From the other side of the desk, Stewart gave him a man-to-man look. "Mean to give it to 'er 'ard, do you lad?"
"Precisely."
His mentor grunted. "See that you do. That's what wenches are for, after all. Maybe you should tup a few to 'elp you remember the fact."
A sudden scraping sound cut off Gavin's reply. He tensed, and his mentor took on the same vigilant posture. They both waited for the furtive noise again ... where had it come from?
Stewart motioned to the door.
"My thanks for the advice." Gavin said the words loudly as the other man moved with rapid stealth to the entrance. Gavin removed a pistol from his desk, readying it. Stewart yanked open the door ... and Evangeline stood framed in the doorway.
Her thin brows arched. "That's some welcome, lover."
Gavin cursed and tossed the weapon back into the drawer.
Stewart, however, gave Evangeline a considering look. Beneath his beard, his mouth settled into what might have passed for a smile. "Well, if it ain't a sight for sore eyes. Good day to you, Miss 'Arper."
Evangeline sauntered in. "And to you, Mr. Stewart." The randy gleam in her eyes and the low cut of her gown gave an inkling of her purpose. A bulging reticule swung from her hand.
Just bloody perfect.
"Was just sayin' to Hunt that 'e's been workin' too 'ard. A man needs a bit o' distraction now an' again." Stewart aimed a pointed look at Gavin. "'Elps 'im to keep 'is focus."
"Well, it just so 'appens I'm lookin' for a bit o' distraction myself," Evangeline said. With easy familiarity, she perched onto the arm of Gavin's chair, her generous rump pushing into his lap.
"I'll leave you two to your business, then." Whistling, Stewart shut the door behind.
"What's with 'im?" Evangeline jerked her chin at the door. "Usually 'e's grimmer than the reaper, but today 'e's practically dancin' a jig to see me."
"Never mind him." Gavin cleared his throat. "What can I do for you today?"
"Tisn't so much what you can do for me, love, as what I can do for you," she cooed at the same time that she wriggled fully onto his lap.
The contact with the feminine curves led to an immediate physical response. He'd been dog drawn since the first bloody meeting with Percy. Even frigging himself on a daily basis—fine, several times a day—didn't seem to help matters. He couldn't get her out of his head; as a result, he was hard. Constantly.
With deliberate slowness, Evangeline undid the strings to her purse. His throat flexed when he saw what she'd fished out and let dangle from her fingers. A silver chain, with a leather cuff swinging at each end.
"I've a new game for you today, lover." She shimmied against his turgid flesh. "And something tells me you're more than up for it."
When it came to carnality, he and Evangeline were cut from the same torrid cloth. For both of them, pleasure and power were sides of the same coin. His first sexual encounter flashed in his mind's eye. A grimy corner of the hulks, one of the whores brought in by the guards to keep the prisoners from rioting. He had been thirteen and, after three years aboard that stinking ship, had left boyhood far behind. Yet he'd quivered as the moll climbed atop his tense form, her eyes glinting slits in the dark. Her taunting voice returned to him.
First fuck, is it? You ain't much to look at. Let's see if you 'ave what it takes to be a man.
His hands had fisted, pulling his shackles tight as she'd explored him with a touch that was anything but gentle. In the darkness of that despicable place, with the sounds and smells of human degradation all around him, he'd had his first sexual release. Had discovered that chains against flesh could rouse desire as well as pain. It hadn't taken him long to learn that nothing, but nothing, matched the potency of dominating another. Of making an old slattern scream with unaffected bliss as he'd turned the tables and fucked her into submission whilst the other prisoners cheered him on.
Use or be used. Of the two, he knew which option he'd choose.
A hand palmed his groin, and he looked down to see Evangeline kneeling between his thighs. In her leering expression, he saw his past in its sordid entirety, and it made him feel … weary. For the first time, he wondered if a different sort of future was possible. Unbidden, the smell of lemons and soap tickled his imagination. A smile that warmed instead of humiliated. Summer-bright eyes promising a brand of passion that he had never experienced before: one that was pure and unconditional, meant only for him.
