The Disgraceful Lord Gray Read online

  They were both breathing heavily. Both a little stunned at the intensity and power of just that one once-in-a-lifetime kiss to pull them out of the conscious world and send them into another, sensual plane where time and place no longer mattered.

  Where the past apparently no longer mattered either.

  ‘That was...enlightening.’ He sucked in a calming breath and blew it out slowly. Although enlightening was entirely the word, he was more confused than enlightened. Torn between the half of him that was now immune to anything beyond the carnal and the old Gray who romanticised physical displays of affection and had willingly given all of his heart unconditionally once before. That long-forgotten need had inexplicably re-awoken. Almost as if his shattered heart was suddenly now miraculously whole and ready to give itself completely again.

  That didn’t make any sense.

  She was staring up at him, swollen lips parted, arms still clamping him to her. Of its own accord his head bent again and her eyes fluttered closed, until he remembered his heart knew he couldn’t kiss her again tonight—or ever. For his own sanity. Last time he had allowed himself to feel, it had taken years for the wretched pain of loss to lessen. He had been an empty, broken husk cast adrift in the world. Only recently he had found himself again. Found purpose. Dared to look a little towards the future rather than living entirely in the moment. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—lose sight of that again. Gray was all done with being lost and he had finally found his place.

  Reluctantly, he let go of her and stepped back. ‘Apparently, there is still enough of the gentleman in me to remember the number of glasses of wine you drank over dinner. More’s the pity.’

  The sensual spell broken, she blinked and her eyes dropped to the floor. ‘Yes...that was a mistake. Brought about by too much...’ Her fingers gently touched her lips and she sighed, then stiffened. ‘If you will excuse me, my lord... I am not myself. The wine has...er...never mind... Goodnight.’ Then she picked up her skirts and practically sprinted inside.

  Needing the distance, Gray made no attempt to go after her. It had been a mistake. A big one—for both himself and the mission. What had he been thinking? He took himself to the bench and sat heavily, trying to analyse exactly why he felt peculiar and why he had kissed her when every sensible thought in his head had screamed at him not to. Yet all he could listen to was his heart. An organ he had believed was now immune to those sort of feelings.

  What was it about Thea that drew him? Why, when he had staunchly avoided thinking about it for almost a decade, was this place and that woman churning up all the things in his past he would prefer never to revisit? Was it another strange symptom of turning thirty? Like his new-found ambition, was he suddenly looking for more in his life? Had his broken, wary heart really finally mended and now sought someone else to adore as it had Cecily, or was all this uncharacteristic introspection and behaviour symptomatic of the new weight on his normally weightless shoulders? Dredging up his past to sabotage his future?

  Yes!

  That had to be it. With his record of failing, and his legendary ability to disappoint, he was subconsciously destroying this new dream before Lord Fennimore callously did it for him. It was always much easier to orchestrate your own downfall, on your terms, than have another tell you, yet again, that you didn’t quite measure up—despite all your best attempts to convince them otherwise. The countryside, the comfortable, gentrified house, the gentleman’s clothes, the rules and restrictions of this provincial society reminded him too much of the home of his youth. Fond memories of bygone days with his mother, with his childhood sweetheart before his world caved in and he lost himself in grief. He was obviously transferring his father’s, his brother’s and then Cecily’s disappointment of the younger Gray on to the man he was now, muddying the water with nonsense from that miserable, wretched, god-awful time and making it real once again.

  But he wasn’t that green, unworldly, naïve boy any longer. He was a grown man hardened by life and enriched by its many experiences. He no longer needed to keep sabotaging his own destiny and he certainly did not have any desire to tread life’s future path with his hand holding another’s when for ten carefree years he had competently walked it all alone. He could do this. He’d earned that promotion and, by Jove, he wanted it! The ghosts of his past could go to hell. He would not do them the courtesy of failing, nor allow them anywhere near his foolish heart.

