Her Wanton Wager Page 8

  Percy traipsed through the doorway. Her bonnet with its filmy veil obscured her face—the minx did like her disguises—but the rest of her form was nicely outlined by her fashionable lilac dress. She pinned up her veil. Her eyes widened, and before he could utter a greeting, she strode over to Davey. Before Gavin's befuddled gaze, she lifted a gentle hand to the boy's jaw. Moreover, Davey allowed her touch, his expression moonstruck.

  "You poor thing," she murmured. "'Tis a shiner, to be sure. Does it hurt dreadfully?"

  "N-no, miss," the boy stammered.

  She rummaged through her reticule and pulled out a lace-edged handkerchief. The fine scrap would cost more than Davey earned in a year, yet she handed it over to the boy.

  "Fill this with ice, if the cook has some. If not, cold water will do. Hold it to the bruise, and the swelling will go down more quickly," she said.

  "Yes, miss. Th-thank you." Davey sounded as stunned as Gavin felt.

  Percy turned to Gavin then, and his bemusement faded with her next words. "How could you," she hissed. Her eyes spit flames at him. "He's but a boy and not even half your size. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

  For a minute, Gavin could not speak. Blood roared in his ears. Out of nowhere, a voice boomed in his head. You are hereby found guilty of arson and sentenced to a term of ten years imprisonment. Helpless rage curled his fists. I didn't do it.

  "Beggin' your pardon, miss, but I think you've painted the wrong picture." This came from Alfie, who swept a spritely bow.

  Percy frowned. "Who are you?"

  "Name's Alfie, miss, an' I was the one who brung Davey 'ere today. To see about a job. Mr. Hunt 'ires on us lot—an' by lot I mean urchins an' ragamuffins," Alfie explained matter-of-factly. "The gent's a decent sort, you see, even if 'e looks like the devil 'imself."

  "Oh." After a strained pause, Percy said to Davey, "Is that true?"

  Davey gave a small nod.

  She rounded on Gavin. Seething with anger, he readied for another attack. He knew all too well that the way to cover a mistake was to launch another barrage of insult and blame. Attack or be attacked. 'Twas the way of the stinking world.

  "I—I'm afraid I owe you an apology, Mr. Hunt," she said. Roses bloomed in her cheeks. "I jumped to conclusions when I oughtn't have. For that, I am truly sorry."

  Her contrition took the wind out of his sails. The storm within him came to an abrupt halt; he could only stare at her, bewildered by the intensity of emotion she provoked in him. Why did she have such an effect on him? Why should he give a bloody farthing what she thought? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alfie usher Davey out of the room and close the door behind.

  "Forget it," he said flatly. "'Tis nothing."

  "But it is." Her vibrant eyes held his, the expression in them impossibly sincere. "My accusation was most unfair. Mama is forever lecturing me on being too impulsive, and I fear she has the right of it." Biting her lip, Percy said in humble tones, "Will you accept my apology, Mr. Hunt?"

  What could he say to that? He inclined his head gruffly, and she gave him a tremulous smile in return. Beneath her chin, yellow bonnet strings formed a cheerful bow. His fingers itched to undo it. To knock that stupid bonnet off and sink themselves into warm locks of sunshine ...

  Don't lose control, you fool. Focus. Close the deal.

  "Might I inquire to the purpose of the day's visit?" he said in even tones.

  The warmth fled from her expression. Her gaze lowered to the vicinity of his cravat. "I think you know why I've come. I wish to discuss your offer. Though," she added hurriedly, "I have some stipulations of my own."

  Once again in control of himself, he closed the distance between them. She did not shirk from him, which he took as a good sign. She looked at him with surprise when he held out a chair.

  "I am occasionally capable of good manners," he drawled. "As I have a feeling your provisions may take some time, you might as well be comfortable. Shall I ring for tea as well?"

  "No, thank you." She took the seat he offered, folding her skirts primly around her. "Here are my terms, Mr. Hunt. First, I wish to have the details of the wager spelled out—in writing, if you please."

  He leaned against the desk, studying her. "I gave you my word, Miss Fines. That should be sufficient."

