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‘D id you have to bring that dog?’ Lord Fennimore glared at Trefor’s rapidly wagging tail and grimaced.

‘Miss Cranford was very taken with him. I reasoned his presence would only help our cause.’

‘They won’t let him in the house.’

‘He will be perfectly content tied up outside for the duration of our visit. He loves to sleep in the sun.’ Unbidden, images of Miss Cranford lying in the garden instantly sprung to mind and he found himself smiling. Granted, flirting with her yesterday might well have been foolhardy and counterproductive to their mission—undeniably his superior would castigate him for the misdemeanour if he knew and a truly sensible spy would have avoided it—but Gray had enjoyed it immensely. She was tart, sharp and tasty. A glorious, intelligent and feisty armful and he would not regret the overwhelming, yet too-brief indulgence in the slightest. In that moment, it had felt right and life was too short for regrets. ‘Besides, as we are posing as country gentlemen, he gives us an air of the authentic. What says Suffolk more than two robust fellows striding across the fields with their faithful hound in tow?’

‘We could have ridden instead. It would have been a darn sight quicker than constantly stopping and waiting for that dog to continually sniff the air.’

‘Trefor is rusticating. Which is what we are supposed to be doing.’

They turned on to the Viscount’s short drive, both lapsing into silence as they mentally prepared themselves for the task in hand. Again last night they had meticulously gone over their backstory. Lord Fennimore was still convinced the closer Gray stuck to the truth of his past, the more chance he had of manoeuvring himself into Gislingham’s inner circle. With the Viscount’s extensive web of criminal contacts, it would be simple to make enquiries and the truth would be swiftly and categorically confirmed. Lord Graham Chadwick was a ne’er-do-well of the first order and had been since birth. He had lost his twenty thousand-pound inheritance at the gaming tables in just three short months. He had been understandably disowned by his only brother and his father, the upright and blemish-free Marquess of Talysarn, and then disappeared off to sea when he had worn out his welcome and his line of credit in the capital. After that, nobody really knew what had happened to the lad...

Before the men had left for Suffolk, the necessary lies had been sprinkled among a few reliable government allies and in the browned pages of certain parish records. The errant Lord Gray had returned after a scandalous decade of adventuring and been taken under the wing of Lord Fennimore—a distant cousin of Gray’s dead mother—in the hope of encouraging him to tread the path of the respectable going forward. To that end, and to keep him away from the seductive mischief of town, Lord Fennimore had rented a property deep in the countryside.

Until yesterday, Gray had been entirely satisfied with the story. Now, despite knowing the filtered, censored truth was perfect for their purpose, he wasn’t so keen. Yesterday, Miss Cranford had asked about his past and, oddly ashamed, he had brushed over it. While no longer a wastrel, he had been. Once he had given up all hope of winning back Cecily, he had lived an aimless life doing whatever had pleased him. There had been no master plan, no commitments nor any responsibility. Once the pleasure in the place, the woman or the entertainment waned, he had moved on to seek diversion elsewhere. Whatever it took to make him forget the pain in his heart, he actively pursued it until the pain became an ache and eventually that ache became a scar. Bitter truths he had never admitted to anyone and never would. Better the world chastise him for being a wastrel than pity him for being a love-addled fool who hadn’t quite passed muster.

But such a past would make him more appealing to the crooked Viscount. As old Fennimore had rightly pointed out when he had suggested, over the soup, that they tweak the truth a little to mask the fact he had been home and almost respectable for two whole years: birds of a feather always flock together. A confirmed reprobate stood a greater chance of becoming a friend than an upstanding, reformed character. However, the same foibles which would make him more appealing to Gislingham would make him significantly less appealing to Gislingham’s lovely niece.

As much as it irrationally pained him, that couldn’t be helped.

King, country and his promotion depended on it.

Gray secured his dog to a low fence near the dappled shade of a horse chestnut and the pair approached the front door, both supremely aware that this first meeting with the man would be crucial. His superior handed over their calling cards to an ancient butler who had made no effort to remove the buff apron he wore or to discard the polishing rag he held in his hand. Such a conscientiously informal greeting was a nice touch, suggesting there was nothing to hide behind this heavy oak door but an unpretentious country squire.

