The Last Gamble

by Anabelle Bryant

  The hackney pulled to a silent stop at the same time she reclaimed equanimity and, once returned to her bedchamber, she changed her clothes and fixed her hair with the help of the young maid Vivienne generously provided. Now she’d returned to London, she wore a proper corset, not an article she anticipated with compliance, but absolutely necessary as she thrust herself into formal society, the confines of the constructed undergarment as restrictive as the rules of the ton. The tighter one pushed and pulled, the more she became exposed. How similar to the rules by which quality society operated. The harder one worked towards acceptance, the more one was forced to reveal vulnerability to the ton’s judicious inspection.

  Now, despite discomfort, her reflection in the mirror revealed a highborn woman instead of a governess, her gown a butter-yellow silk that complemented her colouring. Had she allowed the maid to arrange her hair in a more stylish fashion, Georgina might seamlessly have melded into her former lifestyle without question.

  She came upon Vivienne alone in the morning room, a book on her lap where she sat near the hearth, the house otherwise silent. Her friend composed an idyllic portrait, the slight swell of her anticipated babe outlined in the glorious glow of firelight. Georgina faltered. Sadness threatened, soon overtaken by compromise. She strode forward again. No matter how Luke’s situation resolved at the end of this week, at the least she’d acquired a new friend.

  ‘Hello.’ She stepped closer, not meaning to startle, but Vivienne’s broad smile ensured she did not disturb the scene.

  ‘You’re back so soon. Did it not go well?’ Vivienne’s tone expressed genuine concern.

  ‘I’m afraid it did not proceed at all. Lord Dursley is not in London at the moment and won’t return until later this week.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Worry lines marred Vivienne’s forehead. ‘I cannot fathom the heartache Luke had been forced to endure repeatedly.’ She rested a hand atop her stomach, an automatic protective gesture of maternal instinct. One Georgina didn’t know she envied until that very moment.

  ‘I agree, although the situation becomes problematic as I am obligated to uphold my care of a charge in Coventry and cannot remain in London overlong.’ Guilt and myriad opposing emotions caused the words to whisper out on a regretful mutter.

  ‘Hello?’

  The two ladies swung their attention to the doorframe in tandem as Sophie swept in, her voice proceeding her into the room.

  ‘I have news. Thank heavens, I have news of Crispin’s whereabouts.’ She made quick work of squeezing Georgina and Vivienne’s shoulders in makeshift greeting, before she settled in a vacant chair.

  ‘Tell us. You can’t burst into the room proclaiming great news and then take time to arrange your skirts on a seat cushion,’ Vivienne chastised with a prompt smile. ‘Do tell.’

  ‘This morning my parents received word from their hired investigator that Crispin is living in Italy.’

  ‘Italy?’ Vivienne drew back as if unable to comprehend the fact. ‘Whatsoever is he doing there?’

  ‘Details are few, the information by way of Lord and Lady Rillings who vacationed in Venice last month and have only just returned to London.’ Sophie’s face showed bright emotion. ‘Lord Rillings stated he almost did not recognize my brother. Crispin appeared different, his hair longer than his usual clipped fashion, physique leaner by at least two stone, and an altered demeanour that could only be the influence of the fast set of whom he was in company.’

  ‘You must be relieved.’ Georgina could only imagine the heartfelt liberation of knowing a loved one was well. She dashed a look to her skirt where she laced her fingers tightly. She’d foisted the same troubling predicament on her parents and sister. As if on intuition, Sophie burst into sobs, quite literally overcome with feeling.

  ‘I am.’ The choked distress caused Georgina to eye Vivienne who rushed to Sophie’s comfort. ‘I feared I’d never see him again or that he’d become victim to a crime or horrid accident. Every night I’d pray for the smallest scrap of information. Anything to wipe away the wretched misery of missing him and wondering. Not knowing, day after day, is the most dreadful condition.’ She produced a linen handkerchief from her pocket and wiped away her sniffles. ‘I hope that whatever he seeks in Italy eventually brings him home. My father dispatched the investigator towards Venice with haste as this is very good news.’

