"Because it was better than the alternative," he said flatly. "Because people hurt one another. Friends, enemies, lovers,"—his eyes flickered, and a strange, answering twist emerged in her belly—"it's just a matter of degree."
"What a horrid, cynical notion," she said.
He shrugged. "'Tis reality. I'd wager you couldn't name one person you've loved who hasn't caused you pain."
She opened her mouth to snap back a reply ... and realized in astonishment that she had none forthcoming. She'd never doubted her family's love for her and yet ... An ache wriggled into her chest as she thought of Papa. Recalled the countless hours of her childhood spent waiting for him to come home. Longing for his attention, for more than the distracted pat on the head when she showed him her latest painting or poem. She'd so desperately wanted his approval, to be seen.
Perhaps to make up for Papa's absences, Mama had been wont to give the children extra attention. A little too much attention, as far as Percy was concerned. For as long as she could remember, she and her mother had been at odds over something—that something usually involving her wayward behavior. Percy knew that Mama meant to improve her hoydenish disposition; for some reason, however, the endless lectures only made her want to rebel more. With a stab of remorse, Percy thought of the grief she must have caused her mother over the years; the disappointment that had driven Mama to another Continent.
"Can't do it, can you?" Hunt said with a smirk.
"No one's perfect," she said, swallowing. "What matters is that I know they love me, and I love them. We'd do anything for each other."
"As you say." Hunt sounded bored.
A sudden boom sounded overhead. Relieved for the interruption, she looked upward.
"Do you hear that? Sounds like the fireworks, doesn't it?" As a series of whistles and booms followed, both of them looked up into the thick awning of leaves. She squinted. "Over to the left, I think I saw a bit of a red spark—"
Her words ended in a squeak. In a disoriented flash, she registered his hand covering her mouth and his arm trapping her at the waist. He'd dragged her off the bench, holding her captive against his rigid form. Panic and disbelief collided. After all his promises, he meant to assault her?
She began to struggle with all her might, but his arms confined her like steel bands. His fierce whisper heated her ear. "Be still. There are men afoot. They move like footpads."
Her eyes widened. Footpads?
Before she could digest that piece of news, the dark figures emerged from nowhere. Three of them, large and menacing. Something glinted in their hands … She hadn't time to note anything else, for the next instant Hunt shoved her behind him. The force sent her sprawling into the brush.
"Run," he roared.
Shock froze her in place. She couldn't run ... couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but watch as the three strangers circled Hunt like dogs a baited bear. One went in, blade raised. Hunt evaded the swipe of the knife and landed a blow to the cutthroat's jaw, knocking the man to the ground. In a swift movement, he reached into his boot, pulled out his own blade. Just in time, for the other two pounced upon him.
Hunt dodged their deadly attacks. He caught one of the brutes by the arm; there was a sickening crack like a twig being snapped, followed by a loud groan. But the last footpad took the opportunity to attack Hunt from behind.
"Behind you!" The words flew from Percy's lips.
Hunt pivoted in the nick of time. Barely. The blade missed his back but caught the edge of his domino. He cursed and launched himself at his assailant. They exchanged lethal swings of their knives. Hunt was quicker, fiercer; ducking the arc of his opponent's blade, he rammed his fist into the other's midsection, the force loosening the weapon from the man's grip.
Just as Hunt hauled his foe up by the scruff, Percy saw a sudden movement. One of the footpads—felled, she'd thought—grabbed Hunt from behind and collared him by the throat. Hunt gasped for air. His knife fell to the ground as his hands went to grapple with the choking hold.
"I got the bastard," the villain hissed to one of his partners. "Get yer blade an' finish 'im off."
Hunt struggled like a frenzied beast while the other brute rose, steel shining with sinister malice in his hand. Two against one—the bastards! Anger dissolved the last of Percy's panic, and, without another thought, she yanked off her slipper and rushed into the fray. She glimpsed the attacker's look of surprise the instant before she let loose the contents of her shoe. Gravel and sand sprayed him directly in the face.
