At the moment, however, she had another mission to accomplish. 'Twas one she was not looking forward to. As the dance finally came to an end and her beleaguered dancing partner hobbled off, she scanned the sweltering ballroom. She found her target standing by the punch table; as usual, he was surrounded by a gaggle of giggling debutantes. Sighing, she made her way over and entered the fray.
"Good evening, Miss Fines." Bestowing a smile upon her, Lord Portland bowed his pomaded auburn head and made the introductions.
Razor sharp smiles greeted Percy as she curtsied to the titled ladies. She wished she could tell them that she only wanted to borrow the viscount for a few minutes and would bring him right back. After a few minutes of listening to the debs snipe at each other in an attempt to gain Portland's attention, she summoned up her courage and said, "My, it is stuffy in here, isn't it?"
The other women glared at her, their fans beating the air.
Portland made a clearing sound in his throat. "Would you care for a turn in the garden, Miss Fines?"
"If you would be so kind, sir," Percy murmured.
The viscount took his leave of the group, and Percy could feel the daggered glances following them as they exited through the double doors onto the veranda overlooking the dark gardens. Due to a chilly night breeze, they had the space to themselves. Portland led her to a secluded bench in the far corner, hidden from the general view by a row of potted bushes. Percy's throat fluttered with nervousness as she sat and arranged her peach chiffon skirts.
Portland remained standing, one elbow upon on the balustrade in a casual yet affected stance. Against the velvety night sky, the moonlight gleaming on his perfectly coiffed curls, he looked more like a storybook prince than ever.
In sum: pretty, flat, and uninteresting.
She flushed with guilt. It wasn't Lord Portland's fault that she'd developed a taste for complexity not found in faerie tales. That she now yearned for the kind found in real life, where heroes might masquerade as villains. And love might take the guise of a scandalous wager.
Inhaling deeply, she told herself that she owed Portland the courtesy of honesty. Though nothing had transpired between them, she didn't want to encourage him any further. He spoke before she did.
"Will your chaperone worry with you gone?" he said.
Unlikely, since Tottie was currently taking a nap in the retiring room. "Lady Tottenham, um, trusts my judgment," Percy said.
Portland cleared his throat. "Well then, Miss Fines, I believe I know why you sought me out this evening."
"You ... do?"
"This has been coming for some time now, has it not?" he said. "I will not say I am surprised."
She felt a rush of gratitude for his exquisite manners. He was going to make this easy for her. Viscount Portland was, first and foremost, a gentleman.
"You are very kind, my lord," she said. "I confess this conversation is rather difficult for me. Please believe me when I say I have thought through the matter with care."
"I know you have, my dear. You have brought it up before."
"I have?" She frowned.
"Perhaps it is not gentlemanly of me to remind you," he said indulgently, "but yes, you did. Once before, during our stroll down Rotten Row."
What in blazes is he talking about?
"Clearly the matter is of import to you. And while I cannot say I approve, I feel I can satisfy you this once. With the understanding that this is all just a bit of fun, eh?" he said lightly.
Her head was spinning. "You have lost me."
"The time for coyness has passed." All of the sudden, Portland was leaning over her, blocking the garden from her view. "See the mountains kiss the high heaven. And the moonbeams kiss the sea? You naughty little minx, I'll show you what all these kissings are worth."
She froze at the rendition of Shelley's impassioned verse. Before she could react, Portland's arms closed around her. His mouth pressed against hers—wet, disgusting. Regaining her senses, she shoved at him with both hands. With a surprised grunt, he lost his balance, his arms twin windmills as he fell backward and landed with an ungraceful thud upon his posterior.
Percy leapt to her feet, wiping her lips with the back of her glove.
"What the devil did you do that for?" Portland glared at her as he picked himself up from the stone floor. He inspected his jacket, and his expression darkened at the sight of a tiny tear on the sleeve. "This is a new Weston, by God."
Guilt and horror mingled in her. "I am so sorry," she said helplessly. "I didn't know what else to do."
