Behind the Marquess's Mask (The Lords of Whitehall Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

forbid—celibate, they had become notorious rakes, slaking their lust on the most desirable widows and courtesans in Town. At least, that was how society saw them. Half of the drivel being spouted about them was fabricated by Matthews at the Home Office.
    “Good to see you again, Nick.” Grey sat when he reached the table, grabbing a full snifter in front of him. “Am I dislodging some other poor bugger?”
    “Not at all.” Nick’s face lit cheerfully as he gestured to the drink. “I poured it for you in the off chance you would stop by.”
    “Do you do that often?” Grey questioned soberly. “I shall not lie, Nick. that sounds downright depressing.”
    “No, I do not,” Nick assured him, leaning back into his chair. “It was mine, but it’s yours now. One needs twice the volume of this swill to get the desired effect. I haven’t decided if Mr. Garson has no taste or if he just waters down the bourbon because he is cheap.”
    Grey sipped the drink then made a sour face as he set it down. “That is absolutely awful.”
    It was an understatement. He was certain mud would taste better.
    “I warned you,” Nick said casually. “I must admit I didn’t expect to see you this evening, old chap. You so rarely come out these days.” Nick’s brow knit pensively. “In fact, I am certain I have not even seen you since…. Oh, it’s been nearly two years, I would say. Been away to France, have you not?”
    “I was.”
    “Something come up over there?” Nick asked as he absently took a drink then frowned at the snifter as if just then remembering how terrible it tasted.
    “Grenville and I were sent to dismantle a small band of war criminals,” Grey answered quietly. “Grenville is still there, tying up loose ends. I have been back for more than a month now.”
    “Why did you return?” Nick asked, taking another drink. “It seems odd that Grenville would stay and you come back to England.”
    “My position was compromised,” Grey answered simply.
    “I have never known you to be found out,” Nick remarked. “What on earth happened?”
    “There was a bit of trouble,” Grey muttered. “I lost my temper.”
    Nick frowned. “I see.”
    Nick didn’t push the subject. Instead, he moved on to Tattersalls and his new prize Arabians then Gentleman Jackson’s, followed by the improvements made at Whites and a favored gaming hell. When the conversation began to dip into comfortable silence, the inevitable came.
    Nick gestured over Grey’s shoulder with a nod. “Behind you, Grey.”
    Grey instantly knew what it was or, rather, whom it was. He twisted in his chair to meet the dowager’s disapproving glare from the doorway.
    “Well,” he said as he turned back toward Nick and stood, “I have held off enemy siege as long as I could. Now it looks as though Mother has forced me into action.”
    “Getting married, are we?” Nick asked. “Is the search on for a pretty filly to pop out little Greys?”
    “Not on your life, Nick. I refuse to sentence myself to a life in that particular corner of hell,” he replied plainly. “Just the anticipation of the dull, predictable conversation I am about to suffer is putting ideas into my head.” Grey pointed to the row of windows on the other end of the room. “I could jump out that window there, and no one would bat an eye. They would probably be disappointed if I didn’t.”
    The thought was incredibly tempting.
    Nick grinned as he stood. “You really ought to embrace your fate, Grey. There’s nothing like female companionship for making a man forget his woes.”
    “And acquire copious others.” Grey turned to the doorway in dread.
    “Posh! Oh, and Grey,” Nick added, “be a chum and leave a few for me. You know what I like.” He grinned boyishly. “Pretty ones with doe eyes and no brains.” Nick turned toward the doorway and, no doubt, straight toward the females fitting his description. There were plenty.
    Leave some for him, indeed. More like, if