"You bloody bitch!" he yelled, grabbing at his eyes.
Pulse pounding, she turned to Hunt; in the brief moment of distraction, he'd freed himself from his attacker's grip. He and his opponent crashed onto the ground, grappling. As she dashed over, Hunt gained the upper hand. His fist smashed into the other's face. The man groaned and lay limp.
A rustling came from the brush, the sound of rough voices.
"O'er here!" The blinded footpad shouted an alert to his comrades. "They're gettin' away!"
Hunt grabbed her hand. "Run."
FOURTEEN
He dragged her through the winding maze, his eyes scouting the darkness. He sensed that whoever they were, the ruffians were not far off. He had to get Percy to safety.
His lungs burned, his mind racing through the options. The cutthroats had planned their attack well, chasing him and Percy farther and farther away from the populated areas. Here, deep in the heart of Vauxhall's dark gardens, the bastards could slit their throats with none the wiser. Alone, Gavin might consider fighting them off, but he would not risk endangering Percy.
He would have to find some way to evade their pursuers.
He saw a wavering brightness in the distance, and it hit him. The bloody meadow. He'd found it at last. In the next instant, he recalibrated his sense of direction.
He slowed, and Percy rammed into him. "Oof."
"We haven't much time," he said, keeping his voice low. "Give me your wig and domino then lay low until I return."
Eyes huge, she wordlessly removed the red curls and cape and handed them over.
He motioned for her to crouch behind a bush, and then he crept with stealthy speed toward the clearing. He raced along the perimeter until he found a path that led westward through the trees. Tossing the wig upon a bush, he sprinted down the path several paces. He tore a strip from the domino and hung it from a branch. A decoy to throw off their scent.
He circled back to Percy.
"I think I hear them coming," she whispered.
"Follow me and keep low," he whispered back.
He led her eastward through the labyrinth. Now that he knew exactly where they were, they made speedy passage. Before long, he saw the sparkle of garden lights in the distance, and within minutes they were free of the twisting hedges and upon a deserted walk. There was no sign of their pursuers; with any luck, the brutes had fallen for his trick and were headed in the opposite direction.
"Those men …" Percy was standing close enough for him to feel the tremor travel through her. "Why are they after us? Money?"
He didn't think so. They'd been intent on killing him, not taking his purse. But now was not the time to get into specifics. "We're not out of the clear yet. A guard station is up ahead where we can get help. Can you make it?"
"Of course."
They hadn't gone several steps when he noticed her limping. He grabbed her arm, assessed her swiftly. His gaze caught on her right foot, which was missing its slipper; her delicate toes poked out from the tattered stocking. He remembered what she'd done, the reckless bravery of her actions. An unbalanced feeling came over him.
Without a word, he caught her up in his arms.
"That isn't nec—"
"Hush," he said without breaking his stride. "We're almost there."
Minutes later, they arrived at a wood hut no bigger than a horse stall. The door was unlocked, but no one was inside. A lamp had been left burning on the small table, which stood crammed against the wall
. Setting Percy down on the wooden surface, Gavin closed the door and bolted it. He drew the curtain over the small window and doused the light.
"The guard is likely out on patrol," he said. "He'll be back soon. How is your foot?"
"It's f-fine."
Just to be sure, he lifted the small appendage. He ran his hands over the slim ankle, the pretty arch. When he satisfied himself that there was no damage, he let out a breath … one he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Releasing her foot gently, he looked up at her. The faint sliver of light from the curtains turned her eyes into luminous pools. At some point during the chase, she'd lost her mask. Her lashes lowered, and he could see the rapid rise and fall of her bosom.
"I ... I c-can't believe ... that was ..." she stammered.
"I know." He found himself running a hand lightly over her hair. Her real hair, softer than silk. The idea that those bastards might have harmed even a single strand of the fine stuff ... Angry beyond words, mostly at himself, he gritted out, "Believe me when I say I had no intention of putting you in harm's way. It won't happen again."
