Her Wanton Wager

by Grace Callaway

  "What motive? What does she mean?" Kingsley demanded.

  Magnus clucked his tongue as he turned to his colleague. "She's just a foolish miss with a wild imagination. Why didn't you gag her like I told you to?"

  "Had other uses for her mouth." Kingsley's smirk made Percy want to retch. "Your flag may not fly, old man, but others of us still run a high mast."

  "You and your prick," Magnus said in disgust. "I'm still cleaning up your mess with O'Brien. Had everything going according to schedule and you turned it a shambles. And for what? A stupid wench."

  Percy's ears pricked. O'Brien—the man Paul had owed money to? What had happened to him?

  Kingsley's eyes narrowed. "It wasn't my fault. I had Evangeline taken care of; the bitch wouldn't dare breathe word of our affair. If Finian hadn't stuck his nose where it didn't belong and tried to blackmail me over fucking her—"

  "Enough." Magnus' gaze returned to Percy, who tried to keep her expression neutral. Inside, her heart thudded. "Little pitchers have big ears, don't you know. Hand me your cravat, Kingsley, and be quick about it."

  "Did Mr. Magnus tell you he knew Mr. Hunt years ago?" Percy said in a rush. "That he wants to kill Mr. Hunt to keep his crime a secret?"

  Kingsley paused, his neck cloth stretched between his hands. "What secret? What haven't you told me, Magnus?"

  "I said shut the wench up. Give me that bloody cloth." Letting go of his cane, Magnus tried to snatch the material from the other man. He clawed futilely at the air.

  Kingsley held it out of reach. "Oh no, you don't. Not until I hear the truth."

  Just as Percy was scouting escape routes, Magnus regained himself. He took a breath, ran a hand over his wild grey locks. "It's not important. But, yes, I knew Hunt when he was a boy. He worked for an old enemy of mine."

  "Benjamin Grimes," Percy said, her pulse quickening.

  Magnus shot her a murderous look. "Aye. Bastard took my eye. And I took something back of his."

  The answer popped into her head. "'Twas you. You burned down the flash house that night," she said. "You set it afire and left Gavin to take the blame."

  A crafty smile spread over the old man's face. "Aye. That I did."

  At last, the truth of what had happened that night. And proof of Nick's innocence. Now if only she had a way to escape, to get back to Gavin ...

  "That's quite a skeleton you've got rattling in your closet," Kingsley mused. "Hunt would slit your throat if he knew the facts."

  "Which is why I'm going to slit his first. Make no mistake, Kingsley: you may know something about me, but I have far more filth on you." As his partner scowled, Magnus said, "We're in this together, and there's only one way out. We kill Hunt tonight. Now are you going to gag this wench, or do I have to do it?"

  Percy's hope dwindled as Kingsley approached her.

  *****

  If someone had told Gavin he would be working together with a marquess, a policeman, and a baroness, he would have asked for the premise of the joke. Yet at present Morgan, Kent, and Lady Marianne Draven clustered around the coffee table in his office. They'd followed him from the Harteford residence, insisting to be part of Percy's rescue plan. Paul Fines had been left the task of guarding his mother and the other Hartefords.

  Now Gavin shared grim glances with the three. The brooch he'd given Percy lay on the table between them; it had come wrapped up in a ransom note. The instructions were simple:

  Midnight. Watson's Blacking Factory. Come alone or the girl dies.

  The clock struck nine. With three hours left, there was little time to prepare an offensive.

  "You cannot go in by yourself," Morgan said. "'Tis too dangerous."

  "If I don't, they'll kill Percy," Gavin said flatly. "These men mean what they say."

  "If you go in alone, they'll kill you. And Percy will be no better off," Lady Draven drawled.

  Gavin could not argue with those facts. Yet he had no other alternative. "I'm not taking any chances with Percy's life," he said.

  Kent spoke up. "How many men do the villains have between them?"

  "Twice or more than I have at my disposal. It's all over the stews that Magnus has called in his favors. He means this to be a bloodbath," Gavin said darkly.

  Kent and Harteford traded looks. "The Thames River Police is at your service, Mr. Hunt," Kent said. "However, we will still be at a disadvantage in terms of numbers."

