A gentleman then, at least. One who knew his way around a pack of cards, likely lost his fortune to gambling.
That was surely the only reason he could be here.
His grey eyes caught hers, and Molly’s breath caught in her throat. He was so handsome, and the way he was looking at her was so intoxicating. She could barely breath, and a hand unconsciously moved to her chest.
“One more hand,” she said finally. “And do not allow me to regret it, Mr Northmere.”
Molly lowered herself back onto the table and made a promise to herself in silence. It really would just be one more hand. She would not allow herself to get tied up in all that nonsense, for though Mr Northmere was certainly cut from a different cloth as her Charlie, it was the same pattern.
“So,” she said lightly as he dealt out another hand. “What is a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?”
Mr Northmere snorted and picked up his cards. “Quite a presumption, Miss Kimble. How do you know I am nice?”
And you have made quite a presumption, Molly thought silently as she glanced down at her cards, that I am Miss Kimble. But then, how could he know? She had sold the ring for what little gold there had been in there months ago.
Two queens, and a queen on the table. Interesting.
“‘Tis not hard to fathom, Mr Northmere,” she said quietly, placing a shilling into the middle of the table. “The way you speak, the way you sit. You were raised a gentleman, weren’t you?”
Her eyes glanced at him and she allowed just a hint of a smile. He returned it and placed a shilling in the middle of the table.
“Born and bred,” he said easily, leaning back in his seat. “But that does not immediately follow that I have followed the teachings of my childhood.”
Molly snorted. “I would not have guessed so, finding you in this place.”
Mr Northmere did not immediately respond, instead placing the next card on the table. Molly did her best to keep her face impassive. A Jack, worse luck. She needed that fourth queen.
“Actually,” he said quietly, and Molly was forced to lean a little closer to catch his words, “I am not nice at all, Miss Kimble. Quite the reverse, I am afraid.”
Molly stared at him, genuinely intrigued now. “I do not believe it. Look at you, I bet you have family absolutely rolling in gold. You do not need to be here, winning small pieces of coin from me.”
And neither do you, she told herself silently, though her heart rate was quickening. Why are you sitting here with this gentleman, when you should be over there, forcing your brothers onto the straight and narrow?
Because, a small part of her heart whispered, because this man makes you feel exciting. Makes you feel wanted. You can see the way he looks at you. He desires you, and it has been too long since a man looked at you with anything less than indifference.
Besides, he is a gentleman. It was pleasant to sit her and exchange quips. It almost made her feel like a lady.
Mr Northmere chuckled, but Molly knew enough of pain to see that it masked sorrow. “My family has disowned me, Miss Kimble. I am a knight, to be sure, but I should have been something far greater.”
Chapter 3
How long had it been: an hour? Three?
Edmund wasn’t sure whether he would be able to walk when he stood up, he was so intoxicated with Miss Molly Kimble.
She laughed as she dealt the next hand. “Have you not received enough punishment, Sir Edmund?”
Her lips and eyes teased him as she glanced at him through those dark eyelashes.
Edmund swallowed. He should walk away, he knew it. He should leave the King’s Head and not come back here for a few months, because if Miss Kimble has moved onto this patch, there was no possibility of competing with her.
And not just on poker. She was intoxicating, overwhelming, every one of his senses unable to cope with her.
Every sense except touch. His fingers burned with longing to reach out and touch her hand again, but her fingers moved too quickly as she dealt the cards and then moved back to retrieve her own.
“Now, what is your bet?”
Edmund jumped, startled from his reverie. Miss Kimble was smiling at him over her cards, her lips soft and causing every rational thought to disappear.
“I…” Edmund flushed and hated his body for displaying the weakness.
How many women had he courted before, when he had been wealthy? How many women since had he charmed, both out of pocket and out of their clothes?
Countless. But none of them had been as wily as Miss Kimble, and none of them had been this good at cards.
“Sixpence,” he said hoarsely, throwing down the coin. “And I will raise you a penny for every raise you throw down.”
He had to stay in control – and more importantly, he had to start winning. His landlady Mrs Bird was not one to take kindly to late payments, and he was already overdue.
Miss Kimble did not take her eyes from him as she placed down a sixpence and then revealed the next card.
Edmund stared at it, and then looked hurriedly at the hand he had not even bothered to glance at before betting.
Every fibre of his being forced his eyes not to widened. He had the makings of the best hand there was; a Royal flush was just a Queen of Hearts away.
“Ready to bet again?”
Edmund raised his eyes above his cards and saw Miss Kimble tilt her head slightly as she smiled.
His groin tightened. It was impossible not to be aware of the irony, but if he could play this calmly and coolly, he could recoup some of those winnings, and perhaps a little more.
With a feigned grimace that he immediately halted, he said, “Well…another sixpence, then.”
Miss Kimble smiled as she picked up a silver coin from her pile. “One of these, you mean?”
Edmund nodded. This was not the time to trust his voice to stay steady. How long had it been since he had seen a hand like this?
She twirled the coin in her fingers and Edmund was utterly transfixed, unable to look away from the spinning coin nor the elegant fingers which made it move so smoothly.
