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L ike the biggest of cowards, she avoided him for a week. He and Lord Fennimore had certainly been keeping her uncle entertained during that time. They had gone shooting, played cards twice and dined with him once again. She had obviously been invited to the latter, but had foisted herself on Aunt Caro and suffered Mr Hargreaves for the evening instead. The closest they had got was when she had spotted him twice walking his dog in the distance and she had hidden. It was pathetic. She was pathetic! All because Gray had kissed her senseless and, in so doing, had forced her to dream about the dratted, splendid kiss every single night since.

And it had been splendid. Nothing at all like the kisses of the army officer who had led her astray all those years ago, which were perfectly pleasant but nowhere near as thrilling. Or the one lamentable slip under the mistletoe the Christmas before last, when the wassail was clearly off and she had stupidly allowed Colonel Purbeck’s ambitious nephew liberties she had instantly regretted. Like his uncle, the younger Purbeck, although significantly more handsome and interesting, made far too much spit. That unfortunate but blessedly brief interlude had been a moist affair which had quite put her off kissing for ever.

Until Gray... Heavens, that man knew how to do it! Thea still hadn’t forgiven him for her outrageous and wanton reaction or herself for actively allowing it to happen while doing absolutely nothing to stop it. Blaming the wine was cowardly. Not when the worst of it had left her system by the time he had happened upon her on the terrace and when Sensible Thea hadn’t been bothered to make any effort to talk Impetuous Thea out of the folly. In fact, quietly and only to herself, she was prepared to admit in that one moment she wouldn’t have listened anyway regardless of which Thea was in charge of her mind. In that moment, she had wanted him to kiss her. If she wasn’t very careful in the future, the shameful truth was she probably would let him kiss her again. In a heartbeat.

Obviously, and despite all her concerted efforts in the last few years to the contrary, the scary truth was she still had appalling taste in men. Chancers, ne’er-do-wells and fortune hunters still held far too much appeal, although she was still not certain quite which category Gray fell into. Definitely the first two, but the jury was still out on the latter.

‘Order me three cakes of the Prussian green, one Dutch pink, an Ackermann’s yellow and four of the Azure blues.’ The poor shop assistant was struggling to write down all the things on Harriet’s order because she was rattling them off so fast. ‘And get me one of every kind of brush they do.’ As this was the second time in a month they had made the pilgrimage to Ipswich to buy more paint, he probably thought her friend was in the process of painting an entire battleship. She did go through it at an alarming rate.

‘I’m hungry. You promised me luncheon.’

‘Patience, Thea. I haven’t even started looking at paper and charcoal yet.’ Which would effectively kill another hour.

‘I’m putting my foot down.’ To prove her point, she did. The loud thud on the shop floor raised a few eyebrows and made Restrained Thea wince. ‘I need to eat and the charcoal and paper you really don’t need can wait. I’ve suffered the milliner’s, the haberdasher’s and now the never-ending paint purchasing, when lord only knows you have enough art supplies at home to last a lifetime. Frankly, I’m rapidly losing patience.’

‘She’s always crotchety when she’s hungry,’ said Harriet in an aside to the shop assistant, ‘and she is hungry most of the time. Who knows where she puts all the food she devours. By rights, she should be as fat as a house. I’ll be two minutes, darling. Promise.’

Which meant twenty at least. ‘I’ll wait by the door.’ Where Thea had every intention of tapping her foot and generally looking impatient in the hope it chivvied her friend along. She didn’t hold out much hope.

She had been stood there belligerently for a full five minutes when she saw him through the window. Or at least she assumed it was him. The same dark head, the same ridiculously broad shoulders. The same stupid, instantaneous effect on her silly pulse. Only his clothes weren’t right. The Gray who had just ridden past the shop was dressed nothing like a gentleman.

She took herself to the corner of the window and peered through the piles of fancy goods displayed there and scanned the busy street. She picked him out almost immediately, sat hatless atop his enormous horse, deep in what looked to be a very serious conversation. That in itself was off, when her irritating new neighbour was always mischievous and didn’t appear to have a serious bone in his irritatingly perfect and manly body.

Next to him, similarly dressed in dusty commoner’s clothes, were Lord Fennimore and three other men who she had never seen before in her life. Two more dusty strangers rode up and pulled alongside. One passed a note to Lord Fennimore, who read it quickly, then passed it along. Gray frowned and, if she wasn’t mistaken, it seemed whatever grave news was in that missive prompted her naked bather to begin issuing terse instructions to his companions. Instructions for what?

