The Disgraceful Lord Gray Page 9

  As they turned on to the path towards the house, he spotted a black head appearing and disappearing in the window. Trefor was bouncing up and down to get a better view of his master’s arrival, pink tongue lolling, big ears flapping with excitement. Gray might well be a constant source of disappointment to his superior most of the time, his family all of the time, but at least Trefor was always pleased to see him.

  ‘That dog is quite mad.’

  ‘The poor thing has been cooped up inside for hours. I’m going to take him for a walk. I could do with one myself.’ The truth. His neck was aching and his spine and leg muscles were constricted. ‘Five hours sat on the back of a horse has made me as stiff as a board.’ And five hours of listening to Lord Fennimore was grinding on his nerves. There was only so much bluster a man could take before he bit back.

  As soon as they opened the door, Trefor shot out like a bullet, his brown eyes pleading and expectant, the tantalising message in them clear. It was a beautiful summer’s day. Too beautiful to waste it all on work, and Gray needed some space. Something that was blessedly plentiful here in the middle of nowhere. Living cheek by jowl with a staid perfectionist reminded him too much of living with his humourless father. It was a lot like wearing a collar too tight. Initially bearable, but so damned constricting soon after that you wanted to ruthlessly tug it off. They had done all the spying they could for one day and the balmy evening of freedom beckoned. Like his former home, this beautiful countryside was perfect to disappear in and roam around. ‘Come on, boy!’ He and his hound could explore the endless horizon for hours. Throw and catch sticks. Sniff the air. Enjoy. Breathe. Live in the moment...

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ In one fell swoop, his lovely walk and dream of a pleasant evening was spoiled, too. Capital.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Must he chase butterflies?’

  Gray’s fist tightened around the stick he was carrying, snapping it in two. ‘He’s a dog. They chase things.’

  ‘Not if you trained him properly he wouldn’t. A good hunting dog walks obediently next to his master, awaiting his command; he doesn’t run off and chase insects or bark at sheep or spend an eternity sniffing one patch of grass.’

  Oblivious to the litany of criticism, Trefor’s black nose was now glued to the ground as he found the scent of something which took his fancy and followed it intently. He did that a lot and it was something Gray had often wondered if humans could exploit. In the same way packs of hunting dogs chased a fox or located whichever unfortunate bird their owner happened to shoot for fun rather than food, perhaps good sniffers like Trefor could be used to hunt down other things which the less sensitive human nose could not. Like barrels of illegal brandy, perhaps? Or gunpowder or criminals? The heady, intoxicating perfume favoured by beautiful redheads...

  ‘Now what is he doing?’

  ‘He’s tracking something.’ At speed, apparently. His wagging black tail disappeared into some bushes before popping out again as the dog found a better route to whatever it was he was seeking with great urgency. Because Gray couldn’t be bothered to listen to Lord Fennimore any longer, or trust himself not to bark at the man for being such a moaning old windbag, he picked up his pace and jogged after the dog into the trees, then smiled when he saw what it was Trefor was clearly hunting.

  Jasmine.

  Miss Cranford, hair down and feet bare, was draped across the top of the trunk of an enormous felled oak, propped on one pale elbow reading while Lady Crudgington painted. They turned simultaneously at Trefor’s delighted bark.

  ‘Good day to you, ladies.’

  In her scramble to get off the log quickly, her skirts caught momentarily on the stray nub of a branch, giving him a tantalising glimpse of knee before she pulled them back in place, looking mortified at being caught being less than proper once again.

  ‘Lord Gray! How delightful!’ Lady Crudgington was the only woman present who appeared happy to see him. Miss Cranford’s smile was polite. Forced. But she was blushing again as she stuffed one foot in the slipper Trefor had not picked up in his mouth. She made a half-hearted attempt to salvage the other one from his jaws, then quickly stopped herself, attempting to stand with all the decorum of a genteel young lady regardless of the lack of one shoe and a head full of weeds. That, combined with the wild tendrils of hair which she was desperately trying to stuff back into her chignon, made her lack of an exuberant welcome understandable—and ripe for some sport. Correct appearances were important to her. Just as Lady Crudgington had said, Miss Cranford was a little too buttoned up.

