Her Wanton Wager

by Grace Callaway

  As the two ladies laughed, Percy's own lips twitched. Though it was improper, she could not help but appreciate the beleaguered queen's wit. Everyone knew that the King had kept Mrs. Fitzherbert as a long-time paramour; not only that, but years earlier he'd married his mistress in an illicit ceremony. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

  Reaching Charity's table, Percy said breathlessly, "Sorry I'm late."

  "Not a problem. As you can see, I've ordered for us both," Charity said, nodding to the pot of chocolate and dish of pastries on the table.

  Percy took the seat across from her friend said in a low voice, "I got held up with Paul."

  Framed by the brim of her dove grey bonnet, Charity's eyes looked even larger than usual. "How is he?"

  Inebriated, belligerent, and impossible to reason with. Snagging a biscuit, Percy bit into it with frustration. Paul had been so far gone that he hadn't even questioned her story about Hunt agreeing to release his debt to Nicholas. Instead, he'd pressed her for money. Not knowing what else to do, she'd given him what she had in her reticule.

  "Paul is getting worse and worse. I'm certain he's gaming again, and I couldn't convince him to come home with me." Throat tight, Percy added, "This isn't like him. Ever since that blasted Rosalind Drummond, he hasn't been the same."

  Charity kept her gaze on the pot as she poured out the chocolate. "Do you think he is still in love with Miss Drummond?"

  Percy shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Whenever I try to ask him about her, he shuts me out. He won't countenance any mention of her name."

  "He must still have feelings for her."

  Seeing Charity's downcast gaze, Percy reached for the other girl's hand and squeezed it. "Well, Rosalind is married now, so there's no going back," she said. "If only my idiot brother would realize that you—"

  "That's neither here nor there." Charity pulled her hand away, straightened her narrow shoulders. "Have the Hartefords and your Mama written back?"

  "No, and I sent the missive over three weeks ago. What if it got lost?"

  "It could be that their reply got delayed," Charity said, her brow furrowed. "Perhaps you should write them again."

  Percy nodded. She sipped her chocolate, letting the creamy sweetness soothe her.

  Looking left and right, Charity leaned over the table and whispered, "In the meanwhile, how did things go at your second meeting with Mr. Hunt?"

  Up until this point, Percy hadn't been completely truthful with her friend. She'd omitted all the debauched details, saying only that she'd garnered a victory against Hunt at Vauxhall. Now she set her cup down in its saucer, chewing on her lip.

  "It well ... well," she hedged.

  Charity looked relieved. "Perhaps this wager won't be a disaster after all."

  Percy could have let it rest at that—but she realized she was tired of lying. Of hiding who she was. Her last encounter with Gavin had given her a taste of true freedom ... and she yearned to live the rest of her life as authentically, as fearlessly, as she had during those moments with him.

  Drawing a breath for courage, she said, "Hunt, um, kissed me." Actually, he'd done rather more than that. But she decided to start with the smaller sins and work her way up. "What is more ... I liked it."

  "What?" Charity gasped.

  Percy darted a glance around. Luckily, the other customers were too engrossed in conversations to pay the two of them any mind. "You heard me, Charity. I think ... I think I may be falling for Hunt."

  "You cannot mean that. What about your brother's future?" Charity said in a furious whisper. "Not to mention your own!"

  Percy had spent the bulk of the week time mulling over the conundrum. "What if Hunt and I can come to an agreement about Paul?"

  "You think Hunt will release you brother because of his feelings for you?"

  She ... didn't know. She did believe, however, that Hunt was not as merciless as he made himself out to be. Giving Charity a brief summary of his work with urchins and the way he'd protected her at Vauxhall, she concluded, "He's a complex man, Charity, and I'm just beginning to understand him. His world is ... different from ours. He has survived much, I think, and all on his own merit. Is it any wonder that he wants to collect what is rightfully his?"

  Her friend's eyes narrowed. "You cannot be taking Hunt's side against your brother's."

  "I am not taking anyone's side. But I know Hunt is not the evil scoundrel everyone says he is." Thinking of his scar, what he had said about people hurting one another, Percy said, "Having fought for everything in his life, is it any surprise that compassion does not come naturally for him?"

