I hope you do not mind our unannounced arrival. We were keen to meet you all.’ He was almost as keen to meet the wife of The Boss as the man himself. Wives were rarely innocent, in his experience.
‘It is always a delight to make new friends, my lord.’ The Viscountess’s eyes slowly panned to Gray’s again and held, making him wonder if she was saying more than hello.
As the old man stepped back, Gray stepped forward and bowed. ‘You have a beautiful home, my lady.’
Her gloveless fingers grasped his. Squeezed softly. ‘Thank you. One you are always welcome in.’ A definite invitation. Unexpected, but interesting. Something which might come in useful for the mission. He felt the back of his neck prickle and was instantly suffused with guilt—even more unexpected, but there regardless. As he stepped back he tilted his head to investigate the source, despite already knowing in his bones it was she. Miss Cranford’s face was still bland, but her eyes were not. They were disappointed. Was she disappointed in her aunt or him? Ridiculously, he hoped it was the former.
‘I shall let Thea take you on the rounds to meet everyone and then you must come directly back to me.’ The Viscountess smiled at Lord Fennimore. That smile morphed into something entirely different by the time it reached Gray. She glanced up at him through her lashes, then the tone of her voice dipped ever so slightly as she lingered over the vowels. ‘I absolutely insist.’
It was a subtle invitation, purposefully ambiguous, yet to him—a man of the world who knew how the game was played—he was now left in no doubt. The Viscountess wanted to play. Something which should have excited him, because it gave the King’s Elite a way into the Viscount’s circle, but instead he found it distasteful because Lady Caroline was not her niece. More evidence of his lack of focus, no doubt, and time to be that better spy.
For the next few minutes, while his nostrils twitched at the alluring perfume Miss Cranford wore, they were introduced to the gentleman who seemed to hang on their hostess’s every word. The local solicitor, Mr Partridge. The second son of the Marquess of Allerton. A local landowner who dabbled in stocks. They were soon joined by the very Mr Hargreaves that Miss Cranford had apparently worried about her hair for earlier, although it took all of three seconds for Gray to work out the cut of his jib. All were much the same age as he was. Good-looking and knew it. All were cloyingly sycophantic and clearly all had enjoyed the Viscountess Gislingham’s exclusive company at least once, if he was any judge.
‘Follow me, gentlemen.’ Miss Cranford’s voice held a hint of snippiness as she brusquely turned, that sultry perfume wafting like a siren’s call to tempt him, and glided in the direction of a particular group of ladies, three of whom happened to be the wives of the men he suspected were the other woman’s lovers. Was that deliberate? If it was, was the point directed at him or her aunt? And why did he have the overwhelming urge to tell her she didn’t need to worry about him because he wasn’t attracted to her aunt in the slightest? Gray had to bite down on his lip to stop the words coming out, knowing they would be a lie. If he had to seduce the Viscountess for King and country, then he would. Regardless of the beautiful redhead’s disapproval and his peculiar, misplaced guilt.
What the blazes was the matter with him? He had waited two years for the chance to head up an important mission—he wouldn’t let his uncharacteristic reaction to a hitherto unknown woman stand in the way. It was probably the responsibility and the heat. Despite the lighter coat, he could still feel the back of his shirt sticking to him. Nerves and the hot July sun would do that to a man.
* * *
Thea found Harriet on the terrace soaking up the sun. Because the whole world believed a woman’s skin should be pale to be beautiful, her friend was determined to fly in the face of convention and was lounging with her head tilted back to capture every ray. Typically, like her rebellious streak, the healthy tan suited her. Thea wandered to the bench and plopped her bottom on to it, irritated. ‘You left me with Colonel Purbeck.’
‘Of course I did. The man spits when he talks.’
‘A true friend would have promptly rescued me.’
‘Ah...but I could see that Mr Hargreaves was eager to talk to you, so I knew you would be all right.’ Harriet cracked open one eye and then shuffled to sit upright when she saw Thea’s miserable expression. ‘I was only teasing about Mr Hargreaves. Aside from the breeches and his face, he has little else to recommend him.’
‘I know.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ She huffed out a sigh. Watching Lord Gray flirt with her aunt had left a sour taste in her mouth. Not that she was interested in him. If one ignored the fine face and impressive body, the man had too much of a mischievous glint in his unusual eyes for her to consider him as anything more than a pleasant conversation partner. Not that they had had a pleasant conversation. Thea had introduced him to everyone bar her uncle, who had slipped away for a nap, and then had delivered him eagerly back to Caro all in the space of ten minutes. Without all those tiresome introductions and her irritation at her aunt’s blatant interest in their new visitor, the errant yet persistent memory of him sans clothes made it difficult to think of anything remotely interesting or even banal to say and he seemed to have no desire to fill the void.
He had immediately come to life in front of her vivacious aunt, though, as soon as she had delivered him back. He had practically bent over backwards to charm her. Not that Thea coveted that sort of charming or approved of anyone who fell for the flirty façade her uncle’s slightly self-absorbed and highly strung wife presented to the world.
Still, being so blatantly overlooked rankled when she was obviously younger and single. And deep down she was thoroughly disappointed that the handsome new stranger no longer passed muster.
‘Do you think I’ve become dull?’
‘I despise dull people. We couldn’t be friends if you were the least bit dull.’ Harriet’s eyes dipped to where her hands fiddled idly with the fabric of her skirt. A sure sign she was tempering her response.
‘I sense a but...’
‘But you are a little too buttoned up nowadays, truth be told. Subdued. Too concerned with etiquette and behaviour and being proper and doing right by your uncle.’
‘Ladies are meant to behave with decorum.’ The impetuous part of her felt trapped by those rules, while the greater part feared what would happen without those boundaries. ‘Unlike you, I do not have the luxury of abandoning my good reputation. I still have to find a husband.’ Not that she had really been looking. All her suitors thus far had failed to exceed her low expectations and all were fixated on the money she came with. It had made her jaded. Understandably so.
‘I wasn’t suggesting you become a scandal, Thea. Merely that you let your hair down once in a while. You used to be so bold and spontaneous—I wish you’d let all those scintillating aspects of your character shine again rather than tempering them. You would have such fun! I want you to have some excitement in your life before you settle down—if you ever deign to allow a gentleman to get past your iron-clad defences, of course. Believe me, the years fly past so quickly and I would hate for you to regret your wasted youth. It worries me that you rarely leave your uncle’s grounds unless I drag you.’
‘You know that Uncle Edward is unwell.’ And her aunt abandoned the house for days on end visiting friends or shopping. Polite excuses for not wanting to be in her husband’s hostile or uninterested company. Their marriage had been strained before his illness and, despite her aunt’s utter despair at the thought of losing