  "Not just numbers." Brows arched, Lady Draven said, "I doubt, Mr. Kent, that your band of merry investigators will last long in a rookery brawl."

  Gavin thought her observation was spot on. Kent, however, stiffened, his pale eyes flashing with anger. "My men are capable of taking care of themselves in any circumstance. Besides, what would you know of such things, my lady?" His emphasis on the last word conveyed his doubt as to whether she, in fact, belonged in that category.

  "I am no lady. I should think that obvious." Her tone had a mocking edge. "For a detective, you are remarkably obtuse, Mr. Kent."

  The policeman flushed.

  Gavin had no idea what was going on between the pair, but animosity crackled between them. Morgan must have sensed it too, for he said impatiently, "Enough you two. Let us focus on the task at hand and review the reconnaissance."

  Earlier, Gavin had sent Alfie to scout out the old factory situated on the Thames. The urchin had drawn a rough map of the abandoned building based on what he'd been able to see from the outside.

  "According to Alfie's report, there are four entryways," Gavin said, pointing to the places on the diagram. "All of them will be heavily guarded."

  "Approach can be by road or water. Water will have the advantage of stealth," Kent said. "I can have my men patrol the area disguised as watermen."

  Gavin had to admit that was a sound idea. "My men can take the streets near the factory. If the exchange goes awry, we can give the bastards a fight." Thinking of the numbers they'd be up against, he added grimly, "Though odds will be against us."

  "We'll work with what we have," Morgan said.

  "We'll need a signal from you so we know when to attack," Kent put in.

  Gavin thought it over. No doubt the villains would confiscate his weapons. "I'll come up with something," he said. "Wait for it."

  A knock sounded, and he bade entry to Will. Since Stewart's death, the head guard had taken on the position of overseeing the club. "Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Hunt. Thought you'd want to hear this." Will paused, his gaze wary upon the visitors.

  "Speak freely," Gavin said.

  "One of the footmen informed me that while you were out Miss Harper stopped by. Took that envelope you left for her and said to give you this."

  Gavin took the packet and dismissed Will with a nod. Frowning, he untied the string and paper and found himself holding a bundle of letters. He unfolded the slip of parchment sitting atop the stack, scanning the untidy lettering.

  Fair is fair. Thought you might use this and have better luck than that sod O'Brien who tried to take down our mutual acquaintance with an empty pistol. For your health and mine, I hope you do better. Have a care, lover—this shot could take your head off. –E.

  Gavin spread the papers on the coffee table. With disbelieving eyes, he read the three incriminating letters, all inked in Kingsley's unmistakable hand. The bastard's conceit was stunning: not only had he dared to spell out his licentious desires for his mistress, he'd contrasted them with his apathy and disdain for his wife.

  "What is that?" Morgan said.

  "Ammunition," Gavin said softly. He briefed the group on Kingsley, Mavis, and Mavis' father, Bartholomew Black. "If Black learns of his son-in-law's betrayal, he may intervene," Gavin concluded. "But to contact him will be to stir up a hornet's nest. The man is dangerous, unpredictable—and he's as like as not to shoot the messenger."

  "I'll deliver the letters," Kent said.

  "Black smells a Charley, and you'll be dead before you reach twenty paces of his place," Gavin said bluntly. "It has to be me."
<
br />   "Risky. If you get detained, then Percy …" Morgan did not have to finish the sentence.

  "I'll do it." Before Gavin knew what she intended, Lady Draven stood and collected the letters.

  "The hell you will." Kent rose and glowered at her.

  "I don't require your permission, Mr. Kent," she said, tucking the letters in her reticule.

  Morgan frowned. "This is far too dangerous—"

  "Black may be dangerous, but he is just a man. We all have our expertise, and mine happens to be the opposite sex. Do you doubt that I am well equipped to deal with Black—or any male for that matter?"

  A derisive smile edged the blonde's lips, as if challenging them to deny her attractions. With her classical beauty, Lady Draven was no doubt accounted as an out and out stunner by most men—though, to Gavin's mind, she couldn't hold a candle to Percy. Then again, every woman paled next to his goddess … his fists curled. If Magnus and Kingsley harmed even a hair on Percy's head, he would tear their heads off.

  "Lady Draven has a point," he said. "She has a better chance of getting an audience with Black than any of us. If nothing else, he'll see her out of curiosity."

