Her Wanton Wager (10 page)

No. He wasn't. Instead, he was thinking of
her
.

Like a pebble trapped in his boot, thoughts of her poked at him. Constantly. He couldn't get their kiss out of his head; apparently, she didn't have the same trouble. According to his plan—a bleeding fantasy, more like—she would have come to him by now; instead, he'd seen hide nor hair of her since Plimpton's. And the wager expired today. He was
never
indecisive, and yet here he was torn up over what to do concerning the taxing chit.

On the one hand, he wanted to track her down and demand that she agree to the bet—fat lot of good
that
would do. He swiped irritably at the back of his neck. His wiser, rational side advised abandoning this hare-brained proposition altogether; he could find another way to hurt Morgan. Through Morgan's wife, for instance. Before meeting Percy, Gavin had considered the marchioness the best way to tear out Morgan's heart. How had he forgotten about that? How had he gotten so twisted up over Percy that he'd lost all focus?

His hands fisted. He was not a man who lost control. Least of all over a female.

So Percy hadn't come up to scratch? Fine. He had his pride; he wouldn't force her into it. He'd seduce the bloody Marchioness of Harteford instead. His gut clenched in denial. Or he'd arrange for someone else to do it. Whatever. The minute the fucking Hartefords returned from Italy he would set the new plan into play ...

Hearing footsteps, Gavin felt his pulse sped up. He willed a golden head to appear ... but instead Alfie marched into the office. Gavin's snarl faded when he saw the taller, ganglier boy the urchin had in tow. Dressed in the tattered uniform of the stews, the new lad had brown hair that stood in unruly tufts and ears that would do justice on an elephant. He also sported a fresh, purpling bruise upon his cheek. His left eye had swollen to the size of a walnut.

"Mr. Hunt, this 'ere is Davey." Alfie jerked a thumb at his companion. "'E's 'ad a bit o' a problem wif 'is last employment. Thought you might set 'im up like the others."

"I see." As Gavin came near, he saw the newcomer flinch. Instinct—it never left you. In a grim tone, he said, "How old are you, Davey?"

"I'll be fourteen in the spring, sir." Davey's voice was little more than a whisper. "I'm stronger than I look. I'm a 'ard worker, an' I always get the job done."

"What happened at your last place of employ?"

Davey's gaze fell to the carpet. "I swear I didn't do nothin' wrong," he mumbled.

Knots tightened in Gavin's chest. He knew too well how easily pleas of innocence were ignored. "Have you any family?" he said quietly. "Anyone to take you in?"

Biting his lip, Davey shook his head.

"You may stay here if you like," Gavin said. "You will be trained to work in the club—housekeeping or the kitchens. As long as you fulfill your duties, you'll have fair wages and room and board."

Davey looked up, and for an instant Gavin saw himself in that thin, battered face. The flicker of hope in the boy's good eye pierced his chest, releasing a spurt of cold rage. Predators on the weak—they deserved to be punished.

"Who did this to you?" he asked.

Fear filled the boy's expression. "I—I can't say, sir."

"Can't or won't?" Before Gavin could press on, he heard a feminine voice outside the office.

"My concerns are urgent, and I must see Mr. Hunt immediately." There was a low, murmured reply, and then the voice said more stridently, "No, I will
not
wait. This is matter of life or death. Kindly convey my message forthwith, sir."

Percy's bold fire warmed him, melting away some of his tension.
She's come to me at last ... not that I was worried. I was right all along about her.
As usual, the cheeky chit knew how to make an entrance. Life or death, indeed—she could have made her living on Drury Lane. A minute later, the harried-looking footman appeared. Before the man could utter a word, Gavin said, "Send her in."

Percy traipsed through the doorway. Her bonnet with its filmy veil obscured her face—the minx did like her disguises—but the rest of her form was nicely outlined by her fashionable lilac dress. She pinned up her veil. Her eyes widened, and before he could utter a greeting, she strode over to Davey. Before Gavin's befuddled gaze, she lifted a gentle hand to the boy's jaw. Moreover, Davey allowed her touch, his expression moonstruck.

"You poor thing," she murmured. "'Tis a shiner, to be sure. Does it hurt dreadfully?"