  Decisively he stood and stalked back into the house. As it was when he had left it, it was as silent as a tomb aside from the boisterous male laughter still coming from the billiards room down the hall. That was where his mission and his future lay. The awful past and the boy who wore his heart on his sleeve were dead and buried. He had mourned them both enough before he had set his gaze staunchly forward.

  He walked purposefully until he saw the staircase. The single lamp that had been burning on the landing had died. Because he was a man who knew exactly when to take advantage and needed to be a much better, more focused spy, Gray turned and gripped the banister, then hastily withdrew when he saw a shadow grow on the panelling.

  ‘Lord Gray? Are you lost?’ Bertie appeared above him, his face bland while his eyes narrowed slightly with suspicion as he came down the stairs to meet him.

  ‘Not at all, my dear fellow. I’ve been out on the terrace, lamenting the new hole in my purse. I am still not entirely sure how I lost to his lordship... But enough melancholy for things past.’ Truer words were never spoken. ‘It’s time I fetched my cousin and headed home to my bed.’

  ‘Yes, my lord. It is rather late. And contrary to whatever he says, his lordship does need his sleep, too. I shall accompany you, if you don’t mind, and shamelessly use you to force him to listen to reason.’ Like a sentry, the manservant walked next to him through the hallway. ‘I suppose he cheated?’

  ‘Very subtly.’

  ‘Then that is a first.’ The servant smiled. ‘My lord and master has the most competitive nature. Always has had, but it’s worse now—since his stroke. He takes shocking advantage nowadays. He can be quite ruthless at times.’

  Chapter Ten

  Like the biggest of cowards, she avoided him for a week. He and Lord Fennimore had certainly been keeping her uncle entertained during that time. They had gone shooting, played cards twice and dined with him once again. She had obviously been invited to the latter, but had foisted herself on Aunt Caro and suffered Mr Hargreaves for the evening instead. The closest they had got was when she had spotted him twice walking his dog in the distance and she had hidden. It was pathetic. She was pathetic! All because Gray had kissed her senseless and, in so doing, had forced her to dream about the dratted, splendid kiss every single night since.

  And it had been splendid. Nothing at all like the kisses of the army officer who had led her astray all those years ago, which were perfectly pleasant but nowhere near as thrilling. Or the one lamentable slip under the mistletoe the Christmas before last, when the wassail was clearly off and she had stupidly allowed Colonel Purbeck’s ambitious nephew liberties she had instantly regretted. Like his uncle, the younger Purbeck, although significantly more handsome and interesting, made far too much spit. That unfortunate but blessedly brief interlude had been a moist affair which had quite put her off kissing for ever.

  Until Gray... Heavens, that man knew how to do it! Thea still hadn’t forgiven him for her outrageous and wanton reaction or herself for actively allowing it to happen while doing absolutely nothing to stop it. Blaming the wine was cowardly. Not when the worst of it had left her system by the time he had happened upon her on the terrace and when Sensible Thea hadn’t been bothered to make any effort to talk Impetuous Thea out of the folly. In fact, quietly and only to herself, she was prepared to admit in that one moment she wouldn’t have listened anyway regardless of which Thea was in charge of her mind. In that moment, she had wanted him to kiss her. If she wasn’t very careful in the future, the shamefu
l truth was she probably would let him kiss her again. In a heartbeat.

  Obviously, and despite all her concerted efforts in the last few years to the contrary, the scary truth was she still had appalling taste in men. Chancers, ne’er-do-wells and fortune hunters still held far too much appeal, although she was still not certain quite which category Gray fell into. Definitely the first two, but the jury was still out on the latter.

  ‘Order me three cakes of the Prussian green, one Dutch pink, an Ackermann’s yellow and four of the Azure blues.’ The poor shop assistant was struggling to write down all the things on Harriet’s order because she was rattling them off so fast. ‘And get me one of every kind of brush they do.’ As this was the second time in a month they had made the pilgrimage to Ipswich to buy more paint, he probably thought her friend was in the process of painting an entire battleship. She did go through it at an alarming rate.

  ‘I’m hungry. You promised me luncheon.’