‘Lord Cedric Fennimore and Lord Graham Chadwick—we have come to pay our respects to his lordship and Miss Cranford if they are at home.’

The butler did not attempt to suggest they might not be and cheerfully welcomed them to sit in a bright parlour while he informed his lordship of their presence. They waited less than five minutes before the old retainer reappeared and asked them to follow him. He led them up a flight of sweeping, creaking wooden stairs to a small sitting room stuffed with furniture unashamedly built for comfort over style and not at all what one would expect from a man who earned hundreds of thousands of pounds from illegal free trading.

Before they sat, Miss Cranford hurried in, smiling, looking stunning in turquoise and with her riotous Titian hair already escaping its pins. The sight was quite the highlight of his morning and, without thinking, Gray turned his gaze and unwaveringly drank her in. Her eyes flicked to his, dipped briefly, then focused solely on Lord Fennimore.

‘My lords, how lovely of you to come. My uncle will be with you presently. He is just finishing off something in his study.’ Unconsciously, her head gestured to the door opposite the one they had entered.

‘His study is up here? On the first floor?’ An interesting titbit Gray tucked away for future reference. At some point, he needed to go through Gislingham’s desk and private papers; most probably in the dead of night after breaking in.

‘He prefers these apartments to the larger rooms downstairs. They are more self-contained and easier to navigate now that his mobility is not what it was. Please... Sit.’ She gestured to the furniture nearest the enormous bay window where the lace panels billowed softly in the breeze. ‘Bertie is fetching tea.’

‘Bertie?’

‘My uncle’s manservant. He sees to all his needs. We would all be quite lost without him.’

Lord Fennimore took one of the two large wing-backs while Miss Cranford perched on the sofa, the picture of a proper hostess who never blew raspberries or allowed her eyes to wander freely down his naked body. This was the Miss Theodora Cranford she wanted the world to see. He rather liked knowing that, with the right encouragement, she was a completely different Miss Cranford underneath. Because he simply needed to, Gray sat next to her. ‘You look particularly lovely this morning, Miss Cranford.’ And she smelled divine. Whatever perfume it was that she wore, it had now become his absolute favourite scent in the whole world. Reminiscent of the heady evening jasmine he had encountered in the Orient.

She ignored the compliment, but smiled politely as she refocused on his companion. ‘We did not expect you this early, although the hour is a good one for Uncle Edward. He’s an early bird by nature, as am I.’

As she was intent on ignoring him and his ridiculous need to flirt with her, he decided to resort to basic good manners to see if she would respond to that instead. ‘Something we have in common—although I confess I would sleep longer if it were not for Trefor. He needs to get out early...to do dog things.’

That worked. ‘You should have brought him. I adore dogs.’

He couldn’t resist an I-told-you-so look at Lord Fennimore. ‘Despite Cedric’s forceful objections, I did. He’s currently sat on the drive.’

‘Then you must bring him in! Uncle Edward is a dog person, too. Left to us, we would have a house full, but my aunt loathes them. They make her sneeze.’

‘Perhaps he is best left where he is, then? I should hate to cause her ladyship any discomfort.’

‘And the dog is a menace,’ added Lord Fennimore with barely disguised irritation. ‘My young relative has been most neglectful of the animal’s training.’

‘Her ladyship has gone shopping in Ipswich and we do not expect her back until much later, so Trefor is welcome to visit. Besides, a little wildness is perfectly acceptable in a dog. It gives it character.’

Gray didn’t argue. If his poorly behaved mutt would aid the transition from new acquaintances to friends quicker, he would shamelessly use him. He fetched the dog and did his best to wrangle him back towards the Viscount’s private apartments without Trefor’s blurred tail knocking anything over in its exuberance. By the time they reached the sitting room, the tea had arrived, along with a large bowl of water for the hound. A middle-aged servant stood pouring, but paused with the cup and pot held aloft as the dog barrelled towards him. He needn’t have worried. The dog only had eyes for the deliciously smelling redhead. Like Gray, Trefor was irresistibly drawn to her.

‘My uncle is finishing up his business for the morning. Something he insists on doing himself rather than employ a secretary.’ Another interesting insight and not at all the norm. Most estate owners employed a legion of staff, from bookkeepers to estate managers, but then most had nothing to hide. ‘Bertie, this is Lord Gray.’ Miss Cranford’s eyes did not lift from the animal as he ran in giddy circles about her feet being thoroughly petted, almost as if she was purposefully avoiding his gaze at all cost. ‘And this handsome rascal is Trefor.’

