The Last Gamble

by Anabelle Bryant

  The male tenor that bid her attention forced her pulse into a frantic beat of immediate fear, but she pasted a grin to her face and turned, unwilling to allow the stranger to announce her name a second time. Relief flooded through her at seeing Lord Jamison approach absent of his twin sisters, the siblings known for their penchant for garnering bits of gossip and developing them into unsolicitous scandal. Lord Jamison proved of the opposite nature, plainspoken and respectful, out of step with the poor habits of his sisters. Georgina admired him as a kind, intelligent gentleman with finely formed features and pristine reputation. He’d pursued her with interest at one time and she’d considered him in earnest, a possible match, but that was before everything went wrong.

  ‘Isn’t this the cleverest coincidence? I’m travelling to the family’s country seat and here I happen upon one of London’s most beautiful flowers hidden away in an Oxford inn.’ He clasped her hand within his leather glove and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

  ‘Lord Jamison, how lovely to see you. Are you travelling alone then?’ She held a fraught breath in wait of his answer. If he continued towards the countryside, her appearance would be nothing more than an inconsequential side mention at a shared family meal in the future, not a tidbit worth of malicious allusion.

  ‘Not at all. My sisters and I retained rooms yesterday evening. They ventured upstairs and slept through to morning, the ladies exhausted from our travels or their incessant chattering. I can’t say with surety which caused their fatigue, but I know which caused mine.’ He offered her a brilliant smile and she noted he did not have a dimple, and while his eyes were a pleasing shade of brown, they hardly compared to the silver-grey gaze alive in her memory. ‘They shall be disappointed to have missed you. I’ve only collected them and deposited them within our carriage a few minutes ago. Now we are off once again.’

  ‘I should find my way upstairs.’ She bit her lower lip, unsure when Luke would return and how she would ever explain an association with a well-dressed quality gentleman, equally aware every time Lord Jamison referred to her by name, hope died a tragic death were someone to overhear.

  ‘Then do not let me keep you.’ He fairly beamed in her direction. ‘Although the latter sounds a pleasant endeavour. I will call on your home once I’ve returned to London. I’m saddened to think it will be at least a fortnight before I have the opportunity.’

  ‘I look forward to it.’ The lie did not sit well. By two weeks’ time she planned to be returned to her cottage in Coventry where she’d settle with Biscuit in the window nook and remember her brief adventure with regret. By then she would have said farewell to Luke. The awareness of that conclusion in particular caused her heart to fall to her feet, but she resurrected her expression and excused herself, taking the stairs as quickly as her boots would carry her.

  Feeling uneasy with his decision to leave Georgina alone to navigate the crowd and find her rooms, Luke returned to the inn from the stables, his eyes drawn to the governess at the foot of the stairs where she conversed with a stylish gentleman.

  Well, that didn’t take long, did it? A lick of jealousy sprang to life, anxious to simmer with white-hot intensity in the pit of his stomach, no matter he had no claim on the lady’s attention. He reminded his brain he sought her assistance in locating Nate and nothing beyond that, though, as usual, several other muscles refused to listen.

  What had Georgina said to cause the man’s smile to widen, his attention keen upon her lovely face? Luke clenched his teeth, locking an objection within and securing his anger would not ring across the interior. Recognizing the rash emotion for what it was, jealousy, a bitter notion, he surveyed the interaction across the room and sought to dismantle his temper. He didn’t like this stranger talking to Georgina. Talking, looking, laughing, breathing… he didn’t like this stranger. That composed the core of his anger. He needed to force patience.

  Not that Luke sought a relationship or wanted commitment. His sudden fascination and irate hostility could be nothing more than idle thought and distraction. Although with his wealth and prestige as an owner of The Underworld, he fringed society, welcomed at a higher level than a merchant or cit. To that end, a woman of employment should welcome his suit without judgement. A business owner and a governess made a fine and equal match. Were he to become involved romantically, not that he was contemplating the insanity of a personal affair, but if he were, he held no doubt he could get on quite fine with Miss Smith.

  Smith. Hell, if he hadn’t become so dazzled by her beauty, he wouldn’t have forgotten she likely hid a bevy of secrets herself.

