The Last Gamble

by Anabelle Bryant

  ‘I’ve always loved to read. Education seemed a natural choice when considering my future vocation.’ Hopefully the statements contained enough truth to ring authentic. At the moment, she hardly understood her own emotions.

  ‘We’ve all our own individual type of edification at this table,’ Cole jested, eyeing his friends in succession. ‘The streets of Charing Cross provide an extensive education, one not found in books and schoolrooms.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Max picked up the thread. ‘One which includes revenge and rescue.’

  ‘Cardsharping.’

  ‘Lock picking.’

  ‘Charity and generosity,’ Gemma interjected with a laugh.

  ‘Love and family.’ Vivienne tapped her fork to the china in emphasis.

  Georgina’s eyes grew large with awe. The carefree jocularity with which they referred to their sorted pasts surprised and pleased, reminding her everyone at the table harboured secrets, sought happiness, and pursued a dream. Perhaps she fit in more than she realized.

  She turned towards Luke and snagged his steel-grey gaze. Or had he already watched her? A cursed flush warmed her cheeks, the thought he might seek her attention delighting above all else. Flustered, she hurried to continue the banter. ‘Poetry passages and arithmetic problems pale in comparison, I assure you.’

  Conversation around the table resumed in a flurry of topics, one trampling the other, though she hadn’t broken the hold of Luke’s consideration, nor had he turned away. For a long, languorous moment, her body ached, acutely aware of his attention. Her breathing slowed to a whisper, her breasts suddenly felt heavy and tight inside her gown, and she stitched her fingers in her lap to ward off a tremble. Still she waited, watched, lost in the stormy beauty of his eyes.

  ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Georgina?’

  The faraway question destroyed the sensual moment and she whipped her attention to Vivienne, unsure how to answer as she’d never heard the enquiry. Luke recognized the faux pas and rushed to her rescue, drawing conversation in an alternate direction.

  ‘Georgina has the most energetic pug on the planet. Why don’t you regale them with a few fond stories of the adorably vicious creature you keep as your pet?’

  Luke’s voice, rich and teasing, met her ear from the opposite side and she stifled a smile before her reply. ‘Vicious? You mean precious, don’t you? Biscuit is a fine friend. A dog with a bark more formidable than his bite.’

  ‘I beg to differ,’ Luke added with the scantest speck of sarcasm. ‘He’s as sweet and kind as an angered rhinoceros, the lovable mongrel. Shall I display his handiwork?’

  When she turned, a ready objection on her lips, the devil had the audacity to wink.

  ‘Sophie, have your parents acquired any new information concerning Crispin’s whereabouts? I’ve written to my brother again in hope Kent will offer his assistance.’ Gemma’s face fell into a sympathetic expression. ‘In truth, I worry about my brother as much as yours.’

  The table fell silent for what seemed too long a time.

  ‘Gemma’s brother is the Duke of Kent. His reach could provide helpful, though Gemma’s requests have fallen on deaf ears.’ Luke leaned closer to provide the explanation and she caught the light scent of his shaving soap, spicy with a hint of citrus. She hoped he didn’t notice when she inhaled long and thoroughly.

  ‘I see,’ she whispered in return, though her mind conjured an alternative suggestion. Perhaps she should write her parents another letter. What if something untoward occurred? Luke wouldn’t allow that to happen to her. Still, once she returned to Coventry, an independent woman was a mark for any nefarious deed. Her mother often warned of such a predicament.

  And then who would care for Biscuit? The butcher, most likely. The dog might disown her now he’d broadened his world to include daily scraps from the butcher shop floorboards.

  Who would kiss Luke? That answer proved less eloquent as a ghastly voice inside her head suggested the blonde across the table. Good heavens, she needed to get a handle on her wild imaginings. With a purposeful shake, she shot her attention to Luke, still inclined in wait of her reply. ‘Did you not ask His Grace to help you locate Nathaniel?’