  ‘We shall share it tonight at dinner. I insist you join us, Sophie. A gathering of friends is the perfect distraction while you wait on word.’ Vivienne reclaimed her seat, her expression sobered. ‘I’m afraid Luke’s news has not proven as hopeful.’ She shifted her attention to Georgina. ‘Will you stay until the end of the week and help him?’

  The direct question startled her, but she already knew somehow, she would offer whatever assistance in her ability. ‘Yes, of course.’ She nodded to affirm the words.

  ‘Excellent.’ All worry fled. ‘I truly wish to see everyone safe and happy.’

  When Sophie and Vivienne began their familiar chatter, Georgina lost herself to reflection. Without a doubt, she would send another message to home, but what would it harm to see her sister from afar? Joy favoured an afternoon ride in the family curricle down Rotten Row in Hyde Park, but that proved too dangerous of a suggestion. Despite a dowdy gown and unstylish bun, someone could recognize Georgina in a heartbeat, and no privacy would be had were she able to approach and speak to Joy.

  No, she would need to conspire a way to speak to her sister or view her unknowingly, without the risk of subsequent repercussions. A chilling shiver ran through her no matter she sat before a robust fire. Nothing was worth chancing discovery. Not until she decided her plan for the future and identified her heart’s desire.

  Luke pulled the crumpled paper from his pocket and reread the terse message. Dursley wasn’t due to return to London until next week. Luke had lied to Georgina, concerned she’d abandon the city and return to Coventry without a backward glance. Then he’d complicated their relationship further by creating a bond of intimacy. He regretted the lie, not his actions afterward.

  Her body had responded to his touch as if they existed for each other alone. He yearned to have her stripped bare on his bed, every curve and delicate softness his to discover, memorize and devour. His cock twitched with the image, still angry from their abrupt ending. It was greed. Self-indulgence, recklessness, but greed most especially which motivated him to take what he had no right taking when he had nothing to offer in return. Mayhap a few moments of fleeting pleasure, but he could spare no emotion, nothing lasting.

  Still, he wanted her, selfish bastard that he was. She ignited something within him he could not readily identify. Not lust, nor envy. Not the base desires of a man who enjoyed sex too much. Still, he couldn’t place importance on whatever it was or he’d become caught in the cerebral net of unending questions forced to the surface. He had one goal, to find Nate, and then, perhaps then, he’d wonder at the why of things.

  Luke pulled his eyes away from the departing hackney. The stranger across the street had vanished and so he returned to his office. This same observer had appeared during other instances. Whoever sent the scarred man to oversee the hell, or watch Luke specifically, hadn’t yet declared their intentions and the matter didn’t trouble him overmuch. Living on the streets, fighting for survival and building a life from nothing at all jaded one’s sense of precipitance. Whoever the stranger, if he wanted something from Luke, would have to come looking for it. Otherwise, the fool may as well stand across the street and watch life as it was.

  He shuffled a few papers to the side of his desk, unreconciled with Dursley’s absence. Why was everything in his life at odds, a struggle for the faintest scrap of civility? Would nothing go smoothly ever?

  And the lovely governess. He needed her yet feared the emotions she evoked, never mind suspicion. Something about Georgina didn’t click. Not the obvious Smith. Or her penchant for expensive food, imported soap and elegant conveyances. He knew without a doubt she m
ust be highborn or accustomed to the same indulgences. Perhaps she had a keeper, a luxury for any unprotected woman, much like a mistress to the upper ten. The realization struck a spark to his brain as strong as a lightning strike. Why hadn’t he considered it sooner? Too blinded by her beauty, no doubt, infused in apricot deliciousness and over his head in lust.