  How would she introduce him were he to interrupt the cosy tête-à-tête as it occurred across the carpet? A friend? Business associate? As her protective brother? Bloody hell, their relationship defied labels, but in what manner? Would she be embarrassed of him? Not unless she wasn’t who she claimed to be. Still, she appeared comfortable enough speaking to the dasher at the foot of the stairs.

  With belated notice, he saw she chewed her bottom lip, an endearing habit she employed when indecisive. What could the gentleman be about?

  Luke pushed from the shadows and made way across the inn, but his decision to intrude came too late. Georgina had scurried to the second floor and, while he’d traced her departure, the unnamed gentleman had blended into the crowd somewhere else inside the inn, not that the interloper mattered. Georgina, with her creamy skin and brilliant blue gaze, likely drew male attention wherever she went, the tightly wound bun and nondescript day gown of no consequence to deflect notice.

  His boots pounded the treads as he advanced to the second floor, marking the doors until he reached number four, his lodging for the night, though his eyes lingered on number three directly across the hall and he wondered if Georgina unpacked her travelling bags or required anything to make her stay more comfortable. Of course, there was the matter of dinner to consider. She would likely wish to rest before eating. Perhaps with an hour’s nap or quiet respite. He shouldn’t bother her.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, he knocked on number three and waited. The door flew open before he’d formulated his first words.

  ‘Luke, hello.’ She heaved a long exhale. Dare she appeared relieved?

  ‘Did you expect someone else?’ He watched her perfectly curved lips in wait of an answer. Damn, that was a lie. He liked watching her mouth.

  ‘Of course not.’ She laughed, seemingly relaxed now, though her expression gave nothing away. ‘Is everything settled with Snake Eyes?’

  ‘Yes. He’s comfortably housed in the stable and I’m right across the hall.’ He flicked a finger over his shoulder to indicate the door behind. ‘Would you like to share a meal once you’ve had time to change?’

  ‘I’m famished.’ Her cheeks pinkened. Like most females, he assumed she’d been taught not to mention hunger, but that very rule was a pivotal reason he considered the rules of society hypocritical. ‘Was that why you knocked?’ Her graceful brows rose in question.

  ‘Not exactly. I also meant to remind you not to answer the door. This inn is well respected and high quality, but one can never practise too much safety. You have no maid or companion to assist you.’ How he’d like to room with her for no other reason than to enjoy the fragrance of her apricot soap within the interior. It would guarantee sweet dreams, wouldn’t it? As would a glimpse of her ankle. The sound of her laughter. Did she brush out her hair before bed? She must. All women did so, didn’t they? What did she wear to sleep? Perhaps several more reasons for sharing a room existed if he paused longer to consider them.

  ‘Thank you. I agree.’ She slanted the door, at the ready to close it and retire before dinner.

  ‘Then I will see you in an hour.’ He canted his head and searched her face, taking in another memory. ‘I’m across the hall in number four.’

  ‘Yes, you mentioned that.’ She smiled and he returned her grin.

  Georgina stood within the width of the doorframe and soaked in Luke with an appreciative eye.
His hair was mussed, tousled from the wind and whatever activity he’d pursued in the stable, one wild lock at his temple, the rest tossed to the side in a reckless too-long length. His shirt hung open at the throat where he never wore a cravat, the exposed vee of skin tanned from the sun, and she wondered how much of him had taken on a golden hue. His trousers had a smudge on one knee, wrinkled beyond repair, but he’d never looked more handsome, wickedly adorable and most assuredly irresistible. Any remembrance of Lord Jamison dissolved under Luke’s silver scrutiny. Aware her heart pounded loudly, she bid him goodbye and closed the door.

  His rooms were across the hall.

  Number four.

  Four times she’d seen his dimple.

  Four wheels on the carriage that carried her to the Swan and Jackal. Travelling with Luke outside her window had been delightful, like a secret suitor come to call.

  Four suits in a deck of cards. Clubs, spades, diamonds and hearts. Perhaps she would see his gaming hell, The Underworld, during her quick trip into London. How interesting it must be to provide entertainment for the masses. She held no doubt it was a lucrative endeavour. Every prime article and young pup who hoped to impress took a turn at the gambling tables to earn reputation.