"N-no, miss," the boy stammered.

She rummaged through her reticule and pulled out a lace-edged handkerchief. The fine scrap would cost more than Davey earned in a year, yet she handed it over to the boy.

"Fill this with ice, if the cook has some. If not, cold water will do.  Hold it to the bruise, and the swelling will go down more quickly," she said.

"Yes, miss. Th-thank you." Davey sounded as stunned as Gavin felt.

Percy turned to Gavin then, and his bemusement faded with her next words. "How could you," she hissed. Her eyes spit flames at him. "He's but a boy and not even half your size. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

For a minute, Gavin could not speak. Blood roared in his ears. Out of nowhere, a voice boomed in his head.
You are hereby found guilty of arson and sentenced to a term of ten years imprisonment.
Helpless rage curled his fists.
I didn't do it.

"Beggin' your pardon, miss, but I think you've painted the wrong picture." This came from Alfie, who swept a spritely bow.

Percy frowned. "Who are you?"

"Name's Alfie, miss, an' I was the one who brung Davey 'ere today. To see about a job. Mr. Hunt 'ires on us lot—an' by
lot
I mean urchins an' ragamuffins," Alfie explained matter-of-factly. "The gent's a decent sort, you see, even if 'e looks like the devil 'imself."

"Oh." After a strained pause, Percy said to Davey, "Is that true?"

Davey gave a small nod.

She rounded on Gavin. Seething with anger, he readied for another attack. He knew all too well that the way to cover a mistake was to launch another barrage of insult and blame. Attack or be attacked. 'Twas the way of the stinking world.

"I—I'm afraid I owe you an apology, Mr. Hunt," she said. Roses bloomed in her cheeks. "I jumped to conclusions when I oughtn't have. For that, I am truly sorry."

Her contrition took the wind out of his sails. The storm within him came to an abrupt halt; he could only stare at her, bewildered by the intensity of emotion she provoked in him. Why did she have such an effect on him? Why should he give a bloody farthing what she thought? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alfie usher Davey out of the room and close the door behind.

"Forget it," he said flatly. "'Tis nothing."

"But it is." Her vibrant eyes held his, the expression in them impossibly sincere. "My accusation was most unfair. Mama is forever lecturing me on being too impulsive, and I fear she has the right of it." Biting her lip, Percy said in humble tones, "Will you accept my apology, Mr. Hunt?"

What could he say to that? He inclined his head gruffly, and she gave him a tremulous smile in return. Beneath her chin, yellow bonnet strings formed a cheerful bow. His fingers itched to undo it. To knock that stupid bonnet off and sink themselves into warm locks of sunshine ...

Don't lose control, you fool. Focus. Close the deal.

"Might I inquire to the purpose of the day's visit?" he said in even tones.

The warmth fled from her expression. Her gaze lowered to the vicinity of his cravat. "I think you know why I've come. I wish to discuss your offer. Though," she added hurriedly, "I have some stipulations of my own."   

Once again in control of himself, he closed the distance between them. She did not shirk from him, which he took as a good sign. She looked at him with surprise when he held out a chair.

"I am occasionally capable of good manners," he drawled. "As I have a feeling your provisions may take some time, you might as well be comfortable. Shall I ring for tea as well?" 

"No, thank you." She took the seat he offered, folding her skirts primly around her. "Here are my terms, Mr. Hunt. First, I wish to have the details of the wager spelled out—in writing, if you please."

He leaned against the desk, studying her. "I gave you my word, Miss Fines. That should be sufficient."

"Papa always said to get everything in writing. When all is said and done, I want tangible proof of my brother's freedom. That is, your signature clearing him of all debt when I win this bet."

Thought she had it in the bag, did she? Reminding himself that he gained nothing from baiting her at this juncture, he said curtly, "Fine. If you want a contract, you'll get it. What else?"

Eyes narrowing, he watched the play of emotions across her lively features. Percy would be terrible at cards; she had more tells than a leopard had spots. Seeing her gnaw her lower lip, he braced himself for news he wasn't going to like.

"I want your promise that during the wager you will not try to find or harm Paul," she said. "You will not even accept payment from him, should he decide to find you."

