Deeply In You Read online

  She was touching a girl’s bosom. What in heaven’s name should she do?

  She glared at Greybrooke. He looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

  “Sorry, Ellie. I have to play my cards,” she muttered, trying to make her voice sound gravelly. Ellie giggled and wriggled her bottom.

  Helena bit the inside of her cheek. She was definitely going to spank Greybrooke after this.

  A blonde plunked down on his lap, legs spread, skirts hiked up to reveal plump legs and stockings.

  A strange pain spiked through Helena’s belly as she watched the girl—then watched Greybrooke put his arm around her. It felt suspiciously like jealousy. Which was foolish! The duke caught her eye and winked again.

  She couldn’t even tell Ellie to leave. No normal male would unseat a beautiful, voluptuous young woman from his lap.

  Viscount Deverell began the game. Helena peered around Ellie, who kept jiggling in the most distracting way. It was awkward, but she was determined not to give the duke the satisfaction of seeing her shocked. She tried to play her cards coolly, except she couldn’t even see them for Ellie’s jutting bosom. She threw down a diamond instead of a heart, costing them the point.

  Greybrooke cleared his throat.

  “Ellie, my cousin has never fondled a woman’s nipple. Perhaps you should tutor him in what you like.”

  Ellie obeyed at once, and the girl dragged Helena’s hand to her breast again. A firm point of a nipple jabbed against Helena’s palm.

  Her head was swimming with the embarrassment and scandal of this. Oh, Greybrooke, she thought, I will get my revenge on you.

  It took all the daring she had in the world, but she bent over and quickly put her lips to the swell of Ellie’s breasts. The girl squealed with delight.

  Greybrooke’s cards shot out of his hands and landed on the table. “Damnation,” he muttered. He gathered up the cards and the viscount dealt again.

  She squeezed Ellie’s right breast the next time, stroking the pert nipple through the girl’s dress, and Greybrooke played like a man with no wits. They lost three games in a row.

  This time she smirked at Greybrooke.

  His gorgeous green eyes narrowed. He paid no attention to the woman on his lap. His gaze was fixed on her—not even on Ellie, but on her. He watched her every movement.

  Winning at this game of revenge gave her confidence. She played much more brilliantly, and she and the duke won again. It was a true battle now—she was matching wits with the duke. She watched his every move. Now she realized he was giving signals. A quirk of his brow, a twitch of his lip, the way his fingers rested against the back of his cards. She could tell, without words, exactly what he was thinking. Finally she played a card, and Greybrooke drawled, “I believe that’s it. The match is ours.”

  Ellie squealed and clapped her hands. “Now, then, you can come upstairs with me!”

  “Upstairs?” Helena echoed.

  “To one of the bedrooms.”

  “Not now, I’m afraid.” Her voice came out far too high and squeaky. She coughed and tried again. “His Grace is going to . . .” She searched desperately. “Introduce me to hazard.”

  But Ellie was not giving up easily. The huge breasts slammed hard against Helena’s flattened chest. Puckered lips pressed hard against hers, and Ellie—sighing, moaning, and wiggling her tongue—kissed her passionately.

  She sat, stunned, while Ellie’s tongue slid between her lips and the girl gave her a wet, shocking, open-mouthed kiss.

  Her first kiss. And it was with a woman who thought she was a man.

  It was a scorching kiss, but she wished, madly, it was the duke kissing her.

  “Very persuasive, Ellie,” Greybrooke drawled. “I’m sure you’ll coax young George into bed.”

  That brought her to her senses. Helena put her hands on the girl’s shoulders and firmly propelled her back, breaking the molten contact between their mouths.

  Gruffly she said, “Not tonight.”

  “Oh, gentlemen never want to kiss!” Ellie pouted. She flounced on Helena’s lap, crossing her arms across her chest, sticking out her lip.

  “Dramatics will not get you your way—” Helena broke off. She’d sounded far too much like a governess. She threw a withering glare at the duke. Mouthed, You are in trouble.

