Clarissa was still patting herself on the back two days later. Proposing she and Seb should team up had been a masterstroke of pure genius because it served two purposes. Firstly, with her on his arm in the crowded ballroom she consoled herself that his short crisis of confidence was banished away. He was immediately accepted by a great many there because they all knew Clarissa had exceptional taste in people as well as everything else. Next to her, he practised the ever-so-slightly aloof bemusement which suited him down to the ground. Where his society manner faltered, usually when surrounded by a great many curious ladies, she blithely filled in the silent void and openly confided to those eager women what a delicious and intriguing new gentleman he was.
Her talent for story-telling meant his stark, fictional past was now brilliantly embellished with scintillating details. How he once accepted a challenge to race around the streets of Sydney in a cart because he was bored, outrunning a racing curricle with his superior driving skills. How he once sailed to the savage wilds of Tasmania on the hunt for the legendary ‘tiger’, travelled miles inland until he found a whole pack of them and then left them all gloriously alive because he only wanted to pet one. And her personal favourite, because on the first telling his cheeks had pinkened, how he was the most sought-after bachelor in the whole of New South Wales on account of both his impressive fortune and his scandalous reputation as a ladies’ man. Although, she had cautioned, giggling behind her fan as the women cast him questioning and flirtatious glances, to be bestowed with his favour was a very rare honour because he had grown quite particular. Well, it didn’t hurt to reinforce her own attractiveness whilst painting him the charming catch. That mysterious Lord Millcroft was a very discerning gentleman after all.
For over an hour she had remained his companion, until he had been invited to join Penhurst in the card room. Watching him emerge near the end of the evening, standing tall and proud and quietly pleased with himself, gave Clarissa a huge sense of achievement. Aside from helping the British government in its quest to rid England of a gang of dangerous smugglers, which she couldn’t deny held tremendous appeal, it was warming to see him in his element. The casual way he had ensconced himself with the men of her circle, the subtle techniques he used to draw information out of them and the way he not only melded to become one of them, but also provided a stark yardstick for comparison, was fascinating. Against him, his raw physicality, excellent features and both his real and fictional achievements, Seb quite outshone all the other men. On more than one occasion, Clarissa had had to remind herself to glance at Westbridge, whom she had quite forgotten in Seb’s significantly more impressive shadow.
Which, of course, did wonders for the second benefit of aligning herself with the enigmatic, new Lord Millcroft. Poor Westbridge was beside himself with jealousy! Even when Lady Olivia and her ambitious mother encircled him like ravenous vultures, her Duke watched Clarissa and Seb like a hawk. Only once Seb was safely dispatched to the gaming tables did she return to the Duke, just in time for their waltz. He had been both aggrieved and relieved, dancing so stiffly he might as well have had broom handles inserted down his sleeves and trouser legs. To further vex her Duke, because frankly he deserved it, she danced with a faraway, wistful smile on her face. A smile meant solely for Lord Millcroft. Only part of which was truly forced. There was something about Seb that made her feel all warm inside.
* * *
The following morning, Clarissa had awoken to two bouquets. A huge and satisfying basket of crimson roses from Westbridge and a charming bunch of pale-pink peonies and forget-me-nots from Seb, whose posy she much preferred because he had taken the trouble to handwrite the note. Like the man, the words were brief, and blessedly Clarissa was able to read them in less than a minute—which certainly made a change, boosted her confidence and significantly buoyed her mood further.
Dear Gem,
Thank you.
S.
The fact that he had chosen simple in-season cottage flowers from his own garden over showy, forced, ostentation said a great deal about the man. His flowers were more personal. He could very well have picked them himself. A detail she had happily shared with all and sundry on Rotten Row that same afternoon. As an added bonus, the symbolism of the forget-me-nots was not lost on anyone, meaning the gossip that the illustrious Duke of Westbridge had a rival spread like wildfire.
