The Last Gamble

He inhaled again, savouring her light, fresh fragrance, and leaned entirely too close to her person. So close, their breath mingled. He noticed her eyes darted to his mouth and then up again. For a tiny, breathless moment, he thought she might say something, but she remained silent like he, almost as if they waited each other out, a draw of equalled bluff he’d witnessed dozens of times on the gaming-hell floor. Who would fold first? Who would raise the stakes and what did it mean?

Georgina paused, her breath tight in her lungs. Luke had leaned across the narrow table, his eyes on her lips and her most copious wish in that moment was that he’d kiss her. Repercussions or ramifications beyond that singular idea escaped better sense. How would his mouth feel against hers? She still burned with memory of her body atop his. How would intentional touching feel? The only kiss she’d received made her want to scrub her mouth afterward, but she slammed the door on that unwanted memory faster than it could materialize, disallowing it to intrude and ruin the moment.

Luke’s kiss promised unfathomable pleasure. Of that she was certain.

Now, his eyes glinted silver, daring her in a dozen wicked ways, suggesting things and evoking desire with nothing more than a glance. His lashes, long and dark, lowered as if he considered the exact same idea.

Absorbed in the frisson of energy that ricocheted between them, she didn’t notice Biscuit’s howling protest and the scratch of his frantic bid to enter until Luke pulled back and cleared his throat.

‘Oh, Biscuit.’ She gave a vigorous shake of the head as if that alone would dispatch the romantic haze from her brain as she hurried to the back door. By the time she’d filled the pug’s water bowl and he lapped at his refreshment, Luke appeared ready to take his leave.

‘Thank you, Georgina.’

She startled the smallest degree, hearing her name in his voice. ‘My apologies again on behalf of my dog.’ She eyed the pug, who now reclined in a sated, furry heap on the kitchen floor. ‘I can only surmise he feared for my safety.’

‘Foolish, that. Let’s not dwell on it.’ He smiled, that dimple at work to weaken her knees. ‘Before I leave, perhaps you can recommend a restaurant for my dinner this evening. The inn doesn’t have a formal dining room and I do my best healing on a full stomach.’ His eyes twinkled with the reference to the bite wound.

‘There’s only one pub aside from the teahouse. Sadly, the food there is not very good. I’ve taken to teaching myself to cook. The market has an excellent assortment of meat and produce and the butcher has a mind to save the finer cuts for me. Tonight, I’m preparing partridge with blackberry sauce and fresh artichokes.’ She hiked her chin higher, proud of her accomplishment in conquering the detailed recipes in the culinary volume she’d purchased at the bookstore. Life in Coventry had necessitated she develop a more domestic side to her repertoire of skills.

‘Thank you, I accept.’ He smiled, wider this time and she couldn’t help but feel she may have been bamboozled, made victim by a sharper and his shrewd swindle. ‘What time shall I return?’

She couldn’t in good conscience refuse him. Her dog had bitten his arm, and too, Coventry’s sole restaurant was dreadful. And while she guarded her privacy, one dinner could not hurt, could it? A ridiculous swirl of anticipation tingled down her spine and she moved to open the door and expend the invigorating energy. ‘Six o’clock will do nicely.’

Luke walked towards town with an amused smile despite his arm throbbed from Biscuit’s attack. He refused to feel one iota of guilt at having duped the beguiling governess into preparing his dinner. It offered yet another opportunity to convince her she needed to accompany him to London and at the same time lead him to discover if she smelled like apricots everywhere.

He’d spend the time in between writing a message to Cole in which he explained beyond the curt sentences he’d offered his partners before leaving for Coventry, to warn against a chance of repercussions. An appraisal of Dursley’s reaction to the theft was in order if word circulated, for the man dared frequent The Underworld. In all circumstances, information was scarce.

Luke had hired investigators in the past but mayhap Georgina’s idea held worth. It couldn’t hurt to approach a private runner to poke around in things now he possessed Dursley’s journal. If only he’d known about the book months ago. He would stop at nothing until he recovered Nathaniel. For the life of him he couldn’t imagine what Dursley meant to gain.