"To do, you little baggage? You have been hounding me for weeks for a kiss. You might have sat there and received it properly like a lady."
That stopped her short. "I wouldn't quite say hound, my lord. I expressed curiosity about it. One time."
"You are nothing but a tease, Miss Fines," he fumed. "A common, ill-bred trollop."
Percy's cheeks flamed. She supposed she deserved the insult, if only for her stupidity in believing herself in love with this fop.
"I ought to have heeded Mama. In the end, breeding and class always shows itself," he continued in snide tones.
Her guilt dissipated. The snob. "That is unkind and unfair, sir."
Portland took a deep breath. Seemed to gather himself. "I must return to the ballroom," he said stiffly, "before my absence is remarked upon."
"We are not quite done, my lord," she said grimly.
His perfect brows shot up. "Never say you want another kiss."
"I never wanted a kiss in the first place." The words emerged through her teeth. To her credit, she managed to filter back the last two words: you ass. "What I wanted to say was that I don't think we ought to be spending any more time in each other's company."
"You don't think ..." His jaw quite literally dropped. Why hadn't she noticed how weak his chin was before? "You are jilting me?"
"Well, not exactly." She had not realized a person could look apoplectic in the moonlight. Yet above the pristine cascade of his cravat, the viscount's face had turned an unmistakable shade of crimson. She said in more cautious tones, "I'd say jilt was too strong a word. I mean, there was never an understanding between us, was there?"
"You have been casting your wiles at me this entire Season, you little Jezebel!"
Her eyes narrowed. "Hold up, my lord. While I may have encouraged you, you have never been clear in your affections to me. You have surrounded yourself with debutantes these months past, and if you had chosen one of them, I would not have a word to say about it."
"Is that what this is about? You are jealous?"
His obtuseness robbed her of speech. What had she ever seen in the arrogant prig?
"One cannot blame you, of course," he said with a condescending smile. "Coming from trade, your options are rather limited. If it consoles you, I did have you on my list of bridal candidates—but near the bottom, I'm afraid. There are many eligible ladies this year, and a man in my position must choose wisely. I hope you understand."
"I do understand." She could restrain herself no longer. "Allow me to assist you in your decision. Take me off your bloody list, you insufferable stuffed shirt!"
She stomped past him and down the steps into the garden. Seething, she headed into the dense maze of bushes. How could she have made such a cake of herself over that self-important prat? I wish I had never met Portland. I hate him, and I hate the ton!
"Having an interesting night?"
She jumped around, her hands flying to her bosom. To her shock, Gavin stood there, his black evening attire blending with the shadows. The moonlight glazed his thick hair, turned his eyes to gleaming gold.
"What in heaven's name are you doing here?" she gasped.
"Waiting for you."
She blinked. "You are waiting for me. In Lady Lipton's garden."
He smiled faintly.
"However did you manage to get in?"
He shrugged. An off-handed gesture.
She gave a bewildered laugh. "Alri
ght then. Will I get an answer if I ask you why you've come?" Even in the dimness, she caught the flicker in his gaze. And suddenly she understood. "You came to spy on me, didn't you? Because of Portland?"
He didn't bother to deny it. "I wanted to be here in case you needed me. Which you clearly did not." In spite of her indignation, her belly quivered at the appreciation in his deep voice. "You handled him with finesse, buttercup."
For a moment, she teetered toward annoyance ... but she blew out a breath. He wasn't the one she was angry at. "What I did was seal my fate," she said with a grimace. "Before the week is out, Lord Portland will have all the tongues wagging. I'll probably be labeled a jilt."
"I doubt it."
She frowned. "Why do you say that?"
"Because the bastard is leveraged up to his eyebrows in bad investments. 'Tis a little known fact," he said when her jaw slackened. "And if he doesn't want it to become common knowledge, he'll keep his mouth shut."
"You're blackmailing Portland?"