She bit her lip, and her shoulders began to shake. She shook her head. "Oh, no, that's not—"
"Not enough?" he said grimly.
He couldn't blame her for wanting to back out of the wager. Bloody hell, he might even owe it to her, seeing as how she'd saved his damned hide. Percy had stuck her neck out for him; no milk-fed miss would do such a thing. Unfortunately, her unexpected actions only fueled his attraction to her, causing a war within him.
Eye for an eye. But I don't want to let her go.
He forced himself to say the words. "If you wish to put an end to our bargain—"
"End it? But Mr. Hunt,"—she raised her eyes to his and they were sparkling, not with tears but ... merriment?—"that was the most brilliant night of my life!"
"Brilliant?" Mayhap the stress had made her cracked. He'd seen it happen before.
"I've never dreamed of such adventure. Well, I've dreamed of it, but never have I experienced such life or death drama. I was working on a novel, you see, but I got stuck. After tonight," she said gleefully, "I shall be swimming in inspiration."
He didn't understand a damn thing she was saying. But the sight of her safe, of her dancing eyes and dimpled cheeks ... without warning, lust returned in a crashing wave. It washed away logic, plans he was supposed to remember. All he could see was the valiant, unspoiled goddess in front of him, her laughing, sensual mouth, and blood roared in his ears.
"Persephone," he said hoarsely.
Her eyes rounded. Before she could speak, he took her mouth in a ravenous kiss.
Hell's teeth, she was so sweet. His eyes closed with pleasure of it, with the unbearable hunger he felt. She trembled, so he knew she felt it too. The attraction that flared brighter than fireworks between them, that exploded over the frozen, dark terrain within him and showered it with light and warmth. With a groan, he slid his hands in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. Her lips parted naturally beneath his, and then he was inside her again where he belonged. Licking, tasting, staking his claim.
Yet he was not the only one doing the claiming. When she touched her tongue to his, the pleasure of that bold caress tautened every sinew in his body. The muscle between his thighs, in particular, sprang to full attention. Cradling her delicate jaw, he returned her little love play, magnified it. He plunged his tongue deeper and deeper, leaving nothing unexplored. She was his, all of her, and he would allow her to hold nothing back. If the breathy little sounds she made were any indication, she wanted him to take it all.
As he continued to kiss her, he skimmed his hands from her shoulders to her breasts. God, the feel of her made his blood pound. Though not large, her tits were firm to the squeeze, the perfect shape for his palms. He had to see them. Reaching behind her, he fumbled his way through buttons and laces until he could ease her gown off her shoulders. His mouth followed, kissing the curve of her jaw, the fragrant hollow of her neck.
She moaned softly, and he had to agree with the sentiment for there, bobbing in the moonlight, was the most delectable sight he'd ever beheld. Twin beauties, perfectly firm and round. Mouthwatering. He thumbed one saucy, upturned nipple, and she made a hitched sound in her throat.
"By God, you're beautiful." The guttural words escaped him. "The most beautiful goddamned thing I've ever seen."
She licked her lips, and some of the dazed look faded from her eyes. "I don't think—"
"Don't think." He fondled the budded tip until her eyes grew unfocused again. "Just feel," he said huskily. "I won't hurt you, buttercup. I promise. I'll stop anytime you want me to."
Before she could argue further, he put his lips on her. Groaned as the clean sweetness of her skin saturated his senses. Lemon blossoms and soap, the combination feminine and fresh, as unique as she was. Easing her back onto the table, he kissed the smooth curve of her breast, licked in teasing circles toward the tight peak. All the while her sweet sighs urged him on, drove him to a fevered pitch. He drew her nipple into his mouth.
Her gasp tickled his ear and made his rod leap against his smalls. "Do you like that, sweetheart?" he growled.
To help her make up her mind, he did it again. This time, she pressed herself into his kiss, her hands clutching at his shoulders, so he got his answer alright. He took his time playing, going from one quivering mound to the other, lashing and flicking with his tongue. Her eyes were closed, and she was panting, moaning.