  Lord Tucker? She fought vehemently for her responsibility to his charge, but could Georgina and the man have an arrangement? An unexpected violent urge to strike Tucker caused his fingers to curl into fists. Forcing his hands open, he nearly choked at his reaction and the lick of jealousy afire in his stomach. He could spit poison though he held no claims on the cheeky governess. All of a sudden more questions than answers existed and he shunted that line of reasoning, unwilling to examine it closer.

  With a twist of his key in the lock, he left The Underworld and started towards his apartment at The Albany where he could bathe, dress and reorganize his thoughts, detached from the surrounding influences. He’d taken the rooms after Nate’s abduction but now realized he needed a right suitable home. Somewhere Nate could teach his new dog tricks and play with his chums. Somewhere with grass. A place of eternal safety and love. A home like Luke had never experienced but was too smart by half not to dream existed within reach. Funny how, in his mind’s eye, Georgina was included in the scene.

  Dinner was at eight. Luke climbed the steps of the Sinclair residence at half past seven, reassured by the belief he’d played the afternoon well in refusing to succumb to temptation and arrive two hours earlier. Waiting proved the blight to destroy all harmony in every aspect of his life one way or the other.

  He wondered at Georgina’s reception. Would she be charmed by their earlier interlude, enraged he’d taken advantage now that she’d gained distance and clarity, or worse, embarrassed and regretful? He’d need to handle the situation judiciously. Nate’s future depended upon it, or such was the rubbish he told himself.

  He found his circle of friends in the library, an unexpected location within the grand townhouse. Friendly debate swarmed around the group of five, opinions and comments trampled each other in their rush to be heard. He settled into a tufted parlour chair in a wedge of firelight near the outskirt of the discussion, a nod from Cole received in welcome, Max and Vivienne too busy to acknowledge his presence as they spoke over one another. Luke cared little for the topic of poetry or some subject of bookish learning. The bawdy rhymes he knew would singe Georgina’s ears to ash. He watched her animated participation with no regard to the discussion as it ambled along conversational twists and turns, until a noticeable hush fell over the room, the dialogue honed to one feminine voice.

  ‘Sir Walter Scott’s novel The Antiquary is highly regarded. My father acquired a copy from a comrade at his club. I smuggled it from our house library and read it straight through, unable to put it down, though dawn shone through the curtains. Scholars regard the work as nothing more than a gothic novel, but I found the sardonic commentary and redolent cast of characters, including Sir Scott himself, to be intriguing and utterly fascinating.’

  Click.

  Click, click, click.

  Literary masterpiece?

  Father’s club? The house library? A residence within London?

  The governess hid a plethora of secrets and yet the only part of her statement with which Luke identified was the mention of smuggling.

  ‘You’re well versed in popular literature.’ Max flicked a glance in Luke’s direction before he settled his gaze on Georgina. ‘Although a governess must have ample time to read once the lessons are prepared and the charge is asleep.’ He paused in invitation to detail the matter.

  Georgina’s expression faltered and transformed into one of subsumed ambiguity. Had Luke not possessed the remembrance of truth’s appearance in her eyes, he would never have noticed how they lost their sparkle.

  ‘I’ve always enjoyed reading.’ Her tone implied she’d realized her mistake but had regained conviction, charged with purpose to validate her previous statements. ‘And sharing the knowledge gained by books.’

  At least she knew better than to recant and expose further falsity.

  Foolish. Foolish mistake.

  Georgina knew the moment Luke entered the room despite her back was to the door. The scintillating prickle of awareness that whispered across her nape alerted of his arrival. The immediate response of her body, how her cheeks warmed, the light sheen of perspiration that dotted her neck, confirmed her suspicion. She’d purposely avoided eye contact to regain composure and instead threw herself into the conversation in hope of distracting her body to discover it had a mind of its own, all too quick to recall the heat of Luke’s palm on her inner thigh, the stroke of his fingertip across her sex.