  "So you'll stand by and let him ruin your brother."

  "I didn't say that," Percy protested. "Perhaps with time I can convince him to forgive Paul's debt. Or I'll win the wager and free Paul that way."

  Charity shook her head. "As your closest friend, Percy, I must be honest. Your judgment is clouded. Not long ago, you thought you were in love with Portland. Now you think it's Hunt. Hunt, who has the power to destroy your family."

  Self-doubt gnawed at her. "I didn't say I was in love with Hunt," she said in a small voice. "Just that I might be."

  "Have you thought about the consequences? Forget for the moment that your brother will be ruined. And that your mama will never recover from this. And that Hunt is wildly inappropriate in every way. Does the man intend to wed you—is he even the marrying kind?"

  The cracks in her self-confidence spread. Gavin had never mentioned anything about marriage. She had no idea what he wished for in a wife. With a sinking feeling, she imagined he'd want someone worldly and level-headed ... a woman capable of helping him in his world. But he said I was beautiful. Courageous and honest. Surely that must count for something ...

  "We haven't reached that bridge yet," Percy said in faltering tones.

  "You may never," Charity said bluntly. "Are you willing to risk the rest of your life over this man?"

  "I ... I don't know. I need time to figure things out." During the truce with Gavin, surely she could discover what his intentions were. If he cared about her. And if her own feelings for him were true.

  "I'd tell you to stay away from him," the other girl sighed, "but I know I'd be wasting my breath."

  "I appreciate your advice, Charity. Truly, I do," Percy said, taking her friend's hand.

  "Then you'll heed it." Charity returned the squeeze. "And you must also take care to end things well with Portland. Something tells me the viscount is not used to being set aside."

  "It's not as if promises were made between us." Abashed at her own capriciousness, Percy fiddled with the handle of her cup. "When I see him at the Lipton's ball on Thursday, however, I shall make matters clear to him."

  The longcase clock along the wall began its sonorous toll. "Oh, heavens," Charity muttered. "I'm supposed to be back at the shop by now—there's new inventory arriving today."

  "Do you want me to come along, lend a hand?" Percy asked.

  "Thank you, but you know how particular Papa is about the shop," Charity said apologetically. "I shall see you soon, I hope?"

  After Charity left, Percy decided to clear her mind by browsing the books. She made her selection and headed to the massive circular counter at the center of the emporium. As she waited for the clerk to ring up her purchase, she studied the dome overhead; it soared three stories high, revealing stacks upon stacks of volumes.

  The clerk returned and handed her two wrapped packages.

  "There must be a mistake," she said. "I only bought the one book."

  The clerk pointed to the bill of sale attached to the second parcel. "Says here it's yours, miss,"—he looked to the lengthy line of customers behind her—"and ready to go."

  Bemused, Percy collected her things and stepped to the side. She tore the string and paper off the unfamiliar package, revealing a first-rate edition of Greek mythology. She flipped open the cover, and her heart sped up at the sight of the masculine scrawl.

  Meet me
in Ancient Rome. -H.

  *****

  Gavin was not a man driven by impulse. As he looked over the second floor balcony, the bookshop's famed dome rising above him, he told himself he had good reason to search out Percy today. He needed to solidify his position with her, to ensure that she did not have second thoughts about the new terms of the wager.

  That's bollocks and you know it. Gavin scowled. He wasn't a man to lie to himself either.

  The simple truth was that he wanted to see her again. Had been craving the sight of her since she'd climaxed in his arms four nights ago. Almighty, her passion had been so sweet, so abandoned. His shaft stiffened at the memory of her hot honey coating his fingers ....

  He'd come to terms with the fact that he could not ruin Percy as he'd initially planned. She was too rare, too fine to use in such a manner. Instead, he wanted to … keep her. To have her passion, her bright laughter all for himself. Then it had struck him: he could have her and his vengeance. All he had to do was seduce Percy's heart as well as her body.

