She never wanted it to end, this timeless kiss that knew no place in society, held no opinion of propriety and stricture. She surrendered with a sigh, pressing her heart against his, her fingers entwined in the hair at his collar, and he swept inside to taste her, their kiss fraught with a wild urgency she never expected but welcomed, composed of sensual indulgence and outright disobedience, and how she needed it, needed it more and more with each stroke of his tongue.
Unlike her, he must have kept his better sense for he broke away, pulling back though she held fast to his shoulders as a means to steady herself. They stood that way in silence, intensely aware of each other’s heat, the rise and fall of every exhale and how their breath comingled in the night air.
‘Gemma.’
His breath warmed her temple to echo the hammering of her heart.
‘Mr Hewitt.’ She sounded as if she’d just awoken.
‘Cole,’ he corrected before she finished.
‘Cole.’ She touched his jaw, ran a fingertip over the bristled growth on his chin, then curled her finger inward to capture and keep the sensation. ‘I…’
‘Don’t say a word. Sometimes it’s better that way.’ He exhaled deeply and widened the space between them a fraction.
‘Yes. I agree.’ She stared at him in a desperate attempt to discern the smallest clue in the darkness, but he didn’t allow her the luxury. Clasping her hand, he led her to the gate and, with a brief glance over his shoulder, vanished into the black night as silently as he’d appeared.
Gemma hurried inside, her heart and mind never fuller, never more torn apart. Sensing Winton would demand some type of explanation, she discreetly made excuses to Lady Bardsley, penned a short note to Sophie in the foyer and, last, requested the footman summon her carriage.
Gemma and Rosalind sat in the breakfast room with Kent at the head of the table. Some time had passed since they all shared a meal and everyone seemed in a light mood. Rosalind had smiled and while Gemma had no way to understand her sister’s sudden change of demeanour, she was too thrilled to worry about it.
‘You look lovely, ladies. What a delightful surprise to have you both at breakfast this morning.’ Kent took a sip of coffee before he continued. ‘I was awake to the wee hours preparing a speech I’m to present in the House of Lords during tomorrow’s session, but this, an opportunity to share congenial conversation with my sisters, is a more satisfactory way to spend my time.’ He immediately realised his mistake, but didn’t commit a second blunder by pinning Rosalind with a stare. Instead he forged on. ‘It is my intention to sway the majority and their increasing belief that more legislation is needed to provide for those who have chosen to contribute little to our society.’
Immediately interested, Gemma broke a warm currant bun in two and reached for the jam pot. ‘Is the situation as critical as you believe? Not all those at a poverty level comport as you describe. Surely part of the population comprises honest individuals who wish for a better way of life.’
‘Well spoken and primarily the reason women work with charities to support those who wish for an improved existence, but the situation is not that simple. If Parliament proceeds with the Poor Employment Act the entire country will see fiscal devastation. We need more workhouses to reduce the spiralling cost of poor relief. London must be rid of its wretched rookeries and decaying slums, the loathsome filth driven out, the unsanitary accommodations demolished. This is the only way to see an end to the pestilence carried by bastard children, orphans and foundlings dressed in rags and barefoot on the streets.’ He ended with a flourish that had gained their rapt attention.
‘Was that practice for your presentation tomorrow?’ She offered him the slightest condescension and shifted her attention to Rosalind. ‘As outraged as you are concerning these issues I hold firm that, while conditions are appalling, the people within these areas are essentially good. What do we know of hunger and stomach pains, fear of crime or the vulnerability of being left to the elements at night? How does one recover from such hardship without the help of greater London? While I agree the countless houses with broken windows and sunken roofs are an eyesore, they serve as a reminder of our failing as a society.’ She took a little nibble of her currant bun and met her brother’s shocked expression. Rosalind’s hand found hers below the table and squeezed it tight.
‘Gemma…’ Kent cleared his throat and took a long, sobering sip of coffee. ‘I had no idea you were knowledgeable concerning this plight.’