‘ The Trefor?’ The servant was soft-spoken, but clearly amused. ‘The one that almost drowned you?’

‘The very same.’

‘What do you mean he almost drowned you?’ His superior’s eyes darted between Gray and their hostess before skewering him alone.

‘Trefor knocked her into the brook.’

‘It was an accident,’ said Miss Cranford graciously, oblivious of the way old Fennimore’s eyes had begun to bulge at the revelation. ‘And hardly poor Trefor’s fault. My maid got all the mud out of my dress, so no real harm was done. Apart from to my hair, which was a disaster all yesterday.’ Her eyes wandered to Gray’s briefly and she unconsciously blinked rapidly, a sure sign she was not quite as composed in his presence as she wanted him to believe. ‘I blame Lord Gray entirely for that shambles.’ Was she rattled by the flirting? He certainly hoped so.

‘I thought your hair looked lovely.’

‘I thought it looked an absolute fright.’ A deep, chuckling, slightly slurred voice came from the doorway. ‘Had me laughing for hours.’

Viscount Gislingham was not at all what Gray had imagined. He was tall and broad, a full head of thick sandy hair, greying at the temples, and a face that was undoubtedly considered handsome in its prime—before the stroke which had apparently now frozen half of it. That aside, he was smartly turned out. The well-cut green coat covered a jaunty striped-silk waistcoat that was all the colours of the rainbow. He was also much older than his wife. A good twenty years older. He walked into the room, leaning heavily on a cane, his left leg dragging slightly.

‘Don’t get up, gentlemen, for then I shall feel the need to shake your hands immediately and as only one of them works properly, and I have a wonky leg which is little more than useless, I will doubtless fall over and embarrass us all. Let’s save the hearty handshakes for the end of our visit. Besides, I’ve worked out which of you is which already. Harriet was very fulsome in her descriptions.’ His head nodded to each of them in turn. ‘Welcome, Lord Fennimore, and welcome, Lord Gray. I am glad Kirton House is peopled again. It has been empty and miserable far too long. The grounds have been neglected, I’m afraid—so feel free to do with them as you will. Anything would be an improvement on those acres of grass and daisies.’

The manservant took his weaker arm and manoeuvred his master to the vacant wing-back while his niece hovered nearby. ‘Tea, Uncle?’

‘Indeed. Two sugars, if you please.’

‘Half a teaspoon and not a speck more. The physician has him under strict instructions to keep his weight down.’ Gislingham rolled his eyes at his servant’s determined admonishment, then huffed in a good-natured way at his guests.

‘Once upon a time I was master of this house, now I’m scolded like a child. Between Thea and Bertie’s conspiratorial nagging, I now have no vices left.’ The Viscount settled himself before making a fuss of the bouncing Trefor at his knee. ‘If that were not enough, my pride is further dented by my inability to climb down stairs. I can go up them well enough, but I have to suffer the indignity of having the footmen carry me down.’

‘You could always move your bedchamber and study downstairs,’ Lord Fennimore said reasonably, earning him a stunning smile from their intoxicatingly jasmine-smelling hostess.

‘Exactly! I have said as much a thousand times, for there is plenty of space, but my uncle is stubborn. He absolutely refuses.’

Gray saw the Viscount exchange an odd look with his servant before his expression became shuttered. Hardened. ‘We are not discussing that again, Thea. I like my privacy, always have and always will. I picked footmen with strong backs for the express purpose of transporting my knackered carcase down and reward them handsomely for the inconvenience.’ As if the Viscount sensed Gray was watching, his serious expression swiftly evaporated and he was all easy charm again.

‘I take it this is the handsome fellow responsible for sending you flying, Thea?’ Clearly not a good judge of character, the dog lapped up the attention, his eyes half closing in ecstasy as Gislingham rubbed one of his floppy ears. ‘And the other equally handsome fellow is responsible for rendering you speechless with his unabashed nudity?’ He glanced up at Gray and grinned. ‘I’d have paid good money to see my niece mute for once. I had thought such a miracle impossible. I’d shamelessly imitate you and stroll about buck naked, too, if I thought it would get me any peace, but the sight would likely send all the servants running for the hills before it silenced her and then who would carry me downstairs?’