  Luke chuckled, a velvet-textured sound that somehow slid inside to swirl around her heart and allay all her earlier misgivings, as comfortable and secure as a familiar blanket. ‘I did not. Kent is faced with a personal struggle of his own and, despite he is Gemma’s relation, he remains a peer, one who stringently abides by the strictures of the aristocracy. In the end, Dursley would nullify or taint whatever I had confided and prove my effort futile. Kent would side with a title before a bastard.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She searched his face in an attempt to read his emotions, her hands now restless in her lap. For a reason she couldn’t explain, she needed to touch him, console him or perhaps console herself. Every pinnacle of feeling seemed intertwined and incredibly sensitive within her, almost as if she were experiencing them for the very first time.

  ‘Don’t be.’ He quirked the briefest acknowledgement. ‘You are here now and tomorrow we will confront my half-brother with a truth he will be unable to manipulate and abuse.’

  ‘And Gemma’s marriage? The Duke of Kent accepted her husband?’ For some reason, this answer meant more than all the others. If a titled peer, a man who held the highest rank of the five degrees of nobility, granted his blessing to his sister’s unusual choice in husband, then it mattered. Georgina couldn’t quite determine why, but knew the answer held the key to something important.

  ‘No. Not at all.’ Luke pulled a grimace. He leaned closer still and she swallowed the immediate desire to close the distance between them. ‘Kent disowned Gemma and her younger sister. Though he’ll continue to support Rosalind, he severed most all ties with Gemma. It did not go well in the end.’

  ‘Yet she still married Cole.’ Admiration and esteem swelled in appreciation of her new friend’s courage. ‘Why?’

  ‘Love.’ Luke chuckled louder this time, catching the attention of Sophie and others near their end of the table. ‘Having never experienced the infection I only know what I’ve been told by my friends, and that is, love will cause one to act rash, foolish and not without an insane bend at times.’

  Luke stared at Georgina, his hands out of sight and clenched on his thighs to keep from reaching across the damask and taking what he truly wished for dinner. He knew better and purposely fought to resist the temptation, aware of the incendiary potential. Despite an elaborate menu, he tasted only her kiss, and worse, yearned for seconds.

  Tonight she took his breath away, a woman of presence within the room, able to stand apart with grace, a jewel among stones, and in this room the stones were all precious gems of the highest beauty and quality.

  The air stilled, peculiarly so. Those lips, that smile, best not to look directly into the sun, lest he become smitten, but he did anyway, paying no heed to his own advice. Her eyes held a precious sparkle, not unlike sunlight when it plays on the surface of a lake or deems the water worthy and bestows a gentle kiss.

  He caught himself. She was a governess and he was a fool. Whatsoever was he doing by reminding her of a reason to rescind her kindness.

  He’d concentrated on finding Nate and fighting Dursley for so long he’d abandoned care of himself and whatever was left of his heart. The abandoned organ did no more than pump blood, supply life, remind him when he needed to run faster and escape peril. When he’d lost Nate, he’d lost all reason for enjoyment. He went through the functions of each day, void of kinder emotion.

  Yet there was a fair bit of difference between life and living. A continent’s width, he supposed. Now, somehow, Georgina sparked a desire in him to regain consciousness, become a better man and look forward instead of back. All he need do is collect Nate.

  Besides, how could he not drink her in? Appreciate her beauty? Fascination bound him in a way he’d never experienced. Her skin caught a glimmer from the epergne, candlelight turning cream to pearls,
her pink mouth busy with conversation. He’d like nothing better than to keep that mouth busy on him. Caught in a kiss, pressed to his skin, teasing his cock. The vivid image hardened him to an agonizing degree. He drained his glass, finishing the wine in one gulp.

  ‘Why don’t we retire to the sitting room for port and conversation?’ Vivienne pushed back her chair with the suggestion.

  No other encouragement was needed and he stalled, adjusting his trousers as Max escorted his wife. The others followed suit with Sophie chattering away at the rear. Luke held back, signalling to Georgina with a flare of his eyes, pleased when she read his intent without effort.

  ‘We should discuss tomorrow’s meeting.’ He placed her hand on his elbow, her slim fingers warm beneath his.

  ‘Of course.’ She gave an affirming nod.

  ‘Very good.’ They neared the door. ‘I’ve avoided you until this evening, I know, but the question needs to be asked. I didn’t change your mind last night, did I?’

  ‘That question has a dozen answers, but none that need cause concern.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘I haven’t travelled all this way to disappoint you.’