Intrigued and desperately trying to convince herself it was more his suspect behaviour than her overwhelming desire to see him better, Thea checked Harriet was fully engrossed in her purchase. If her friend caught wind of their presence, she would insist on saying hello and the thought of that after her scandalous reaction to his kiss was horrifying. If she never had to say hello to him again, it would be too soon. But that natural reluctance did not mean she wasn’t curious to see if her instincts were correct.

He was up to no good.

Because he was a chancer and a ne’er-do-well—and very probably a fortune hunter, too. Tangible proof would stop those silly butterflies flapping whenever he was around and perhaps she would also stop picturing his bare buttocks and tasting his lips while she slept.

Satisfied the shop assistant would keep Harriet busy for a little while longer, she ventured silently out of the door and surreptitiously picked her way along the street, keeping her back close to the shop fronts in case she needed to escape. Feeling like a government spy on a secret mission, she darted behind a flower stall opposite the very inn they were due to dine in, to watch and attempt to listen to him incognito.

The random snippets of conversation which floated her way over the hubbub of the busy street made no sense. ‘Another shipment arrived last night...Excise Men have turned a blind eye...We need more...six thousand pounds.’

Six thousand pounds! Excise Men and shipments! Suddenly the dusty, unobtrusive clothes and the five strangers made her feel uneasy. What was he involved in? She had accused him of being a chancer and now that appeared to be the tip of the iceberg. Either that or her rampant imagination was running away with her again.

But she had heard it with her own ears. Damning things. Why would the Excise Men need to turn a blind eye to shipments if everything was above board and legal? She hadn’t imagined those words, but hadn’t heard the whole sentence. She was about to risk edging a little closer to hear more when Harriet’s hand appeared out of nowhere, grabbed her arm with more force than was required and tugged her into plain view as she waved, oblivious of her complete lack of decorum or Thea’s reluctance.

‘Yoo-hoo! Lord Fennimore! Lord Gray! Fancy seeing you here?’

Both men turned, obviously startled, but both covered it quickly and smiled. The man she was avoiding quickly leaned to speak to one of the other men and within seconds their five strange companions rode off while their new neighbours dismounted.

Practically dragged at speed towards them by her purposeful friend, Thea pasted on her best I-have-no-recollection-whatsoever-of-spying-or-of-an-illicit-midnight-kiss expression and stubbornly refused to blush. He would not see that his presence bothered her, nor would she ever let on the annoyingly invigorating effect he had on her heart.

‘Ladies, what a pleasure!’ It was Lord Fennimore who attempted a smile while his usually bold, flirtatious companion merely nodded. There was no mischief in his silver-blue eyes today either and inexplicably she missed that. ‘I see you have been shopping.’ Solicitously he took the package Harriet was carrying. ‘Can we escort you back to your carriage?’

‘You may escort us to the inn where we are having luncheon—and, if you’ve a mind to, why not join us?’ Harriet had already woven her arm possessively through Lord Fennimore’s, blithely ignoring his slightly bewildered expression, and was determinedly leading the way. It left Thea to trail behind with the only person in the world she’d wished never to see again. Silently she willed them to turn down her friend’s off-the-cuff invitation.

‘I am afraid business precludes us from enjoying the pleasure of your invitation, Lady Crudgington.’ It was the first time Gray had spoken and, despite saying what she had vehemently willed him to, she experienced the deflated sense of disappointment at his polite refusal. ‘We have already eaten and have an appointment.’

‘Really? What sort?’ It was none of her business, but Thea wanted to know. To let him see she had noticed his peculiar apparel, she allowed her eyes to fix on the scruffy coat. ‘If you will forgive me for being blunt, my lord, you are not dressed for serious business.’

His eyes held hers unwaveringly. There was none of his usual warmth in them and she found she missed that, too. This was a very different Gray from the man who had kissed her so thoroughly on the terrace. ‘My cousin and I have been thinking about breeding horses. We both have a nose for good horse flesh and have been looking for suitable animals since we arrived in Suffolk. It is quite staggering how much more expensive a decent stud is if you are wearing a fine coat.’

‘Indeed it is,’ said Lord Fennimore, turning around. ‘And while we are still relatively unknown here so far away from London, we thought it best to capitalise on that anonymity. Two middling, hard-working farmers can negotiate significantly better deals than two lords in polished Hessians.’

‘Very prudent,’ said Harriet, staring up at him adoringly. ‘What a clever man you are, Cedric... I can call you Cedric, can’t I?’

The older man blushed and stammered. ‘Why...yes. Of course.’

‘Splendid. And you must call me Harriet.’ Her friend brazenly squeezed his arm again, running her other hand over his bicep. ‘How strong you are, Cedric. It is such a pleasure to meet a gentleman who hasn’t allowed the years to soften him. So many gentlemen of our age allow themselves to run to fat. Tell me, do you enjoy a good ride?’