  ‘We have a habit of meeting when you least want us to, Miss Cranford. Fear not, I only saw half of one scandalously pretty bare leg—but I shan’t tell a soul about your impropriety.’ Because he knew it would vex her, he winked as he tapped the side of his nose and laughed as she tried to think of a suitable way to put him in his place in front of her friend. Already, he knew she was more polite in front of others and more her tart self when alone with him. He rather liked that.

  ‘A true gentleman wouldn’t have mentioned it.’ Despite her snooty expression, one hand had already found its way to Trefor’s ear as he danced at her feet in adoring circles, that slipper still tightly clenched in his mouth.

  ‘But a true gentleman would have looked his fill, too, Miss Cranford. Be in no doubt of that. I am simply more honest than most and, in my defence, it was a very fine example of a leg.’ At the sound of a twig cracking beneath Lord Fennimore’s obstinate boot behind him in the trees, and mindful that he was under strict orders not to be flirting with her at all, he rapidly changed the subject to avoid the obligatory lecture. ‘We were walking across the meadow, minding our own business, when Trefor scented you. After that there was no stopping him. The mutt seems to be irresistibly drawn to you, Miss Cranford.’ Exactly like his master. He wouldn’t mind being caressed by those elegant, pale hands either. ‘I think he likes your perfume.’

  To prove his love, Trefor threw himself on the ground and flipped over, his eyes rolling back in his head as she bent down to tickle his tummy. Gravity allowed the loose tendrils to escape again and they crackled copper in the sun’s waning rays to torment him. He enjoyed the sight for a scant few seconds before his superior found them all in the clearing and he had to behave himself. ‘And here is Cedric now.’ Fortunately, too late to hear Gray’s teasing banter with the young woman he had been expressly forbidden from wooing—the one frantically tugging wildflowers from her hair. ‘I’m sure I speak for both of us when I say we apologise for interrupting whatever it was we interrupted.’

  ‘You are not interrupting at all.’ Lady Crudgington beamed at the old man, who blinked a little awkwardly, then miraculously smiled back. At least Gray assumed it was a smile. As he had never seen one and they had been bouncing around on horseback all day, it could just as easily be a spot of wind. ‘We were just finishing up. I’ve been painting Thea as a faerie. Come and look, gentlemen—and give me your honest opinion.’

  Dutifully they both stepped forward and gazed at the picture. The garish daub was barely comprehensible. He assumed the brown splodge was the tree trunk and the orange explosion in the middle to be Miss Cranford’s hair, but aside from that it had neither shape nor form. ‘What a rare talent you have, Lady Crudgington.’ Gray’s eyes sought and found Miss Cranford’s, which had lifted. Hers were suddenly filled with mirth at his diplomatic choice of words. ‘This work positively screams summer. Doesn’t it, Cedric?’

  ‘Er...yes. Summer and faeries.’

  ‘Painting is Harriet’s newest hobby,’ said Miss Cranford, uncharacteristically deadpan. ‘Would you believe that a sennight ago she had never before picked up a brush?’

  ‘No! Really?’ That she had used one at all came as a surprise when the paint appeared to be slapped on with the leafy end of a carrot. ‘Then I am doubly impressed.’ To stop the laugh escaping, Gray tapped his fingers to his lips, making sure
his thumb wedged up his jawbone to prevent it bursting open, while imagining all sorts of sad things to conquer the urge.

  ‘As...am...I.’ Lord Fennimore’s staccato response was almost his undoing, but he rallied manfully before Lady Crudgington put him out of his misery.

  ‘You lie more convincingly than your cousin, Lord Gray, and heaven only knows I appreciate the sentiment, but we both know it’s a travesty. Before you arrived, I attempted to soften the harshness of the lines with a wash, but applied too much and now it is ruined.’

  ‘Not that it was much better before she applied the water.’ Miss Cranford was giggling. It was a luscious, earthy, naughty sound that immediately conjured images of rumpled sheets and lazy, cosy mornings. Not at all the subdued and tempered laughter of a prim and proper miss—the sound travelled straight to his groin.

