The Disgraceful Lord Gray. Virginia HeathЧитать онлайн книгу.
bad. Temporarily dallied with considerably more women than the single one he had originally pledged to spend eternity with, and he now worked for His Majesty’s government instead. How many of his former peers could say that?
If he, or his incorrigible mutt, didn’t make a total hash of this mission, soon Gray would also command the Invisibles—the highly trained, most covert and most important branch of the King’s Elite—answerable only to Lord Fennimore, the Home Secretary and the King in that order. Not bad going for a man disowned by his family for losing his entire fortune in the gaming hells at the tender age of twenty-one. He had craved adventure and entertainment far more than he wanted to conform.
Still did, truth be told. Ten hard years and a brutal betrayal still hadn’t managed to dampen his mischievous zest for life or his tendency to live entirely in the moment. Life was too short to ponder what might have been. If it was meant to be, it would have happened. It was as simple as that. There was no point lamenting the fickle finger of fate or wasting time being angry or crippled by remorse. Better to live his life much like Trefor did. Enjoy the here and now, forget the past which couldn’t be changed and let tomorrow sort itself out.
Gray craned his ears until he heard joyous splashing and the dog’s trademark swimming grunt. A cross between a cough and snort, muffled slightly no doubt by the obstruction of the stolen slipper betwixt his teeth. Gray tracked it several yards along the bank, then stood and glared at the animal deliriously paddling in a happy circle below.
‘Well, I’m in for another blistering lecture thanks to you. Were the old man’s drawers not enough? I thought he would have an apoplexy when you shredded them, but at least he brought spares. I’m fairly certain he only brought one pair of slippers.’ He put his hands on his hips and channelled the disappointed expression his father had always worn when addressing him. It felt odd on his face. ‘I hope you are proud of yourself, young man?’
Judging by the joyful wag of Trefor’s fierce whip of a tail in the water, he was. Happy and proud and gloriously cool. It took around five seconds to decide not to attempt to drag the dog out. The slipper was ruined. Beyond hope. Lord Fennimore’s lecture was now unavoidable, yet the day was young, the spot secluded and the water enticing. A nice, refreshing swim would certainly take the sting out of the tongue lashing and it would be a terrible shame to waste the opportunity. Especially when the hopelessly wayward part of his character still couldn’t resist the seductive lure of the moment even now.
His dog saw the indecision and swiftly dropped the slipper as he climbed up the bank. It took approximately three seconds of foraging in the undergrowth before Trefor found a suitable stick, then he sat like a good boy and gazed at his master winsomely, the invitation to play clear in those manipulative, soulful dark brown eyes. As resistance was futile, and before he did anything remotely sensible like reconsider, Gray tugged off his shiny new boots, stripped off his newly tailored aristocratic clothes and waded happily into the water.
* * *
‘We should probably find a little shade to set up your easel.’ Thea gazed up at the clear blue sky and the unobstructed sun and frowned. Much as she loved the sunshine, it didn’t love her. Pale, sensitive skin was the redhead’s curse. Any more than twenty minutes’ exposure and she was guaranteed to look like a beetroot for days.
Harriet rolled her eyes dramatically, greatly put upon despite dragging Thea out of bed at the crack of dawn to chat to her while she attempted to paint. Watercolours were Harriet’s new hobby and, like all her hobbies, destined to be abandoned because nothing truly held her wandering interest for long. ‘You wouldn’t burn if you’d wear a bonnet.’ Not that she was wearing one either, or a lace cap—when everyone expected mature widows of good breeding to wear one of those at all times.
‘You know a hat in this heat will only make my head hot and then my dratted hair will turn into a big ball of frizz.’ Thea began to stride towards the trees, knowing her companion wouldn’t really begrudge her some shade as long as she kept her company. They were an odd partnership, separated by thirty years in age yet the very best of friends as well as neighbours. Probably because Harriet was basically naughty and devil-may-care by nature and didn’t give two figs about it, while Thea feared she was exactly the same, but worked hard to control it. A classic case of opposites attracting. Or birds of a feather flocking together. Living within spitting distance, and in the absence of any other local ladies who held either of their interests long, they had formed an unlikely bond shortly after her friend had been widowed.
‘Aunt Caro has invited half the county for tea this afternoon and for once I’d like to look a little less of a disaster than usual.’ Although the humidity was already playing havoc with her coiffure. Despite all the pins and plaits her maid had used to tame it this morning, Thea could still feel a great many of the unruly strands making a determined break for freedom from their tight shackles and twisting themselves into their preferred upright corkscrew shape.
She castigated the Almighty daily for saddling her with vertical, twirling, wayward hair. While she rather liked the colour—the red was unique and gave her a touch of dash as well as giving her the excuse not to wear the insipid pastels other unmarried girls had to wear—the unpredictable curls were a menace. When all the other young ladies had artful, bouncing ringlets framing their face, Thea wore a veritable halo of fluff.
‘Will a certain Mr Hargreaves be there?’
‘Lord, I hope not! The man is such a dreadful bore.’ And an obvious fortune hunter who Thea suspected was one of her aunt’s cast-offs, not that she would ever admit such a thing even to Harriet. Her suspicions about her aunt’s infidelities were hers alone and, no matter how many times her friend pumped her for gossip, she kept her counsel. While she loved her uncle to distraction, he wasn’t a particularly good husband and had neglected his fragile second wife abominably over the years. At times his tone towards Aunt Caro was overly antagonistic and bitter, and if he was in the mood to be ornery with her then it was uncomfortable to watch. Poor Caro, in turn, had sought comfort elsewhere over the years and, although Thea didn’t condone it, she tried not to judge. Theirs was the unhappiest of marriages and a stark warning of what could happen if you settled for the wrong person.
Mr Hargreaves was one of several who might have warmed her aunt’s bed on her frequent forays out. The pair shared far too many knowing looks when they assumed nobody was watching them. ‘All he talks about are his superior connections—as if the fact he knows Lord and Lady So-and-So should impress me.’
‘He’s handsome though. If one has to be bound to a man for all eternity, it’s best he is easy on the eye. I insisted upon that when I had to marry. Crudge, God rest him, was exceptionally easy on the eye and liked to ride. Such pursuits do wonders for a gentleman’s buttocks. In my humble opinion, there is nothing better than a pert pair of cheeks encased in tight buckskin.’ Her incorrigible older friend had a wicked glint in her eye. ‘Did I ever tell you I seduced him first?’
‘Repeatedly.’ And in intriguing detail. Practically all of Thea’s knowledge of procreation came from Harriet’s detailed confessions.
‘I was already falling in love with him, was certainly in lust with him, and saw no point in beating around the bush with a long and protracted courtship. Obviously, it all turned out for the best. We married in haste and got to enjoy seeing each other naked a great many more times than we would have done had we adhered to the fashion for protracted courtships.’ She sighed again. ‘And, by Jove, did that man look good naked... Mr Hargreaves has a pleasant posterior. Or at least I think he has. I haven’t managed a thorough scrutiny yet to be completely sure, but I did catch a hint of a glimpse at last month’s hunting party. Decent thighs—which usually are a good sign. They suggest a certain robustness. Although, in truth, I want more for you than him. I want you to have some adventure and excitement first. Your life is far too predictable and regimented for one so young. It’s a crying shame...wait... Is that a dog barking?’
They both paused and listened. After a beat of total silence broken only by the chirping sounds of the morning chorus, a succession of rapid, high-pitched woofs could be heard coming from the trees.
‘That doesn’t sound good.’