The Disgraceful Lord Gray. Virginia Heath
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he first saw her, like the dying embers of a warm winter fire. Evidently, he now had a penchant for redheads as well as bottoms and legs. Who knew? It was these surprising, unforeseen revelations which made his meandering life interesting. That and the enormous potholes it consistently threw in his path.
He did a quick flick through his many happy memories, disappointingly sparse these last two years since ambition had come unexpectedly knocking, and came to the unfortunate conclusion he had never bedded a redhead before. Something he needed to remedy—but not yet. It was a crying shame he couldn’t bed this one, because she was a tasty morsel if ever there was one, but Gislingham’s ward wasn’t his mission.
Gislingham was.
For the foreseeable future, Gray had to be on his very best behaviour. But he would store it in his mind for future reference and try to repair whatever damage he had done, making a mental note to seek out a suitably willing redhead as soon as he was able as a reward if he miraculously managed to save things.
While the ladies were occupied on the opposite bank, he swiftly pulled on his shirt then sank down in the water to wrestle on his breeches. Something much easier said than done. Only once he was semi-decent did he risk scaling the bank.
Miss Cranford was striding across the parkland by the time he had grabbed his boots, her fists clenched tightly at her sides and her lovely legs tearing up the ground, oblivious of the already besotted Trefor trotting along beside her. Gray didn’t bother calling his hound back, instead he sprinted bare foot to catch up with Lady Crudgington, who was still grinning, intent on eating an enormous slice of humble pie.
‘My sincerest and humblest apologies, ladies. My lack of propriety was unforgivable.’ Yet another thing for Lord Fennimore to justifiably rant about and one he couldn’t blame on his dog. ‘I feel dreadful.’ Which was true, but for entirely different reasons. He blamed the spectre of ambition which had unwelcomely crept up on him and simply refused to go away no matter how much he tried to tell it that he was a wandering gypsy at heart. With every passing moment, that coveted promotion was slipping away, as all things he coveted tended to do if he wanted them too badly. And as per usual, it was all his fault. He really did need to work harder at being a better spy. Especially as his tendency to live in the moment had created this moment—one he would much prefer not to have happened at all.
‘A bit of water never hurt anyone, my lord, and it was very funny.’
‘Traitor!’ Miss Cranford’s head whipped around and she positively glared at her companion.
‘Well, it was funny, Thea. You’d think so, too, if you weren’t in a snit about your hair.’ The older woman dropped her voice conspiratorially, while clearly intending for her delicious friend to hear. ‘It takes for ever to tame the natural curl, poor thing, and she wants to look her best for Mr Hargreaves this afternoon.’
‘I most certainly do not want to look my best for Mr Hargreaves!’ Miss Cranford stopped so abruptly, Gray almost walked into the back of her. The flecks of copper in her dark eyes matched her hair. They narrowed in accusation. ‘Look at the state of me!’ Noticing the two muddy paw prints on the front of her dress for the first time, she rubbed at the stain ineffectually. ‘This will take hours to repair!’
‘It would be my honour to buy you a new gown, Miss Cranford, to replace the one my dog has ruined.’ On cue, Trefor nuzzled her thigh with his head and began to wag his tail so fast the whole of his gangly body shook, gazing up at her in canine adoration. Gray watched her eyes drop to the animal and soften and in that second found himself liking her a great deal. And his dog. She clearly had a weakness for the mutt, which might be the only hope he had. ‘Trefor is very sorry, too, if it’s any consolation. Look at his eyes.’ Only the most hardened of individuals—or Lord Fennimore—could not be seduced by those sorrowful eyes.
Her hand dipped down to tickle the dog’s ear. ‘You’re a good boy really—aren’t you, Trefor? Just boisterous is all. I don’t blame you for what happened in the slightest.’ He heard the intended dig as she glared somewhat half-heartedly at him, and he did his best to look contrite. She was calming down and seemed in no hurry to stop petting the dog.
‘Miss Cranford, I really do feel wretched. I should have behaved with more decorum. In my defence—although I am well aware what you witnessed was wholly indefensible—the parkland was quite deserted when I ventured into the stream. Trefor loves water, you see, and he especially loves it with me in it. Had I had any inkling that somebody would stumble across me so early I would never have sullied your delicate sensibilities with the sight of me cavorting in my birthday suit.’ He felt his lips twitching again and bit down tightly on the bottom one to stop it. Good spies didn’t ruin contrition with laughter. ‘I can assure you it will never happen again.’
‘Well, I for one enjoyed it immensely, my lord,’ said Lady Crudgington with a wicked grin. ‘Do feel free to cavort in my presence whenever you see fit.’
‘Harriet is incorrigible.’ A vibrantly blushing Miss Cranford was crouching down to tickle Trefor’s suddenly skyward-facing tummy, rather than looking directly at him. He silently willed his dog to remain prostrate and adorable for as long as it took to earn her forgiveness.
‘That I am, young man, and proudly so. I behaved myself for thirty years and that was quite long enough. I keep hoping a little of me will brush off on Thea, but alas, she is too buttoned up nowadays for her own good. She has become one for rules, Lord Gray, whereas I am one to break them. Which are you?’
Most definitely the second. Obeying rules for his first twenty years had ultimately left his life in tatters. ‘I shall allow you to work that out for yourself, my lady. I couldn’t possibly comment.’
‘A kindred spirit! How marvellous, Lord Gray.’ She whacked him with her elbow.
‘His name is Lord Graham.’
‘Which doesn’t suit him at all. Gray is his preferred name and it matches his eyes, so he shall be Lord Gray to me now for evermore. It sounds so much more romantic than Graham. Do you have any objections to your new name?’
‘Not at all. You may call me what you wish. I’ve never been particularly fond of it.’ It reminded him too much of his unfortunate links to his father and brother.
‘Splendid! Then it is decided. An exciting new name for an exciting new gentleman! It is just as well, for the society hereabouts is very staid, my lord. With the notable exception of my lovely young friend here and her charming uncle, I can barely tolerate most of them. However, I think I shall enjoy having you as a neighbour. I even approve of your dog.’
So did Miss Cranford, who had happily turned into Trefor’s willing slave as she petted him, all the previous fraught tension in her delectable, damp body beginning to disappear in the thrall of his dog’s spell. ‘Is Trefor a mongrel? Only I’ve never seen a dog that looks anything like him.’
Gray stared in mock affront. ‘Cover his ears! Don’t let him hear that, Miss Cranford! He will feel inferior.’ He bent over to scratch the shameless mutt’s belly, enjoying the way her eyes shyly locked with his for a second before she hastily returned them to the dog. ‘In actual fact, he is the result of two centuries’ worth of careful breeding. He is a St John’s. Rather aptly, bred to be a water dog to help the fishermen of that smelly port haul in their nets. They are excellent swimmers with the most amiable of temperaments. He’s come all the way from Newfoundland.’
‘Really?’ It was obvious she was a dog-lover. She had barely taken her eyes off Trefor since he had cosied up against her.
‘Indeed. Many moons ago, I was in the merchant navy.’ Gray had run away to sea within days of the momentous scandal exploding and had happily stayed at sea while it blew over, the dust settled and society quite forgot about him. ‘My ship was docked in that very harbour and one of the fishermen was offloading a litter of puppies, intent on drowning any he could not rehome that day. As Trefor was the runt of the litter, none of the other fishermen wanted him.’
‘And you took him?’ Her lovely eyes left his