  "Papa always said to get everything in writing. When all is said and done, I want tangible proof of my brother's freedom. That is, your signature clearing him of all debt when I win this bet."

  Thought she had it in the bag, did she? Reminding himself that he gained nothing from baiting her at this juncture, he said curtly, "Fine. If you want a contract, you'll get it. What else?"

  Eyes narrowing, he watched the play of emotions across her lively features. Percy would be terrible at cards; she had more tells than a leopard had spots. Seeing her gnaw her lower lip, he braced himself for news he wasn't going to like.

  "I want your promise that during the wager you will not try to find or harm Paul," she said. "You will not even accept payment from him, should he decide to find you."

  "You must be joking."

  "I assure you I am not." Her voice was calm, but he noted the rapid rise and fall of her bosom. "Why should I risk agreeing to this bet if you can snare my brother at any time? Why should you get your cake and eat it too?"

  Damn, but she was cleverer than he gave her credit for.

  "I will still have both you and your brother's company," he said. "When I win the wager."

  "If you win." Pink blossomed in her cheeks, but her gaze did not waver. "But if you lose, the Fines' debt to you will be dissolved, and you will leave us in peace."

  He looked at her stubborn, piquant little face and felt something close to respect. For a female, she possessed strong notions of loyalty. Too bad those bonds tied her to Morgan.

  He gave a slow nod. "Agreed."

  She released a breath, clearly relieved. "Well, then, there's only one more thing."

  He cocked a brow.

  "It has to do with the manner of deciding the number of visits. I will toss but only,"—she raised a delicate gloved finger—"one of the dice."

  His jaw tautened. He was not so much concerned over her proposal itself as he was over her temerity in bargaining with him. She was growing bolder by the minute; if he did not take care, she might begin to think she could run roughshod over him. A pretty thing like her was probably used to getting everything she wanted. Probably had all the gentlemen wrapped around her precious little finger.

  "Give me one good reason why I should agree to that in addition to the other concessions I am making," he said.

  Her sable lashes angled upward. "Because you happen to be in a magnanimous mood?"

  "Try again, Miss Fines."

  She chewed on her lip. "Because you are so confident in your own prowess that you believe you could seduce me within six meetings?"

  "Better reasoning," he acknowledged, "but still not good enough."

  "I don't see why using one die should matter so much," she said in a tone just short of wheedling. "After all, I am agreeing to risk my reputation and my person for the sake of this wager. The least you could do is accommodate this request."

  That smile of hers could probably charm birds from their leafy perches and well she knew it. He stroked his chin. "I suppose I might consider it ..."

  "Excellent. I knew you'd come around," she said, beaming.

  " ... if you'd grant me a request in return."

  Her brow furrowed. "What sort of request?"

  "Nothing much. Just a kiss. To seal the bargain, you understand."

  "Another kiss?" she said with clear dismay.

  "Yes, Miss Fines. A gesture of good faith on your part for all the concessions I am making." It was his turn to smile. "Unless you're afraid of kissing me again?"

  NINE

  Drat and double drat. Hunt thought he'd cornered her; she could tell by the arrogant look on his face, the relaxed line of his scar. Why was the man so ... befuddling? Earlier,
she'd glimpsed a wholly unexpected side of him. A streak of kindness and nobility. He had shown compassion for that unfortunate boy and apparently many others as well. Though she cringed at how she'd maligned Hunt in that instance, the current ruthless set of his features sent a thrill of warning up her spine.

  She gave her head a wary shake. "I cannot kiss you."

  "Then I'm afraid I cannot agree to your request."

  "That is not very gentlemanly, sir."

  He lifted a sardonic brow in answer.

  She tried to summon a viable alternative, but came up short. After Charity's report on Paul yesterday, Percy had known what needed to be done. Her friend's trembling voice played in her head.

  Mr. Fines was not at all as I remember him. He was ... out of sorts, t-terribly so. Charity's face had drained of color. He's tired of hiding, he said, and doesn't give a ... a damn about anything anymore. Oh Percy, he said he's going to march over to Mr. Hunt and hand over his inheritance!