  Greybrooke leaned back in his seat, trying to look innocent—he was the most disobedient boy in a man’s body she’d ever encountered. Then he cupped his hand against his courtesan’s ear and whispered something to her. The girl pouted, but she got off his lap, then she hauled Ellie to her feet and the two of them left.

  Greybrooke slanted a glance toward their opponents, the earl and the viscount.

  Relief flooded.

  “Congratulations,” Greybrooke threw out. Then he gave her the most devilish of all the smiles he’d given her, and all her instincts went on alert.

  He stretched, and said casually, “Now you can look forward to a night with a half dozen whores. All determined to please your cock in whatever way you desire.”

  Helena choked on his blunt words. But she had to continue to play his game. “I cannot wait,” she said, in her false deepened voice.

  “Can you not?” His gazed burned into hers. “Neither can I.”

  He was daring her. She certainly had gotten his interest. Now she had to keep it. “What if what I desire to play with the ladies is a good game of cards?”

  Deep, low, his sudden gruff laugh washed over her.

  Defiantly, she muttered, “Or perhaps I could share a large bed with all of them.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Since I’m a naïve, innocent buck from the country, Greybrooke,” she said, keeping her voice as deep as she could, “what would you suggest I do in bed with six buxom ladybirds?”

  His finger skimmed around the inside of his collar.

  She almost danced a jig when she saw him blush. Just as when she’d made him drop his cards, she had actually shocked him—and he was a man who gave shackles as gifts.

  Boring his gaze into her eyes, he growled, “I’m afraid to disappoint you, for we won’t collect on the wager tonight. You wanted to play hazard, as I recall. One of the most destructive games.”

  Lifting his head, he told the Earl of Brace and Viscount that he intended to collect upon the wager at a later time. The two men rose, bowed, and withdrew. The moment Greybrooke stood, Helena did too. He strolled around the table to her, then he bent and murmured by her ear, “This night has been delightful. I am enjoying every moment with you.”

  He said it as if it surprised him.

  A young viscount kissed his closed fist, then cast something down the table. Two dice tumbled, rebounded off a barrier at the end, and landed to show their black spots.

  Helena turned to Greybrooke. He stood beside her at the table, so close his thigh brushed hers. Even through layers of fabric she felt a sizzle of heat where they touched. At first she thought he’d stood so close to unsettle her. But she saw no twinkle in his green eyes, no smile playing at his sensual mouth. She could recognize moods in children. Anger rolled off the duke—anger that did not seem to suit this silly game.

  “How can this be the most destructive game?” she whispered. “They are just throwing dice.”

  Greybrooke pointed to the man throwing the dice, who brushed perspiration from his forehead. “The point is, cousin, this game is pure chance. Logic can be applied, but men become addicted. They believe the next throw will be the one that wins. Fortunes are lost this way.”

  “Have you lost a fortune?”

  “I play games that require skill, not luck. My father, however, was not as circumspect.”

  She admired the duke. If only her brother had been so circumspect. But Will was impetuous and eternally hopeful. He had probably hoped the next card or the next roll would change his fortunes. But thanks to this man, she no longer had to fear her brother would lose more at the gaming tables.

  “Your Grace,
I beg your pardon.” Melman had come up behind her and the duke.

  Greybrooke stepped aside with the servant. The major domo spoke in such low, confidential tones she could not hear a word. To eavesdrop, she would have had to have squirmed in between them.

  Helena watched Greybrooke’s face. His full lips thinned into a hard, angry line. Whatever the interruption was, it infuriated him. He gave a curt nod. “I will come.”

  He turned to her. “A moment, cousin.” With no more explanation, he stalked away.

  This must be important—it could be a critical clue to whether Whitehall was correct and the duke had sold secrets. But to chase after him would look too conspicuous.

  Or would it? She muttered words about too much champagne and the retiring room, but everyone watched the dice. No one paid any attention to her.