  Four seasons in the year. She’d been apart from her family for three of them now. The realization brought with it a shadow of sadness. She sat at the foot of the bed, unpinned her hair and fell backwards with a sigh of resignation. What was she to do?

  A brisk knock on the door brought her straight up once again. She rushed to the threshold and opened the door wide.

  ‘I instructed you not to answer the door.’ His curt remonstration replaced a cordial greeting.

  ‘But you knocked.’ She giggled, immediately aware of the twinkle in his eyes.

  ‘I didn’t hear the lock. Had you fastened it?’ The tease in his voice all but tickled her.

  ‘No.’ She suppressed the desire to laugh again.

  His brow climbed in obvious disapproval.

  ‘I will fasten the lock as soon as I close the door, but you needn’t be so protective. I’m a grown woman, not a child who needs to be watched over as if I’ll go lost.’ She regretted the words as soon as they escaped, no matter they were said in jest. ‘I’m sorry. That was thoughtless. Forgive me.’

  He stood silent a moment as if he deliberated their exchange with great concentration, and all she could do was wait on his lingering attention. And then he smiled. A rogue’s grin. A dimpled rogue, at that. ‘There’s no need to apologize.’

  And she smiled too, a smile that seemed to reach every part of her body, every cell, every invisible rush of life within her.

  She may have closed the door, but she’d opened her heart.

  Luke returned to his room biting back a daft grin. It had been too long since he’d experienced careless joy. Bedevilment for no reason other than the simple pleasure of feeling amused.

  Shucking his clothes, he washed briskly at the basin and ewer, then turned to shaving, lathering the soap and drawing the straight edge across his face with careful attention in front of the mirror.

  He’d had no reason to knock on Georgina’s door the second time. Telling himself he tested her diligence, he hardly believed his own lie. Still, he’d suppressed the desire to take what he wanted, capture her mouth in a deep kiss, explore her body with the same devoted perspicuity he gave the razor. He wasn’t one for complicated emotion, though the governess had him at sixes and sevens, testing arguments, doubting decisions and, at times, altering his view of things.

  He dressed for dinner, casual and comfortable, before he returned across the hall. More than an hour had passed and he expected her to be ready, neither of them having eaten since the light basket lunch they’d shared during the trip. Slanting a glance down the empty corridor, he stared at the number three, painted in black on the room door.

  Three times he’d almost kissed her. In her kitchen, in the flowerbed before that infernal pug had attacked, and when she’d leaned over him, his back flat on the cobbles, her ripe mouth hovering above. Not one to deny himself pleasure, his usual leash on temptation short, no other reason explained his resistance than the risk of alienating her and losing the opportunity to find Nate. He burned with curiosity for the taste of her kiss, but he would not gamble slaking his lust for his son’s security.

  Three times he’d seen her hair unbound. Her hair… it was glorious. No other word could adequately describe the richness of colour, burnt umber and rufous combined, or the exquisite softness. He wanted to feel the length sweep across his chest in the throes of loveplay, or better, wrap it in his fingers against the curve of her spine, mahogany silk cascading down her back and about her shoulders.

  Three buttons on her bodice. Three tiny pearl buttons. No corset. All prim and proper loveliness on the outside, all wicked, wanton sensuality within. Her breasts and the thought of all that hidden beauty made his brain numb and his cock hard as marble. Forget the weight of each in his palm, how would the tips taste on his tongue?

  Three. Alas, he couldn’t claim the meagre number represented the times he’d pleasured himself thinking of her. With a wry smile, he acknowledged that count exceeded three.

  He exhaled thoroughly and adjusted his trousers. Then he knocked, three sharp raps on the door, and waited, entertained by the situation so much like a suitor paying call to a proper lady. But by damn, that was only a game, an illusion better left alone.

  Chapter Nine

  Dinner unfolded with easy comfortability and Georgina delighted in the relaxed conversation, having become accustomed to a quiet existence in Coventry. She had Biscuit for company, of course, her pet likely in his glory at being left to the care of the butcher, Mr Press. The older man had graciously offered his help when she’d described the situation and Georgina thought him kind and generous to take in her responsibility. On the other hand, she had the sneaking suspicion Biscuit admired the butcher equally, somehow aware there would be plentiful scraps left on the shop floor for clean-up each day.