Was such a thing possible? Could one taste of sunshine dispel the pleasures of the dark?
"Mmm," Evangeline purred. "I think you're ready to play, lover."
He took hold of her hands. Removed them from his person.
"Not today," he said.
Bloody hell ... mayhap not ever again.
SEVENTEEN
Friday evening, Gavin paced the length of his suite as he awaited Percy's arrival. He'd given into Stewart's relentless nagging about not taking "unnecessary risks" and arranged for her to be brought here for their second meeting. It was for the better. In his own territory, he would not have to contend with outside distractions.
Tonight, he meant to seal the deal and seduce Percy. Days ago, he'd found himself ending things with Evangeline because a meaningless tup no longer appealed. He wanted something else, something more. Something he could only have with Percy. Anticipation simmered as he heard the sound of approaching voices.
Davey came in first. Free of bruises now and looking much like any other adolescent beanpole, the boy held a lumpy bag in hand. Percy followed behind, and though his pulse quickened at the sight of her, Gavin frowned. What was the bloody thing she was wearing on her head? It was a hideous shade of green and resembled a dead animal. A bird, maybe. It hid all of her gorgeous hair and for that reason alone deserved to be incinerated.
"Davey, would you mind putting my things ..."—scanning the room, Percy pointed to the chair—"over there, if you please?"
The boy almost tripped over himself in his eagerness to do as she bade. "Anyfin' else, miss?"
"No, thank you," she said. "But I'm so glad we had a chance to chat."
Chat? What on earth had she and an orphan from the gutters to talk about? Besides, the boy was not what one would call a conversationalist. With Gavin, he spoke only when spoken to; when asked about what had happened at his last place of work, he became silent as a clam. Understanding the desire to shut out the past, Gavin had stopped prying about the boy's abuser.
Though perhaps what he ought have done was put Percy in the role of interrogator. From the looks of it, if she asked Davey to jump, the boy would somersault into the air. As Gavin had long suspected, the chit had a disconcerting effect on the males of the species—and apparently age offered no protection against her charm.
"This is for you, Davey. I hope to hear good news the next time I see you," she said brightly.
The boy's eyes grew as large as the coin she handed him. With a moonstruck expression, he stammered, "Th-thank you, miss. I'll not forget your advice."
"That is all for now, Davey," Gavin said shortly. "Close the door behind you."
The boy left, taking Percy's smile with him. Tension filled the room as she took stock of the private chambers and assiduously avoided Gavin's gaze. He'd had the sitting room set up for seduction. Beeswax candles flickered in silver holders; crimson roses bloomed in crystal vases. A cloth-covered table sat ready for an intimate supper for two.
"What were you and Davey talking about?" he said.
"Oh, this and that." Percy wandered over to the table, looked it over. "Mostly I was giving him some pointers on love."
"On love?" Gavin scoffed. "He's a boy, for Christ's sake. He has better things to fill his head with than such nonsense."
"Be that as it may, he has quite the crush on the milkmaid." Percy's cheeks took on an apple-sweet curve. "Her name is Nan. She has red hair and freckles on her nose."
"He's wasting his time on rubbish," Gavin said. "He needs to build himself up, prove himself a man.
Hard work and self-discipline—that's the ticket for the boy."
"Is that what you were doing at that tender age?" she asked innocently.
At thirteen, he'd been living in the hulks amongst criminals and vermin. He'd given and received beatings in equal measure. On a good day, he'd escaped the guards' violent whips and had a crust of stale bread in his growling belly. The bad days ... he didn't care to remember those.
All because of Morgan. Stay focused.
"Suffice it say," he said in grim tones, "I was planning for the future, not mooning over some wench. I'll have a word with Davey and set him straight."
Percy came nearer, her eyes searching his face. "Why is it that you have such compassion for children? According to Davey, you've given him food, shelter, the skills of a trade—and he's not the only one. It would seem that you're the benefactor of many an unfortunate orphan."
His cravat seemed to tighten. He didn't like the gentle expression in her gaze. He did not need her pity—anymore than the children did.
"I'm no soft touch, if that's what you're thinking," he said flatly. "Anyone who works for me earns their keep. If they don't, they get tossed out on their arses."
