Thanks to the continual arrival of the other guests and the assumption that everyone would need to rest before dinner, Seb was able to freely ride around the grounds of Penhurst Hall unfettered. The house sat high on the South Downs, surrounded by a good mile of rolling pasture before it came to a sudden halt at the steep cliffs which bordered the sea. Those cliffs petered out as they ran down towards Birling Gap—an infamous beach for smugglers of old and one which was now patrolled by the Excise Men. Knowing how stretched that service was, it wasn’t out of the realms of fantasy to imagine the smugglers he was seeking sailing their boats into this secluded little stretch of beach and then hauling their contraband up the shortest wall of the cliff. But then they could do much the same along the steepest walls. The Boss headed a wily and resourceful operation, therefore a steep cliff face was hardly an insurmountable obstacle and less likely to be monitored by the Excise Men. His men were paid well to risk their lives.
But so were Seb’s.
Somewhere in this vast expanse of grass and sheep were two of his Invisibles. Another four were moored offshore in the Channel in a fishing boat. More were dotted along the length of coastline, watching and waiting. Gray was inside the house, ingratiating himself with the servants and mapping the hall while others manned all the possible roads where a cart laden with illegal French brandy might travel. If Penhurst was indeed in league with England’s most dangerous gang of smugglers, and used this land to commit his treason, then the King’s Elite would see it. But catching the boots on the ground was not the point of this mission. Those men could be replaced easily enough. They needed to catch Penhurst and the other leaders, and destroy the foundations of their organisation completely, which meant that Seb had to thoroughly infiltrate the core or find enough damning evidence to ensure there was no reasonable doubt as to their guilt.
Viscount Penhurst was intrigued at this stage, nothing more. Each time they met he subtly tested Seb’s supposed morals again and again, and each time Seb dripped in more detail to make the man believe they were kindred spirits. The fact that Penhurst made his blood boil over the simplest things was something Seb was trained to disguise, yet the more he got to know him, the harder it was not to slam his fist into the man’s face. The viscount had little respect for anything except his own pleasures and spending money. He treated his servants like dirt, his wife worse and had a warped, depraved sense of humour which his hideous cronies shared. The stories they told about the perversions they subjected their mistresses to turned his stomach and set his mind wandering to places he didn’t want to contemplate—not when his mother had been a mistress to a powerful man all her adult life. She had loved his father. Seb didn’t fool himself his father had loved her back.
But for those powerful men, like his dear papa, their attitude to their mistresses was commercial and detached. They paid good money to keep the woman in luxury, therefore it was their due to be reimbursed for their investment in other ways. Seb likened it to being press-ganged into the navy. If you took the shilling, you accepted the consequences and did what you were told. Even if that meant debasing yourself. Once they had served their purpose or their owner became bored, they were cast aside without a second thought. Peers like Penhurst didn’t hear the word no. Had Seb’s father abused his mother like that? He sincerely hoped not, but the man had certainly not honoured her with a second thought.
Tonight, no doubt, and over the coming days he would have to listen to more poison. For the sake of King and country he would force himself to laugh alongside them, slap them on the back and congratulate them on their prowess. So far he hadn’t been able to bring himself to invent the sick lies which would convince them that he had committed similar atrocities against a woman. Pretty soon he might have to, unless Penhurst revealed his hand and invited Seb completely into his debauched world. Just thinking about it made him feel strangely violated. Success in this case had a definite drawback.
Two if he included watching Gem pursue her Duke.
That was equally unpalatable.
With a frustrated sigh he turned his horse back towards the house. He had avoided her when she had finally arrived a few hours ago, disgusted at her single-minded determination to become a duchess and his own inability not to care about it.
He had known that when he had agreed to her suggestion. Known it as she had escorted him around those ballrooms, ensured he was not only accepted but welcomed into the ranks of high society, helped him with his awkwardness and his mission. Known it as he had held her in his arms and danced with her. Incomparables weren’t for bastards. He and she lived in two very different worlds. Despite that, Gem had come to mean more to him than a means to an end. Much more. His heart wept that she would sell herself so short and accept Westbridge’s shoddy treatment. All to be a duchess.
If that was what her heart desired, exactly how was Seb to compete?
Perhaps if he had not been so inept with the opposite sex he could seduce her...her blithe denunciation of his lack of seduction skills earlier had hurt. Those words had collided with another unstoppable surge of lust brought about by the sight of her with her hair down in that revealing silk robe, the fabric almost fluid as it moulded against the mounds of her unbound breasts. It had been a wholly unnecessary diversion borne out of a desire to have her to himself one last time before they embarked on a week of hideous socialising. Seb had justified it to Gray as a need to pick her brain about the guests, knowing full well he could just as easily steal her for a few minutes at the house and talk to her then. But at the house would be her damn Duke and Seb was completely, pathetically smitten.
His normally strategic thoughts were constantly broken by images of her, encroaching on his waking mind and laying siege to his night-time dreams. Again this morning he had awoken hot and hard, wanting, the tangled sheets coiled around his body a testament to his restless sleep. Seeing her in the flesh had been paramount. True to form, the moment he had walked into that bedchamber he had been struck once again by the sheer beauty of Gem in her natural state. Her golden hair was indeed straight. The few kinks created by the previous style made it shimmer in the morning sunshine streaming through the window, the usually short, tight ringlets which framed her face hung as loose tendrils past her jaw, softer and more enticing. His fingers had yearned to reach out and touch one close to her freshly washed cheek. That Gem, the real one, was the true diamond. So precious and unique, no other woman could hold a candle to her. Seb was coming to suspect no other woman ever would hold a candle to her in his eyes.