‘I was hardly mute, Uncle.’

‘Harriet said your jaw dropped to the floor and you were stuttering and spluttering while glowing crimson like a beetroot.’

‘Harriet exaggerates.’ She carefully placed the cup within his reach, but out of the radius of Trefor’s ferociously wagging tail, the apples of her cheeks a little pink again as she resolutely avoided glancing anywhere near Gray’s side of the sofa. ‘Once I had recovered from the shock of Lord Gray’s abysmal lack of propriety, I gave him a thorough telling off. I would have said much more—but I ended up in the brook.’

The Viscount laughed and shared an amused look with his manservant before grinning lopsidedly at Gray. ‘She told you off? I am impressed. Thea is usually painfully, politely aloof at all times to everyone bar me and Harriet—and even then she tempers her words. It is most irritating because she used to be such an entertaining, stubborn and delightfully troublesome child. Blissfully cursed with a true redhead’s quick temper. Age has softened the shrew in her and I miss it. You must provoke it, Lord Gray. I wonder why?’

‘She professes to have forgiven me, has promised to draw a veil over it, yet continues to reprimand me regardless. I have apologised for the misdemeanour, my lord. Repeatedly.’ Gray smiled at the older man, attempting to appear contrite despite the overwhelming temptation to spar and flirt with his niece again rather than doing the job he had come here to do.

‘My Thea is a hard nut to crack. Far too picky. And shrewish. It’s why she’s still unmarried despite her lovely face and figure. I live in hope that someone will break through that tough outer shell and take her off my hands. But the young gentlemen hereabouts have proved themselves to be very lily-livered in the face of her icy indifference. It will take a great deal of perseverance on your part, Lord Gray, to chisel through it. I hope you are up to the challenge.’

‘I’m sure Lord Gray has worked out already it’s not worth his effort.’ Her eyes met his properly for the first time since he had arrived and there was definite challenge in them, warning him not to play along with her uncle’s jesting. ‘When it comes to unworthy gentleman, no matter how handsome or penitent, I have skin as thick as an elephant’s. In fact, I am positively pachydermatous.’

‘She thinks herself clever, too. Worst thing I ever did, paying for her governesses. Some of those lacked perseverance, too, but it was fun to watch her run rings around them. She’s a troublesome handful. It’s what I’ve always enjoyed most about her. Never could predict quite what she was going to do.’ He smiled indulgently at his niece, who quickly focused blandly on her teacup. Was it the reminder of her childhood wilfulness, her uncle’s teasing or Gray’s attempts at flirting which made her uncomfortable?

‘I’m an irritatingly persistent fellow, my lord. Dogged, even. For the sake of your continued sanity I shall do my best to mine through to that soft kernel.’

The mobile half of the Viscount’s face curved into a smile, one too friendly for a murdering cut-throat. ‘I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear it. Harriet said you showed promise.’

Gray’s eyes wandered boldly to hers, then lingered. Despite the very long list of good reasons why he couldn’t, there was a tantalising, fiery woman beneath her icy aloofness. One he irresponsibly wanted to know better.

‘I wouldn’t allow him anywhere near my niece if I had one.’ Lord Fennimore must have seen the heated look and decided now was the optimum time to drip in their story for maximum effect. Something they had agreed on, although it now suddenly left a bitter taste in Gray’s mouth. ‘Miss Cranford’s assessment is quite correct. He is unworthy...although I am hopeful I can turn him into the gentleman he was born to be. Gray has always been very wild.’ Once she learned exactly how wild, all his chances of pursuing the attraction for King, country or himself would be bludgeoned to death with the unpalatable truth.

‘He was? Do tell.’ Miss Cranford picked up her teacup and settled back, all ears.

‘I’ll spare you all the gory details, although it would be very easy for you to find them out...’ Drip, drip. Fennimore was teasing his prey with bait. ‘Suffice it to say that he had to leave these shores in disgrace a decade ago and has only recently dared to return. As the only family member who deigns to speak to him and out of the affection and respect I had for his dear mother—my cousin—I have taken it upon myself to rehabilitate him. To his credit, he has trod the path of respectability for over a month now...’