And then it was gone, placed down on the table.
“I will see your sixpence, and now let us see the card.”
Edmund tried not to hold his breath as she lifted up the next card, and his heart started thumping wildly against his chest as the Queen of Hearts was revealed.
He glanced at his cards again, and then back at the table. No, his eyes were not deceiving him. A Royal Flush, right when he needed one. This was going to be as good as that New Year’s Eve game with George, when he had walked away six pounds wealthier.
Well, perhaps not that good. There was only a pound on the table, but it was a pound he needed.
“It is your bet, Sir Edmund,” Miss Kimble said softly below the hubbub of the room. “If you are willing to make it.”
Edmund looked at her – looked at her properly for the first time. “Why are you here, Miss Kimble?”
He was right; there was an immediate reaction there of fear and confusion.
“What do you mean?” She said stiffly. All the fluidity of her body was gone, as though a poker had been forced up her corset.
“I mean, you must have better things to do, surely, than sit here with a stranger and play poker,” said Edmund easily, leaning back in his seat. “If I did not know any better, I would say you were lonely.”
Miss Kimble raised an eyebrow. “Lonely? Sir Edmund, you do not even know me.”
“By God, I would like to.”
The words had escaped his lips before he could do anything to stop them, and he could see by the slightly astonished look on her face that she had heard him.
And yet she did not walk away. She was not repulsed by him, more intrigued by him, if her next statement was anything to go by.
“You would, would you?”
Edmund swallowed. This had all of a sudden become rather serious, and it appeared that if he played his cards right, he would b
e a winner – and in more ways than one.
“Yes,” he said in a strangled voice. “Miss Kimble, I would like to take you with me from this place and make love to you.”
It was another gamble but he had certainly read her right. There was no astonished gasp, no frown of disapproval. She did not throw down her cards and walk away, or shout that he was dishonouring her by even mentioning it.
Instead, Miss Kimble smiled. “You have not made your bet, Sir Edmund.”
Edmund leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Do not think I cannot please you, Miss Kimble. You look like a woman who knows what she wants, but I am a gentleman who knows what a woman wants, and I can assure you, you will want for no pleasure.”
His hand moved forward and touched her wrist lightly. Her dark eyes met his but she did not move away from him. His finger played a circle on her skin, right above her pulse, warming it. Warming her.
Miss Kimble breathed, “You are making some significant promises, Sir Edmund, and you have not played your cards yet.”
“I am playing all my cards, Miss Kimble,” Edmund said seriously, with a smile dancing on his lips. “The question is, do you want to play too?”
There was a moment – a frantic, wild, silent moment when their eyes met and Edmund was sure she was going to say yes. His loins tightened in anticipation of slowing removing that tattered old gown to find out what delicacies were underneath.
Miss Kimble removed her hand. “I fold.”
Her words were such a surprise that Edmund gawped at her for a full ten seconds. “You – you fold?”
Miss Kimble leaned back in her chair and smiled. “I fold, yes. I believe you have a very good hand, but I am not willing to meet it. I fold.”
Edmund looked down at his hand and then at the table. His Royal Flush. It had gone, just like that. No matter how she had been able to tell that he held the best hand possible – she was willing to walk away from the table rather than risk it.
“And now, my good sir, I will be off. I…I should have gone twenty minutes ago.” Miss Kimble looked around the room, as though seeking a friend, and then flashed a brief smile at him. “You have been an interesting diversion, Sir Edmund, but now I must go. Goodbye.”
She had risen in a swirl of skirts before Edmund had registered her words, and she was halfway to the door before he had caught up with her.
“Miss – Miss Kimble!”
She did not stop, but allowed him to catch up with her. They walked out of the King’s Head together.
“Have you any further thoughts on my other offer?”
Miss Kimble stopped just under the sign for the King’s Head and raised an eyebrow. “Spending Christmas receiving unending pleasure from your hands?”
Edmund tried not to moan aloud at the very thought of it. “Yes.”
She held his gaze, just for a moment, and then shook her head. “No. I am sorry, Sir Edmund. That is never an offer which I will accept.”
Edmund reached out for her hand, determined to kiss this ridiculous woman and show her, prove to her that he could give her so much more pleasure than she had ever imagined.
And everything went black.
“What in God’s name did you do that for?”
Molly spun around to stare at the man she knew would be standing over the body now lying on the floor – and looked into the eyes of her brother, Tom.
“Well, he had it coming to him,” her eldest brother grunted.
Molly sighed, her eyes darting from her scowling brother to her slightly nervous looking brother to the pile of manhood on the ground.
“What did you intend to do next?” She said wearily, more to Jack than to Tom. Jack was more likely to be reasoned with. “Or did you not think that far ahead, you absolute idiots?”
“Do not call me an idiot,” growled Tom.
Molly sighed. It was always the problem with her brothers – well, one of them. They acted first, and did not bother to think later. There was no point. What was done, was done.
She looked down at the crumpled heap on the cobbles. Sir Edmund, and she could not separate the ridiculous name from the handsome devil at her feet, looked at little worse for wear.