Tonight, there would be more than Westbridge’s eyes following them and Clarissa couldn’t wait to get to the ballroom. A few more weeks of this and she would safely be hiding behind the title of duchess before August—unless her Duke combusted with jealousy beforehand and procured a special licence.
‘The Penhurst carriage is here, my lady.’
Clarissa stood and gave her appearance one last look in the mirror. The sky blue was a statement. It matched those forget-me-nots on her nightstand and the single stem woven in her hair. The colour brightened her eyes and the tight bodice displayed just enough cleavage to suggest that she possessed more bosom than she actually owned, while the translucent layers of contrasting pale-blue and cobalt silk chiffon draped around the skirt gave the gown a graceful movement which would look marvellous as she danced. It went without saying that she would grant Seb the first waltz, something she was rather looking forward to, making Westbridge jealously wait for the second from the wings.
Dancing with Seb had been...well, rather memorable actually. Beneath her fingers his broad frame was as solid and impressive as it had seemed when encased in just a bandage. The soft press of his hand above her waist, his other engulfing hers, had made her feel delicate. His shy glances and adorable, honest awkwardness when they were alone in the alcove had made her feel special. Knowing his background and his true purpose made him much more exciting than anyone else in the crowded ballroom. All in all, Seb was thoroughly delightful.
With a start, she realised she had butterflies in her stomach and her hands went to her midriff to calm them. As a young debutante, such nerves had been commonplace, but now in her fourth Season, she couldn’t remember the last time she had been so excited about attending a ball. No doubt, these were because she was making progress with her Duke. It felt good giving him a taste of his own medicine. However, assisting a dashing spy held a different appeal, especially as only she really knew Seb. The real man. The mysterious Lord Millcroft was appealing—but the tips of his ears didn’t blush nor did his eyes shyly dip after holding hers for any length of time. These were tiny truths which he only shared with her. And which apparently made those butterflies dance a jig. They continued to flap until she was seated in the carriage.
‘Will Lord Millcroft be in attendance tonight?’
Surprised that Penhurst had bothered to ask her a question when he usually ignored her and Penny as they travelled, Clarissa forgot to be nonchalant. ‘Yes, he is. Why do you ask?’
‘No reason, other than the fact that he seems to have made quite the impression on people in such a short space of time. I noticed you spent a great deal of time conversing with him the other evening.’
‘He is an interesting gentleman.’
‘Wealthy, if the talk about him is to be believed. Keen to invest it, too.’ Penhurst was examining his nails as he said this, attempting to pass off the comments as small talk—but as he never made small talk with her, something about it didn’t sit right.
‘Apparently so.’
‘Did he elaborate to you on those plans? Give any clue as to what sort of venture he wanted pursue?’
‘Not really. Gentlemen don’t tend to discuss business with ladies. Why didn’t you ask him yourself?’
‘Because it only just occurred to me.’ His unnaturally bland expression said differently. ‘The fellow makes me curious, although that should hardly be a surprise when he has suddenly materialised out of the blue and one considers his background. I wonder what manner of business accrued him that fortune? New South Wales is the home of convicts, which does make one wonder if Lord Millcroft’s extensive fortune was built on ill-gotten gains. I thought he hinted as much the other evening, didn’t you?’
‘Are you suggesting Lord Millcroft’s interests are not above board? He hardly seems the type.’ Although Seb would be pleased that people viewed him with those suspicions. A pious, incorruptible man would hardly flush out the criminals he had been tasked to catch.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m sure all his past dealings have been wholly proper and any suggestion to the contrary is merely gossip.’
‘There is already gossip?’ How splendid. She couldn’t wait to tell Seb he had already made the exact impression he wanted.
‘I happened to like the fellow. As I said, I am merely curious—as I would be of any newcomer into our ranks. Although I do think you should be the one to ask him—it was obvious he was enamoured of you. If anyone can prise his darkest secrets from him, I am in no doubt it will be you.’