  Percy straightened her shoulders. She could not allow her brother to destroy his future and their father's legacy on a drunken whim. She would not. And what difference would another kiss make? She'd made it through the other one unscathed, after all. And now she knew what to expect of Hunt. She could manage this.

  "One kiss," she said, her nape tingling, "but I get to roll the die first."

  He inclined his head and reached to the desk for the die. She came to stand beside him, her gloved hand held out. He dropped the ivory cube into her palm; given the fortunes lost and won by that small piece, its weight felt oddly insignificant.

  She cupped her palms together and shook. In her head, she tried to visualize a single black dot. Please, God, let it be a one ...

  "Praying doesn't help." Hunt's mocking voice cut through her focus. "Just so you know."

  "Will you kindly stop talking and let me concentrate?"

  "That doesn't help either," he said.

  Gritting her teeth, she gave the die another shake and let it loose onto the blotter. The cube rolled several times, her heart flipping with each motion. When it teetered on an edge, her breath caught. All air whooshed from her lungs as the die fell.

  On six.

  "Devil take it!" The words burst from her.

  "I think he already has, Miss Fines."

  Her gaze cut to Hunt, who made no attempt to hide his look of satisfaction. Temper piqued, she said, "I ... I demand to roll again! You interrupted me."

  "Tossing more than once was not part of the contract," he said. "I never took you for a welsher, Percy."

  Despite her competitive nature, she believed in playing fair. He had the right of it, and it galled her to no end to know it. "I am not a spoilsport," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest, "but you did interfere with my focus."

  "As I said, it would not have made a lick of difference." He smiled, no doubt because everything was going his way. Which irked her further. "Come now, look on the bright side. 'Tis only six meetings. If you hadn't negotiated with me earlier, you'd have rolled both dice and might have wound up having to see me twelve times instead of six."

  That much was true. Feeling slightly mollified, she said, "I suppose."

  "Now about that kiss ..."

  Dash it all, she'd rolled a blasted six, and she still had to endure another kiss from the man? She heaved a sigh of disgust. "It hardly seems fair, but have at it. Just do it quickly," she added ungraciously. "My chaperone believes I am at a sewing circle and expects me back by two."

  "Then by all means, let us get on with the business." His lips quirked. "I'll try not to lose track of time."

  Lose track of time? What is he talking about? He must be trying to unnerve me. Well, I won't give him that satisfaction. Once and for all, I'll prove I'm not a wicked girl.

  She angled her chin upward. "Just so you know, I am no green chit. You're not the only one who has kissed me, you know."

  His brows shot up.

  Good. Loftily, she went on, "I am familiar with this particular activity and how it's done. I know for a fact that it never takes more than a minute to accomplish—like the last time."

  A choked sound left him. Good again. Now he knew she was no inexperienced ninny. With a twinge, she thought of Lord Charles. The man she ought to be kissing and with whom said gesture would likely be heavenly. But it couldn't be helped; she best handle herself with cool aplomb and get the matter over with.

  "I'll, er, do my best not to disappoint," Hunt said.

  "Just get on with it." Pursing her lips, she shut her eyes.

  And nearly jumped when a warm caress slid along her neck.

  "Wh-what are you doing?" she stammered. Her skin tingled where he'd touched her; she'd never known that patch beneath her ear to be sensitive. Yet sparks danced over the surface of her skin.

  "Untying your bonnet." His eyes gleamed, the golden flecks in them pronounced against his darkened pupils. "'Tis a grand brim, to be sure, but surely you don't expect me to fit under there with you?"

  "Oh. I suppose not." Do not overreact. Remain calm and collected. Reaching up, she fumbled with the ribbons; to her consternation, they were hopelessly knotted.

  "You're making things worse. Allow me."

  Nudging aside her hands, Hunt expertly took hold of the strings. She swallowed as his fingers brushed against her neck, the calloused pads rasping lightly against her skin. A shivering awareness spread over her, raising the fine hairs on her arms and tightening her lower belly. All of her senses chose that moment to come fully awake: Hunt's scent penetrated her nostrils— leather and male spice, familiar yet exotic.