‘I do.’

‘So do I! We must ride together one morning. An invigorating gallop across the dewy, dawn-kissed fields to get the juices pumping. Wouldn’t that be lovely?’

‘Er...yes...’

Thea allowed her gaze to flick to her silent companion’s at the same moment his turned to her and there it was, that glorious, warm, amused, dancing light of mischief. Fleeting because he quickly snuffed it and stared at the inn.

‘Saturday, perhaps? I shall call on you at, say...seven?’ Harriet was shameless in her pursuit and poor Lord Fennimore could do nothing but nod while his expression suggested he wanted to run. Very fast down the high street. As if his breeches were on fire. ‘Thea and Gray can come, if they’ve a mind to.’

‘I am helping my uncle then as you well know.’ The truth, but she’d have lied shamelessly to get herself out of any prolonged and enforced contact with him . ‘Dear Bertie is going away for a week at least and therefore I shall be needed constantly.’ A big, fat lie. Uncle Edward would rather die than have her attend to his personal needs while Bertie enjoyed his annual visit with his family, but at some point during the mornings she would help him with his correspondence. As usual. Thea’s days were all depressingly much the same.

‘Then it’ll be just us, then, Cedric,’ said Harriet coquettishly. ‘How exciting.’ The older man simply blinked and offered a peculiar cross between a grimace and a smile before he was practically dragged onwards.

They reached the door to the inn and the blessed escape from the awkward cloud that hung between Thea and Gray. The package exchanged hands again and while Lord Fennimore bowed politely, his cousin simply inclined his head and refused to meet her eye. If she had to use an adjective to describe his behaviour, then only one sprung to mind: shifty. Thea had caught him up to no good and he knew it. ‘Good day, gentlemen.’

‘Good day, ladies. Enjoy your luncheon.’

Harriet couldn’t resist one last attempt. ‘Cedric—can I trouble you to assist me in getting these packages to the carriage?’ They all knew full well that the servants would do that, but Lord Fennimore smiled, then hesitated, then to Thea’s utter horror, and his disgraceful cousin’s if the sudden hard set of his jaw was any indication, he grabbed every package. ‘It would be my pleasure. Gray and Miss Cranford can wait here and mind the horses.’

Before Harriet disappeared, she looked back, her traitorous lips silently mouthing one word. Leap.

Gray found himself reluctantly stood all alone opposite the siren who had haunted his thoughts and his dreams for the past week. The very woman who tempted him heart and soul as no woman had since Cecily and whose magnetic draw frankly terrified him. He could feel the pull of it now despite vehemently trying to suppress it. After the ill-advised, earth-shattering kiss that had apparently confused the hell out of him, he had promised himself he’d keep a safe distance from the vixen. Something he had managed with a great deal of difficulty when her uncle was his mission. But thanks to his now encyclopaedic knowledge of her schedule, manage it he had.

Thus far. Although he knew such avoidance was unsustainable. He needed a better line of defence long term. Women who tugged at his heartstrings were strictly off limits.

For ever.

That was the mantra he silently repeated in his head over and over as he tried and failed not to be sucked in by her toxic allure, with her dangerously less than a foot away, blatantly staring, those dark eyes slightly narrowed with either hostility or suspicion. Or outright indignation after he had passionately kissed her, stalwartly avoided her and was now doing his damnedest to forget about it. Like a coward, he stared at the ground, hoping she was in no mood to converse with him either, only to watch her foot tapping impatiently.

‘Horses, you say?’ So much for that ploy. What had possessed him to resurrect his old dream as an excuse? Granted, he had more than enough knowledge to be able to blag his way around the lie, but that dream churned up the past again and reminded him of the blindly hopeful young man he was. The foolish one who had paid an awful price for daring to dream.

‘Yes. We want to purchase one stud and at least four mares.’ The blasted sultry jasmine scent was like opium. He wanted to lose himself in the smell. Bury his nose in the perfect alabaster spot just behind her ear that he had tasted all too briefly and now desperately wished that he hadn’t. ‘Cedric hopes that breeding horses will keep me out of mischief.’ Now he was grateful for his scandalous past and would ruthlessly use it to hammer a huge wedge between them—for his own safety. ‘It might work.’

‘Might?’

‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots.’

‘Yet only last week you said a leopard could.’ Damn her excellent recall.

‘Technically it does, yes. But it is still a wild animal and, as such, must be approached with caution.’ Or not at all. Preferably not at all. Inexplicably, he could feel the heat of her body this close to his, the gentle tug of the invisible cords which pulled them together, and immediately took a step backwards in the hope it would make his own body less aware of her. It didn’t work. Already his heart was pumping, his cravat too tight and his eyes kept drifting to her lips. The vixen had bewitched him and whatever spell she had cast was too strong to completely ignore.