  ‘Patience, Thea. I haven’t even started looking at paper and charcoal yet.’ Which would effectively kill another hour.

  ‘I’m putting my foot down.’ To prove her point, she did. The loud thud on the shop floor raised a few eyebrows and made Restrained Thea wince. ‘I need to eat and the charcoal and paper you really don’t need can wait. I’ve suffered the milliner’s, the haberdasher’s and now the never-ending paint purchasing, when lord only knows you have enough art supplies at home to last a lifetime. Frankly, I’m rapidly losing patience.’

  ‘She’s always crotchety when she’s hungry,’ said Harriet in an aside to the shop assistant, ‘and she is hungry most of the time. Who knows where she puts all the food she devours. By rights, she should be as fat as a house. I’ll be two minutes, darling. Promise.’

  Which meant twenty at least. ‘I’ll wait by the door.’ Where Thea had every intention of tapping her foot and generally looking impatient in the hope it chivvied her friend along. She didn’t hold out much hope.

  She had been stood there belligerently for a full five minutes when she saw him through the window. Or at least she assumed it was him. The same dark head, the same ridiculously broad shoulders. The same stupid, instantaneous effect on her silly pulse. Only his clothes weren’t right. The Gray who had just ridden past the shop was dressed nothing like a gentleman.

  She took herself to the corner of the window and peered through the piles of fancy goods displayed there and scanned the busy street. She picked him out almost immediately, sat hatless atop his enormous horse, deep in what looked to be a very serious conversation. That in itself was off, when her irritating new neighbour was always mischievous and didn’t appear to have a serious bone in his irritatingly perfect and manly body.

  Next to him, similarly dressed in dusty commoner’s clothes, were Lord Fennimore and three other men who she had never seen before in her life. Two more dusty strangers rode up and pulled alongside. One passed a note to Lord Fennimore, who read it quickly, then passed it along. Gray frowned and, if she wasn’t mistaken, it seemed whatever grave news was in that missive prompted her naked bather to begin issuing terse instructions to his companions. Instructions for what?

  Intrigued and desperately trying to convince herself it was more his suspect behaviour than her overwhelming desire to see him better, Thea checked Harriet was fully engrossed in her purchase. If her friend caught wind of their presence, she would insist on saying hello and the thought of that after her scandalous reaction to his kiss was horrifying. If she never had to say hello to him again, it would be too soon. But that natural reluctance did not mean she wasn’t curious to see if her instincts were correct.

  He was up to no good.

  Because he was a chancer and a ne’er-do-well—and very probably a fortune hunter, too. Tangible proof would stop those silly butterflies flapping whenever he was around and perhaps she would also stop picturing his bare buttocks and tasting his lips while she slept.

  Satisfied the shop assistant would keep Harriet busy for a little while longer, she ventured silently out of the door and surreptitiously picked her way along the street, keeping her back close to the shop fronts in case she needed to escape. Feeling like a government spy on a secret mission, she darted behind a flower stall opposite the very inn they were due to dine in, to watch and attempt to listen to him incognito.

  The random snippets of conversation which floated her way over the hubbub of the busy street made no sense. ‘Another shipment arrived last night...Excise Men have turned a blind eye...We need more...six thousand pounds.’

  Six thousand pounds! Excise Men and shipments! Suddenly the dusty, unobtrusive clothes and the five strangers made her feel uneasy. What was he involved in? She had accused him of being a chancer and now that appeared to be the tip of the iceberg. Either that or her rampant imagination was running away with her again.

  But she had heard it with her own ears. Damning things. Why would the Excise Men need to turn a blind eye to shipments if everything was above board and legal? She hadn’t imagined those words, but hadn’t heard the whole sentence. She was about to risk edging a little closer to hear more when Harriet’s hand appeared out of nowhere, grabbed her arm with more force than was required and tugged her into plain view as she waved, oblivious of her complete lack of decorum or Thea’s reluctance.

  ‘Yoo-hoo! Lord Fennimore! Lord Gray! Fancy seeing you here?’