  They stepped into the hallway and he considered her words, which seemed more of a non-answer. She did no more than muddy the issue and she knew it, colouring a fetching shade of embarrassment or mayhap the colour of triumph. She’d schooled him, promptly so.

  ‘A one-time occurrence, I’m sure.’

  What had she said? One time? Yes. Bloody hell, that was it. It made such little sense he had trouble comprehending the words. Still, she continued.

  ‘We have an understanding of sorts. I’m to assist you and then be returned to Coventry before Lord Tucker returns. He shall be upset if I renege on our agreement.’ She darted her eyes away and then back again.

  He might have laughed if he wasn’t stunned. She’d managed to keep their arrangement impersonal, the kiss of no consequence, when he still couldn’t blot their embrace from his mind, the heat of their exchange a simmer in his blood that merely waited to be reignited. Well done, that.

  They wended their way down the corridor in a relaxed stretch of wordlessness towards the sound of lively conversation and comfortable friendship, though he noted in a sidelong glance her white teeth sunk into her lush bottom lip. Perhaps she was not as unaffected as she wished him to believe.

  He slowed his steps further and time stretched on with luxurious indulgence, a victim to their meandering. Damn, if she didn’t delight him in the worst way. Buoyed with the urge to best her at her own game, he added in a low tone, ‘I, for one, enjoyed our kiss.’

  She hardly moved, not the slight roll of a shoulder or flitter of a lash, and then those tempting, sweet lips, the same which he longed to feel lavish attention on every inch of his person, formed a radiant smile that could only be equated to a blow to the chest. His heart stopped, hesitated and at last jolted back to life in an irregular rhythm.

  ‘Oh, I did as well.’

  She slipped from his grasp, into the sitting room and directly into conversation, leaving him in the hall with a confused expression on his face and an unrepentant erection below.

  Luke rose before dawn, unable to sleep for the anticipatory promise of the day. He shaved, dressed and sat before the wan fire in his Albany apartment in wait for the rest of the world to approximate. Today he would discover Nate’s whereabouts.

  An instinctive image of his son formed, bittersweet and tender, to tear at his scarred constitution. Bright eyes, hair blacker than soot with a defiant cowlick over his brow, Nate had lost both front teeth. Would they be grown by now? Was his son well cared for?

  It seemed like yesterday and at the same time so long ago that he’d sat on the corner of his son’s mattress and regaled him with stories of high adventure, pirate mischief and scary monsters who lurked through the night. Caring for a young child had not come easily, but with the help of a hired girl he’d cracked the code, managed and made the most of difficult circumstances as he watched Nate thrive after the death of his mother. The move to London promised a better life and, in many ways, it had delivered. His partnership at The Underworld brought with it wealth and power, the night hours convenient as Luke worked while Nate slept. Just because Luke had no patriarchal figure to guide and offer advice, didn’t mean he couldn’t learn the role and become a true father for Nate. In contrast, he’d created everything he’d yearned for as a child, only improved for his son.

  Yet in the end, he’d failed, hadn’t he? The dull thud of disappointment tamped down his fledgling joy. His purpose as Nate’s father, the most sacred of promises, to protect, remained his biggest failure. Not his bastard upbringing, thieving and surviving on the streets of Charing Cross, nor meeting Nate’s mother and getting her in the family way with no ring on her finger, nor the sad, sorry fact he had no one to call upon for help, no friend, ally or family. He’d brought Nate into a lonely existence and then allowed him to be stolen away. The ultimate theft, was it not?

  He swallowed past the overwhelming emotion, heaved a sigh that would have articulated a thousand apologies and burgeoned intent for the day. Confident in his plan to confront Dursley with Georgina’s witness, or beat the bloody sod to death, he would be on his way to reclaim his son by nightfall. He glanced to the bracket clock on the mantelpiece, his thoughts at a race. Half past five and an ungodly hour for anyone else, most especially in Manchester Square. He couldn’t haul Georgina to The Underworld when Dursley would likely be abed another seven hours. Blast, he’d never been one good for waiting.

  Parting from the gregarious company last evening was punishment enough. He didn’t like knowing Georgina slept under someone else’s roof as much as he’d placed her there for discretion’s sake. Another example of the contrariness which seemed to invade his disposition since meeting the breathtaking governess. Governess, indeed. He was tempted to laugh, but instead forced his thoughts to Dursley. More important business waited.