  ‘True. Another shocking disaster in my quest to become a grand master. But it was worth all the wasted effort to watch you two handsome gentlemen attempt to spare my feelings so inarticulately. That was priceless.’ Her hands went to her hips and she smiled. ‘Now that you are here, you might as well make yourselves useful and help me carry my equipment back to the house. We have dallied long enough on our quest not to be bored senseless by Suffolk, but I promised Thea I would keep her company at one of Edward’s dreadfully dull business dinners and we must head back to change.’

  Lord Fennimore stepped forward and was soon press-ganged into putting away cakes of paint and folding the easel, leaving Gray with nothing better to do than retrieve Miss Cranford’s slightly soggy shoe from his dog’s mouth. He passed it to her and she sat on the trunk again to put it on. When she had finished, he held out his hand to help her up and she took it, and the impact that tiny, innocent touch had on his body was as unexpected as it was pleasant. He felt her everywhere, head to toe, the tips of his fingers tingling and itching to tug her into his arms and tangle in her hair.

  If she felt it, too, she did a very good job of hiding it and showed no desire to continue holding it once she was upright again. If she had tugged her hand away quickly, he might have thought she was bothered, but she didn’t. If anything, she disentangled herself absently while brushing the dust from her dress, then, retrieving her book from the tree trunk where she had discarded it, she hugged it to her body. ‘Isn’t the weather lovely?’

  ‘Oh, dear. I have been relegated to small talk. That is not a very good sign.’

  ‘I am trying to be polite, my lord.’

  ‘No you’re not. You are trying to minimise our connection to one of indifferent acquaintances when you are fully aware I am not the least bit indifferent to you and I suspect you are not the least bit indifferent to me.’ Gray had dropped his voice to prevent his superior catching him doing exactly what he knew he shouldn’t be—but being a good spy when she was so close and so beautiful it made his heart ache was practically impossible.

  She glanced down at the book in her hands and made a great show of reading the gold-embossed lettering on the spine. ‘I am not the slightest bit interested in flirting with you, my lord, so please desist.’

  ‘Dear me... Icy politeness, too.’ He stepped forward and looked around her. Lord Fennimore was distracted and going pink as he fought with the easel. ‘What happened to the fiery, tart redhead I met on the terrace? The one who blows raspberries and gives as good as she gets.’

  ‘You caught me at a bad moment, my lord, and I temporarily forgot myself.’

  ‘I liked her. I should like to get to know her better.’

  ‘If you are going to continue to flirt, I shall have to terminate this conversation, my lord.’

  Aloofness. She did that very well when she had a mind to—but he had always enjoyed a challenge. ‘All right, no flirting. But, I beg you, no small talk either.’ Gray smiled and rapidly changed tack. ‘A business dinner? That does sound dull.’ It threw her and she blinked, but quickly rallied, clearly relieved the uncomfortable subject had been sidestepped.

  ‘My uncle finds it difficult travelling into town to manage his affairs, so once a month his banker and solicitor travel down. They arrived this afternoon, so should be long done with most of the dull stuff, but sometimes the conversations continue over dinner.’

  ‘Very dull, then?’

  She smiled, her shoulders and spine relaxing a little. ‘Yes, very. Unless you find talk of investments riveting.’

  He yawned. ‘Does your uncle have extensive investments?’

  ‘Not extensive. He prefers to invest in what he knows.’ She blinked as she regarded him, as if that was explanation enough. Or she was mindful that she had already said too much.

  ‘Are you purposefully being cryptic or is it a secret? Something dark and mysterious, perhaps?’ Was she involved? Complicit in her uncle’s crimes? As soon as the thought popped into his head he dismissed it. His gut told him no and he trusted his instincts.

  ‘Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid, else I wouldn’t need Harriet to save me. Uncle Edward invests in imports and exports. Years ago, he lent money to a friend starting such a business and discovered he had a talent for it, too. Since then he has always dabbled.’

  Imports and exports. Smuggled brandy in exchange for English guns? Too coincidental to ignore. ‘I should imagine Lady Crudgington is a godsend at such events.’

  ‘Indeed she is. Men of business are prone to be serious and, as Harriet rarely is, she is an excellent diversion.’