Other than the cosh on the back of the head, she thought. Now he was unconscious, there were tired lines around his eyes, and the stubble that was spread across his chin did not look well-groomed or well-cared for.
A flicker of concern moved across her heart. Did he have a family; a wife, perhaps, who was waiting for his safe return? A quick glance told her there was no ring on his finger, but what did that tell you, really? She wore no ring, and she was a widow.
Jack was speaking. “ – take me, Tom? Because – ”
“Take him?” Molly interrupted with a glare. “What do you mean, ‘take him’?”
Jack looked nervously at Tom, his bottom lip quivering a little. Molly always had to remind herself that he was only fifteen.
“What’s done is done,” Tom said fiercely. The stick which he’d used to hit Sir Edmund fiercely on the head moved from hand to hand. “And do not give me that look, Molly, ‘tis naught for it now but to make the best of it, and make the best we will. Look at him.”
Molly unwillingly looked down again, and her heart softened. Poor gentleman. He likely had no idea of what would befall him this night, and he was going to pay for his eagerness to proposition her – really! – with something far dearer.
Propositioning her. The thought was harsh in her mind, but if you boiled it down, that was what he had done to her.
And she had been tempted.
Heat seared across her cheeks at the thought of it, the realisation that she had been tempted to accept the offer of a wild night of passion from a stranger.
But she was no stranger to the act of lovemaking, not that it had been given to her that often by that churl of a husband. No, he had been far more focused on his own desires, not hers.
And Sir Edmund looked like he knew his way around a woman’s body: what would please, what would –
“Molly!”
Molly jumped, startled by the loud shout which had emanated from her brother Tom who was glaring at her.
“Why did you shout?”
Tom grinned. “Because I asked you a question, and I expect a particular answer from you. I said, we are going to kidnap him. Ransom him, get gold from his family. Sir Edmund indeed.”
Molly hesitated and tried not to betray the concern in her face. Not this. Not this dark path which they had been down so much times already.
“I would not bet on it. I do not believe he has much family,” she said cautiously, thinking of what he had said before.
“My family has disowned me, Miss Kimble. I am a knight, to be sure, but I should have been something far greater.”
Jack scoffed, poking the unmoving body of Sir Edmund with his foot. “Him? Look at his waistcoat, Molly, did you not listen to him? He’s a toff if ever there was one, and that means gold.”
“You take a closer look at his waistcoat, you idiot,” Molly said, her temper fraying. Was this really all they could amount to? A disagreement over a prone body in the dark of London about whether the body was worth as much as they hoped?
Jack stared at her disbelief, and then crouched down to feel the waistcoat with his coarse finger and thumb.
“Feels like silk.”
Molly sighed. “Silk that is fraying at the edges? Silk that has clearly not been washed for nigh on a month, if I am any judge, and a style of waistcoat, moreover, that went out of fashion not three years ago? He is poor, Jack, take my word for it. He was attempting to scam coins from me, and only a man down on his luck would do that to a lady.”
But her brothers would not listen. She had known they would not, known it as soon as Sir Edmund had hit the ground.
They were too far gone, and the best thing she could do was save herself.
“Well, you have a merry evening ahead of you,” she said lightly, attempting to force down the feelings of
guilt and concern rising up in her soul. “I will leave you to it, and – ”
“You seemed very interested in this gentleman.” Tom stared at her, his eyes narrowing as though he could see through her. “Very interested.”
Molly’s breath caught in her throat. Tom had never truly frightened her, not really, but he was certainly able to make her think twice about crossing him.
The further away from him she could get, the better.
“He is just a gentleman I met over cards,” she said, as nonchalantly as she could. “Just a man.”
Tom smiled and Molly did not like it. “If you are so interested in him, Molls, you can join him.”
She did not move fast enough. Before she could take a step backwards, Molly’s hands were grabbed by Tom and he leered in her face, stale beer on his breath.
“Let me go,” she said forcefully in the same tone she had used when they were children.
It did not work now.
“Jack, come and help me with this,” Tom snarled.
This, thought Molly. Not her. This.
Jack looked anxious, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. But it was clear he did not dare disobey his brother.
“I have rope,” he said breathlessly, moving forward to tie together Molly’s wrists.
It was all happening too fast, it was almost unbelievable. Molly’s heart was thumping so hard, she could feel her pulse throbbing against the wiry string they quickly passed around her wrists.
"Jack – Jack let me go!” Molly struggled, kicked out, but there were two of them and only one of her. They were taller than her, stronger than her, and she had never had her brothers so wildly out of her control.
“Come on, Molls,” jeered Tom, pulling her towards the horse they had waiting. “You will be all cosy with your gentleman fri – ouch!”
Molly’s flailing shoes had caught one of his shins and Tom buckled in pain. Molly tried to wrench free, twisting her body but Jack was already there, his hands on her shoulders.
“You can go quiet,” he said in a low voice, “or you can go unconscious.”
Molly stopped struggling immediately. There was something about Jack’s voice, something she had not heard before.
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