‘Have you ever visited Charing Cross or Seven Dials?’ She drew a steadying breath, aware she pushed the limits of her opinion, though resolve washed through her. ‘The citizens are people like you and me.’
‘They are not like you and me. You are sister of a duke. Do not mistake ignorance for innocence. The population of the rookeries prefers to live in squalor.’ His voice grew stern, his eyes pinned to hers for a reaction. ‘How do you know of these places?’
‘Dear brother, I live in London, not in a bubble. Ladies talk as much as men and often with far less bluster. Besides, I’ve done a little reading. It seemed important to you, though I fear we possess opposite viewpoints. In that case, it’s fortunate I’ve not a seat in the House of Lords.’ She tried to keep satisfaction from her voice, proud of her meaningful argument.
‘Yes, while this idle interest may be acceptable at our breakfast table, I will have you understand talk of politics or any other subject unbecoming for a female should not extend beyond these walls. Be warned. You are the daughter of a duke. You are now the sister of the same. This role demands an impeccable level of deportment. I will not tolerate gossip bandied about that you’ve become a bluestocking, sympathiser or, worse, unmarriageable outcast. We all have a duty to this family.’ He glared a look of accusation.
‘I am much more than a future bride.’ Her words, low-spoken and sincere, failed to stir him.
‘Indeed, and therefore have proven my point.’ Kent didn’t elaborate. He steepled his fingers and stared at her with a taut expression a long minute before returning his attention to the correspondence left beside his plate, but Gemma didn’t care. She gripped her sister’s hand below the tablecloth and sat up straighter. Empowered by knowledge, the courage she’d shown in regard to the less fortunate coursed through her body. She was different, changed, but not just by discussion of political goals and failings. More than all, the remembrance of her kiss in the darkness sparked her revitalised spirit. A kiss like that caused one to believe anything was possible.
‘Montgomery is swimming in guineas tonight.’ Luke made this assessment from where the three friends stood in the back corner of the hell, the floor crowded and noisy, the scene their most preferred. ‘I’ve heard he’s come into an inheritance that with any luck will soon be ours instead of his.’
They did this frequently: walked the floor, assessed the money flow from the corner, and made their presence known. It was all part of a larger game, to estimate the hell’s gains and profits, and monitor the smaller wagers that composed their wealth.
‘Peculiar how they do all the work for us.’ Max scratched his head as if trying to sort out a puzzle. ‘We extend them a voucher and offer them fair, uncompromised games of chance and they happily surrender their money.’ He followed this with a hearty chuckle. ‘I’ll never understand the privileged, just as I’m certain they couldn’t fathom the wealth we’ve accumulated or reputation we’ve established.’
‘I’ve hired another man.’ Luke’s fluid change of subject emphasised how persistently his troubles occupied his mind. ‘He believes Nathaniel and my brother have boarded a packet aimed for America.’
Max and Cole swung their attention towards him with the comment and waited for him to continue.
‘I doubt there’s truth in that presumption but I’m willing to pay for the lead to be pursued. I’m out of ideas and desperate to see Nate again. Nothing waits for my brother in America and he’s too firmly rooted in England to flee the country a
ltogether. I suspect, though, he may have used the Marine Society to hide my son. I have another investigator working on it.’ Luke kept his eyes glued to the players, though every word sounded as if it took effort.
‘Vivienne has strong ties to the Marine Society. I will mention it to her tomorrow. Charity work has put her in a variety of situations near the wharf. If she speaks to the other ladies in the society, someone may unwittingly have information to assist in your search,’ Max offered. ‘We’ve discussed this before, anxious to assist you in any way possible.’
‘Thank you.’ Luke slanted a glance in Cole’s direction when he didn’t join the conversation. ‘Quieter than a corpse this evening.’
‘That’s a morbid way to phrase it.’ Cole shook his head and dismissed the remark.
‘It’s true,’ Max agreed. ‘Not that a little silence isn’t a good thing now and again.’
‘Look at them all.’ Cole scanned the affluent crowd of swells who drank, caroused and gambled on the hell floor. ‘As a matter of birthright, they have the world in their pocket.’