‘I thought you didn’t know a single soul in Suffolk?’ One of her hands found its way to her hip and forced him to recall in exact detail how perfectly his own hands had fitted in the cradle of that curve. Fortunately, her hostile glare went some way to taking his thoughts away from the carnal. ‘In which case, who were your companions?’

‘Staff. Grooms. His stable master. Cedric brought them from his house in Mayfair.’ Gray was thinking on his feet and hoping he would have the opportunity to brief his superior on his mounting tower of lies before it all came tumbling around his ears. ‘We need people we trust to see to the horses once we purchase them.’

‘Interesting.’

‘How so?’ It was apparent she was studying his reactions carefully, something as disconcerting as it was worrying. It was obvious she was suddenly suspicious, more so than when she had accused him of being a chancer, which meant something had caused her hackles to rise. Had she heard him talking to his men? Because he had learned from one of his Invisibles that she had no fixed plans for the day, it hadn’t occurred to him they would collide with her an hour’s ride away in Ipswich. A foolish assumption when this was the largest town anywhere near in the vast ocean of unspoiled countryside and probably the only place ladies like her could shop. He and Lord Fennimore needed to be more careful because Gislingham’s sceptical niece was nobody’s fool.

Damn and blast, she was as sharp as a tack, which was part of the problem. Since Cecily, he had avoided dalliances with exceedingly clever women despite having a penchant for them. Clever women fired his blood as well as his loins. Clever women were dangerous. Losing them hurt. He would never risk that pain again.

‘It doesn’t suit you—the horse-breeding. It seems too sedate a pastime to hold your interest. A man who once blithely took root at the gaming tables and then sailed the seven seas strikes me as one who would seek something more adventurous to occupy his time. Something more thrilling and dangerous?’

‘Is that how you see me? Thrilling and dangerous? I like that.’ The flirting had leaked out of its own accord before good sense could stop it. Worryingly, she kept having that effect on him. The timely arrival of the afternoon post gave him a moment to steel himself, but as the noise created an excellent diversion she took the opportunity to lean close and hiss in hushed tones, her warm breath torturing his ear and giving his primed body all manner of wholly inappropriate ideas he really could not afford to indulge.

‘I have found no reason to reappraise my initial assessment of you, my lord. You are a chancer and a ne’er-do-well. A man with scant regard for the proper rules of society. I suspect you are a scoundrel to boot. A deceitful, lying, self-serving scoundrel of the first order! Am I correct?’

He found himself leaning closer, too, so that his mouth was scant inches from her crackling hair. Those invisible strings pulling again and he was apparently powerless to fight them.

‘Are you still miffed about that kiss? I knew it rattled you.’ Hell—it had rattled him. Petrified him, truth be told. Because it had meant something. Something he had never expected to be seduced by again. Her lush mouth opened to speak, then promptly closed. The delicate, outraged blush which stained her cheeks made him smile as his eyes shamelessly feasted on her lips. ‘I knew it.’ And against his better judgement he needed to touch her again. One last time. To test the waters and see if what he suspected was true. His hand had made its way to her arm, the backs of his fingers grazing the filmy fabric of her sleeve. He couldn’t seem to stop himself, any more than he could stop wanting to kiss her again or revel in the heady feelings of excitement and rightness welling in his chest.

He needed to, though.

Ruthlessly crush this moment in his fist because she was dangerous. Both to his mission and his heart.

Yet his index finger had finally found her wrist and softly traced along the outer edge of her hand, down her little finger. Her own hand tangled and closed around his.

Did she feel it, too? That inexplicable connection, that need to be close.

She ruthlessly snatched it away, stared at her palm before her fingers closed tightly around it in front of her heart. ‘Why, you insufferable—’

‘What are you two whispering about?’ Lady Crudgington appeared from nowhere, arm cosily wrapped in his scowling superior’s, her expression intrigued. ‘Are you two flirting ?’

‘We most certainly are not!’ Thea gripped her reticule tightly with both hands and poked her pretty nose in the air. ‘Well— I am categorically not! Lord Gray is a law unto himself. Normal rules of decorum do not appear to apply to him.’ A comment which earned him a blood-curdling glare from Fennimore, but also saved him from himself and those lethal, invisible cords. For the first time in his tenure in the King’s Elite, Gray was supremely grateful for the comforting, familiar protection of the old man’s hearty disapproval. It made secret, whispered, unsanctioned, highly dangerous conversation impossible henceforth. Or at least he hoped it would—seeing as he apparently couldn’t control it all himself.