  Both men turned, obviously startled, but both covered it quickly and smiled. The man she was avoiding quickly leaned to speak to one of the other men and within seconds their five strange companions rode off while their new neighbours dismounted.

  Practically dragged at speed towards them by her purposeful friend, Thea pasted on her best I-have-no-recollection-whatsoever-of-spying-or-of-an-illicit-midnight-kiss expression and stubbornly refused to blush. He would not see that his presence bothered her, nor would she ever let on the annoyingly invigorating effect he had on her heart.

  ‘Ladies, what a pleasure!’ It was Lord Fennimore who attempted a smile while his usually bold, flirtatious companion merely nodded. There was no mischief in his silver-blue eyes today either and inexplicably she missed that. ‘I see you have been shopping.’ Solicitously he took the package Harriet was carrying. ‘Can we escort you back to your carriage?’

  ‘You may escort us to the inn where we are having luncheon—and, if you’ve a mind to, why not join us?’ Harriet had already woven her arm possessively through Lord Fennimore’s, blithely ignoring his slightly bewildered expression, and was determinedly leading the way. It left Thea to trail behind with the only person in the world she’d wished never to see again. Silently she willed them to turn down her friend’s off-the-cuff invitation.

  ‘I am afraid business precludes us from enjoying the pleasure of your invitation, Lady Crudgington.’ It was the first time Gray had spoken and, despite saying what she had vehemently willed him to, she experienced the deflated sense of disappointment at his polite refusal. ‘We have already eaten and have an appointment.’

  ‘Really? What sort?’ It was none of her business, but Thea wanted to know. To let him see she had noticed his peculiar apparel, she allowed her eyes to fix on the scruffy coat. ‘If you will forgive me for being blunt, my lord, you are not dressed for serious business.’

  His eyes held hers unwaveringly. There was none of his usual warmth in them and she found she missed that, too. This was a very different Gray from the man who had kissed her so thoroughly on the terrace. ‘My cousin and I have been thinking about breeding horses. We both have a nose for good horse flesh and have been looking for suitable animals since we arrived in Suffolk. It is quite staggering how much more expensive a decent stud is if you are wearing a fine coat.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ said Lord Fennimore, turning around. ‘And while we are still relatively unknown here so far away from London, we thought it best to capitalise on that anonymity. Two middling, hard-working farmers can negotia
te significantly better deals than two lords in polished Hessians.’

  ‘Very prudent,’ said Harriet, staring up at him adoringly. ‘What a clever man you are, Cedric... I can call you Cedric, can’t I?’

  The older man blushed and stammered. ‘Why...yes. Of course.’

  ‘Splendid. And you must call me Harriet.’ Her friend brazenly squeezed his arm again, running her other hand over his bicep. ‘How strong you are, Cedric. It is such a pleasure to meet a gentleman who hasn’t allowed the years to soften him. So many gentlemen of our age allow themselves to run to fat. Tell me, do you enjoy a good ride?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘So do I! We must ride together one morning. An invigorating gallop across the dewy, dawn-kissed fields to get the juices pumping. Wouldn’t that be lovely?’

  ‘Er...yes...’

  Thea allowed her gaze to flick to her silent companion’s at the same moment his turned to her and there it was, that glorious, warm, amused, dancing light of mischief. Fleeting because he quickly snuffed it and stared at the inn.

  ‘Saturday, perhaps? I shall call on you at, say...seven?’ Harriet was shameless in her pursuit and poor Lord Fennimore could do nothing but nod while his expression suggested he wanted to run. Very fast down the high street. As if his breeches were on fire. ‘Thea and Gray can come, if they’ve a mind to.’

  ‘I am helping my uncle then as you well know.’ The truth, but she’d have lied shamelessly to get herself out of any prolonged and enforced contact with him. ‘Dear Bertie is going away for a week at least and therefore I shall be needed constantly.’ A big, fat lie. Uncle Edward would rather die than have her attend to his personal needs while Bertie enjoyed his annual visit with his family, but at some point during the mornings she would help him with his correspondence. As usual. Thea’s days were all depressingly much the same.