"You must be joking."

"I assure you I am not." Her voice was calm, but he noted the rapid rise and fall of her bosom. "Why should I risk agreeing to this bet if you can snare my brother at any time? Why should you get your cake and eat it too?"

Damn, but she was cleverer than he gave her credit for.

"I will still have both you and your brother's company," he said. "When I win the wager."

"
If
you win." Pink blossomed in her cheeks, but her gaze did not waver. "But if you lose, the Fines' debt to you will be dissolved, and you will leave us in peace."

He looked at her stubborn, piquant little face and felt something close to respect. For a female, she possessed strong notions of loyalty. Too bad those bonds tied her to Morgan.

He gave a slow nod. "Agreed."

She released a breath, clearly relieved. "Well, then, there's only one more thing."

He cocked a brow.

"It has to do with the manner of deciding the number of visits. I will toss but only,"—she raised a delicate gloved finger—"
one
of the dice."

His jaw tautened. He was not so much concerned over her proposal itself as he was over her temerity in bargaining with him. She was growing bolder by the minute; if he did not take care, she might begin to think she could run roughshod over him. A pretty thing like her was probably used to getting everything she wanted. Probably had all the gentlemen wrapped around her precious little finger.

"Give me one good reason why I should agree to that in addition to the other concessions I am making," he said.

Her sable lashes angled upward. "Because you happen to be in a magnanimous mood?"

"Try again, Miss Fines."

She chewed on her lip. "Because you are so confident in your own prowess that you believe you could seduce me within six meetings?"

"Better reasoning," he acknowledged, "but still not good enough."

"I don't see why using one die should matter so much," she said in a tone just short of wheedling. "After all, I am agreeing to risk my reputation and my person for the sake of this wager. The least you could do is accommodate this request."

That smile of hers could probably charm birds from their leafy perches and well she knew it. He stroked his chin. "I suppose I might consider it ..."

"Excellent. I knew you'd come around," she said, beaming.

" ... if you'd grant me a request in return."

Her brow furrowed. "What sort of request?"

"Nothing much. Just a kiss. To seal the bargain, you understand."

"
Another
kiss?" she said with clear dismay.

"Yes, Miss Fines. A gesture of good faith on your part for all the concessions I am making." It was his turn to smile. "Unless you're afraid of kissing me again?"

NINE

Drat and double drat. Hunt thought he'd cornered her; she could tell by the arrogant look on his face, the relaxed line of his scar. Why was the man so ... befuddling? Earlier, she'd glimpsed a wholly unexpected side of him. A streak of kindness and nobility. He had shown compassion for that unfortunate boy and apparently many others as well. Though she cringed at how she'd maligned Hunt in that instance, the current ruthless set of his features sent a thrill of warning up her spine.

She gave her head a wary shake. "I cannot kiss you."

"Then I'm afraid I cannot agree to your request."

"That is not very gentlemanly, sir."

He lifted a sardonic brow in answer.

She tried to summon a viable alternative, but came up short. After Charity's report on Paul yesterday, Percy had known what needed to be done. Her friend's trembling voice played in her head.

Mr. Fines was not at all as I remember him. He was ... out of sorts, t-terribly so.
Charity's face had drained of color.
He's tired of hiding, he said, and doesn't give a ... a damn about anything anymore. Oh Percy, he said he's going to march over to Mr. Hunt and hand over his inheritance!

Percy straightened her shoulders. She could not allow her brother to destroy his future and their father's legacy on a drunken whim. She
would
not. And what difference would another kiss make? She'd made it through the other one unscathed, after all. And now she knew what to expect of Hunt. She could manage this.

"One kiss," she said, her nape tingling, "but I get to roll the die first."

He inclined his head and reached to the desk for the die. She came to stand beside him, her gloved hand held out. He dropped the ivory cube into her palm; given the fortunes lost and won by that small piece, its weight felt oddly insignificant.

She cupped her palms together and shook. In her head, she tried to visualize a single black dot.
Please, God, let it be a one ...

"Praying doesn't help." Hunt's mocking voice cut through her focus. "Just so you know."

"Will you kindly stop talking and let me concentrate?"