  In a rush, the dream of the catacombs came back to her, and she swayed. Suddenly, she remembered she'd forgotten to invoke the no-touching rule. "Mr. Hunt, I—"

  He placed a finger to her lips. The brightness of his eyes mesmerized her. "Enough talking. Close your eyes now, Persephone, and take my kiss."

  All thought fled as his hands cupped her head, held her in place. She quivered within that strong yet strangely gentle grasp. A breath rushed out, and before she could draw in the next, he kissed her. Firm, warm lips against her own. She tried to think of Lord Charles, to distract herself by recalling his elegantly worded invitation to go for a drive ... to Hyde Park ... her mind grew blurry. The lulling heat of the mouth moving over hers carried her farther and farther away from the shores of rationality.

  She began to float, adrift in sensation. In pure and stunning discovery.

  Then the kiss deepened, and a mysterious undercurrent stirred within her. What on earth is happening? she wondered foggily. It wasn't like this last time ... She felt her knees give out, but she didn't fall; instead, she was lifted upon something solid, and all she could do was cling to the warm, hard muscle that was anchoring her and turning her inside out all at once. Her lungs burned, she could not breathe, and when her lips parted to pull in air, he moved inside with bold alacrity.

  The caress shocked her. Rocked her.

  A single thought flashed in her head: more.

  He tasted of decadence, of freedom. He probed boldly, and she responded with the ungovernable need rising within her. His tongue slid against hers, and a molten wave washed over her. She moaned and the kiss tangled, growing hotter and hotter. Just when she thought she might die with the pleasure of it, he left her lips to suck her earlobe, to lick his way down her neck.

  She was afire; she wanted more heat. A whimper lodged in her throat as he cupped her breast, fondling her through the bodice. Beneath the thin layer, her nipples sprouted, and need steamed in her veins. Touch me there, oh please touch me—

  The bright chime of a clock shot through her sensual daze.

  In a single, shocking moment, several facts crashed into her awareness. She was sprawled across a desk, clinging to Gavin Hunt like a limpet to a rock. His tongue was planted firmly in her mouth, while his hand palmed her breast, his thumb strumming lazily across its hardened tip. As she registered this last fact, a shock of pleasure radiated from tha
t wanton bud to the juncture of her thighs. A flush of wetness alerted her to reality.

  Dear God. Panic imbued her with sudden strength. She shoved at Hunt's heavy shoulders with all her might. "Let me go!"

  He barely budged, but he did lift his head. His thick brown hair lay disheveled over his forehead. The laces of his shirt dangled, hair-dusted muscle visible where his cravat had once been. The buttons of his waistcoat had popped free.

  Good heavens ... had she done all that?

  The wicked gleam in his eyes told her the answer and sent a humiliated ripple over her already tumultuous senses. A pulse beat madly in her throat. If he meant to ravish her ...

  "As you wish," he said and pulled her into sitting position.

  She was off the desk like a shot. She yanked her bodice up, her face so hot she was certain the skin would melt from her bones.

  "I m-must go," she stammered, edging toward the door. "My companion ... 'tis late ..."

  "About our meetings, Miss Fines."

  Meetings? Her feelings were a fracas. Her body tingled in all the places he had touched her ... and some where he hadn't. What has he done to me?

  "Will Friday evenings work for you? I will come for you at, say, ten o'clock?"

  She moved her head numbly.

  "Excellent." Male satisfaction imbued that single word. Before she knew what he intended, he caught hold of her hand and kissed it. His eyes roved over her with dark possession. "I must say, I am looking forward to the next six weeks."

  Not knowing how to respond, she tugged her hand free and dashed out with as much dignity as she could muster.

  TEN

  Returning to the Seven Dials, Gavin felt neither shame nor pride about his origins. The rookery had spewed him from her dirty womb and left him to survive or die. The way he saw it, he'd paid any filial dues he owed in blood, sweat, and misery. He kept his eyes moving, scanning the derelict buildings. Beside him, Stewart was doing the same.

  Instinct—it never left you.

  "Why do the club owners always insist on meetin' at The Blind Stag? I hate the Dials. Nothin' but cadgers and thieves." Stewart scowled. "An' blowsy bunters, to boot."