her shoulders. “I have some things to see to before Gray and I meet this evening. Could you check on Aunt Edie?”

  The task was meant to get her out his hair, but that was all right. She did need to check on her aunt. “I will.” He turned away, but she grabbed at his hand. “Take care of Gray. And of yourself. If you’re shot or stabbed or hurt in any way, Rafe Drummond, I’ll not nurse you back to health again, you hear me?”

  All she got in answer was a bristly buss on her forehead.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gray waited for Rafe outside the Drummond townhouse in a shabby, grime-streaked hack. He folded his floppy hat and battered it against his dark, coarse breeches, ready to get the evening’s work started. Old scuffed boots and a workman’s woolen jacket that had seen better days completed his ensemble.

  After napping briefly in his set of bachelor rooms, Gray had spent a frustrating, unenlightening afternoon watching Penhaven’s townhouse. No sign of Higgins. No sign of panic. No sign the man planned to run.

  Penhaven rode during the most fashionable, crowded hour in Hyde Park, spent a good hour with his tailor and took a sauntering, cane-swinging walk as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Gray’s suspicions seemed misplaced. Yet still…

  Rafe jogged down the steps in almost identical attire to Gray’s and settled himself on the unoccupied squab. The gathering darkness hid his mood, his dark beard providing ample camouflage.

  As soon as the hack rolled off, Gray said, “I hesitate to open old wounds, but with everything that’s happened—what do you remember about your mother’s disappearance?”

  “Christ, I’ve kept my mind from wandering in that direction.” Rafe turned to the window. “I was so young. My memories are all impressions and feelings. Fear, sadness, anger. Several witnesses attested to the fact Mother rode off with another man. The inquiry by the magistrate seemed to settle matters. If this involves her, why now? Twenty years later?”

  “One of the witnesses was Lord Penhaven.”

  “Yes. Surely you don’t think—he wasn’t the only one though.”

  “Do you believe in coincidence?” Gray asked.

  “Philosophically? Yes. Practically? No.”

  “Me either. Can it be coincidence both your parents disappear? Can it be coincidence Lord Penhaven was linked to your mother, held some amount of ill will toward your father and has been flitting around Lily all Season?”

  Rafe scoffed. “Put that way, he seems the obvious culprit. But he’s so fey and fussy. I can’t imagine him dirtying his hands with a situation so violent and messy.”

  “I’m not so sure. I’ve seen brief flashes of…something. I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly what it is that bothers me about him. At first, I assumed my suspicions stemmed from jealousy. The toad was obviously in pursuit, but I think it’s more.”

  “Jealous of an old fop? You are smitten.” A smile lit Rafe’s voice.

  “If it is Penhaven, Kurt should be able to identify him. The man dresses for notice. In fact, he seems to overemphasize his…” A flash of insight startled Gray into silence. Could it be the man wore his garish clothes in order to appear foolish and nonthreatening? Standing out of the crowd in order to hide?

  “What are you thinking?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Gray muttered almost to himself.

  Approaching the outskirts of Seven Dials, the jagged cobblestones jounced them side to side. Gray took a quick inventory of his weapons. He slid knives in hidden sheaths in each boot and tucked a loaded pistol into his breeches at the small of his back.

  “Armed for bears?” Rafe asked.

  “There’s worse than bears where we’re headed. What did you bring?”

  Rafe held up large callused hands and raised an eyebrow, daring comment.

  “Good enough then.” Gray’s lips curled up in spite of his grim worries.

  The hack rolled to a stop, and they hopped out in a different world than the one they’d left in Mayfair. Refuse lined the narrow streets and filth coated everything else. The pungency of rotting food and human excrement made his eyes water until he grew accustomed to the stench.

  After searching several taverns with no luck, they entered the Blue Boar, a popular spot at the crossroads. Men crowded into the tavern, upping their odds of running across any of the three men from Fieldstones. They ordered a round of ale at the bar and scanned the occupants over the rim of their tankards.

