Dangerous Liaison (Lords of Whitehall Book 2)

if he was in fact in his bed which he was not. His mother and several of the household staff found her in the middle of his bed…alone.
Before his mother could send her back to her family, the girl had told anyone who would listen that he had trifled with her affections.
The duchess and her friends had decreed him to be “bad ton”. Every hostess in Town followed suit. The edict from the matrons had not caused him a moment’s distress until now. He rather enjoyed having a disreputable standing among Society.
He found it much easier to do his duty for the Home Secretary without the strictures of Society tying his hands. He came and went as he pleased. Another advantage to being in disfavor was freedom from the attentions of dewy-eyed daughters hunting for husbands.
Cross was right. Dealing with Gillian and his reaction to her were problems he had to conquer if they both were to escape unscathed this night.
A tremor of guilt ate at his insides. He might tell himself Gillian had sought him out, but he knew he could have deflected her interest and proceeded alone. In truth, her audacity on arranging their meeting at Philly’s townhouse had impressed him. He wanted to know her better, which was why he had suggested the ride in the park.
Because of him, Gillian was a pawn in the game of subterfuge that he and others played with life and death repercussions. Some would bristle at him referring to his efforts to safeguard his king and government from destruction as a game. Even so, his work for the Crown and a game of any sort shared the need for a strategy to circumvent the complications of human frailty. Perhaps the most important commonality was both had winners and losers. His duty was to ensure Britain emerged the winner at every juncture.
He decided to try once more to send her away. “I can go on my own.”
Gillian stiffened at his words. She should’ve known the man wouldn’t give up without a final argument. She turned around and gave him what she hoped was a defiant glare. “You’ll not take another step unless I’m at your side.” She waited until he nodded to continue. “Now, we must hurry. To avoid being seen, we’ll go through the back entrance to the bookroom. More like a secret passage.” She reached into the center of an ornately carved wall panel and triggered the lock. A single click echoed through the corridor. The panel slid open revealing a dark abyss.
“Light this.” She handed Moreham a candle and flint then stepped around him to peer around the corner into the entryway to watch for a wandering footman. With her uncle and aunt out for the evening, all the servants were below stairs save a lone footman stationed in the butler’s pantry. Her aunt had recently employed a new cadre of footmen so one never knew when one of those servants would appear. Such an eventuality was very possible which was more than a little unsettling. The quiet snick of the flint striking and hiss of the wick catching fire called her back to Moreham’s side.
She hurried past him into the opening. Moreham followed with the candle held high and closed the door behind him. The only light was the candle’s flame. She made her way through the narrow corridor toward the wooden door to her uncle’s bookroom.
Gillian stopped in front of the door and waited for Moreham to join her. She fished a key from her pocket and unlocked the door. She pressed her finger to her lips and whispered. “We must be quiet. One never knows who is about.”
Moreham gave her an impatient look before he pushed the door open. A chill ran down her spine. What would they find? Gillian had never been so afraid as she was at that moment.
Moreham gestured for her to enter first. The room possessed a scent of its own. She loved this room with its bookshelves filled with her uncle’s favorite books, the comfortable overstuffed chairs he favored and the fireplace ablaze.
Some of her happiest memories had been spent in this room with her uncle. Most evenings when she was a child after her bath, Uncle Whitney had carried her to this very room. Together, they’d choose a book for him to read to her. On his knee, Gillian had been enthralled with mythology, astrology and her favorite, fairy tales. Only Aunt Isadora’s arrival at the door, dressed ready for an evening out, had brought their special time together to an end. She smiled at the memory of being kissed and sent to bed, warm in the knowledge she was loved.
Her haze of happiness disappeared at the whispery brush of Moreham’s arm as he joined her in the bookroom. Gillian stiffened. She regretted seeking out the earl. She now understood his admonition about living with the outcome of violating Uncle Whitney’s trust. How would she feel if someone violated her privacy in such a manner? Standing in her uncle’s bookroom poised to search through his personal papers was not the most convenient time to develop a conscience.
How she wished she’d not overheard those men talking, never asked Philly to arrange her meeting with Moreham. Wishing to change the past was a fruitless endeavor. It was time for action, swift and sure.
She fought the urge to lean closer to the earl. One more innocent whiff wouldn’t see their purpose fulfilled. However, enough was enough. Gillian took a step backward to escape Moreham’s distinctive and heady fragrance. They had to hurry before someone discovered them.
“His desk is over there.” Gillian motioned across the room. She then flicked her hand toward the windows overlooking the garden. “Close the drapes. Someone could see us moving around.”
Moreham moved across the small room. “Are you always so bossy?” He jerked the curtains closed casting the room into complete darkness except for the pitiful flame of their candle. She lit the candles on her uncle’s