  He knew her fierce loyalty toward those she loved; if she was in love with him, he could use that to keep her at his side even after he'd won the wager. In fact, he'd realized that by marrying her—a man could do worse than wedding the sweetest, lustiest wench he'd ever met—he could exact a different sort of revenge. How would Morgan like having his only sister claimed by his enemy? Once Percy was Gavin's, he would never let the bastard near her again.

  In return for her loyalty, Gavin would see that Percy wanted for nothing. A big house, carriage, fine clothes—he would do better by her than that bloody viscount. All he had to do was convince her of it. That, he assured himself, was why he'd come. And why his pulse thudded at the sight of the jaunty straw bonnet appearing at the top of the steps. Christ, she stole a man's breath. In a yellow-striped frock that clung sweetly to her bosom and swirled around the rest of her lithe figure, Percy looked as fresh and vital as spring itself.

  She came toward him, peering anxiously this way and that.

  "There's no one near," he told her. He'd chosen Ancient Rome for the privacy it offered.

  "What are you doing here?" she said, her eyes wide.

  He quirked a brow. "Can't a man shop for books?"

  "Oh ... of course." Her lashes lowered, and her cheeks turned pink.

  A smile tugged at his lips. Obviously, his little minx had thought he'd had other ideas in mind. "And I wanted to see you," he added gravely.

  Her azure eyes sparkled up at him. "You did?"

  Before he could answer, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Taking her hand, he led her quickly into the maze of the stacks, following several twists and turns until they reached a secluded nook. Towering bookshelves surrounded them on three sides.

  Leaning against one of them, Percy said breathlessly, "This is rather exciting. I've never had an assignation in a bookstore before."

  He flicked a look around the corner. No one about. "Precisely how many assignations have you had?"

  "A lady doesn't speak of such things, sir," she said.

  The fierce stab of jealousy took him by surprise. "Don't play games with me, Percy," he said shortly. "Is it Portland? Or are you dangling after some other fine lord?"

  "I was only teasing. I am not dangling after anyone. Gavin, you're holding me too tightly," she protested.

  He hadn't even realized he was gripping her upper arms. He released her, muttering, "And Portland?"

  She chewed on her lower lip. "Well, I did promise him a dance at a ball this Thursday." Gavin wanted to growl with rage at the idea of that prat dancing with his woman. "But after that," she said, sneaking a peek at him, "I shan't encourage him anymore."

  "You had better not," he said sternly. "You're mine."

  She glanced at him from beneath her lashes. "For the duration of our wager, you mean?"

  Forever. But he gave a brusque nod; it wouldn't do to scare her off. He must stick with his plan to win her over one meeting at a time. The armistice had been an inspired move on his part; with her defenses lowered, he'd could reel her in with the passion she so clearly craved. By their sixth meeting, he would have her, body and soul. A strange yearning twisted inside him—possessiveness, surely. Yet he couldn't recall feeling this possessive over any woman before.

  She gave him a smile that seemed … wistful. "I can't stay long. My maid is outside."

  "She can wait a few minutes longer." Unable to help himself, he brushed his knuckles against her cheek. "How are you, buttercup?"

  "I'm happy to see you," she said, dimpling.

  He tweaked a silken curl between finger and thumb. "I meant after the other night."

  "The other … oh."

  She turned bright as roses and fell silent. All of a sudden, he remembered that ladies did not like to be reminded of their peccadilloes. As his mother had told it, she'd been seduced, impregnated, and left with no alternative but to turn to drink. The beatings his mother had given him? His fault for being an unlovable, disgusting brat. Her desertion? Nothing more than what he deserved.

  Tensing, he wondered if Percy expected him to shoulder the blame for what had happened at the club. If she'd rewritten the events in her head. He told himself he couldn't expect a virgin to admit her own desires—

  "The other night … I liked being with you." Still blushing, Percy said softly, "More than liked, actually. 'Twas the most wondrous experience, and I am looking forward to more."

  Her honesty dispelled the shadows, replaced them with … pride. His chest swelled as did his shaft, which rose and strained toward her. Could someone so fine, so innocent belong to him?

  "Do you know how irresistible you are?" he said, his tone husky.

  "Irresistible? Me?" she breathed.