‘As long as they have plenty of blunt in there too, I have no objection.’ Max eyed him with a sceptical expression but Luke seemed more in kind to understanding.
‘Look around you, my friend. When you stand in your office and peer out of that window, you have the luxury of looking down on them. You believe they are your betters, but to whom do they owe their coin, sign their vowels, plead for an extension of credit?’
‘It’s not a matter of money. Fleecing the aristocracy was never my goal.’ Cole spoke the words, resigned and without eyeing either of his friends.
‘Every wager made is voluntary. Every game offered is fair and legitimate.’
The last word stung, but Cole didn’t react. Max defended their hell, not their right of birth. And when had he become so sensitive to the privileges restricted him? ‘Of course, but lately…’ He hesitated, unaccustomed to confronting and revealing any of the demons that haunted his solitary hours. ‘I want more.’
‘More?’ Luke’s sharp laugh caught the attention of one of the working girls on the floor and she threw him a flirtatious grin before hustling past. ‘Greedy bastard. We are bloody rich enough.’
Suspecting his friend had purposely misinterpreted his words, Cole pressed on. ‘I want something that can’t be accrued with interest. Something all this,’ he waved his hand in the general direction of the gaming floor, ‘can’t give me.’
‘What is it you want?’ Max asked, his expression sober.
‘I don’t know… perhaps, a feeling of worth.’ Cole waited, the words spoken with a reluctant sigh, unsure if he would receive ridicule or understanding. ‘To be important to someone.’
‘You’ve gone soft. I can’t bloody believe it.’ Luke threw back the brandy in his glass. ‘Sin gets leg shackled and the condition is contagious.’ He nodded his head with bald disapproval. ‘You won’t contaminate my bachelor status. I am immune.’
‘I understand.’ Max switched his focus to Cole.
And Max did. He had Vivienne. Soon they would start a family. Max’s life had taken an unexpected turn but, in the end, it led to love.
Love.
It was almost a foreign word in the world where Cole lived. Survival was more important than any sentiment. Circumstances were temporary and transient. No one became attached to any person or object in the slums because all too quickly it would disappear.
‘You’re volunteering for heartache if you fancy after something you can’t have.’ Luke screwed his face into a smirk of disbelief and waved his empty glass forward. ‘Look here, at the Underworld and all you’ve accrued. That’s not a bastard’s life in London. You’ve already beaten the odds.’
The three men stood in silence, the victorious celebration from a nearby table drawing their attention in unison, the distraction timely, but Cole didn’t see the players as they slapped each other’s backs and collected their winnings. His mind spun with the remembrance of Gemma’s maddening kiss, precious touch, indelible scent; and while he knew it would all end badly, himself unworthy of the attention of a gentile lady, he couldn’t squelch the yearning she’d ignited in his blood.
Max broke the silence first, his focus on the side door, Cole’s attention somewhere else completely.
‘Winton entered. This won’t end well.’ Max put his brandy glass down on a nearby servant’s tray and turned to Cole and Luke. ‘Not one to trust.’
‘As well we know.’
Cole watched as Winton approached, his derisive air meant to intimidate. Of late, he’d seen too much of the man. After last night, he had little use for him altogether.
‘Busy night in hell?’ Winton nodded his head with the slightest greeting. ‘Hewitt. I’d like a word.’ There was no mistaking his menacing tone.
‘Anything that needs to be said can be spoken in front of these men.’
‘What is your business here, Winton?’ Max stepped forward. ‘To make money or trouble?’
‘I hadn’t thought either.’ Winton flashed a cunning smile and turned towards Cole. ‘In concern of last evening, and I preface this with the knowledge I mean well by her family, it would serve your interest to avoid any further communication with the lady.’
He hadn’t revealed Gemma’s identity and Cole wondered at the game Winton played. By sure, it was high stakes. But what did Winton hope to gain? ‘Thanks for the advice.’
Winton stepped closer, his body slanted towards Cole alone. ‘It wasn’t intended as a congenial favour.’ He paused and ran a glance over the trio. ‘In this game, three of a kind won’t beat my suit or prevent my hand from winning. Let well enough alone.’