  In a far corner, a large, meaty fellow gambled with a group of dockhands. Rivulets of sweat trailed down the rolls of the back of his neck, staining his already filthy shirt. He was losing, and his fear transmitted across the room like a waving flag.

  “The sweaty, fat gentleman at the gaming table is the one Lily kneed in the bollocks.” Gray set his tankard down, ale still lipping the edge.

  Moving in unison, they sidled closer. A hugely swollen nose and bruising that radiated under his eyes confirmed his identity. Gray’s small nod had the two of them approaching the already distressed man. His night was about to get infinitely worse.

  Propping their hands on the rickety table on either side of the man, they garnered his attention. He trailed his gaze up one set of arms to Gray’s face but gave no hint of recognition. Pivoting to Rafe, the man gave a start. Between the scar, the beard and his general deportment, Rafe was beyond physically intimidating. He was downright terrifying.

  “We need to chat.” Rafe grabbed the fleshy underside of the man’s upper arm and hauled him out of the chair.

  The other three men protested, no doubt seeing their easy mark make a convenient escape. Gray flashed the pistol quelling further complaint. The cards in their hands became suddenly fascinating. The fat man shuffled his feet toward the front door, but Rafe’s grip was inescapable.

  “Let’s go outside for a bit of privacy, shall we?” Gesturing toward a short, narrow hallway, Gray led the way, assuming Rafe could manhandle their quarry into the alley.

  The fat man was the type Gray loved to question. He did whatever he was told to do to make coin. Sometimes those things were on the wrong side of what was generally considered moral, but his conscience wasn’t bothered by such trivialities when his stomach required food and drink and his body required the occasional whore. He would give up his own brother with a few well-aimed threats or the promise of more money.

  Rafe propelled the man forward by the back of his filthy shirt and shoved him out the door. Stumbling, he withdrew to the nearest wall and hunched over as if he was trying to disappear into it. Every step Rafe took sent the man scrambling farther into the alley.

  The possibility existed some of the man’s friends might come to his aid. Although, Gray doubted he incited more than the most shallow of loyalties. Never taking his eyes off the man, Gray said, “Go watch the entrance, Rafe.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need help? I’m in the mood to pound heads.” Rafe’s words seemed to shrink the
man.

  “You’ll be more hindrance than help. We’re not interrogating a French spy.”

  Rafe wagged his finger threateningly at the fat man, but he turned and situated himself at the alley entrance. The man heaved in deep breaths and straightened against the rough bricks.

  “Do you remember me?” Gray stood in front of the man, feet braced apart and arms crossed on his chest

  Nervously licking his fleshy lips, the man scanned him head to toe. “The devil if I know. I swear I didn’t do nuthin’ to ye.”

  Gray narrowed his eyes. “I was with a lady who you were paid to rape. Does that jog your memory?”

  Beady, calculating eyes flared in recognition, and he nodded. “But we didn’t do it. The little sl—I mean woman—broke me nose.”

  Gray held up his hand to silence the excuses. “You’re about to get a lot more broken unless you talk, is that understood? You’re scared of my friend over there?” Both of them twisted necks to observe Rafe’s large form blocking nearly all the light from entering the alley. “He would most likely beat you senseless. Rest assured, that’s not what I want.”

  Relief sagged the flesh of the man’s face.

  “I want your secrets, so I’ll torture you. Unbelievable pain you can’t escape.” Gray pulled one of the knives from his boot and approached. He clamped his hand around the fat man’s trunk-like neck while the knife cut through fabric to tender, quivering flesh on his belly.

  The slightest of cuts welled red blood. The metallic scent added another layer to the repellent stew of smells. The man’s mouth opened and closed as small sounds of animal distress emitted.

  “Who hired you to rape her?”

  The man’s fear-thickened tongue made it difficult to understand his stumbling words. “I don’t know. That’s the God’s honest truth, sir.” He repeated the phrases like a litany.

  Gray suppressed a curse. Easier if they hadn’t had to climb further up the chain, but the man was a small fish in the London scum pond. Gray’s calm voice seemed to mesmerize the terror-stricken man. He stayed motionless, except for his gaze, which followed Gray’s every move.