  Earlier last evening Max had mentioned his half-brother’s appearance at the hell with his demand Luke return stolen property. Bloody arse. Ironic piece of shite. The man had taken Luke’s son. A leather journal was the least he’d extract in return. Last night he’d dismissed the story with a black word and then promptly lost himself in admiration of Georgina, but could the book contain other information, something more damning than the innocuous entry of a hired governess’s name and address? Could his half-brother’s anger be spurred by something greater at stake?

  Curiosity, the attenuated version of suspicion, prompted him to unlock the leather portfolio he carried in his bags, remove the journal and thumb through the pages for closer inspection. When he’d first stolen the book, he had one focus, but now time begged he become occupied, and the leather volume supplied an ideal distraction. He’d ring for coffee and use the hours wisely.

  Chapter Twelve

  Georgina waited in the hall for the carriage, her emotion halved into one part anxiety, the other anticipation. By confronting Lord Dursley, Luke would recover his son and the matter be put to rest with peaceful resolution. Increased guilt about running from her own family had made for fitful sleep last night and she still hadn’t banished the loathsome feelings.

  Adversely, considering the intensity of Luke’s attention last evening and their witty verbal banter as they moved to the sitting room, her heart spun a reel at the opportunity to spend more time in his company. At least until she left and returned to Coventry, of course.

  The wicked man had not just intimated at their passionate kiss at the inn, but boastfully taunted his enjoyment. Excepting some form of barbarian torture, it would prove impossible for her to disagree.

  A servant entered the hall and opened the front door, aware of the carriage, which rolled to a stop at the curb with alarming efficiency. Georgina didn’t wait but scurried down the front steps as Luke exited the carriage and handed her inside.

  ‘Good morning, Georgina.’ He smiled in her direction though she noticed a faint sh
ade of blue-black shadow under his eyes, a vague wariness in his usual sharp gaze. Undoubtedly the night had proven difficult for him. She pushed her selfish concerns to the side and sought to reassure.

  ‘I’m interested in seeing The Underworld. Sophie embroidered on last evening about how much she’d like to enter and have a look.’ Perhaps a change of subject would serve to ease his tension, though mentioning the blonde-haired beauty cost Georgina a measure of confidence. That could only be the explanation for the palpable discomfort and seemingly strained energy between them. Or mayhap she filtered everything through her own fear, jaded by internal worries and personal insecurities. She watched him carefully, but he only nodded in agreement to her comment.

  The hell stood a mere four blocks from Sinclair’s residence. They would arrive in no time as long as traffic remained light. Within the carriage, Luke’s boots nearly touched the toes of her slippers and she yearned for that contact. She told herself the longing was caused by her need to comfort and reassure, but in her heart, when she was brave enough to stop and listen to the muscle, she knew she’d developed feelings for the man. Feelings beyond friendship. She didn’t know what to do with the discovery and shoved it away, better left to private rumination. Like so many other matters she would not explore at the moment and preferred to keep hidden. A bit lost, she replied belatedly, ‘Is it an ongoing jest that no one has escorted Sophie there as of yet?’

  ‘Indeed.’ He seemed too distracted to answer with great detail. ‘Sometimes waiting proves the most difficult act of living.’ A universe of interpretation existed in that admittance.

  At a loss for a suitable reply, she searched the interior in hope of discerning a congenial topic for discussion and then, having paused too long with indecision, the carriage rolled to a stop.

  The West End was notorious for quietude and the wealthiest, most pristine reputations among the residences that lined the perimeters of St James’s Square and Bond Street kept in catalogue with this description. Her eyes scanned The Underworld. From the outside she would never have suspected a different reality lived on the building’s inside, her view partially obscured by a few umbrageous chestnut trees. The gaming hell, a three-storey structure with wide-spaced windows and elaborate woodwork, stood at the centre of a deep plot of manicured lawn. The ingenious planning of the establishment enabled controlled observation from the inside and a high degree of privacy enabled by the exterior. So lost in admiration of The Underworld, she startled when he took hold of her elbow to lead up the brief stairs where he unlocked the door and steered her into a dark hall.