‘We protect our own.’ Luke stepped closer to Winton. The latter appeared unaffected, then turned and dismissed them as he strode across the floor, ignoring those who gestured to him in friendly greeting.
‘What the hell was that about?’ Luke whistled low, awaiting Cole’s response.
‘Nothing to trouble either of you.’ His friends remained mute, their attention riveted, and Cole forced himself to elaborate. ‘Last night, as I made my way home, I happened upon Winton pressuring a lady to offer her favours. It became ugly and I couldn’t allow it to proceed so I intervened.’
‘Did you strike him?’ Luke smiled with the question. ‘He still sported that pretty face.’
‘It didn’t come to that.’ And it didn’t need to. Cole carried a small pistol in his boot. Fisticuffs were something he’d rather leave on the streets of Charing Cross.
‘The lady must have been grateful.’ Max’s comment sounded rich with approval. ‘Scum like Winton need to be taken down a notch. I hope the lady in question avoids him if possible.’
‘As do I.’ Conflicted, Cole hesitated, but with Gemma’s welfare at stake, he couldn’t behave selfishly. ‘You may want to mention it to Kent.’
Max’s head whipped from where his gaze trailed Winton’s departure. ‘Kent? Why?’
‘It was Lady Amberson. Gemma.’ He couldn’t say her name enough. It was like he could taste her kiss whereby uttering her name. The realisation brought with it a wealth of sorrow.
‘I will. First thing. And thank you.’ He viewed Cole with shuddered eyes. ‘Had Winton not arrived this evening, did you plan to tell me?’ An uncomfortable silence ensued.
‘I resolved the situation, didn’t I? That’s all that truly matters.’ And with that Cole shoved from the wall and walked away.
Chapter Ten
It was later, when the hell stood empty, that Max entered Cole’s office. The inevitable conversation hardly surprised and promised to be most unpleasant.
‘Is there anything else you’d like to share?’ Max took the leather chair in front of the desk and dropped his shoulders back, weary from a long night and insufficient rest. Cole knew well the condition.
‘Not at the moment.’ It was an irrational answer but he voiced it anyway.
‘I mention
ed not long ago that Kent was concerned his sister had fallen into a bad place, either under the influence of a rogue seducer or otherwise involved in a situation that could cause her harm, and yet you kept this information from me. I deserve an explanation, Cole.’
‘You have the gist of it.’ He didn’t drink, but how a brandy might smooth the rough edges right now.
‘I’ve already messaged Kent that Winton has set his sights on Gemma. According to the papers, His Grace is embroiled in a tense situation in Parliament. He may have lapsed in vigilance with his dedication elsewhere. I’m sure the information will be appreciated.’
Cole remained quiet. What could he say? For the most part he enjoyed the life of ivory dice and playing cards. It brought him wealth and security, opportunity he’d never dreamed possible, and with that came freedom, a liberty titled men weren’t afforded due to the constrictions of their birthright. He bore no lectures about decorum or pressures to uphold heritage, no bowing to other’s wishes. Paused in his thinking, he realised his final thought proved false. Still, of late he was hollow inside, no amount of good will at Second Chances able to fill the void. Until Gemma. Somehow the slip of a woman had him wondering about his future and the safety of his heart. Perhaps she served as a much-needed distraction and nothing more. There was no way to know until it all ran its course.
Still, he’d enjoyed the casual pleasures of available women, lost his misery in what they offered, but he never cared in return. Now was the wrong time to start. Gemma was the wrong woman. He pushed the hair off his brow as if shoving the distasteful conclusion away.
‘Kent’s not one to take his responsibilities lightly, political or familial. With the death of his father, he’s become more dignified, a cautious protector of his sisters and mindful of his presence in the Chamber of Peers; much more so than when we knew each other all those years past. Still, our relationship remains one of mutual respect. We may not come from similar backgrounds, but we know each other for the truer importance, the man inside.’
Into the Hall of Vice Page 10