‘You want me to ask him if he is a trickster?’ A decidedly odd request. ‘I’m sure that will go down very well!’
Penhurst smiled, then turned his head to stare out of the window. ‘Of course not. I am merely suggesting that if anything interesting comes up in conversation then you should subtly delve a bit deeper and share your findings with us. Your dearest friends. We all enjoy a bit of gossip now and then.’
This claim, from a man who rarely deigned to speak to her, was laughable. Yet true to form, he was already displaying all the signs of his usual aloofness, rudely presenting his back to both Clarissa and his wife signalling he was done with the conversation because he found the sight of the familiar streets of Mayfair more diverting than he did them. But then again, he found everything more diverting than poor Penny. Clarissa’s mind was whirring. Penhurst had been uncharacteristically civil and interested. The timing surely wasn’t coincidental?
She tried to banish the thought as soon as it entered her mind, but Seb’s talk about smugglers infiltrating the highest echelons of society had coloured her thoughts and, despite knowing she was being ridiculously fanciful, her suspicions were aroused. Penhurst was a foul individual with dubious morals. He dallied openly with several mistresses here in town while poor Penny lived mostly alone on his Sussex estate with their young son. While she was sure her friend knew of his infidelity, because everyone knew of his infidelity, they had never discussed it. Nor had they ever discussed the bruises which marred her skin or the lack of sparkle in her dear friend’s eyes since she had become the viscount’s wife two years ago. As awful as it was, just as Clarissa had cautioned before the wedding, Penhurst had been a fortune hunter and his interest in his bride had been purely financial. Once he had control of that impressive dowry, he had immediately stopped being the ardent suitor. The switch had been abrupt and cold. Instantaneous. To such an extent, a very different viscount had walked out of the church from the amiable groom who had arrived. Was it too fanciful to believe that vile, selfish, money-grabbing man was capable of aiding smugglers for his own gain as well as being a callous bully? Probably. But since meeting a genuine spy, something she had never expected to happen in her wildest dreams, Clarissa couldn’t help wondering why Penhurst was suddenly keen to hear gossip. And from her. His suddenly dearest friend.
* * *
Seb was nowhere to be seen in the ballroom, but Westbridge was front and centre as always. Disloyally, the first word which popped into her head was peacock and she quickly banished that, too. As a duke, he was bound to stand out and as others sought his favour there was no point hiding in the alcove. She had never hidden there either through choice for much the same reasons, so she could hardly castigate Westbridge for doing the same. Although alcoves now certainly had their charm, especially as she had come to realise they were exciting places to be. In the right company.
Handsome, tough, brave and endearingly shy spies hid in the shadows.
Her eyes did a quick sweep of the secluded corners for Seb and when she drew a blank, Clarissa allowed her feet to take her on a course towards her would-be fiancé. Her Duke smiled appreciatively as she approached and lingered over kissing her hand. She willed herself to feel the same peculiar heated fizzle she had with her spy and experienced a moment of disappointment when nothing happened.
‘Will you grant me the first waltz?’
It was progress, although nowhere near the level of possessiveness she needed to evoke. A truly besotted man would insist on both waltzes. Every waltz from this point forward. Till death do us part. ‘Alas, I have already promised that honour to Lord Millcroft.’ If he ever turned up. ‘But the second is yours. As always.’ She enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing his expression cloud with jealousy. Barely two days in and her new plan was working wonders and for the first time in weeks, she was enjoying being at a function. ‘Talking of Lord Millcroft—have you seen him?’ Clarissa let her gaze wander on purpose; letting her Duke know that he wasn’t the sole occupant of her thoughts.
‘No. And nor do I want to. He is too brash for my liking. Too confident for a man of his rank.’
Brash and confident. Seb would be pleased to hear those back-handed compliments and she swelled with pride knowing she’d had a hand in his spectacular performance. ‘Do you think so? Personally, I found him most charming.’ Clarissa would ask Penny to invite Seb to the Penhurst house party. This very moment. His presence would drive her poor Duke mad. ‘If you will excuse me...’ She didn’t bother waiting to see if he minded and went off to corner her.