Talk about barking up the wrong tree. Lady Clarissa Beaumont had swiftly, and obliviously, doused his ardour with a bucket of ice water with her talk of her supercilious Duke and Seb had left her in a foul mood, rightly miffed at her desire to become a duchess above all else and at himself for feeling heartbroken because of it.
For a man who found himself so clumsy and clunky around the fairer sex, why had his foolish heart lent itself to her—the fairest of them all? This blasted week couldn’t pass quickly enough. Seb had to endure seven days of torture. Less if he could link Penhurst to the Boss sooner.
Less was always more.
Back in his cramped allocated bedchamber, irritatingly in the front of the house facing the lane and not the cliffs, Seb tried to ignore his simmering anger as they swapped what he had learned since arriving. His second-in-command had hit brick walls amongst the viscount’s servants. They were fearful, distrusting of strangers and some were downright menacing. Things that all encouragingly pointed to secrets, but made the task in hand harder to do. The best lead they had was still Penhurst himself. A long night of work loomed in front of him.
Gray made himself comfortable on Seb’s bed and watched him shave and wriggle into the ridiculously stiff evening clothes, rising only to assist him with the dreaded cravat.
‘What knot am I tying tonight? Might I suggest the Trone d’Amour? It’s excellent symbolism. The mention of love in the title will send your rival mad.’
‘No stupid dandified knots. I’m done with them.’ Complicated and frothy confections were for pompous windbags like Westbridge. Seb snatched the pristine strip of white linen out of his friend’s hands and proceeded to tie the damn knot himself. ‘And if you think I’m stepping outside this room in that waistcoat...’ He glared at the garish monstrosity covered in embroidered peacock feathers with outright distaste. ‘You have another think coming!’
‘Waistcoats are always bolder for evening wear.’
‘I will suffer colours, but not a kaleidoscope.’
Gray gave a good-natured shrug and grabbed another two out of the closet. ‘How about peacock blue to match you lady love’s eyes? She likes blue, doesn’t she?’
‘Give me the red.’ There would be no more attempting to please Gem with daft wardrobe choices. From now on, Seb was going to focus on his mission. What she chose to do was her own business. Now that he was here as a guest, there was no reason why they needed to continue to work together. She could chase her Duke with impunity while Seb got briskly on with what he had been sent here to do. He needed neither the distraction nor the heartache. Let her have her blue-blooded Duke! ‘How do I look?’
‘Furious. Burning with jealousy and borderline scary.’
‘Go to hell!’ He heard Gray’s receding laughter as he slammed the door and stalked down the landing.
The drawing room was crammed full of the twenty or so guests Seb would spend the week with. He was on nodding terms with three-quarters of them now and found his head bobbing like a woodpecker’s as he navigated his way to the trio of men stood at the fireplace while pretending he had not noticed the temptress sat holding court on the sofa. In his peripheral vision he saw her try to catch his eye and set his jaw stubbornly in case his traitorous neck turned her way. A passing footmen with a tray laden with champagne provided an excellent excuse to pick up his pace and put distance between them. With a glass in his hand and an ache in his teeth Seb forced a sociable smile, ready to work. ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’ A misnomer. These two men were the most debauched of Penhurst’s cronies.
‘Evening, Millcroft. I hope you came with a purse full of money. The cards this week promise to be exciting. Too bad there isn’t a game tonight.’ Viscount Regis. Ailing lands, yet interestingly a no longer ailing fortune. Enjoyed tying his mistress up. ‘This evening we must all suffer the rest of the company, but tomorrow...’ He grinned, displaying a row of crooked yellow teeth which matched his hideous mustard waistcoat. ‘Tomorrow is ours.’
‘Hear, hear.’ Lord Gaines, second son of the Marquess of Rochford and fond of very high, very shiny tasselled Hessians, looked like a weasel and acted like one. His role in this motley group was ostensibly that of sycophant, but he had the ear of Penhurst. Seb had witnessed the pair whispering when they thought no one was looking. If Penhurst was in cahoots with anyone, it was Gaines. ‘Tonight we are stuck with the ladies, although I wouldn’t mind being stuck with yours, Millcroft. Eh?’ Gaines winked, then moulded a female figure in the air with his hands which made the other laugh. ‘I’d pay good money to get my hands on her bountiful charms.’ The urge to break the weasel’s long, narrow nose almost got the better of Seb.
‘I doubt he needs to pay, do you, Millcroft?’ Regis slapped him on the back. ‘Not when the pastry is already headed this way. Act nonchalant, my dear fellow. Treat them mean and keep them keen and you’ll bed her before this week is done.’ Another back slap followed by conspiratorial chortling. Seb’s returning laughter sounded too boisterous and false to his own ears as she came up alongside.
‘Hello.’
‘Well, hello to you, too.’ The weasel stepped forward and kissed her hand. His eyes latched themselves on to Gem’s cleavage. ‘You look delightful this evening, Lady Clarissa.’
‘Indeed she does.’ Despite being thoroughly annoyed at her, the urge to protect her from these men was overwhelming and Seb found himself reaching for the hand and purposefully extricating it from Lord Gaines’s grip to wrap it around his. He was seriously tempted to take off his coat and drape it around her bared shoulders. The glamorous coral gown, although not overly revealing by tonnish standards, was too daring for Penhurst’s friends. ‘I would be honoured if you would take a turn about the room with me, my lady.’
‘I believe I should like that very much, my lord.’