Thinking back at the confrontation immediately after the day Nate was taken, his half-brother’s behaviour proved disdainful, argumentative and imperious. Had Luke not been beside himself with broken emotion, he might have beaten Dursley to a pulp for no other reason than to expend his enraged helplessness. Dursley denied any involvement, quick to suggest Luke had become negligent or worse, had tired of fatherhood and, anxious to rid himself of the burden, engaged in suspicious methods.

The young girl Luke had paid to watch over Nate identified Dursley without a doubt, but when Luke visited her home the following afternoon, the maid had vanished, disappeared into London’s population, another frightened runaway. Another Smith. Whether she fled of her own volition or was encouraged, threatened by Dursley, Luke would never know and it no longer mattered. Recovering his son consumed his purpose.

Since that time he’d worked at the hell, continued on with life, even entertained a lady or two, but his heart and soul remained in a vault, devoted to his son until the day he brought Nate home again. Everything else served as perfunctory repetition and mere distraction.

This afternoon he would take Snake Eyes for a run and expend their redundant restlessness before he bathed and dressed for dinner. Should he bring a gift to the lovely governess? Flowers or sweets? Something clever to curry her compliance. He had no idea what she favoured but he’d soon find out.

Dinner smelled divine. The table was set with neatly pressed linen, the curtains drawn and Biscuit well fed, shut away in another room to guarantee he would not cause another troubling episode. Earlier, when Georgina had examined her wardrobe and chosen the amber gown, the best she owned here in Coventry, she’d almost decided to leave her hair down, her tresses often regarded by her friends as her loveliest feature. But in a belated judgement, she’d arranged the thick lengths into an attractive twist and pinned it up in keeping with her portrayal of a prim governess. This wasn’t a romantic liaison by any means, not a suitor come to call. It was an act of hospitality and gesture of kindness, and she’d be smart to remember Mr Reese, Luke, had one goal in mind.

Chastising herself for the romantic inclination, she recalled the contents of the letter to her parents she’d written earlier, the note long overdue. In two paragraphs, she assured them of her safety while concealing her location. She’d held back from writing sooner, afraid she’d weaken and return home, but now, distanced from the devastating emotions of that fateful day, she believed her decision for the best.

Coventry offered privacy and the quietude needed to sort out her future. She couldn’t go to London. London would be the cause of heartache and shame. Someday she’d return. She loved her family too much not to see them again, but at the present, someday offered the ideal amount of vagueness her spirit required.

Recalling London brought with it the stricture of society so unlike Coventry. Her parents held tight to public opinion and tradition. She’d be ruined were it discovered she’d cooked a meal and entertained a bachelor unchaperoned in her home. A clever bachelor gaming-hell proprietor, no less.

Still, a now-familiar pattern of guilt and remorse demanded she acknowledge the lifestyle she’d abandoned, her mind all too quick to flutter through a series of memories, whether elegant evening dinner parties or afternoon social calls. Her parents relished their social status afforded by relation to a peer of the realm. This truth in large part had fomented her decision to flee London and preserve their pristine reputation.

As if in challenge to her woolgathering, a sturdy knock sounded at the door. She glanced at the wood box clock on the sideboard table. Luke was punctual if nothing else. Coasting her palms over her gown, she touched a hand to her hair to summon composure and opened the door to greet him.

‘Hello.’ A bubble of anticipation danced in her chest. Forget punctual, Luke was devastatingly handsome. Framed within the threshold, the sun fading at his back, he depicted a sinful rogue, his face shadowed into sharp angles and lean lines. Black hair, glossed by reflected light, was combed away from his face to fall in a too-long lock on one side. His grey eyes sparkled with the electric glint of late-night stars, fleeting, white-hot, and dangerous, yet enthralling all the same. He smiled then, and her breath caught. That dimple would be the death of her.

‘For you.’

He handed a bouquet forward, every colour of peony tied together with a white satin ribbon and she couldn’t resist a tease. ‘You didn’t steal these from someone’s garden, did you?’

‘And run the risk of further canine catastrophe? Never.’ He stepped into her cottage and the evening suddenly became so much more than a gesture of hospitality. A giddy palpitation slinked through her ribcage, tickling her bones one at a time until it came to rest like a warm hug around her heart.

‘Something smells delicious.’ One dark brow slashed upward and he eyed the room with speculative interest before he continued. ‘You’ve caged the beast?’