Penny was with a gaggle of married ladies at the refreshment table, and happily agreed to include Seb in the entertainments because she still felt guilty at having to invite Clarissa’s nemesis. Now all she had to do was find a way to convince the man to take five days out of hunting down his dangerous smugglers in the highest echelons of society and accompany her on a trip to Sussex.
* * *
Seb tossed the third ruined cravat on the small pile on the floor and snapped his fingers impatiently for another. Gray tutted and passed him one. ‘Please let me do that. I’ve never seen a man make such a ham-fisted mess of dressing before.’
‘I can tie a damn cravat!’ A plain, no-nonsense, no-fuss cravat. The frothy concoctions fools like the Duke of Westbridge sported were apparently beyond him. He pulled one end too tight and the starched linen instantly crumpled in a ruined knot. If Gem preferred frills, he would suffer frills. ‘Hell’s teeth!’
A withering sigh came from the mattress where the second-in-command of the Invisibles was lounging, dressed as a coachman. ‘You are well past fashionably late...’
‘I know the blasted time, Gray!’
His friend uncrossed his long legs and rose from his comfortable position with an air of exasperation. ‘For once in your life, accept some help. What is it that you are trying to achieve?’
‘Something fancy.’ He’d be mocked senseless if he admitted he didn’t know the actual name of the knot he was trying to duplicate. ‘Fitting for a ballroom.’
Gray snapped open another overly starched neckcloth and Seb lifted his chin to suffer the indignity of being dandified by his subordinate. When he had finished, Gray stepped back to admire his work, then nodded, gesturing to the mirror. ‘You’ll do.’
The simple knot in the reflection filled him with rage. ‘What’s fancy about that? Any idiot can tie a plain cravat.’
‘But only a real man can carry it off with such casual elegance. Up against that foppish Duke your lady-love prefers, you will appear superior. A man with your savage maleness shouldn’t try to curb it with frills. Be manly. Ooze confidence in your ability to thrash the life out of every other fellow in the ballroom. Trust me, Seb—less is always more. Especially where the ladies are concerned. For once, instead of trying to blend in, stand out. Your lady-love won’t know what’s hit her.’
‘She’s not my lady-love!’
‘I thought the ruse was that Lady Clarissa was supposed to be more enamoured of you than her Duke?’ Gray’s eyes were twinkling with mischief and Seb knew he had been royally tricked into revealing more to his wily friend than he had intended.
‘Ah, yes. Of course. That blasted tie has put me off my game.’ That tie and that woman. The one he absolutely had a soft spot for. A foolish waste of his time when his attention was better served elsewhere. As if she would miraculously toss away a duke for a knave. A fortune. A mansion. High status. It would be laughable if it wasn’t tragic. ‘Perhaps I should allow you to be my valet? I need a clear head, not one blighted by cravats.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Gray grinned, dipped his eyes and bowed. ‘I live to serve. Now, get in the damned coach.’
Taking a carriage the few yards between Grosvenor and Berkeley Square struck Seb as a ridiculous waste of time when he could have walked it quicker. The long line of waiting conveyances spilled so far outwards that it took a good twenty minutes to be deposited at the Bulphan town house. However, as this was how things were done he suffered it and used it as an opportunity to go through tonight’s plan with Gray.
Six Invisibles would be mingling with the other waiting drivers and groomsmen in the crowded mews, tasked with targeting the Penhurst staff. The long wait, camaraderie, raucous games of cards or dice and the fortifying nips of the rum each of his men carried had proved time and again an excellent source of information. For some peculiar reason, the aristocrats these people served assumed that because they were seen but not heard, their servants couldn’t hear.
As they pulled up outside, Gray leaned forward, straightened Seb’s lapels, then slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good luck.’
It was the aloof Lord Millcroft who stepped out.