"Not me personally. But the man he owes happens to owe me a favor." Gavin gave her a satisfied look. "Portland needs his reputation, so he'll stay quiet."
Percy gawked at him. She didn't know whether to be annoyed at his high-handedness or grateful that he'd taken such pains to protect her reputation. "Why would you do such a thing for me?" she managed.
"I protect what's mine," he said.
No poetic flummery, no pretense—just a statement of fact, thrilling in its primal promise. Yearning blossomed within her as she stared up at his strong, scarred face. What would it be like to truly belong to this man? Dare she trust him—and her own feelings?
Another thought hit her. "Is it safe for you to be here like this?"
His large palm cupped her cheek, the graze of his rough skin making her tremble. "I have everything in hand, sweet, and men posted nearby. There's nothing to worry about."
"But what about that Lyon fellow—"
"I've my eye on him." Gavin shrugged, as if the threat to his life was inconsequential. "Trust me, I can take care of myself."
"No man is an island," she said. "You mustn't think yourself invulnerable. Isn't there anything I can do to—"
He put a finger to her lips, halting the flow of words. "There's no need to fret, sweet." The golden flames in his gaze entranced her. "I've dealt with such matters before. Trust me?"
She nodded reluctantly, and he gave her one of his rare smiles. Her heart did a flip.
"Tonight, I don't want to think about such things," he said in a husky tone. "Not when the stars are out and we have this garden all to ourselves. Will you walk with me, Percy?"
Her gaze darted from the arm he offered back to the townhouse glowing in the distance. Once, she'd thought that her future lay in that latter direction. A respectable marriage, a fine house. A lifetime of sensible choices ahead of her. Now, looking into Gavin's burnished eyes, she realized fate had something more compelling in store. Something mysterious—and with no guaranteed happy ending. Was she brave enough to reach for it?
She placed her fingers on his arm, feeling the quiver of iron-hard muscles.
"Yes," she said. "I'll go with you."
TWENTY-ONE
Tall flowering hedges surrounded the winding path, night jasmine perfuming the brisk air. Overhead, stars blazed like diamonds cast across velvet. Triumph filled Gavin as he led Percy deeper into the dark garden. She'd just turned her back on everything she'd thought she wanted—for him. The notion made him feel taller than a mountain. He could win her heart; he could have all of her.
Beside him, she ambled along like some gorgeous fairy creature. The moon turned the curls piled atop her head to silver, and her blush-colored gown clung like petals to her slender form. The modest scoop of her neckline showed only the barest hint of a crevice. He wanted to nuzzle her there, to delve beneath that filmy fabric and lick her breasts all over. As his mouth pooled, he saw goose pimples prickling her skin.
Unbuttoning his jacket, he placed it over her shoulders. "There's a gazebo up ahead," he said. "We'll stop there."
She nodded. Kicking at pebbles as they walked along, she slid him a glance. "Why aren't you crowing about Portland? After all, you were right."
"About what?"
"About me being a silly chit who mistook infatuation for love," she said gruffly.
Her candor drew forth a surge of tenderness in him. Never before had he experienced this desire to soothe a woman, to protect her from all ills. "Come now," he said, "'tis not so bad."
"I feel like an idiot," she said.
His lips twitched. "You'll get over it. Blows to the pride don't last long."
She seemed to mull it over. "I suppose you're right. It certainly doesn't hurt anywhere else." Shaking her head, she said, "Why is it that you seem to understand me more than I understand myself?"
Because you're mine. The possessive certainty gripped him, yet he managed to say in calm tones, "I understand ambition. You're too spirited and intelligent to follow the herd. You need to find your own purpose."
She glanced at him. "Like you did?"
"As I did." Perhaps it was the dark or the intoxicating scent of her perfume that drew more out of him. "I wasn't always a successful business owner. There was a time when I barely scraped by, making a hard living in the streets. For years, I worked as,"—he cleared his throat—"a guard-for-hire."