  She threaded through the crowd. For the Duke of Greybrooke, people stepped smartly aside. No one moved to give George Caldwell room. But in masculine clothing, she was agile, and she reached the far side of the hazard room just as the duke disappeared through a shadowy doorway.

  If she followed, would he spot her? She had no choice but to take the risk. When she reached the door, though, Greybrooke was gone.

  A man’s voice said, “Good evenin’, Yer Grace. So delighted ye came to meet me.”

  Mocking in tone, the voice had come from the end of the hallway. With a quick breath of relief, Helena crept down. There was a door ajar, but as she got close, the door shut firmly in place. Bother!

  She slipped into the room beside, thankfully empty. It proved to be a small parlor. A window at the end of the room let in silver-blue moonlight. Quickly she looked out, her heart soaring. It overlooked the rear yard and was on the ground floor. If her luck was in, Greybrooke’s room would have a window and it would be open enough for her to spy.

  Helena slid up the sash, hopped out. Thank heaven for trousers. Greybrooke’s room was also a drawing room, but larger, with glass-paned doors leading to a small terrace.

  Her work in seeking scandals for the newspaper guided her. She knew to creep along the wall. Then, with her back against the brick, she peeked through the door. The low fire illuminated two men. Greybrooke, who stood with his back to the terrace door, hands fisted. The other man—

  She recoiled, stunned. It was a monster’s face. A gargoyle, not even human.

  Heavens, it was a mask. She’d been startled by a child’s oldest trick: to put on a mask and try to frighten people.

  The man wore a devil’s face, within the hood of his cloak. Whoever he was, he’d wanted to ensure he wouldn’t be recognized.

  Smash!

  Greybrooke’s fist slammed into the frame of the door, rattling glass. Helena had to coax her heart back down into place.

  Greybrooke’s angry punch had unlatched the door. He stalked back toward the masked man. Holding her breath, she snaked out her hand and opened the terrace door about an inch.

  “If you ’urt me, Yer Grace, the information I’ve got gets published for all England to see. Don’t think ye can escape this by killin’ me. I’ve planned for that.” The man’s voice was confident, mocking.

  “You want more than can be paid.”

  “I don’t think so. Think the reason you’re here is proof I’ll get what I want. I’ll be a gentleman and keep my price the same. Two thousand.”

  Greybrooke gave a harsh laugh. “You’ll be back for another two thousand as soon as you’ve run through that.”

  “Ye can afford it, Yer Grace.”

  “Who in hell are you?”

  The man laughed roughly. Yet, like his accent, it sounded forced, as if he was playing a role. “I’m not going to tell ye that, Yer Grace.”

  “Damnation,” the duke growled. “You will get your two thousand, but it will take me time to acquire the funds. Meet me in two nights in Hyde Park. Midnight. Then you will get your money.”

  “Double-cross me, Yer Grace, and ye’ll be reading about it in the newssheets. What a pretty scandal it would make.”

  Greybrooke took a menacing step forward, but the masked man laughed. A cackling laugh. “Don’t think I haven’t taken care of meself. If I die, my associate sends everything to the newssheets. You wouldn’t want ’er to pay the price for yer anger, would ye?”

  The duke looked like that now—as if his restraint would snap and his body would explode in violence. “Leave her alone, damn you,” the duke said. He took a step toward the man, who took a quick one in retreat.

  “Bring the money as ye’ve promised two nights from now, and ye needn’t worry about reading the story in the newssheets, Yer Grace. But of course, I know ye will honor your word. Since ye’re such a gentleman.” Chuckling, the man turned and walked away.

  Helena stared at his back, covered by the swaying cape. Firelight reflected on the sinuous slither of it. She would not have turned her back on the furious duke.

  Indeed, Greybrooke lifted his fist. Then he drove it, with a growl of rage, into the top of a delicate table. The inlaid wood surface broke with an ear-shattering crash. That must have been painful for Greybrooke, but he didn’t even wince. He smoothed down his hair, straightened his cravat, then left the room.