She continued to study him, head tipped to the side. "Tit for tat—that's your philosophy?"
"In my world, it's called justice. Nothing comes for free, and anyone who owes me will pay." Deliberately, he added, "I'd have thought you understood that by now."
Instead of looking put off, she only raised her brows. "I suppose I am not the only one with a reputation to protect. You have one, too, don't you, Mr. Hunt?"
He liked her astuteness even less than the sympathy. "May I take your, er, bonnet?" he said abruptly.
"It's a turban," she said. "It's supposed to stay on."
Not if he could bloody help it. But he'd pick his battles one at a time.
"Your cloak then," he said, reaching to her shoulders. As he removed the velvet, he had a moment to savor her tremor of awareness before a pungent odor assailed him. Holy hell. His eyes started to water, and his body shook with the sudden force of his sneeze.
"Bless you," she said sweetly.
His nostrils quivered in warning, and he took a step back.
"Oh dear, I hope it isn't my new scent," she said. "The perfumist blended it specially for me. 'Tis essence of lilac and lily-of-the-valley."
No wonder she smelled like a cross between a dowager and a hedge.
His eyes narrowed upon her gown, which furthered her similarity to a prickly old bush. It wasn't as if Percy tended to seductive clothing (more the pity), but tonight her gown eschewed her usual fresh, unaffected style for a look that was ... well, frankly, repugnant. The dress matched the sickly shade of the towel upon her head, and rows and rows of frilly things decorated the shapeless monstrosity which covered her from chin to toes.
He wanted to see her lithe, nubile form. He wanted to rip the frock off and fling it into the flames of the fireplace. Most of all, he wanted to know what the minx was up to—though he had a pretty good inkling.
"Took special pains for the evening, did you?" he said.
She smiled, looking pleased with herself. "I didn't want to be caught unprepared again. Vauxhall was a distraction. From here on in, I plan to approach our wager with the utmost prudence."
"A distraction. Is that what you're calling my kiss?"
Satisfaction rose in him as her smile wavered.
"The mayhem overexcited my nerves. A momentary lapse," she muttered. "It won't happen again."
The hell it wouldn't. Whether or not she realized it, she'd just thrown down the gauntlet, and he'd never been one to resist a challenge.
He waved to the seating area adjacent to the supper table. "After you."
Since the wingback chair by the fire was occupied by her large, knobby knitting bag (did she plan to mend a pair of socks this evening?), Percy had no choice but to take a seat on the satinwood sofa. He sat down next to her ... and sneezed again. Damnit.
"Perhaps you'd be more comfortable at a distance," she suggested.
"I'm fine where I am," he growled.
"Suit yourself."
He forced himself to calm. He looked to the coffee table in front of them, which held a platter of his chef's tantalizing hors d'oeuvres and a bottle of the best vintage. "Would you care for some refreshment before supper?"
"No wine for me, thank you. I prefer to keep my head clear. And I shan't be requiring supper, either."
He scowled, glancing over to the carefully laid out supper table. Apparently it was going the way of his well-laid plans. "Why not?"
"I am on a slimming plan."
"What the bloody hell for?" he said, incredulous. "You're slender as a reed."
Not in all parts, praise God, but the notion of Percy reducing was nothing short of asinine. Equally ridiculous was the way she then proceeded to launch into a lecture of her imaginary flaws. Not only her weight, but the shade of her hair, her insignificant nose, her too-full lips. 'Twas a conversation common enough amongst other females of his acquaintance—and the kind that usually signaled the rapid exit of any self-preserving male.
He'd never pinned Percy for a hen-wit. His jaw tautened.
"Oh, I could go on forever on this subject." She peered guilelessly up at him. "Ladies have ever so much to chatter about, don't they? And I am a lady after all."
Like hell she was. She was a vixen, a saucy little romp. Oh, he saw through her act: she was irritating him on purpose—and doing a damn good job of it. If she thought her ploy enough to ward him off, however, she had better think again. He tried to focus on his strategy. It was a bit difficult, given that he was fantasizing about throttling her. That, and kissing her mouth until it lost its mischievous curve. Inclined toward the latter option, he was just leaning toward her when a movement jerked his gaze toward the wingback chair. Had Percy's bag … moved?