‘Yes.’ She laughed, all at once aware of how secluded she’d kept herself. Oh, it was heavenly to have company. His company. Best she enjoy it this evening and not delude her heart it was an event to be repeated. ‘Dinner should be ready in a minute.’ She bustled about the kitchen placing the flowers on the table in a vase filled with water. Perfect. ‘You can pour the wine if you’d like.’

She glanced over her shoulder and then turned towards the wood-burning stove to conceal her delight. It seemed natural, right, or maybe she was so accustomed to spending time alone, anyone’s company brought with it appreciation. She didn’t trouble herself with the riddle. Opening the stove, heat struck her face and forced her focus. She removed the pan and placed it on the cast-iron trivet to cool.

‘I can help.’ He appeared behind her, so close his breath against her cheek caused a startle. She swallowed and twisted to face him, half expecting him to step away and simultaneously hoping he wouldn’t. She’d shut the stove but the kitchen blazed like an inferno. Her body heated from the inside out.

His gaze roved over her face slowly, studying her with intensity. ‘Do you always keep your hair tucked away and hidden like that?’

She licked her lips to get her mouth working again. ‘The length is too long to leave down. It would forever be in my way.’ She darted a glance beyond his shoulder to the table, unsure and at the same time drawn towards his heat. ‘We should begin before something gets cold.’ No chance of that.

‘Yes. Another good idea.’

Luke stepped to the side and allowed Georgina to lead. What was he thinking? He could only blame a sudden irrational addiction to the scent of apricots, otherwise the manner in which he sidled up to her near the kitchen counter was worthy of a slap or, at the least, another bite from Biscuit. Still, even now, as they chatted amiably through dinner, the governess was hard to resist. His fingers itched to pull the pins from her hair and discover how far the length fell down her back, her admittance a teasing dare that would not relent. And no matter the meal was delicious, he wondered at the taste of her kiss, and the ever-present question, if she smelled like sweetness all over, pestered his body into a state of randy desire.

He watched as she caught a drop of blackberry on her bottom lip, her tongue coasting over the sauce in a becoming curl that seemed to signal and invite him to lean across the table and taste the fruit right along with her. He’d need to rein himself in or he’d never be able to rise from the table without displaying the rise in his trousers.

‘So, do you have a large family?’ Mayhap a bit of jejune conversation would obliterate his overactive imagination. It couldn’t hurt to force a mundane topic.

She placed her fork on the plate rim and took a swallow of wine while the question hovered between them. ‘I have one sister and two loving parents.’

The answer was hard-earned and again he suspected she meant to hide things others would discuss without thought, her tight-lipped demeanour not at all as she appeared only moments before.

‘And you?’ she asked, though he could tell her mood had altered. Why would that be?

‘I’m afraid we don’t share that in common. I’m bastard born, no true family to speak of, no older brother or vexing younger sister, at least none I know of or who have come calling. Dursley may share a modicum of blood, but I could never consider him a relation. Our father died decades ago leaving nothing but bitterness behind.’ He inhaled, setting his silverware down on the table with deliberate care. ‘Nate is all I have. My son is everything. That’s one reason I need to find him, but if we had endless time I would tell you hundreds more.’

A solemn silence enveloped the room and he regretted the loss of their amiable discussion.

‘I understand.’ She placed her hand atop his in what might be a gesture of comfort and, even though Biscuit remained behind closed doors, a bark sounded in objection. And then a question slipped from her lips. ‘What happened?’

He stared down to where she rested her hand atop his before he continued, expressionless and matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll make short work of the story since you have no idea of the history, but it should suffice to know my half-brother had me watched, calculated my profits from the hell and decided that, when he fell into debt, he should help himself to my money. I refused. I mean, this was the same man who shunned Nathaniel and I when we arrived in London. He had no use for a bastard half-brother, at least not until he measured my worth in coin.

‘Anyway, I returned home one day to find Nate’s governess in tears. The silly cow had stayed in one spot and cried for hours, too scared to notify me at the hell and reveal Nate was stolen. All that precious time wasted. She described a man who resembled my half-brother as the person who came and took Nate away, but she vanished right after, leaving me with nothing but regret. Every avenue of pursuit has been exhausted twice over. My half-brother carries on his life like nothing ever happened. It makes little sense.’