  ‘Much like me. I pride myself on being an excellent diversion. As your new and most neighbourly neighbour, I’d be happy to come, too—to help alleviate some of your boredom. My dour cousin and I have no dinner plans for this evening.’

  ‘You are very bold, sir, to invite yourself to dinner.’

  ‘I am that, Miss Cranford. Bold and diverting and very, very hungry.’

  ‘Is there no food at Kirton House?’ That sparring twinkle in her eye was returning, telling him she was not as politely indifferent as she would have him believe, nor as buttoned-up as she wanted to be. It cheered him immensely despite the fact that a dedicated spy would stalwartly resist the overwhelming urge to flirt with her when the advancement of his career hung in the balance and they had one very dangerous criminal to catch. Perhaps he wasn’t that dedicated? Or more likely, promotion or no promotion, the wild streak in him that always took advantage of the moment ran too deep to be tamed so easily.

  He leaned closer, far closer than was necessary, and treated his nostrils to her unique, inviting scent. ‘There is. But the company leaves a lot to be desired.’ Her gaze followed his to where Lord Fennimore was glaring at his dog. ‘Pity a poor neighbour and give him something lovely to stare at across the dinner table just this once. I’m sure your uncle won’t mind extra guests and you would be bestowing an act of gratefully received charity on a very worthy recipient. Aside from Lord Grump Weasel over there, I don’t know another soul in Suffolk. I get lonely...’

  ‘Ah—I see. Because of absolutely nothing to do with me, I should pity you and suffer you again at dinner tonight?’

  At that, Lady Crudgington turned around and beamed. It was too well timed, so very innocent, he would bet good money she had been shamelessly eavesdropping the whole time. ‘Are Lord Gray and Lord Fennimore also joining us, Thea?’ She seemed delighted at the prospect and he was quietly confident Gislingham’s niece would be too polite to rescind the invitation in front of Lord Fennimore, who was also smiling, clearly impressed with his subordinate’s canny opportunism while oblivious to the shameless flirting that had led to it. ‘How positively splendid! And there I was trying to figure out a way to get to know our new neighbours better.’ Lady Crudgington rammed the easel into Gray’s chest unceremoniously and wound her arm possessively through his superior’s arm. ‘You must sit next to me tonight, Lord Fennimore. I have a million burning questions...’

  Chapter Eight

  Against her better judgement,
the emerald silk she had been too reticent to wear had beckoned and, before she could think better of it, Impetuous Thea had put it on. Now, waiting for the arrival of their unwelcome dinner guests after a mind-shattering report of the current state of her ever-increasing finances with the solicitor, she was supremely conscious of the bold gown’s low neckline and tightly fitting bodice. It was a gown which displayed her figure to the very best effect without the need for folding her arms at all. A gown that had sat in her wardrobe for almost a year for that very reason. She should have sent the dratted thing back and insisted the modiste attach some shielding trim the moment it had arrived last summer, because now she was purposefully wearing it. For him!

  If the abundant display of cleavage wasn’t enough, she also had butterflies in her stomach which simply refused to fly away no matter how much she tried to distract herself from thinking about them. ‘Would you like more wine, Mr Rendell?’ Being the perfect hostess gave her something to do.

  ‘I’ll have some.’ Harriet held out her glass. ‘And if you don’t mind me saying, Thea darling, you look like you could do with some, too.’ Her friend shared a conspiratorial look with her uncle before dropping her voice to a whisper. ‘Might help calm those nerves.’

  She didn’t dignify such an outrageous—and entirely correct—assumption with a response and snatched the proffered glasses away to refill them. Despite thoroughly enjoying the odd tipple, Thea had purposely eschewed all alcohol thus far this evening because of him, too. The last thing she wanted was the heady wine lowering her inhibitions and releasing Impetuous Thea into the wild, when she clearly was in dire need of all of them if this inappropriate dress was any indication. With a little wine in her system, she was prone to be more vocal with her opinions and the suppressed rebellious and wilful aspects of her character came to the fore. Aspects which were only too ready to jump to the fore with him when no alcohol whatsoever was involved.