The Disgraceful Lord Gray. Virginia Heath
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one woman.
Or, in legal terms, and without further proof, hearsay.
They quickly realised they needed more than the word of just one witness if they were to make the charges stick. The Boss had no interest in Napoleon, or laws, or lives. He only cared about profit. Under Lord Fennimore’s guidance the King’s Elite had allowed the dust to settle, watched and waited. A man like The Boss would be ruthless in repairing all they had destroyed and they didn’t have to wait very long for the smugglers, suppliers and greedy distributors to begin to piece together some of the tattered remnants of the operation.
Already, more illegal brandy was trickling back on to British shores and, because they had been allowed to do so unhindered, the smugglers were becoming bolder.
The Boss didn’t know they knew. Nor did he know the net was closing in and they intended to catch him red-handed. The Boss also did not know they had narrowed down his true identity to one of two men. He was either the Earl of Winterton in Norfolk or Gray’s target—and the delicious redhead’s guardian—Viscount Gislingham. Whoever he was, he would soon be rotting in the Tower, awaiting his execution. And Gray knew he spoke for all his comrades—both living and recently dead—that that day couldn’t come soon enough. Too much blood had been spilled already.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Miss Cranford, but I thought it made sense to use your invitation to introduce the both of us to our new neighbours. Hopefully I shall make a better first impression on them than I did on you.’ Fennimore had practically spat feathers when Gray had confessed to being caught in the altogether by Gislingham’s niece. He had yet to appraise him of Trefor’s hand in practically drowning her. ‘Once again, allow me to offer my sincerest apologies.’
There were two pretty, pink circles on her cheeks at the reminder, but she held his gaze politely. ‘None are needed. Let us draw a veil over it.’
She blinked rapidly, luring his eyes to her ridiculously long, brown-tipped lashes before her hand fleetingly went to her riotous copper curls. She had beautiful hair. Unusual, but invitingly tactile. The obviously natural ringlets were not uniform. Tight spirals and loose curls wove together, begging to be touched and properly examined. If he pulled one, for instance, how much longer would it be? Double? Triple? Perhaps quadruple the length? In sunlight it crackled like fire. Wet, it deepened to auburn. Here in this bright drawing room it was vibrant, but the lack of direct light brought out the other tones. Bronze. Gold. The merest hint of chestnut. What would the pale moonlight do to it? He was staring at her head and she saw it. A little wrinkle of annoyance appeared between her russet brows, no doubt at his impertinence, before she quashed it.
‘Would you like me to introduce you to my uncle and aunt?’ Of their own accord, his eyes had now dropped to her lips. They were very kissable indeed. Soft, plump, a deeper shade of pink than the blush that stained her porcelain cheeks. Why couldn’t he stop gazing at her when he knew he needed to focus on being a better spy?
‘We would like that very much indeed, Miss Cranford.’ Lord Fennimore shot him a withering glance and inclined his head, giving away no indication as to exactly how much the pair of them were looking forward to meeting their potential nemesis. ‘You are most generous in forgiving my idiot cousin. Rest assured we have had words about the incident.’ His superior had said all the words, mostly in a very loud, agitated voice which had sent poor Trefor into hiding for hours. Unfortunately, they were all justified.
Lord Fennimore held out his arm and Miss Cranford took it, and for some inexplicable reason Gray felt a pang of jealousy. ‘Please lead the way.’
He suppressed the errant emotion and focused on the job in hand. At his best guess, there were twenty or so people in the room, all regarding them with interest. The fact they did nothing to disguise it was refreshing. In town, showing interest was one of the Seven Deadly Sins and everybody schooled their features to look bored. Provincial society was very different and one Gray was surprised to find himself comfortable within. Once upon a time he had loathed it, couldn’t wait to leave it and headed to the capital as soon as he was able. But it was actually rather nice to see what people were thinking for once. It made him oddly homesick.
Holding court on the striped damask sofa was an attractive woman of middle years wearing a fashionable day gown which must have cost more than a month’s worth of his salary. French lace and silk. You couldn’t spend your days catching smugglers and not recognise some of the spoils. She turned her head towards him, then smiled, her gaze flicking briefly to his reluctant new distant cousin, then sliding back to his. ‘Strangers? How exciting, Thea.’
‘Lord Fennimore. Lord Gray. This is my Aunt Caroline, Viscountess Gislingham. Aunt—these are our new neighbours, who have recently taken residence at Kirton House.’
As introductions went, it was very proper, yet he was convinced he detected some censure in her tone beneath all the politeness one would expect from a well brought-up young lady. A quick glance to his right and Miss Cranford’s features were quite bland as Lord Fennimore stepped forward to take the Viscountess’s hand.
‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady. 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