‘You shouldn’t blame yourself.’ She spoke softly. Akin to most people, she likely wondered if anything she said could ease his suffering or if his show of strength would obliterate true emotion.

‘I promised him a puppy, one that doesn’t bite.’ He flashed a half-smile in her direction. ‘Just two days before he was taken I relented to his constant request for a scallywag friend.’ Hopefully the anecdote would relieve the earnest mood.

‘You’ll find him. I’m quite sure.’

‘And you’ll help, won’t you?’ He’d spoken about Nathaniel with sincerity, but now she’d supplied the fortuity to enlist her assistance, he wouldn’t waste the chance. He turned his palm over so he could loosely lace their fingers. Her skin was soft and warm. He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. If he lifted it to his lips, would he smell apricots or blackberry?

‘Please know I’ve given it serious thought, but it’s not the right decision for me at this time. Who would take care of Biscuit? I couldn’t bring him along on the two days’ ride. Everyone would be miserable. I suspect you most of all.’ She tried a tentative smile and he lost his ready reply, though she didn’t pull her hand away.

‘I assumed the pug was self-reliant. Certainly, there’s someone in this frowsy nowhere town who would watch the darling while you take a short trip.’ He stood, reluctant to release her hand and at the same time intent on persuasion. He carried his plate to the sink, more out of habit than conscious thought. ‘A recent charge might enjoy the task or a kind neighbour? The vicar? There must be someone with thick skin in Coventry who would grant you the favour.’

She tried not to acknowledge his teasing and he could tell when she lost that battle.

‘I have other considerations. Your suggestion I leave unexpectedly reminds me of Lord Tucker and my responsibility to him.’ She stood now too.

He waited, eyebrows raised in question. She answered in less time than he expected.

‘Lord Tucker returns later this week and will require my services.’

The vague explanation had only one brow dropping.

‘His son is my charge.’ The words brought with them an awkward stretch. ‘I’m so sorry. I know it must be difficult to hear me speak of a similar situation.’

The last thing he desired was for Georgina to feel responsible. Pity was the most reprehensible sentiment, one for which he’d never had use.

‘How is your arm?’ Her eyes flared wide. ‘I should have asked you sooner.’ She shook her head in disapproval and admonishment before she stepped closer.

‘Sore.’ Much like the situation in my pants. He adjusted his stance, unwilling to allow the night to take a wrong turn and at the same time pressing his cause despite she attempted to change the subject. ‘Come with me to London. I need your help and won’t keep you there a day longer than necessary. You’ll be returned to Coventry before this Lord Tucker is any smarter. You have my word.’

Chapter Six

His word? Georgina stared into Luke’s intense gaze. She would have promised him anything in that moment, but not this. Not London. She couldn’t expound or supply the reason. Still, he must believe her a despicable wretch to refuse. He sought to find his son and she declined to assist. She despised herself. ‘It’s complicated.’

She dropped her eyes, unwilling to create the everlasting memory of his angered disapproval. But instead of railing at her or pleading his case further, he closed the distance between them and stroked his fingertip across her cheek.

She stared at him intently, noticing too closely the dark smudges beneath his eyes and strained creases that bracketed his strong jaw. It seemed that, just below the appearance he showed to the world, a tense tremor of emotion existed, and she wasn’t sure of what nature to label it. Still, in the glorious grey depths of his irises there was an acute tenderness, whether he meant to expose the quality or not.

‘What keeps you here, Georgina?’ His voice was a husky rasp that slid across the back of her neck like a velvet caress. ‘Surely even a prim governess, one as beautiful and desirable as you, thirsts for a bit of adventure now and again.’

The rich timbre of his question caused gooseflesh to dot her skin and it all at once became too much, the masculine scent of his nearness, the heat of his skin and undeniable plea in the depth of his eyes. He leaned a hair’s-breadth closer, his exhale sweeping across her temple and, for the tiniest breathless moment, she thought he might kiss her.

How she wanted that kiss. To exchange one memory for another more pleasurable one.

‘What is it that holds you back from taking a little time to help find a child?’