  But she now knew Greybrooke was being blackmailed.

  5

  “Does this mean the duke is being blackmailed because he was a traitor?”

  The carriage rumbled off and she faced Whitehall, who sat opposite. This time she had met him without Will and told him what she’d overheard.

  Her heart hammered madly as she waited for his opinion.

  “Or he is being blackmailed over the secrets that led him to be a traitor.” Whitehall leaned forward, a tall beaver hat covering his dark head, but the shadows made his face look even more skull-like. His black eyes burned into hers. “Did you get into his home? Did you find diaries or letters?”

  “N-not yet.” Greybrooke had been nothing but a gentleman when he’d returned to the hazard table. He had ended their night, had taken her back to the mews behind the Winterhaven house, had not even pressed a kiss upon her. He’d apologized for being distracted and had promised her a more dazzling evening tonight. After all, she knew tomorrow night he was supposed to meet a blackmailer. “But I convinced him last night to bring me to his house tonight.”

  She shivered with nerves, but also with anticipation, remembering how she’d convinced him. She had asked for one kiss. To see what it was like, to see if she was ready to give him more. One kiss to be given to her in his home.

  Greybrooke had agreed on one condition: He was allowed to choose where he kissed her.

  When she thought about kissing him, she felt a hot, intense thrill. Then her sensible voice berated her for being heady with desire for a man who was being blackmailed and could be a traitor. At the very least he was . . . danger personified.

  “Do not waste this opportunity,” Whitehall said coldly. “You must find out the reason behind the blackmail. You must try to learn the secrets he is hiding. It could help us get at the truth and prove his guilt.”

  But it would have to be something personal. Something perhaps dangerous. “Do we need to actually know what his secrets are? Isn’t it enough if we can find out he did commit treason?”

  “Miss Winsome.” Whitehall’s grip tightened on his walking stick as if he were restraining his temper. “You find out the ton’s secrets so you can publish them in Lady X’s scandal column. Why do you balk at this now, when it is for the good of your country?”

  “He did a—a kind thing for me. It was one thing to expose his crime if he is guilty. But it’s quite another thing to hunt for private secrets that are none of my business.”

  Whitehall glared at her. “Are we finished then, Miss Winsome? You no longer want to continue serving your country and you are willing to let your family be destroyed by your brother’s debt?”

  She took a deep breath. “I cannot do this anymore. I don’t want to spy on the duke and his family. I have another way to pay my fam
ily’s debts.”

  Whitehall’s hand snaked out. He grasped her wrist, squeezing tight. “How, Miss Winsome?”

  “Please, Mr. Whitehall. This hurts—”

  He began to bend her hand back.

  She gasped, the pain excruciating. “If I’m going to have to become the duke’s mistress, I can use the jewels he will give me to pay the debts.”

  Whitehall lessened the pressure on her wrist slightly. “You are not walking away from your obligation to the king, Miss Winsome. We could easily destroy your brother, regardless of his debt. His newspaper could be ruined. We can completely ruin your family. As for you—if the duke were to find out you have been spying on him over treason, do you really believe he would want you?”

  “You’re going to force me to do this with threats?”

  “Yes, Miss Winsome.” He gave a ruthless smile. “Until I get what I want.”

  Lifting the hem of her cloak, Helena mounted the steps, feeling like the heroine of a horrid novel.

  She had thought Greybrooke was dangerous. But Whitehall had proved he was the real danger.

  The duke’s door opened before she even reached for the knocker. A footman bowed with perfect respect, and the door quickly shut behind her.

  She held onto her hood, which she’d tugged low to hide her face. She was the one in disguise, knowing she was facing ruin. But the duke was the one with the truly perilous secrets. If he really was a traitor, he had been willing to see young soldiers—his own countrymen—die in battle. And she was walking into his house alone.

  Churches were built to make you feel awed and insignificant. The duke’s foyer made her feel like the tiniest woman in the world. It blossomed round her like a fairy land.