What the devil … did it just bark?
"It looks like Fitzwell is awake," Percy said cheerfully. "Come on out, old boy."
A fawn-colored head poked out from the bag. After surveying the environs, the beast stepped out fully and gave its squat little body a thorough shake. Pale hair rained over the chair.
Gavin's favorite chair.
"With Mama away, Fitzy has been so lonely of late. I thought I'd bring him along to cheer him up. I hope you don't mind," Percy said.
"I don't mind at all." The words slipped through Gavin's clenched teeth. He had no particular fondness for small dogs—and the one currently eyeing him with a hostile, piggish stare only reinforced that fact.
The beast bared its teeth at him; Gavin nearly returned the gesture.
"He's excellent company," Percy said. "After Papa's death, Mama quite depended on—oh no, Fitzy, don't do that!"
Her admonition came too late. The beast sniffed the air; its gaze shot unerringly to the platter of appetizers. Something like a grin spread across the dark muzzle. With a speed that belied its stubby legs, the pug took a flying leap from the chair and onto the coffee table. Snorting joyfully, it buried its face in the perfectly arranged platter.
"Oh dear, I hope you weren't intending to eat that." Percy put on the most pathetic attempt at looking apologetic that he'd ever seen. The edge of her mouth was actually quivering.
The idea came to Gavin in a flash; he had to stifle his own grim smile at its devilish simplicity. Having fun at his expense, was she? Two could play at that game. She thought to use his temper against him … well, he knew a thing or two about her vulnerable areas as well.
"Since it appears the dining portion of the evening will be curtailed," he said, "I propose we move onto the next activity."
She tensed. "What sort of activity?"
"I thought you might like to see the club."
She chewed on her bottom lip, and he couldn't blame her—he wouldn't mind having a nibble at that luscious pink ledge himself. And he would … soon. "I'd like to, but I cannot risk the exposure," she said.
"You won't have to. I'll take you through the secret passageway."
"The … secret passageway?"
She almost breathed the words, her eyes rounding. He bit back a smile. Aye, he knew exactly how to entice his Persephone; hold out the right fruit, and the curious goddess could not resist taking a bite.
"'Tis my own private corridor from which I can monitor The Underworld unseen. I am due for my evening rounds about now." He let his shoulders lift and fall in a casual motion. "If you'd like, you can come along."
"Oh, I really oughtn't." When she shook her head, the turban slipped a little. A golden curl slipped free. "Um, Fitzwell. He needs me here."
A belch came from the direction of the coffee table. Having inhaled all the food, the canine hopped down to the floor. It trotted over to the settee and sniffed the turned mahogany leg.
"Do that and I'll have you stuffed and mounted," Gavin said sharply.
Apparently, the beast was smarter than it looked; with a grunt, it abandoned the furniture and went to flop in front of the fire.
Gavin turned back to Percy. "You did mention that you are an aspiring novelist?"
"Yes. No." A crease appeared between her curving brows. "That is, it was a hobby of mine at one time, but I've given it up."
"Perhaps a tour of a bona fide gaming hell might inspire you to pick up the pen again. But it is up to you." He shrugged. "If you'd rather wait here and spend time with your pet …"
They both looked at the animal lying comatose on the hearth. At present, Fitzwell's company was about as interesting as watching ink dry on parchment. After a minute, Percy said, "I think Fitzy will be fine for a few minutes on his own. Won't you, little chap?"
The pug rolled onto its back and emitted a snore.
Firelight danced in Percy's eyes. "Off to the secret corridor, then?" she said.
EIGHTEEN
Percy's heart thudded as the hallway panel swung open, revealing a flickering tunnel. A genuine secret passageway! The part of her that was supposed to protest that she shouldn't go in had been abandoned back with Fitzwell. Along with her perfume. Prior to the tour, Hunt had asked that she remove the stuff as his sneezing might compromise the stealth of their mission.
Her Wanton Wager Page 14