Tears stung her lids. His whispered query, frayed by emotion, touched her soul and yet she clung to fear. What if she returned to London and everything went wrong? She hated herself for making a selfish choice. The air between them vibrated with tension and anticipation. He waited on her answer and she quaked, anguished by the words on her tongue.

‘No more questions.’ As she whispered her response, she saw him swallow, her eyes following the movement of his Adam’s apple. They stood together, the coiled heat of desire pulling them closer while the answer to one singular question forced them apart. But she couldn’t acquiesce and destroy her family’s future in the process, simply because she yearned to experience his tempting kiss.

‘Just one more.’ He angled his chin, lowered his mouth and time slowed as if she watched from the soffit, a voyeur of her own forbidden desires, his lips upon hers, his plea, her promise, his luscious, beautiful mouth fitted over hers…

‘I can’t go with you.’ The words slipped out, barely able to fill the space between them before he pulled away and separated them with a black curse.

‘Not can’t. Won’t. You won’t.’ He thrust his fingers through his hair, spoiling his neat appearance with perfunctory efficiency, his tone now sharp as a razor’s edge. ‘There’s a world of difference between the two.’ His words sliced the air with undisguised anger and his eyes flashed dangerously.

‘You were going to kiss me to convince me.’ Her voice trembled though there was no mistaking the incredulous shock in her accusation. ‘That is the work of a scoundrel, a scapegrace.’ She was hot now too, but it had nothing to do with her anticipation of his kiss or the heated temperature in the kitchen, absolutely nothing to do with his devastatingly handsome disarray. No, insult fuelled her temper instead. Indignation reared up to trample disappointment and the foolish incrimination she’d practically disregarded her principles. ‘Did you think me a lonely spinster, desperate for attention and willing to compromise my decision with the first touch of your mouth on mine?’ Her face warmed with the picture drawn by the words but she continued, her emotions dismantled, a runaway carriage wheel, wobbly, off course, and out of control. ‘How dare you? I demand you go.’

‘Don’t bother throwing me out.’ He strode towards the front door. ‘I’m already leaving.’

‘Good. Leave.’ She sounded a petulant child, or worse, a peevish shrew. ‘And don’t come back.’

She doubted he heard her last declaration, the slam of the door punctuating their argument effectively. Locked in another room, Biscuit barked his approval.

‘Where is he?’ Jonathan Wraxall, Viscount Dursley, stormed across the hell floor to the corner where Cole Hewitt and Maxwell Sinclair, proprietors of the exclusive gambling establishment, loitered in conversation and assessment of the night’s activities. ‘Where’s my bastard brother? I need to see him now.’

‘Not here, Dursley.’ Cole hardly spared him a glance before he flicked his dismissive attention from the mottled-faced aristocrat to the piquet table.

‘Something wrong?’ Max offered the man a bemused smile. ‘Out of funds? I can arrange for an extension of credit.’

‘You know what I’m talking about. I’m here to see Reese.’ Dursley, a prig of a corpulent peer who’d allowed himself to go soft through the middle, huffed a breath, impatient in the assumption his bluster would gain him the result desired.

‘Can’t help you then.’ Cole took a step forward, bored with the conversation and anxious to be done with Dursley the same way one swatted a pestering gnat. ‘I’ll let Luke know you stopped by once he returns.’

‘He stole something of mine.’

A bit of spittle accompanied the angered statement and Cole slanted left to avoid the spray.

‘Then that settles the score, doesn’t it?’ Cole continued his journey across the floor, greeting the regulars in disregard of the viscount, who padded after him in full-blown fury, anxious to cause a scene that might better his advantage.

Cole ignored him. The card tables were busy. Good. Liquor was flowing. Excellent.

‘What does that mean? What has Reese told you?’ Dursley raised his voice and garnered further attention. ‘I’m talking to you, Hewitt. Look here.’

Cole had heard enough. He whirled on the viscount, collecting the man’s lapels in both fists and gingerly moving him backwards towards the door. Dursley’s feet failed to find purchase on the carpet. ‘No, you look. You’re not welcome here. We strive to keep the worst element outside these walls. You’re not fit for The Underworld.’ Releasing the man’s coat, he shoved Dursley at the exit and, with a sharp hitch of his chin, signalled two men waiting for the anxious opportunity to flex muscle and exert their strength.