  Unable to resist her lush lips, he leaned down—at the same instant, a flash of a dark jacket caught his eye. The hairs rose on his neck; his past taught him never to ignore his instincts. He scanned the stacks with an alert gaze. He saw nothing but shelves piled with books. But then, on the far right wall: a shadow. A second later, it moved.

  Someone was hiding behind the bookshelf. Watching.

  He bent as if to nuzzle Percy's ear. "Don't say anything," he whispered. "Someone is watching us. I'm going to get the bastard—stay here."

  She tensed against him. Gave a slight nod.

  In the next moment, he ran straight for the bookshelf shielding the Peeping Tom. The shadow flickered and footsteps sounded. Through the rows of books, he saw snippets of a black jacket moving away from him. The bastard was trying to escape. Rounding the corner, Gavin saw the man run down the empty aisle toward the staircase, and he gave chase. Grabbed the spy's arm just as the other reached the top of the steps.

  "What the hell do you want?" Gavin snarled.

  The stranger shook loose and threw a punch at him. Gavin dodged the blow and threw one of his own. His fist connected with a crack against the man's jaw. The man lost his balance, and the next instant tumbled down the stairs. A scream erupted; people flocked around the fallen figure. On reflex, Gavin pulled back against the wall, remaining out of view. He didn't need trouble. With his business and his reputation, he was a prime target for the magistrates.

  He peered around the corner and saw that his attacker had risen. A good Samaritan offered the man a hand and was knocked to the ground for his trouble. The brute shoved through the crowd to the cries of "Well, I never!" and out the front door.

  Percy came running up the aisle, yellow skirts and reticule flying.

  He motioned her to keep out of sight of the stairwell. Once the crowd below cleared, he crossed over to her, led her back into the thick of the stacks.

  "Are you alright?" Percy gasped. "Who was that man?"

  "I don't know. He got away," Gavin said in disgust. "I thought I told you to stay put."

  She looked upward, as if for patience. "What is going on, Gavin? It cannot be a coincidence that you have been attacked twice now."

  He could have denied it
, but the shrewd expression on her face told him it wouldn't do much good. "It's no coincidence," he said gruffly. "I don't know who is behind it."

  "Perhaps this will provide a clue?"

  Stunned, he watched as she removed a dagger from her reticule. "Where the bloody hell did you get that?"

  "Instead of staying put, I searched the area where the man was hiding," she said pertly. She handed the weapon over. "It has an odd stamp on the handle. Some sort of an animal—a bear, perhaps?"

  Gavin's blood turned cold. He'd seen that particular emblem before. "Not a bear. A lion."

  The mark of Robbie Lyon, to be exact.

  TWENTY

  Looking at Lord Petersby's flawless countenance in the moonlight, Miss Priscilla Farnham heard herself say the words she never thought she would.

  "It's not you, it's me ..."

  —from The Perils of Priscilla, an inspired manuscript by P. R. Fines

  Beneath the blazing brilliance of hundreds of candles, the quadrille seemed to go on forever. Preoccupied, Percy missed a step and aimed an apologetic smile at her partner. She couldn't stop thinking about Gavin. After giving him the dagger she'd found, she'd pressed him for more information. Someone wants me dead. He'd said it in the off-handed manner one might use to request the passing of a salt cellar. Briefly, he'd told her about the competing gaming houses in Covent Garden and how any one of them could be behind the attacks.

  Then he'd chucked her under the chin. Don't worry, buttercup. I can take care of myself.

  She didn't doubt it. Yet if he was in danger, she wanted to help him. After all, she had assisted in warding off the villains at Vauxhall, and she had found the dagger in the bookshop, hadn't she? Apparently, the clue pointed to one of the club owners, a man named Robbie Lyon. Gavin had said he'd be looking into the matter.

  If only I could see him tomorrow night as planned.

  But she'd had to postpone her weekly meeting with Gavin. As luck would have it, Lisbett had returned, and upon learning of Tottie's laissez-faire chaperonage (no doubt from Violet), the housekeeper was keeping an eagle eye on Percy. For the last few days, Percy had made every effort to be on her best behavior so as not to rouse suspicion. She would have to prepare a sterling excuse to be out of the house next Friday night.