  When the main course concluded, Luke deferred dessert to brandy, but she couldn’t resist an order of blancmange. At home, Cook flavoured the cream with almond milk and Coventry did not provide the expensive ingredients for Georgina to prepare similar in her cottage kitchen. Likewise, she rationalized, since she’d embarked on a trip to London, the very last place she desired to be, she deserved a small reward. With a touch of nostalgia, she decided to indulge in a decadent taste. This might be the best meal to be eaten in weeks. She doubted once they arrived in the city she would do little more than help Luke confront his half-brother and, wisely, take no opportunity for anything else before she returned to hiding.

  Hiding. Was that what she was doing? The thought left a bitter taste on her tongue but the troubling consideration was interrupted by the arrival of dessert.

  ‘Not apricots?’ Luke sipped his brandy with the dubious question. ‘I’m shocked.’

  ‘Are you now? I doubt it.’ The words sounded flirtatious though she hadn’t contrived them so. ‘I haven’t had blancmange in…’ She paused, hemming her lower lip. ‘A very long time.’ Dipping her spoon into the cream, she poked out her tongue for a quick pass over her upper lip and her eyes fell closed at first taste.

  Across the table Luke cleared his throat.

  Twice.

  She hoped he wasn’t experiencing dyspepsia from dinner. Her meal, chyne of mutton and seasoned asparagus, had tasted wonderful and now dessert proved even better.

  ‘I remember as a child I once finished two large bowls of blancmange without anyone at the table the wiser. We were visiting family friends and when my sister eschewed dessert, I switched her bowl with mine and ate the custard as quickly as possible, not wishing to be caught. Needless to say, I suffered an awful stomach ache on the ride home in our carriage and shared my discomfort all over the velvet cushions. To this day my sister teases me she cannot ride in our family barouche without remembering. Mother was concerned for
my health. Father was concerned for the stained interior and the cleaning bill.’ She shook her head with a mixture of embarrassment and fondness for the whimsical memory.

  ‘Yet it didn’t hinder your appetite for the dessert tonight.’ His grey eyes twinkled whenever they caught the candlelight.

  ‘Oh no, I’m afraid I’m hopeless when it comes to blancmange.’ She stifled an embarrassed laugh. What was it about Luke’s company? She found herself sharing all sorts of details of her life, amusing anecdotes and forgotten stories, while ordinarily she would be more guarded.

  ‘It sounds as though you had a very fine carriage. Did the team match in superiority? Snake Eyes is an Andalusian and, true to his breed, an excellent piece of cattle.’ He placed his glass on the tabletop and waited for her answer.

  ‘Father insisted on high quality with all the livestock. Not much for carriage travel, he wanted to get where he was going as quickly as possible and kept four roan thoroughbreds hitched to the barouche. Their coats were spectacular.’ She placed her spoon against the rim of the bowl after another taste, wanting to make the dessert last as long as possible, the gregarious conversation in kind.

  Spectacular roans? He didn’t doubt it. From where did this governess hale that the family conveyance had velvet bolsters and a rare team at the reins? Wealth of the calibre she described didn’t align with her cottage in Coventry.

  Click. Click. Click.

  So much more remained to be discovered after he found Nate. Only then. He wouldn’t press her now. Nor point out the inconsistency with her station in life and description of the past. He purposely forced away the issue of the gentleman in the main sitting room, aware discussion could lead to no good, but he wouldn’t forget if by chance it signified in the end.

  Damn if her coquettish delight didn’t cause his whole body to tighten. An unfamiliar emotion unfolded in his chest catching him unaware. Either the butter sauce on his tenderloin was rancid or Georgina turned him inside out. He wouldn’t dwell on deciphering the question. Without reason his mind recalled the heat and weight of her body atop his in the flowerbed. Something about that moment stayed with him when he did his best to push it away. Warmth and security, some unexpected bond, whatever it was, dare it not intimacy in the making. He cleared his throat loudly.