  "Out of the question," Kent snapped.

  "I ask you to reconsider, my lady. Helena would have my head if anything happened to you," Morgan said.

  "You do your part, I'll do mine," she said, sounding amused. "See you at midnight."

  Lady Draven headed to the door, only to be blocked by Kent. He grabbed hold of her arm. "This has gone far enough," he said.

  "No man touches me without my permission." Color flooded Lady Draven's high cheekbones, her emerald eyes flashing. "Release me this instant."

  "Not until you give up this asinine plan."

  "I said release me." In a swift movement, the baroness withdrew a delicate pistol from her skirts. She pointed it at Kent's heart.

  The policeman did not budge. The baroness' eyes narrowed, her finger upon the trigger.

  "Stand down, Kent. You cannot stop her, and obviously she can take care of herself," Morgan said wryly. "Perhaps Lady Draven would agree to take a few men as escorts?"

  Lady Draven continued to glare at the Kent, who released her with obvious reluctance.

  "Men are the last thing I need," she said icily. "I can take care of myself." With that, she vanished out the door in a swish of silver skirts.

  In the tense silence that followed, Gavin said, "That covers it. I'll ready my men. Morgan, I suppose you'll take the water route with Kent?"

  "No." The marquess regarded him with a steady gaze. "I'm going in with you."

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Under the clouded midnight sky, Watson's Blacking Factory rose three stories, a crooked narrow building that bore an eerie resemblance to Grimes' flash house. The memory of that cesspit had branded Gavin though he'd lived there but a handful of days. He slid a look at his companion, who'd survived years in that place. From the stark lines on Morgan's face to his guarded posture, the man looked prepared to battle the demons of hell.

  "You ready?" Gavin said in a low voice.

  Morgan gave a terse nod. "Let's go in."

  They entered through a creaking door. Long tables and benches lined the rectangular room. A single lamp sat upon one of the tables, releasing ghostly forms across the rotting pillars and beams and the wooden steps that led upward into darkness. Dim shapes piled high against the walls—equipment once used to make the blacking. The corrosive scent of sulfur and linseed oil permeated the air, glass from broken jars crunching beneath their boots. Something scampered across the floorboard, and Morgan flinched.

  "Gentlemen, welcome." A few feet away, Kingsley parted from the shadows, his pistol glinting in the lamplight. When Gavin reached instinctively for his weapon, the bastard cocked the trigger. "Slowly now. Unless you want to get that pretty piece of yours killed."

  Gavin froze as the rasp of matches came from above. Lamps flared to life, revealing the men lining the first floor banister; all aimed pistols at him and Morgan. His pulse leapt at the sight of Percy. Despite her disheveled hair and the cloth gag wrapped around her mouth, she appeared otherwise unharmed, Praise God. Her gaze met his, and she began to struggle with the brute holding her by the arm.

  "Let her go." Gavin started for the stairs.

  "Not so fast, Hunt." The click of Kingsley's pistol halted him. "You may not care if you die—but do you want to see her throat slit?"

  On the floor above, Percy's captor raised a blade to her neck.

  Breathing hard, Gavin felt a restraining grip on his arm.

  "Have a care," Morgan said quietly. "Percy's life is at stake."

  "Indeed," Kingsley drawled. "Your weapons, gentlemen."

  With no other choice, Gavin and Morgan allowed Kingsley's men to take their guns. They were shoved to their knees, their hands trussed behind their backs. Guards surrounded them as Kingsley pulled up a chair and sat, smirking. "You were told to come alone, Hunt. Who is your friend here?"

  "I am the Marquess of Harteford." Gavin had to give Morgan credit. Though bound like a pig for the spit, the fellow's voice rang with authority. "I demand that you release Miss Fines immediately."

  Kingsley laughed. "A nob, eh? Well, your demands are no good here, dear fellow."

  "What about my coin?"

  Kingsley's eyes narrowed, and Gavin could practically see the wheels of greed spinning in the bastard's head. "Go on."

  "A thousand pounds," Morgan said evenly, "for setting us free."

  "Not a bad offer." Kingsley signaled to the brute holding Percy.