A polite term for a mercenary. But there hadn't been many other options open to a scarred ex-criminal. If nothing else, the hulks had given him a talent for violence.
"No wonder you fight so well," she said. "How did you find that line of work?"
He cast her a swift glance; there was no trace of mockery or disdain in her expression. Could it be that she did not judge him for his past? "I hated it," he said. "But I invested every guinea I earned, and when I had enough, I bought the club."
The years of brutality had paid off; he'd never forget the feeling of walking into his own property for the first time. From that moment on, he'd vowed to dictate his future.
"You remind me of my papa," she said, surprising him yet again. "He came from poverty too and built an empire out of nothing." Her gaze dropped, and her slipper chased away another stone. "Whereas I grew up with every privilege and have done nothing of worth with my life. Sometimes I think I'm not much more than a spoiled miss."
Once, he had thought the same of her. Knowing her now, her courage and loyal heart, her untamed spirit … nothing could be farther from the truth.
"You have had material advantages," he said. "That does not make you spoiled."
She shot him a troubled glance. "Does being headstrong? In the end, the only thing Papa asked of me was to be a good daughter. To have the kind of life he could not, even with his fortune. That was his dream for me—for our family."
It all made sense now. Why Percy would try to be someone other than who she was. She'd tried to hide her true self not because of middling class hypocrisy, as he'd originally assumed, but because of ... love. The desire for her family's approval.
"Your father wanted you to have a position in society," Gavin said.
She gave a forlorn nod. "With Nicholas' title, it should have been so easy. I have everything—money, access to the best circles. But I still couldn't do my family proud. Because I am a hoyden who has no business masquerading as a lady."
For once, the mention of Morgan did not affect Gavin. He was too angry with so-called polite society for making this lovely, sensitive girl ever doubt her own worth.
"There's nothing wrong with you," he said roughly.
The path came to a small gazebo. They entered under the sloping roof, and she went to look out at the dark vista. She kept her back to him, her gloved fingers trailing along the railing. "The truth is … they were right. I am not a lady."
"That is utter bollocks."
"No, it's true. From the time I was a child, I've been getting into scrapes. I've had more tutors than you could count on both hands, yet I cann
ot claim a single accomplishment." Her shrug was nearly obscured by his jacket, which dwarfed her and made her look like a little girl in a game of dress-up. "I don't know why I thought I could suddenly transform into a paragon."
"You can do anything you put your mind to." He hated that she thought differently, hated that the world could crush her spirit. Her beautiful exuberance. The need to protect her clawed at his insides. "If you had truly wanted Portland, you would have figured out a way to snare him," he said. "Or any one of those fine prancing bastards."
She swiveled and looked fully at him. Her expression made his breath catch. "But I don't want Portland," she said softly, "or any of those gentlemen. I realize now that I don't give a damn what the ton or anyone else thinks. For the first time, I know what I want."
Words seemed to stick in his throat. "What is that?"
She came closer to him, her eyes luminous. Captivating. "Adventure and passion, for starters. I've started writing again, you know, and this time I want my life to inspire my work."
Adventure and passion. He swallowed. Aye, he could give her that.
"I want to live without regrets." She stopped in front of him, the tips of her slippers nearly touching his boots. "I want to experience everything I've ever dreamed about and more."
A smile curved her lips, and in that single, awesome moment she transformed before his eyes. From lovely girl to a sultry, bewitching woman. A siren of indescribable power.
"I fear I would shock even you with my true wicked nature," she said.
"Wicked, you say?" He cleared his throat, trying to think. It was difficult, seeing as how all the blood had drained from his brain and gone straight to his cock. "Wickedness is my stock in trade. Trust me, nothing you could say would shock me."
Yet he froze when she lifted one palm then another to his chest. Her light touch burned through his waistcoat. "So you would not be shocked if I said … I desire you, Gavin?" Her bottom lip caught beneath her teeth. In a trembling voice, she confessed, "That I'd want to be with you, even without the wager?"
Her Wanton Wager Page 17