  She’d become carried away in the tide of conviviality, comfortable with her new friends, their spirited cajolery wooing her to participate. With a desire to impress, to perhaps prove she was more than a prim, plain governess with her conservative bun drawn tight and nose aligned, she’d presented a contradiction she knew not how to explain.

  Luke would think her a fraud, believe the worst when she’d hoped to present the best. The conversation converged, new topics on the rise and fall of others, but she could not escape the feeling she’d cast a suspicious pallor on the evening. If others believed the same they were kind enough not to reveal her misstep.

  ‘Might I cosset you away to a corner for a word?’

  Engrossed in flagellation, she startled when Luke spoke beside her. ‘Of course.’ She rose with a smile and placed a hand on his extended elbow, her fingers tentative on his fine, navy-blue dinner jacket. Would he call her out, demand she explain, right here in the library in view of everyone? Her pulse hitched and she worried her lower lip with her front teeth.

  ‘Stop that, won’t you?’

  Chastised for her poor habit, they moved across the library, adjacent to the tall, narrow windows at the front of the house and partially separated by a looming row of shelves littered with an eclectic collection of items united by their singularity, if the disjointed conclusion made any sense. She settled her eyes on a domed bell jar where a motionless monarch butterfly paused in mid flight, then to what could only be a soldier’s longsword beside a porcelain figurine of a maid milking a Hereford cow. The odd display typified her thoughts at the moment, scattered all over the place.

  ‘Never mind Max’s travel collection.’ Luke touched her chin and realigned her focus while she braced for his accusations. ‘I hoped to speak to you alone in concern of earlier events.’

  Surely he detected her sudden relief. ‘I will stay on two days and meet with Dursley.’ She sought to relieve him in kind and, indeed, she would find a way to see her sister before she left London.

  ‘And otherwise?’

  He reached up and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. His intimate touch lingered, or had she imagined the sensation in a breath of wishful thinking. What right did she have in wishing at all? He would recover his son, move on with his life, and she would return to Coventry in hope of finding a solution to her problem. True, she could not hide for ever, but no solution existed where Luke played a role in her future. It was the factual way of things.

  ‘Otherwise?’ she questioned in a weak voice.

  ‘I’d have thought our interlude would have been more memorable.’ A rogue’s smile graced his face and his dimple appeared, causing her heart to stutter in awe. ‘I will strive to do better next time.’

  The implication that there would be a next time had her emotions in total disarray. How she wanted a next time, yearned for his touch. Even now her body angled closer, seeking his heat as they stood behind a looming bookshelf. Luke somehow accessed her emotions on an entirely different level and evoked her physical awareness with such intensity it frightened her.

  ‘Next time?’ Her inability to articulate full sentences when he stood close struck her as comical and a bubble of giddy laughter erupted. She posed as a gover
ness, for heaven’s sake. She should have better command of the English language.

  ‘You don’t mean to imply you do not wish for future kisses?’

  Affronted by the contrary predicament, she at once schooled her features. Did he believe her an ingénue who fell blissfully victim to his wicked charm? In all honesty, she was. But botheration, she would die before admitting thus and inflating his confidence. He continued, slanting his body forward in kind to hers so that his lips brushed the shell of her ear as he murmured, ‘I certainly do.’

  His declaration might have been placed on the shelf at her back, another world marvel to be treasured and displayed, for how it caused her heart to sprint in the race of a lifetime. Worse, her sharp inhale brought with it the scent of his shaving soap, citrus and male, full of the promise of warmth and strength, and she drew another breath to determine the mysterious charm of his potent virility.

  Her body answered his mating call, breasts too tight within the constricting corset, knees turned to aspic, a distinct damp pleasure between her legs.

  His jaw grazed her cheek as he withdrew, the slightest brush of whiskers reminding of all the unfamiliar wonders his body offered, textures and scents, hardness and stamina. She brought the back of her hand to her forehead, overloaded with images and desires and outright embarrassment. She could only be the colour of the queen of hearts turned face up on the deck of fanciful cards in their leather case on the shelf. She uttered not a word.