  Gavin grit his teeth as the guard dragged Percy down the steps none too gently. Smiling, Kingsley gestured for her to be brought over. When the bastard pulled her into his lap, Gavin roared, jumping to his feet. The guard's fist slammed into his jaw and knocked him to the ground. Blood gushed in his mouth, lights dancing behind his eyes. Then Percy's muffled cries broke through, and he struggled to get up. The guard held him down with a boot to the chest, crushing him against the floor. An object stabbed through the back of his jacket.

  Glass. Though his wrists were bound, he edged his fingers upward beneath his back, trying to get at the shard. He encountered grit, useless bits. Then he grasped it. The sharp edges cut into his fingers as he began to saw it back and forth against the ropes, careful to keep his movements slight. Not that he need have worried—the guard was focused on the negotiations.

  "Let her go." Morgan's voice had a lethal edge. "I'll give you the money."

  "Surely this spitfire is worth more than a thousand pounds," Kingsley mused, running a finger down Percy's arm.

  One of the ropes gave a little. Almost there. Gavin could almost feel his hands wrapping around Kingsley's neck.

  "How much do you want?" Morgan said.

  "Ten thousand pounds," Kingsley said.

  Morgan didn't blink. "Done. You release Miss Fines and Mr. Hunt. When I have proof of their safety, I will go with you to get the money."

  "I'm afraid that won't be possible." Gavin stilled as Magnus' voice came from above. The old man hobbled down the stairs. "This wasn't part of the plan, Kingsley."

  "For ten thousand pounds, I'll consider an amendment," his partner replied.

  "Give Hunt and Morgan to me," Magnus said. "Keep the girl. You can ransom her from her family or keep her as your whore. 'Tis up to you."

  The ropes slid from Gavin's wrists. Grasping the glass shard, he forced himself to remain still. To watch and wait for the moment to attack. From his position, he counted more than a dozen armed men. Too many to take on—he'd have to go straight for their leader. Grab Kingsley and signal Kent to attack. Yet how could he get Percy to safety before all hell broke loose? Perhaps the large cauldron in the corner would shield her from the gunfire ...

  "You're ... Jack Spades, aren't you?" Morgan's haunted voice cut into his planning. The marquess' face had drained of color, a quiver crossing his wide shoulders. "I ... I remember you."

  For some reason, Percy nodded
emphatically, her words muffled by the cloth.

  Who the hell is Jack Spades? Why does Morgan look like he's seen the devil himself?

  An icy hand gripped Gavin's gut as Magnus laughed—a menacing sound that was at odds with the old man's decrepit shell.

  "And as I recall, you were one of Grimes' pets, my lord," Magnus purred. "Perhaps even his favorite?"

  The marquess flinched. Anger roiled in Gavin's veins, his grip tightening on the glass. Morgan had no choice, you bastard. He didn't deserve his fate—any more than I did.

  "What do you want?" Morgan said in a low voice.

  "I've been keeping an eye on you for some time. From the gutter to the ton—not many could pull it off. To top that, three years ago you survived my associate's attempt at blackmail." Magnus shook his head. "You're a tough bastard, your lordship, make no mistake about that."

  "You … you were behind the extortion? That was how that villain knew about my past with Grimes—you gave him the information," Morgan said slowly.

  Harteford ... powerful man. Wouldn't want to tangle with him myself. Recalling Magnus' words, Gavin felt chilled to the core. How long had the old conniver been weaving this malevolent web?

  "Aye, but fat lot of good that did my partner, eh? Behind bars and not a shilling to show for it." Magnus gave a philosophical shrug. "This time around, I won't let greed cloud my judgment. I want the past buried once and for all." Withdrawing a blade from his pocket, he advanced toward the marquess. "And the way for that to happen is for you and Hunt to die."

  Thinking quickly, Gavin twisted his head toward Kingsley. "You're going to let Magnus rob you of ten thousand pounds?" he said.

  Frowning, Kingsley shoved Percy aside. Though the gag slipped from her, one of the guards grabbed her by the arm. "Think this through, old man," Kingsley said, blocking his partner's path. "With this fat purse, we'll take over the stews. No one will be able to challenge us—not even my sodding father-in-law."

  "We'll have enough power as it is. A deal's a deal." Magnus' gaze narrowed. "Out of my way."

  "Even if you kill Lord Harteford and Mr. Hunt, the past won't die."