By God, I'm going to make her spend just by suckling her tits.
Her passion inflamed him. He gazed upon her, his own chest heaving as if he'd run for miles. With her hair tangling in pale streamers across the table and her breasts wetted from his kisses, she was the wanton of his deepest, most carnal fantasies. His cock throbbed with the imperative to be buried as deep inside her as possible. To take her and make her his.
He reached for her skirt, drawing it upward. Her eyelashes fluttered open.
Already ragged, his breath took another blow from the wonder-struck expression in her eyes. From the passion shining there ... and the innocence.
"Mr. Hunt?" she breathed.
Just like that, with a bloody utterance, she erected a part of him he'd long neglected. Not his cock—which was already stiff as a poker and which frankly had never suffered inattention—but his ... conscience. Scruples he'd believed decimated by the years in the stews came all of the sudden barging into his head like a nosy fishwife.
She saved your life. She's likely suffering from the aftermath of bloodlust, if not shock. She doesn't know what she's doing.
He stared at his hand, large and dark against the vulnerable curve of her knee ... and he almost didn't recognize his own appendage for what it did next. The bloody thing yanked her skirt, not further up as every other part of his body was clamoring for but ... back in place.
Goddamnit. He drew a shuddering breath.
Some of the dazzle faded from Percy's eyes. "Mr. Hunt ... Gavin?" Her voice quavered this time.
"We had better stop," he said flatly, "before the guard gets back."
FIFTEEN
When all else failed, a visit to Hatchard's was Percy's panacea for ailments of any kind. Settling her maid on the bench outside the popular bookshop on Picadilly Street, she entered the premises. The scent of vellum and ink comforted her ruffled senses like a cup of warm milk. One of the clerks standing behind the desk greeted her.
"Good morning, Miss Fines," he said with a little bow. "Is there anything in particular I can help you find today?"
"No thank you," she said. "I am just browsing."
"We recently received some new works you might be interested in," he said with a smile. "A few imitators of the inestimable Mrs. Roche and some of them quite good."
"Marvelous. I'll go take a look."
She headed through the rows of shelves with the familiarity of a mole navigating the hedgerows. This was her home away from home. Whenever she felt any sort of malaise, Hatcha
rd's provided a gateway into another world, one where boredom and the nagging sense of purposelessness could not reach her. Today, however, a new set of feelings plagued her.
Confusion, if she had to name it. Topped by a healthy dollop of panic.
Memories of three nights ago flooded her, causing her breath to quicken. She tried to push away the thoughts as she skirted past the main reading area where gentlemen sat with newspapers before the fire. She made her way through the stacks to the section of novels at the back of the shop. Scanning the spines, she picked up a new title, The Castle of No Return. After a few seconds, when the florid prose failed to distract her, she snapped the book shut.
Blast Gavin Hunt. One night of adventure with him and even the most dramatic, far-fetched plot seemed tedious in comparison.
With a delicious shiver, she recalled his prowess against cutthroats, the raw fearlessness with which he'd taken on three of them at once. Perhaps all the novel reading had given her a bloodthirsty streak for she had not found his aggression distressing. Far from it. To her mind, he'd battled with the ferocity of a true hero, one who'd never go down without a fight. What did disquiet her, however, were his actions after the carnage.
Hunt had literally swept her off her feet. Cradled against his strong chest, she'd never felt more safe or ... cared for. She'd caught him holding his breath as he examined her foot. Then he had kissed her, and all further thoughts had melted away, dissolving in the sweet, fierce burning of her blood. Even now, her bosoms ached with the memory of his shocking caresses, the way he'd groaned as he'd suckled her, telling her she was the most beautiful thing in the world …
Then had he stopped. Why?
She'd gone over that question countless times. Hunt had halted of his own accord; though it made her squirm to admit it, the notion of interrupting their embrace had been far from her own mind at that moment. He could have pressed his advantage, tried to take the wager … yet he hadn't. He'd kept her at arm's length until the guard returned and all during the journey home.
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